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sincerelyneo · 17 days

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teeth | l.hc

“fight so dirty but your love’s so sweet”

💿now playing: teeth by 5 seconds of summer

❯ summary: Traditionally the caption of the cheer team and the captain of the soccer team are friends - some even date. But you and Donghyuck definitely aren’t friends - if anything you’re enemies. The two of you can’t go five minutes without an argument. So, why are you letting him fuck you in the locker room?

❯ pairings: haechan x fem!reader

❯ genre: college!au, enemies with benefits, smut

❯ words: 2.5k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, bickering, swearing, unprotected sex (don't do this!), hate sex, degrading names, general name-calling, manhandling, haechan is an asshole, but reader is also lowkey mean, choking, use of nickname 'princess', reader uses she/her pronouns, hardly any plot, it's literally just them hate fucking idk what to tell ya.

cheeky author's note: i'm very brtish, so referring to this as soccer literally made me want to rip my hair out 😀

“You don’t have to be so rough you know, Hyuck!”

"Will you just shut up and let me fuck you!?" He snaps.

The red metal of Lee Donghyuck's locker is cold against the skin of your bare back. Honestly, you don’t even know how it happened. But somehow the captain of the soccer team (and the boy you swear you hate) has you pinned against the boy’s lockers, one leg wrapped around his waist and the top half of your cheer uniform hiked up just enough to give him a full display of your tits. His left-hand grips your hip so tightly that you’re certain he’s doing it on purpose just to piss you off.

Not only that, but he also has your skirt bunched up around your waist. Giving him just the right amount of easy access to pull your panties to the side and tease his cock between your folds.

"Will you just hurry up and stick it in!?" You try to yell at him but, from the way he’s teasing the head of his cock at your entrance, the attempt comes out like a feeble whine.

Exactly on command, the scowl on your face quickly morphs into a wince, and the annoyed quirk on your lips disappears to form a small 'o' as Hyuck’s grip on your hip hardens and he pushes his cock quickly into your cunt. You can’t complain though - you did just tell him to stick it in.

"Shit," you squirm, hand coming up to his chest, pressing hard against the badge of his soccer uniform that rests on his right peck.

"Now look who’s needy," He teases. "I vividly remember you saying I’d be the shittest fuck on the soccer team."

"That’s what this is about!? You’re still mad that– uhh," you’re cut off by your own moan and your nails sink into the fabric of his shirt when he starts to move his hips. His pace is surprisingly slow - deliberately teasing - in comparison to his rapid first thrust inside of you.

"Christ! Even when you fuck you talk too much," Hyuck curses, his hand wrapping around your arm to free himself from the grip you have on his shirt.

"You're one to talk," You hiss back. "Even when you fuck you’re still an annoying little asshol– "

You gasp as he pulls out of you completely and then thrusts into you once again.

"You could've at least warned me, you dick,” You exhale, your walls readjusting to his size for the second time - and what a big size he was.

“Yeah, yeah, spare me the lecture princess.”

You can’t believe that even when he’s buried to the hilt inside of your pussy he’s still calling you that stupid fucking nickname. It’s not the word ‘princess’ itself that bothers you per se; it’s Lee Donghyuck’s intention behind the name that makes your blood blister with anger. He’s been calling you ‘princess’ since your freshman year in college but you’d only ever inquired about it recently.

You were at a party, and even though you hate the bones of Lee Donghyuck, you’d be lying if you said your social circles didn’t overlap. It was inevitable, he’s on the soccer team, you’re a cheerleader; honestly, the two of you should be friends. But you’re not. And because of your strained relationship, it was no surprise that the minute you walked through the door he’d picked a fight with you.

You can't even remember what the argument was about now, but you know the two of you had gone back and forth in a boxing match of insults that always ended with him throwing the word ‘princess’ at the end of his rebuttals. And you really couldn’t quite understand why. In your mind, being called a princess was a compliment, but to Donghyuck, princesses were “spoilt bitches who have no grip on reality.”

Safe to say you didn’t think the term was one of endearment after that.

And it was at that same party where you’d insisted Donghyuck would be the shittest fuck on the soccer team – something you’re currently finding out as being not true as he fucks you senseless six ways to Sunday. In all honesty, even when Yuta had asked you the question in a silly little game of truth or dare, you knew Hyuck was the cop-out answer. Truthfully, your real answer would have been Jisung or Chenle. They’re both a little younger and act more awkward with you. But still, you’d let hell freeze over before letting Lee Donghyuck think he was a better fuck than somebody else. However, you’re pretty sure you’ve broken that promise to yourself from the way you’re breathlessly panting and gasping from the vigorous drilling of his cock. That or hell genuinely has frozen over.

But still, what did he expect? The two of you couldn’t go half a second without a petty argument. Sometimes you find yourself just doing it because you were bored and he was there. After all, it’s just the norm between the two of you.

That’s why you can’t quite understand why he’s taking a stupid comment said in a passing game of truth or dare to heart. You’ve said worse to him, you're sure of it.

Hyuck pulls out of your pussy and the emptiness that lingers between your legs has you groaning – even if it’s just for a second. He doesn’t give you long to harp on the loss of friction because he wastes no time dropping your leg from his hip, gripping your waist and slamming the front of your body against his locker.

You want to make another snarky comment about his roughness, but you secretly love it. Well, it’s not so secret actually — Hyuck is well aware that you like his manhandling because he feels your wetness becoming more slick on his cock as he thrusts into you from behind.

His pace in the new position is still tortuous, slow and teasing, and so fucking annoyingly good. But you don’t know how much longer you can take the tormenting leisurely pace. You want more - you need more. If he didn't have your arms pinned behind you and you flush against the lockers, you’d claw at his back to make him go faster.

You feel a warmth on the nape of your neck as he nuzzles against your ear, placing a kiss so gently, that you’re shocked at the sudden contrast in his demeanour.

“This the shittest fuck you’ve had, huh?”

No.

“Yes,” you reply and he growls deeply. There’s a rough snap of his hips and it catches you off guard so much you have to bite down on your lip to suppress a whimper.

“Fucking liar,” he scoffs.

The insult makes your face screw up in a glare, but still, all you can manage is a breathy, “Am not.”

No matter how good the length of his cock is making you feel, you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting he was right – that he’s not the worst fuck on the soccer team. Not that you had much experience with the others.

But even though you refuse to use your words to tell him you’re loving it, your body betrays you by being so fucking responsive to his touches. And no matter how hard you fight against him, Hyuck never lets you gain an inch. In fact, every time you try to free your arms from his, he lets out a frustrated groan, and the sound only makes your pussy throb harder.

His hand slips up your body until it finds your throat, where his fingers dig into either side of your neck. He stops his thrusts.

“Well if you’re not lying, are you saying I’m a shitty fuck princess?” He asks innocently as if he’s about to be gentle with you, but you know better. After all, this is Donghyuck. “If you want to pretend like you don’t want this; if that helps you sleep at night, then fine, but your slutty cunt is so fucking wet, I can almost feel you soaking my balls.”

He ducks down to place a kiss on your jaw, and you feel his lips smile into it as you shudder from his words. Instinctively, you swing your head away from him, only to be yanked back by the hand around your throat. He chuckles against your skin, hips starting to move again, thrusting shallowly into your stretched cunt.

“If I’m such a shitty fuck, I supposed you want me to stop, huh?” He asks in a low voice, lips grazing your cheek.

Noises you’ve never heard yourself make before tumble from your mouth as you moan and sob shamelessly. You try to bite your tongue, try not to fuel his ego, but his rhythm is too good at tearing down your guard, which is why you find yourself crying out, “Please don’t stop!”

He laughs, fucking you harder and faster, the stings of pain from his cock hitting you so deep morphing into a hot ache of pleasure that coils tighter and tighter in your core.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he growls.

His fingers, still on your throat press into your skin, not hard enough to cut off your air supply but just enough pressure to force out strangled moans. Your shoulders rub against the coarse material of his soccer kit, grounding you against him as he fucks you in punishing thrusts.

You don’t want to admit it, but your body can’t resist it.

“Fuck, gonna cum,” you mumble, eyes squeezed tight together.

“Yeah? You gonna cum for me like a good little slut?” he murmurs into your temples

The low rumble of his voice has the tension in your core ratcheting higher, pushing you closer to your release. Your head feels like it’s floating as the tight spring in your stomach coils until it finally snaps and has your knees buckling beneath you.

Hyuck keeps his speed steady, fucking you through your climax and savouring the way your walls clench around him in rigid spasms. Your orgasm triggers his and he clenches his jaw.

“Fuck, I'm gonna cum,” he ruts into you harder, and all you can do is moan for him.

“Please,” you whimper.

He chuckles at your submission - he’s never seen you like this before - so needy and desperate. He didn’t think it was possible to love anything about you; but this right here, you fucked out and pleading for his cum, yeah, he fucking loves it.

He ruts into you a last few times with thrusts that are wild and more frenzied, his thighs slapping against your ass. He contemplates cumming inside of you, but he figures he’d save that for another day since the two of you had forgotten about a condom and hadn’t really discussed it.

And…did he just think about having sex with you again?

With a loud groan that rattles against the metal in the empty locker room, Hyuck pulls out of your cunt and jerks his cock until he’s cumming onto the small of your back. Unable to stop yourself, you moan softly and a stupid smile spreads across your face when you hear him sigh.

After that it's silent, only your rapid breaths echoing in the room. He’s pressed against you, face buried in your neck, holding you and your weak legs in place. You stay like that for a beat, but then you remember who it is that’s just fucked you.

Without any more hesitation, you shake his grip and push him away from you. "Christ! Stop breathing down my neck. Fucking gross."

If it wasn’t for the fact that he’s your arch nemesis you would have stayed tangled up in him a little while longer, letting yourself get soaked up in the fact that that was the best sex you’ve ever had.

As you turn around to face him, he looks at you with the softest expression you’ve ever seen on his face.

“There’s a towel in my bag if you want to…”

You scoff, “How chivalrous of you.”

You pull the towel from the bag in his locker and start wiping at his cum on your back. Your body is turned away from him but you can still feel his eyes lingering on you as you wipe away.

You stop to look at him, “What are you still doing here? We have a game in like 10 minutes. Shouldn’t you be like…warming up or something?”

“I think I’m already warmed up,” he mumbles and you shake your head with a smile, going back to cleaning yourself off.

“Seriously, get on the pitch,” you demand when you see him still lingering.

There’s a hand in his hair, scratching his head and he looks a little flushed. You never see him like this, it’s weird. The Hyuck you know and loathe is cocky, smug, arrogant, all of those kinds of words; but the one in front of you looks so awkward, flushed. Is it weird you kinda like it?

“Are you waiting for me to tell you you aren’t a bad fuck or something? Seriously Hyuck, get lost,” you try and joke, pulling down your cheer uniform.

“No..I…” he stumbles.

You groan, “Oh no, don’t do this. Don’t make things weird.”

“I’m not—”

“Can’t you just be like a normal guy and…I don’t know, say it felt good to fuck me like you hate me or some shit?”

His eyes sweep over your face as if he were studying you. His face softens and he steps closer.

“I mean I could say that, because it felt fucking amazing actually,” he says and you swallow thickly. “But you’re wrong about one thing.”

You pause, freezing as he comes towards you. You don’t even register how close he is until you feel his breath on your lips and his chest against yours.

“What?”

“I don’t actually hate you that much,” he admits, and your eyes widen.

“Yeah right, funny joke,” you roll your eyes and laugh sarcastically but he’s not laughing with you. In fact he’s just looking at you, deadpan, and it’s starting to freak you out.

When you realise that he is in fact serious, you cross your hands across your chest.

“You’re not gonna start doing all that cheesy shit they do in the movies, where you profess your undying love for me, and tell me you never really hated me and it was all just a miscommunication, are you?”

“Fuck no!” He almost gags at the mention of it. “Just because I said I don’t hate you that much doesn’t mean I like you? Are you crazy?”

“Well I’m just making sure,” you poke his chest.

He runs a hand through his hair and sighs, “But I do wanna do this again…” he trails off so quietly that you wouldn’t have heard it if there was anybody else in the room with you.

“This?”

“Yes, this. Us. Fucking,” he explains. “I fucking hate you, but fuck, I think I love your pussy.”

#nct smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #haechan smut #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #nct 127 x reader #haechan x reader #nct hard hours #kpop smut

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pedropascallme · 7 months

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Yes, Mr Miller

Pairing: dbf!Joel x babysitter!Reader

Summary: "You yourself wouldn’t consider Joel a friend, he was more so an acquaintance who paid you to hang around the house with his kid. A very handsome acquaintance."

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), age gap (reader is 20-22 age range, Joel is mid 50s), dom/sub dynamics (dom!Joel x sub!Reader), verges on exhibitionism but isn't quite, fingering, cum play, degradation, praise, Joel has an absolutely filthy fucking mouth, no outbreak, Sarah is like 9, if I missed anything please let me know!

AN: Part 2 here!!

If you had to choose one word to describe Sarah Miller, it would be “firecracker." Not only was she the most energetic child you had ever met, but there were days you genuinely couldn’t keep up with her antics; she ran circles around you, bouncing excitedly before jumping into the pool and demanding you race her—so that she could show you how easy it was for her to win.

And you loved it. Babysitting her was a brief respite from your days of research papers and early mornings. You considered it luck that your parents had moved into the Miller’s neighborhood after you left for college; it meant job security when you returned home from school.

Your father had quickly bonded with Joel after the move over their shared, niche interests; the watch brand they both wore, the tools they used for odd jobs—it was sweet, really, to see two men with little outward emotion confiding in each other. Though you'd never heard either of them say it outright, the long nights they spent in your family's garage drinking and muttering football scores to each other was enough for you to deem Joel Miller your father's best friend. You yourself wouldn’t consider Joel a friend, he was more so an acquaintance who paid you to hang around his house with his kid.

A very handsome acquaintance.

When he called you that afternoon to see if you were around, you nodded against the phone, wrapping the wire in your fingers and enthusiastically accepting the offer to babysit. An opportunity to spend time with Sarah, and the opportunity to speak to Joel—no matter how short the conversation—was not one to waste.

It wasn’t like you actively planned to seduce your father’s best friend, but in your head, it was a fun game to amuse yourself with; you had never exactly been the sexually-outgoing type, and it was exciting to play around and flirt poorly with a man as stoic and flawless as Joel Miller despite the fact that you knew he would never acknowledge, let alone cave, to your shy advances. Who cared if every interaction was fuel for your late-night activities, alone in the dark with your fingers pressed against you? Who cared if you remembered every time he looked at you, and all the ways he brushed up against you?

Nobody had to know.

Clad in a sundress that let you show off maybe a little more skin than you should as a caretaker, you meandered down the path to the Miller household from your own. You rang the bell, always hesitating to walk right in despite the fact that Joel had told you countless times in the past that you could come and go as you pleased. Joel opened the door and gave you a brief up-and-down, letting out a playful whistle.

“Just babysittin’, darlin’, didn’t have to get all gussied up.”

“It’s an old dress, Mr. Miller,” you blushed, always referring to him with the honorific, “not anything fancy.”

“Fancier than anythin’ I ever wore.”

You examined the well-loved flannel and jeans he wore, “That’s not saying much, is it?” You smiled up at him.

Chuckling, he ushered you into the house, and you leaned against the counter. You weren’t uncomfortable around Joel; he was a nice man, despite the grumpiness he exuded, and you’d known him long enough now to feel at ease in his presence—never mind the fire that ignited in you when he spoke. “Sarah’s out in the pool. You can order dinner, ’m good for it,” he grabbed his keys, “don’t know when I’ll be back.” He crossed his arms, biceps bulging through his shirt, mulling over any other details he had to share with you. “Remember where everythin' is? Food, bandaids?”

“Yes, Mr. Miller.” You spoke up. This had become the usual back-and-forth between the two of you: he would over-explain the job you’d been doing for two summers now, and you would let him.

“I’ll have cash for you when I’m back.”

“Don’t need it.” This was another game you enjoyed—pretending you didn’t expect anything out of him. Obviously, you’d watch Sarah for nothing, you loved her, but a college student living with her parents didn’t necessarily have the room to deny money being offered to her. You did it more out of courtesy than anything, with the added bonus of getting to see the roguish frown he directed at you.

Joel made a noise in disagreement before opening to back door to call for Sarah. “I’m leavin’!”

You watched as Sarah, sun-kissed and still soaked from the pool, bum rushed her father, letting him kiss her on the head and exchanging “I love yous” and “be goods” before she turned her attention toward you, grabbing your hand and leading you outside. You smiled a goodbye at Joel as you were pulled through the door to the backyard.

~~~

You didn’t remember falling asleep. Not that anyone ever really could, but you had no recollection of setting yourself up on the couch and nodding off.

You woke up to the feeling of something gently brushing at your knee. Opening your eyes and looking toward the source of the touch, your hazy brain registered Joel standing in front of you.

“Sorry ‘m so late, darlin’.” He was speaking softly, but his voice still managed to come off gruff. You savored the gravelly sound, and the way the nickname made it seem as though he was apologizing to a significant other for coming home late, rather than a babysitter he paid to be there.

“It’s alright,” you rubbed your eyes, trying to delay the post-nap grogginess you already felt seeping into your bones, “what time is it?”

“Little after two,” Joel frowned, brow knit “should’a called you.”

“It’s alright,” you reiterated, “Sarah just ran me kinda ragged.” You explained why you were passed out on his sofa. “Gets harder to keep up with her every summer—makes me feel old.” You grinned, tugging the hem of your dress down to cover the bare skin of your thigh to retain a bit of modesty.

Joel watched your movements before quickly refocusing his attention to your face. “How’d’ya think I feel ’round the two of you?”

You smiled at each other, too tired to grasp the atmosphere of the compromising situation you had found yourself in. “I should get going.” You stood, but Joel blocked your path.

“Not this late on your own, y’shouldn’t.”

“It’s a five-minute walk.” It was more like ten, but you didn’t bother with details, trying to quell Joel’s anxieties.

“I’ll drive you.”

“Mr. Miller…that’s excessive,” you argued, “I’m a grown up.”

“Like hell—don’t want you walkin’ on your own. It’s dark," he put his hands on his hips, leaning down to meet you at eye level, "what would your daddy say?"

“Don’t want you to drive me if you’ve been working all day.” You muttered, ignoring the way his phrasing and tone nearly made your knees buckle.

“That’s sweet,” he quirked a brow, “get in the truck.”

~~~

You liked Joel’s truck, it smelled like him; sweat and shampoo and sawdust, with a hint of the cologne he wore. He’d driven you around plenty, but usually it was still light out, and Sarah or your father would accompany the two of you.

You were comfortable with Joel—but that comfort went out the window when you were tired and alone, with the man that consumed many of your private thoughts, late at night. You felt somewhat self-conscious sitting next to him now, watching him fumble with the keys and white-knuckle the steering wheel.

“Seatbelt.” Joel reminded you, bringing you out of your thoughts and allowing you to rejoin him in the waking world. You buckled yourself in.

“So…” Joel seemed to be aware of the tension, “What’s your plan, when you get your degree?” He attempted small talk.

“Dunno,” you were honest, “wanna stay here.” He nodded, starting the engine and peeling out of the driveway. “Don’t really see myself joining the work force. Not yet. I’m only a junior—still got time.”

Joel laughed softly, “Give it a few years. You’ll get sick of doin’ nothin’.”

“I’m not doin’ nothin’,” you mimicked his thick drawl, “working for you, aren’t I?”

“Hardly,” Joel glanced over at you, “not payin’ you nearly enough.”

“It’s a good thing I like Sarah, then.” You joked. You enjoyed this, the repartee you were experiencing with Joel. You had known him since you were 18; fresh and unsure of yourself. Not that much had changed, personally, but it was rare that you got to experience Joel all to yourself; it was riveting, and a little nerve-wrecking, but it was nice to be the center of his attention, especially considering he had always seemed to regard you as an equal.

“You’re a good kid, sweetheart.” Joel smiled, thumping a hand on your thigh, just below the edge of your dress. This was new. He had put a guiding hand on your waist or shoulder in the past, but this placement felt more intimate. You stared at it, letting the warmth that radiated from him drain into you.

“Thank you, Mr. Miller.” You squeaked, still enjoying the weight of his hand on your thigh.

“Why don’t you call me Joel?”

“Do you want me to call you Joel?” You peeked over at him.

“Can do what you want,” he explained, “but you’re the only person that ever called me that.”

“I like it.”

“Bein’ the only person to call me that?” He rubbed his thumb over your skin, and you could feel yourself blush, the fabric of your underwear damp.

“I guess. Like how it sounds.”

“Makes me seem respectable.” He grinned, and you leaned back in the passenger seat to appreciate his side profile.

“Aren’t you?” You pushed, emboldened by his sudden physicality and wrapping a hand around his forearm, tracing your fingers across the tanned flesh. You felt like a high schooler, so unfamiliar with flirting and making awkward somatic advances instead of addressing the crush you had head-on. Still, a shot like this wasn't one you were inclined to miss.

Joel pressed the brakes at the stop sign at an intersection concealed by foliage. “Do you think I am?” He felt closer to you now, despite being the same distance in his seat as he had been for the duration of the ride. He let you continue to clumsily hold onto him, his own hand tightening the grip he had on your thigh.

“I—I think so…” You stammered, lips parted, unwavering gaze set upon him.

Joel put the car in park. He leaned in close to you, removing your hands from each other as he shifted, his hand moving to cup your cheek. “Think I can prove you wrong.”

You breathed out, eyes dragging up and down his face, providing the tiniest nod of consent—afraid that if you moved too much he’d take his hand away from you.

He kissed you then, slowly, gently; he let you set the pace with small, closed-mouth kisses. His hand slipped below your jaw and the kiss deepened slightly, leaving enough space for him to lick and nip at your bottom lip. You let out a soft moan at the feeling, the way his stubble rubbed against your lips, and he grunted, smiling. Your hands drifted up to his chest, holding tight to the fabric of his shirt and encouraging him to come closer. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, and you sighed at the feeling. You couldn’t say how long you continued on like that; his hands in your hair and yours planted on his chest, tenderly exploring each other’s mouths.

You felt your panties sticking to you, and you subconsciously began to roll your hips atop the seat you were in, suddenly frantic to find some kind of relief for your aching clit. Joel noticed, chuckling at your desperation.

“Poor thing,” he tilted your chin up to look at him, “need me to help you?” His eyes were darker than their usual shiny umber.

“Yes, Mr. Miller—please.” You pouted, eyes wide, rubbing your thighs together, still hoping to dull the throbbing between your legs.

“Fuck, darlin’,” Joel reached down to help you hike up the skirt of your dress, “such good manners, so pretty comin’ from that sweet li'l mouth.” He traced a finger over your panties, running it along the seam of your pussy. You moaned, bucking your hips gently into his finger, and he smiled, tutting. “I know, honey.”

His smile faded when he felt the drenched fabric of your underwear, eyelids drooping slightly when he let out a gruff moan. “This all for me, darlin’? Tastin’ me get you all wet?”

“Y—es,” you managed to choke out, “yes.” His smile reappeared then, clearly proud of himself and infatuated with you. He moved your panties to the side, grazing his finger over your entrance to collect some of your wet before he began to knead your clit.

You grabbed his wrist, whimpering. “Oh! Uh-huh…” Your mouth fell open and you looked up at him from under your eyelashes.

“Don’t look at me, sweetheart—watch me fuck you with my fingers.” Joel lowered his hand from your clit and plunged two fingers into your cunt. You cried out, squeezing his wrist in your hand, feeling so full from only his fingers. You watched him pump his hand, fingers thrusting in and out of you, accompanied by a squelching noise as your cunt wept for him.

“Oh, yes—yes, Mr. Miller—fuck, yes!” You shrilled the only words you could remember, finally throwing your head back in ecstasy, no longer able to abide by the rule Joel had set for you.

“Young li’l cunt,” Joel pawed at himself over his jeans, still focused on the sounds coming from your mouth and your pussy, “fuckin’ tight f’me.” He pulled his fingers out of you, bringing them to your lips and silently encouraging you to lick him clean. You did, taking them both into your mouth and licking your juices off of him. He slipped one more into your mouth, watching you struggle to handle all three, cheeks puffing out.

His hand came down to your hole once more, and this time he pushed all three fingers into you, using your saliva and wet as lubricant to ensure that they all fit securely inside, stretching you out as best he could.

“That’s it…need’a open you up, darlin’,” he watched the effort it took for you to take his fingers, spearing you on the thick digits while you moaned wantonly. “How’ya gonna take my cock if I can barely get my fingers into this pretty pussy?” You bucked your hips into his hand upon hearing his words, striving to make him proud by fucking yourself open. “Good fuckin’ girl.” He watched you bounce your hips back and forth on his hand.

“Mr. Miller it—fuck, want—want your cock.” You moaned out, wetness dripping from your cunt and onto the fabric of the passenger seat, the moisture sticking to your thighs.

Joel grunted, punching his fingers up into you and making you scream out. “Yeah? Want my cock, let me fuck you nice ’n’deep?” Your eyes rolled back, and you couldn’t be certain if you were more impacted by his movements or his words, both working in tandem to ensure you were made a mess of.

“Yes! Want your cock!” You let your fingers rub circles over your clit, trying to match Joel’s rhythm, however awkward it was due to the center console he had to lean over.

“Can’t fuck you here, sweetheart,” he didn’t stop, “what would people say if they saw a sweet little thing like you taking Mr. Miller’s cock in his truck?” He was teasing, and he pulled the straps of your dress down, letting the fabric bunch and exposing your chest to him. “They’d know what an easy fuckin’ whore you were.”

You whined, back arched, and he slapped your hand away from your clit, taking over completely. “Want them to know—want them to know I’m a whore for you.” You felt filthy, loving every second of it.

“Comin’ to my house, dressed like a slut every fuckin’ time—this what you wanted, girl? Wanted me to use you like a fuckin’ toy?” You felt his fingers make a beckoning motion, curling up inside of you and putting pressure on your g-spot. You scratched at the headrest behind you, slumping down to let Joel have complete and total access to you, letting him use you up to his satisfaction. Moans and whimpers of his name fell from your mouth as he continued his ministrations. “Yeah, you fuckin’ like that, honey—just needed to whore yourself out.”

“I—‘m gonna cum!” You felt the strain in your body increase, muscles tightening at the impending release of all the tension they held.

“Who’re'ya gonna cum for, sweetheart?” Joel pinched your clit before resuming the massage he’d been providing it.

“You, Mr. Miller, gonna c—um for you!”

“Tha’s’right. Cum for Mr. Miller, darlin’. Be a good girl and cum on my fingers.” He was demanding it; telling, not asking, you to soak his hand with your cum. You felt the gratification come to a head, and your back arched further as you cried out his name. Joel watched with wonder, jaw slack, as your cunt clenched around the three fingers he had buried inside of you. He felt himself try to rut against the fabric of his jeans, horny like a teenager after watching you cum for him with such intensity. But he had meant what he said—he couldn’t fuck you here, at this tiny intersection where anybody could wake up, come out, and see you both. As much as he would’ve liked to fuck you there, it was overruled by the want to do it properly, in a more private space.

“Good fuckin’ girl…so good f’me.” Joel slid his fingers out of you, feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm with every movement he made as you continued to squeeze around him. He sucked on his fingers, eager to taste the juices he had pulled from you. Your chest heaved and your body trembled lightly; when you looked up at him and saw him cleaning his fingers off, you found the strength to lean over and take one of the fingers into your own mouth. The two of you licked at each other around his hand, moaning and panting at the indecent display.

He dropped his hand, focusing on you entirely. If you hadn’t been tired before, you were now, and the satisfaction Joel had given you was enough to put you to sleep where you sat, while his lips brushed your neck and cheeks.

“Think I respect you more after that,” you leaned back in your seat, recalling the conversation that had led you to this, throat verging sore after the screams he had pried out of you. “Been wanting you for so long.” You sighed dreamily, looking up at him through hooded eyes and reaching over to fiddle with the collar of his shirt.

“Could’a said so,” Joel took the hand you had on his chest and kissed your palm, “would’a been happy to give you what you needed.” You rubbed at his stubble, and he kissed your hand again before letting it go. He leaned over to help you fix the straps of your dress, covering your breasts. You sat quietly before he started the car, and he continued to drive you home, placing his hand on your thigh again, holding tightly, as if now that he’d seen you in such an amorous, vulnerable way, you’d disappear. You put your hand on top of his, weaving your fingers around it.

When he parked in front of your house, the clock in the truck read 3:08—a drive that should’ve taken two minutes had taken an hour, and you were glad your parents wouldn’t be awake to question why it had taken you so long to get home. Joel looked at you, tired eyes conveying a glint of gratification when he smiled.

“Thanks for the ride.” You found your voice again, leaning towards him to analyze and appreciate his features.

“My pleasure.” He smiled, just barely, and took your chin in his hand. You stared at each other, not yet wanting to get out of the car despite the fatigue you felt all over. “Y’know,” he spoke again, still holding your face, “think I’ll need you to come over tomorrow.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm. Think you’ll be around?”

You smiled, letting yourself melt into his touch when his hand wandered over your cheek. “Yes, Mr. Miller.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal smut #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us smut #tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut

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winterrrnight · 21 days

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writing more on this at 12.42 am at night cause I am really in my feels and I need this so bad… <3 listen to redbone by childish gambino at 3.47, trust me <3 cw: smoking weed, suggestive content (no actual smut, just a lot of intimacy), intentional use of lower case <3 for @congratsloserr <3 (ily bb 🌷) <3 pictures are just for reference and to help you imagine what I have in mind!

part of this little universe <3

you don’t remember how it happened.

your best friend rafe came over like all the other times he comes over at your place. you sit next to each other in your bed as you play music, just like all the other times. you both share a joint, just like all the other times.

but this time, there’s something different in the air. maybe it’s the new cologne he’s started wearing which is taking a toll over your brain, or maybe it’s the white t-shirt showing off his formed biceps, or maybe it’s the dim, pink lighting of the led lights you just installed; but whatever it is, here you are, sitting in his lap with your legs on either side of his waist, your face nuzzled in his neck, and the sensual instrumentals of redbone are filling the background.

if anything, it’s only elevating the moment more and more. the joint hangs limply in between rafe’s lips as his head remains tilted to the other side, his eyes closed as your lips press soft, saccharine kisses to his heated skin, your hands holding his face. his eyes remain closed, the current moment heightened not only from your deeply intimate touch, but from the thc hazing his and your mind.

his hands remain firmly planted at the sides of your waist, lifting your t-shirt up just a bit so he can feel that soft skin under his touch. deep exhales leave his nose, the pungent, skunky odor of weed surrounding you both in its cloud as you remain wrapped up in the moment.

his fingers press into your skin and a sigh escapes him as he feels your lips slowly travel to his throat, his head leaning back against the headboard to grant you as much skin as he can. your lips trail up and up, finding his chiseled jawline as you press kisses along the strong bone, making your way up to his cheek, and then finally his lips.

you hover over his lips for a second, gently tracing his bottom lip with your thumb and he looks at you through his lashes, your gentle touch being just about the best thing at the moment as the thc creeps more and more into his brain.

you slot the joint in his lips between your index and middle finger and slowly slide it out of his mouth, before letting your own lips wrap around the end. you take a deep, long drag and flutter your eyes shut as you throw your head back, letting the smoke roll off your lips.

rafe watches you, so entranced by every movement of yours, and the melody of redbone only makes him crave more and more. you bring your head back to his level, meeting your own dreamy gaze with his as you pull the joint out of your mouth, and lean in closer to him.

there is merely a few inches of distance between you two, and he knows he can’t control himself anymore; causing him to push his lips against yours. you adjust yourself in his lap so you’re even closer to him, your fingers gently circling his shoulders through his t-shirt as your lips slowly move against his, the taste of the mint lip balm he always uses along with the weed spilling onto your own tongue, sending you in a high beyond euphoric than the one provided by a simple blunt.

— —

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, my writing is really a social experiment lately as I’m trying out different things, so any sorts of feedback is really highly appreciated!! <3

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cdlum · 3 months

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I just wanted to say I think your art style is awesome! I was wondering if you had any tutorials on how you draw anatomy in your style (hips and legs especially)? Sorry if there's already one posted and I just didn't see it 🥲. Happy New Year :>

thanks for the kind words. i tend to draw people pretty stylized and then some so a good bit of artistic licence gets used. these tips are just what i use so feel free to take them with a grain of salt. with anatomy in particular you can kind of talk in circles because human/animal bodies are that complex so ill just zone in on the points you specified. here's a little image with a bunch of pointers:

the above image condenses a lot of the points I'd make, but basically the key parts are to start with the bare essentials and build up that complexity. using a line of action is a good way to get a quick, rough start. you draw a line out in the general direction of the pose and do your best to adhere to it to give the pose a sense of flow.

you can also draw smaller, thumbnail versions that throw a lot of caution to the wind but capture the basic energy of what you're going for. even having a tiny little stick figure version of your idea can make for a good guideline of where to take it forward.

when it comes to actual limbs, you wanna consider how they integrate and work together, kind of like how chains do. you can see on some of the parts of pear i've drawn out these wireframes to kind of portray how the mass of her legs works in a three dimensional space. for aspects like the waist/hips, i use that X technique i highlight above a lot, particularly for the lower torso. a lot of the times, even when drawing a character totally naked, imagining them wearing things like skintight underwear can help a lot to guide you in the right direction.

its also a good idea to consider things like gravity and weight to a degree. humans are essentially big meat sacks and gravity is always pulling down on that, but theres all kinds of aspects that effect that, such as character build or clothing. pear technically isn't naked in this, but i've tried to imagine her as such and take that into account.

if you are drawing digitally, don't be afraid to take advantage of the convenience you get with that workflow. you can retry and iterate on things a lot faster that pen and paper, and do things that aren't really feasible at all when it comes to editing and modifying your existing work. things like resizing certain bodyparts, instantly flipping the canvas, or using selection tools to completely adjust the positions of parts of your drawing. to give you an example heres a timelapse with all the little edits i made just to this demo drawing:

you don't have to use these techniques linearly, either. sometimes ill have a really solid idea for a piece in my head, and go back to basics with certain elements if they’re not coming out right or i just want to brush them up a bit more. some of the tutorial-y parts i added in i didn't actually use during the drawing but often do use so they're there just for demonstration. not every drawing i do starts as building blocks or a really basic version, often ill just start with a face and build it out from there.

i always encourage liberally using references (this can include yourself) and trying out stuff like life drawing or looking at things like existing photographs of real people/places/things if you can, the more you use learning material the better you'll draw up a mental inventory in your head that you can rely on more and more. some of these tips are things i've learned from other artists over the years (the chin one especially i remember seeing a tutorial about lol), so this is a lot of knowledge i've amassed from other sources over time myself. there are plenty of times ill use all sorts of reference material and its all in service of arriving at the final destination as smoothly as possible. learn by doing, as they say. hope this helps!

#tutorial #2024

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astroboots · 10 months

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EVERY YOU EVERY ME: Issue #2

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: Your streak of bad luck continues as you find that the universe is not done putting you in harm's way. Luckily, you have grouchy Spider-man to save you.

Word count: 3,500 words.

Content: Slowest of the burn, near death experiences, the emotional whiplash of Miguel O'Hara being a rude bastard and a total softie.

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

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According to an article that ran in the New York Times: one out of every 40 New Yorkers will have a run in with a Superhero in the time they live here.

That might not sound like much, but considering that nearly 8.5 million people live in this city, it adds up to a lot of people. In fact, most in your friends circle have their own anecdotal story to tell.

I ran into Tony Stark at the Brandy Library and he asked me for my phone number. Bit of a sleaze but he bought our whole table a round of drinks.

Captain America landed on my Fiat on Manhattan Bridge. He dented the roof, but he was very polite about it.

Daredevil was hanging out at the fire escape ladder above the Meatball shop. Gave me tips on what to order.

It's nothing short of a miracle that having lived in this city for as many years as you have that this is the first time you've had a Supes encounter.

It'll be a great story to tell at parties. You fell out of the Chrysler building and were rescued mid-air. It blows all the other stories out of the water. Though, you'll probably leave out the part where he wished he'd left you to die.

You stare blindly at your computer screen. There are endless rows of cells on your excel sheet no matter how far you scroll. Uninterrupted numbers and reference codes for insurance claims that are waiting for your attention. But the numbers and letters all blend into an indecipherable sludge soup. All you can focus on is: 'I should've let you fall.'

Heat prickles your cheek, as you replay his words in your head.

What the hell.

That was entirely unnecessary.

You didn't deserve that.

Over the course of the last 24 hours, you've played the scene on an endless loop in your head, until the memory is worn and scratched like a used up VHS tape.

Did you do something wrong? You must've. Who has ever heard of a Superhero treating a civilian in this manner? You’re just a hapless innocent bystander who fell out of a building due to a supervillain battle they started. To blame it on you and then call it a mistake. Isn't that something a supervillain would do?

Gritting your teeth, you feel yourself seething of the memory of the windows next to you breaking and shattering out of nowhere as a bird-person villain with mechanical wings tumbled past you. Next thing you knew you were tumbling out the window.

And then he saved you.

Did he mean to save someone else? Is that why he was so annoyed? But, you didn't see any other people falling from the building on your way down.

You replay the memory. Again.

The looming silhouette of his towering frame over yours as he sneered down at you.

He looked at you like he knew you. Like you had offended him with your mere existence. But you don't understand how. You've never met him before. Never met anyone who looked even remotely like him. You would've remembered a man with red eyes, they're not exactly common. Plus, you don't think you've ever met someone quite so tall. Your neck hurt with the angle you had to crane just to look at his face.

What could you possibly have done in your lifetime to piss off a Superhero you've never met before?

For that matter what Superhero is he anyway? You think back at the dark navy suit clinging onto every inch of skin, embellished by that bright angry red in the emblem of a spider.

Spider-man...

Except Spider-man is known to be a swell guy with a great sense of humor. Not a rude asshole.

Aren't his colors inverted too? You pull up the browser on your screen and google "spiderman outfit". There's over 800 million hits. In all of them Spiderman's suit is primarily red with blue embellishment.

Whoever the guy is, you don't think he's your friendly neighborhood Spiderman that every New Yorker knows and loves.

With a hapless sigh, you click aimlessly on your screen, trying to look busy at work for the next twenty minutes until you can go on your lunch break. You go through the motions of your soul sucking tasks. Tagging each insurance claim into one of the following categories: approved/rejected/further missing information required.

Peering over your cubicle wall to the wall of windows, you spy the section that has been zoned off since yesterday. The broken window you were knocked out of has already been replaced, but there's still shattered glass and debris nearby.

Your stomach drops, the phantom sensation of the ground beneath you giving way. For a brief second you swear you can feel the weightlessness of soaring through the skies without anything catching your fall.

You stand up from your desk, solid ground meeting the soles of your feet to remind you where you are.

The office.

There's a monotone drone of workers all around you grumbling and sighing just as unhappily. The quiet tip-tapping of keyboards of the working masses.

Is this the life you managed to escape death for?

Is this it?

It's kind of sad isn't it? You nearly died and lived to tell the tale, only to return to a life so unremarkable your brain didn't deign it necessary to provide you with any highlights (cause there are none).

The most exciting thing that has happened to you the whole of this year was being insulted by a grumpy superhero. The most you've wanted to live was during that span of ten seconds when you were falling out of a building to your death.

You glance at your clock, still 15 minutes before noon. You log out of your desktop anyway.

You barely make it across the street from your office. The light is green as you cross Lexington Avenue when the screeching noise of tires tears down the street and rips through your eardrums.

A yellow taxi hurtles towards you at full speed. Through the car window separating you, the cab driver is staring up at you with wide-eyed horror. In that fraction of a second before the hard metal is going to collide and shatter every bone in your body, you only have one thought: Oh god, this is going to hurt.

Life doesn't flash before your eyes. All you see is the familiar blur of shiny blue and red.

Go figure that's the only moment extraordinary enough for your brain to think it's worth replaying before you die.

There's a blunt and forceful shove to the side of your ribs. Softer than you would've imagined a two tonne vehicle slamming into you would be. It doesn't hurt. It reminds you of that time you played football with your cousin and he body slammed you to the lawn. You've heard about this phenomena, the brain will try to protect itself by going unconscious if the pain is too extreme.

But there's no bright light, when you open your eyes all you see is the familiar shiny blue fabric.

A firm weight wraps around your shoulders, and you recognize this, the feeling of being held as you're pulled into their solid chest. There's not enough time for you to look up, you're slammed onto the ground, the solid warmth wrapped around you, absorbing the fall.

The pressure wrapped around you shifts then lifts away entirely. When you open your eyes for a second time, there’s no one there holding you.

There's no one else there with you. Just the standstill traffic of cars and pedestrians gawking at you.

A concerned woman runs over to you, bending down to help you up on your feet. "Are you okay? That car came out of nowhere."

Your legs feel unsteady, wobbling as you put weight on it to stand up.

“I’m fine, I think,” you respond, and look down on yourself. There are no scrapes, just a bit of dust on your work-attire from traffic.

"You're so lucky, Spiderman was there to save you."

You blink up at the woman in dazed confusion and it takes your brain a few seconds to process what she's telling you.

Spider-man...

In your mind's eye the flashes of blue and a vivid red invades your vision. It wasn't just your life flashing you by. Not just a figment of your imagination.

He was here. He saved you. (Probably not) Spider-man saved you (again).

A wave of gratitude washes over you. You take back every unflattering thought you had about the man not five minutes ago. Rude? Would a rude man save you, not once but twice in one day? No, of course not, you probably just misunderstood him, or misheard. After all, if he truly regretted saving you, he wouldn't have done it a second time... right?

When you get back at your desk, there's a post-it tacked to your computer screen, with an angry scrawl of a handwriting.

'Look BOTH ways before crossing!!!!!'

You stare at the note, and the way the word "both" is capitalized and aggressively underlined.

Rude.

The universe is out to kill you. You're sure of it.

They say that death comes in threes after all. So no one can blame you for being a little bit on the edge after you've gone two for two within the time span of 24 hours.

You stay away from windows in tall buildings. You look both ways, twice, before crossing the street. You try to go straight home from work the minute you clock out from work, turning down any and all initiations with friends to go out after out of precaution. It's just not worth the risk.

And for a while it seems to work. For a while, there are no more incidents. A week goes by and your nerves start to settle and you are lulled into a temporary sense of security before it all goes to shits.

A ceramic flower pot on a windowsill tumbling off the sixth floor of a brown house by Chelsea that would have dropped on your head and split your skull if someone hadn't bumped into you from behind that you weren’t able to catch sight of.

A piece of scaffolding that comes loose and falls from a construction site in West Village as you happened to walk past, and would have been crushed under if you weren’t tackled away at the last second by someone who fled the scene before you could thank them.

A hot dog cart runs amok, hurtling downhill towards you between 184th and 190th street in Manhattan when the cart suddenly out of nowhere, against the very laws of physics like it’s being pulled by an invisible force and changes direction mere inches in front of you, hurtling through the air and crashing into the windows of a bodega instead.

Each and every incident leaves you with an ever growing sense of paranoia that this cannot be explained away by being merely pure bad luck. There are cosmic forces at force that clearly want you dead.

On Thursday, there are leftover cupcakes from a client conference. Mary, the secretary in your team, boxes up four of them for you and tells you to take them with you, because, "you've had a rough week, toots."

It’s not a flattering assessment of you, but when you see your own reflection in the mirrors of the office toilets, you can’t help but think it’s an accurate one. You look rough. Eyes bloodshot with deep furrowed lines underneath. Your face is gaunter than you remember seeing it too.

You take the cupcakes.

It's the first good thing that has happened to you all week, and as small of a comfort it is, you take it as a win.

You eye the box from your desk the rest of the day, squirreled away in your tiny cubicle. You are determined not to eat one while at work. Because you'll be damned if Matt from accounting catches a whiff of your cupcakes and asks you to share one with him. You want to properly savor them in the comfort of your home at the end of the day.

But as often is the case when you have something to look forward to, the seconds, minutes and hours tick away with a reluctant drag as if time itself knew you wanted the day to end faster and decided it'd be fun to flip yet another cosmic middle finger in your direction.

When it's finally time to end work, you get off your chair so forcefully it knocks it to the floor. You are practically jogging through the lanes of cubicles to get to the elevator, and nearly smack the security guard on the other side with how hard you swing open the front door.

It's pouring outside, which, of course it is. You take off your jacket and cover your cupcake box with it, because you're not going to let the universe ruin the one good thing you've got going for you this week, as you run towards the station.

The moment you step into the damp and sticky station any remaining sense of joy in you evaporates. There's a hoard of tourists swarming the subway paying no attention to their surroundings. Tourists wearing their caps and backpacks and wheelies knocking over a 'Caution Wet Floor ' sign as they gather in a throng in front of the subway map, blocking the way as you hear the train approach.

It's not that big of a deal. A train comes every two to five minutes, and if you miss this one, you'll just get on the next one. It's not the end of the world. Logically, you know that. Emotionally and spiritually however, the world around you has just taken a little bit too much from you for you to concede to this minor little loss.

You are going to make this goddamned train.

Taking a determined step forward, you shoulder and push your way through the throng of people to fight your way to the front of the track.

You push a little too hard. Your feet skid across the slippery tiles, leg buckling from your own weight and you lose control, tumbling forward.

In your peripheral view there's a blinding light approaching. There's wind beating the sides of your face, and you can hear the screeching metal of the train right next to you. Your foot drops into empty space and you are falling into the tracks.

Oh god why...

Why?

You just want to live.

The cupcake box flies out of your grip, splattered somewhere across the front pane of the train. There's a hard tug on your shirt as an invisible force you cannot see yanks you back, hard.

Your head whips back and for a fraction of a second, there are crimson eyes staring back down at you, you blink and then it's gone.

You land on your ass with a bruising force to your tailbone with a bone-breaking thud. The subway whizzes by with a demonic roar past you, inches from where you're sprawled on your ass on the dirty tiles of the subway station.

In front of your feet, there's a long streak of white frosting trailing down from your feet to the tracks of what looks like a crime scene.

Maybe it's the stress. Maybe you've just had a bad night of sleep (after many successive bad nights with little to no sleep). But something in you breaks at the sight of the frosting smeared across the dirty subway tiles.

Your eyes sting with exhaustion. Chest drawing in tight with a crumbling ache that makes you want to curl up on the cold tiles. You're just so tired.

There are people around you staring at you. No one in their right mind who lives in New York would sit on the floor of the subway.

But your legs are heavy and numb. You can’t move from the spot. Everything tastes like bile. You try to swallow and force it back down but it's no use, your throat has swollen shut. Your cheeks run wet and you press your palms to your eyes to make it stop but that only seems to make it worse. Snot runs down your nose and drips down your wrist. You're crying and you don't know how to stop.

Is this the rest of your life?

In the morning, you wake in your bed with a sore ache that gnaws at your bones. Swollen eyes and a soreness that scratches the lining of your throat.

Your back hurts, and as you try to turn to your side to get out of bed a sharp pain surges up along your entire spine.

Fuck.

It's too bright. The sunlight is offensive. It stings your eyes and makes you sick to your stomach. You only have vague memories of how you made it back home. Feet shuffling through the subway in a daze like the walking dead.

God is that what you are? A dead man woman walking?

You crane your head and catch a glimpse of your clock on the bedside table. 9.13 You're late for work. But that's mind as well, you don't have it in you to make it in.

What's the point anyhow? You hate that place.

Besides, if the subway on the way over doesn't finish off the job this time around, then eventually a taxi will. Failing that the universe is probably going to send over a ninja assassin rat from the subway to come after your life.

There's a soft breeze coming in from the open window that grazes the back of your neck and you turn your head towards it. All you can see from your window is the brick wall of the neighboring building. Even though your apartment is on the sixth floor, you can't see a speck of the New York skyline.

Still the breeze is nice, though you don't remember opening the window last night. You never usually do. It is silly and paranoid. No human robber could possibly climb up your six storey building just to climb into your window and rob you. If they could, they’d find that there isn’t much to rob in your apartment, the most valuable thing you own is a complete Le Creuset Cookware set.

Your eyes glaze over your work tote bag on the floor next to the window, drifting upwards and spot the pink box sat on the window sill and you stop.

You didn’t put that there.

You sit upright in your bed, setting your feet to the floor and force yourself to leave your bed as you pad over to the open window.

It's a fancy looking thing. Baby pink, and chiffon ribbon on its side. Wrapping your pinkie around it, you tug it loose. You perch your thumb against the corner of the lid when you stop.

It's not another one of the universe's assassination attempts is it? You're not going to open it to find a bomb ticking down are you?

You hesitate for another moment, taking a deep calming breath before you gather the courage to finally lift the lid. Inside, there is a gorgeous display of cupcakes adorned with white and pink frosting, topped with strawberries, chocolate shavings and on two of them there's mini macarons.

Way fancier than the day old Costco cupcakes you'd lost yesterday.

Picking up one, you take a bite. The frosting is light and zesty. The refreshing lemon melts on the tip of your tongue as the buttery cream floods your mouth with the rich flavor. It's the best thing you've ever tasted.

Lifting the box, you check the sides of it to see if there's any note left behind, but there's none.

Gladis Bakery. It's from a bakery you've never heard of before. When you google the name the place is outside of New Jersey, 58 minutes away and you would need to take a subway then switch to a tram.

There's no note attached, but you don't need one. The list of candidates who would be physically able to climb up six floors up the bricks of your apartment building to leave cupcakes on your window isn’t a long one.

Something warm blooms in your chest at the thought, and your fingers linger on the top of the box, savoring the taste of lemon and sugar still lingering on your tongue.

You put your head out the window, not sure what you're expecting to find but find yourself disappointed all the same when there's nothing there. No people in the quiet street below, and nothing unusual above.

"Thank you for uhm... saving me,” you say into the silence with nothing but the traffic noise below to answer you.

“And the cupcakes," you add.

There's no reply.

~ To be continued.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

#miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #marvel #miguel ohara x reader #oscar isaac #spiderverse fanfiction #across the spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you

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fuckyeahgoodomens · 1 year

Video

Michael Sheen about David Tennant, bonding over working on Good Omens and their kids, Season 2 and suprises in S2, and David's bad habits. (MCM Comic Con, 30.10.2022)

Q: Now, I've watched a youtube video, it was a really strange fan video, it was lovely though, and it was about the bromance between you and David Tennant.

Michael: I'm sorry, I didn't... I don't know who you're referring to.

Q: I mean, what is he like to work with, he seems like a joy to work with and you guys get on really well.

Michael: I mean, it's like having and an albatros around your neck, really, he sort of does drag you down a lot of time... no, I feel very lucky, you know, David and I were in a film called Bright Young Things together many, many years ago - [applause] thank you very much, thank you, thank you - but we didn't get to act together in that and we didn't, you know, we didn't really know each other from that and we've know each other 'say hello to' over the years, but it wasn't until we did Good Omens the first series really that we - [another applause] thank you thank you - that we got to know each other and of course we spent a LOT of time together on that, and people were coming in and out, but it was essentially me and David sitting in the tent all day every day a lot of the time. And so we sort of slowly got to know each other doing that and then, actually it was probably doing the publicity for that and the press for that that we really got to know each other and and then because we both had babies within weeks of each other, you know, me and Anna and David and Georgia, you know, we got very kind of bonded then because of over that. And we say that, so David and Georgia's little girl Birdie and our little girl Lyra, we say, Lyra's only got one friend and that's Birdie. And we sort of got very close but we were very lucky, because you don't know the chemistry's gonna be like between you and another actor until you start working together. And, you know, interestingly David and I probably hadn't work together because a lot of time we were up for the same parts, or you know, there was only one David or Michael shaped hole in the cast and only one of us would fill it, so we didn't get to work together. And I've been a big fan of his work for years and years and really admired, you know, what he did, and so then get into work opposite each other, it just sort of clicked very quickly, and I remember when we did the table read for the first series of Good Omens and we were sitting there next to each other and starting to read the lines together and we'd not really talked about the characters much before then or how we were gonna do it abd you could sort of feel the two of us kind of adapting to each other over the first, you know, few pages and then we just kind of, it just clicked, the characters just clicked and we just sort of without having to talk about it we just instinctively understood how they would be together and I remember Neil Gaiman and Douglas the director saying that watching it was like that as well, you saw these characters sort of circling around each other a little bit and sniffing each other out and then bumph you're just suddenly dancing and it's been like that ever since, really. It was such a joy to come back and do the second series together again, and it was like... once we'd put the costumes on again, and we were on the Soho set - we filmed it up in Scotland and they've buil like entire block of Soho, on the first one where they only built a small amount of it and it was in a freezing cold carpark ouside Oxfordshire and it was miserable and this time we were in the lovely, warm soundstage with a whole of Soho built, and once we got the costumes on and I remember our first scene together - because David was a bit ill at the very beginning of the filming, so he wasn't there for the first few days - and then when we did get to our first scene together and it was just a walk across the street or something and it was almost like the costumes were walking for themselves, like they just knew what to do, the characters just sort of took over, weirdly, and we were in that kind of groove again. So it's an absolutle pleasure working with him and spending time with him and it's so lovely that we found these two characters, or these two characters found us, to be able to sort of put everything into, you know, and to feel so comfortable with each other. It's been brilliant and I hope when it comes out next summer I hope everyone really enjoys it, I think there's gonna be a lot of great surprises for people and I hope you enjoy it.

Q: I mean, Michael, that's all very well, that's very sweet, what a lovely story, but I want you to dish some dirt. Tell me, is there something... does he have a bad habit... does he have an annoying habit, that he wouldn't want us to know about?

Michael: About David?

Q: Yes.

Michael: Oh my goodness. David doesn't have any bad habits. Em, what can I tell you about him... I mean, he's a bit good to be true, really. He's always lovely to everyone... oh! I tell you what his bad habit is. He leaves it to me to... when there's a problem and we are unhappy about something, because I'm supposedly the grumpy one, he leaves it to me, so he can be the [imitating David:] 'Oh, I'm so sorry, it's just Michael has a wee problem with this, I don't know... it's not me, I'm fine with it, you know...', but, you know, the two of us have gone, 'Well, that's a bit out of order, innit?' and then I'm the attack dog who has to go out.

#good omens #michael sheen #mcm 2022 #david tennant #bts #birdie #lyra #gos2 #season 2 #michael about david #I love them #interview #michael interview #fun fact #bright young things #s2 interview #transcripts

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kaciidubs · 4 months

Text

The Summoning | Spooktober 2023

❣ Summary: Desperate times called for desperate measures, and you may have just summoned the most desperate measure of them all. ❣ ❣ Word Count: 1.16k ❣ Warnings: Demon! Jisung, humor, smut, Reader is a wee bit sassy, Switch! Reader, Switch! Jisung, implied multiple rounds, riding, open ended ❣ ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣ ❣ Additional Tags: Han is referred to as Jisung, Ji, Baby, and Sir, Reader is referred to as Jagi, and Baby, barely edited, there's basically no plot ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist ❣ Spooktober 2023

You were sure you followed the incantation properly, the candles were at the right points on your - albeit crudely drawn - sigil and the pronunciation of the Latin words were damn near spot on with the YouTube video you kept bookmarked.

So, why wasn't there currently a tall, burly demon standing in front of you, ready to snatch your soul in more ways than one?

"What the fuck?"

Standing before you, looking just as confused as you were, was a man - a man - with admittedly gorgeously styled hair, an all black outfit that some how highlighted his slim figure, and a golden cross chain hanging from his neck.

Ironic.

"What- Where-" His eyes scanned frantically around your room before settling on you, still knelt at the head of the summoning circle. "Who are you and how did you do that?! Where am I even at? Who are you?"

You bristled at his constant questioning, eyebrows furrowing, "I should be asking you who you are! I was hoping for some sort of scary horny demon who was ready to blow my back out, not whoever you are!"

"Horny demon? Blow your- Hold on, hold on." He pressed his hands to his face, muttering under his breath though you weren't able to catch what he was saying. "You... You tried summoning a demon for sex? Are you insane?!"

"No, I'm horny." You deadpanned, crossing your arms over your chest, "And you're one to judge, since you came here!"

The demon dropped his hands, eyes wide and lips - cute, plush-looking, and kissable - set in a pout, "I didn't come here on my own! You summoned me, remember?!"

Groaning, you glanced toward the notebook with your summoning notes written in it, "I guess, even though you weren't what I was expecting at all." Looking up at him again, you shrugged, "Well, if you aren't going to satisfy anything, you can just - I don't know, poof back to hell or wherever you came from?"

He froze, mouth opening and closing with stammers that made you raise an eyebrow inquisitively. "I... Well, I can't."

"Huh?"

"I can't leave until I, um... Satisfy your needs."

If you looked hard enough, you could've seen the faintest blush rising on his cheeks.

"D-Don't get this wrong, either!" He shouted, quickly falling into the defensive, "I literally can't, it's in the incantation, I'm bound to you until I satisfy the contract of your summon."

There was a beat of silence between you, the cogs in your head working double time as you processed his words and all their double entendre meanings.

"So... You're stuck with me until you-"

"-blow your back out, yes."

Sure, he may not have been the big scary demon you were hoping for, but you couldn't deny that he was attractive and he looked like he'd be a pretty good lay. Besides - when would you be able to say you summoned, and fucked, a demon?

Pushing yourself up from your knelt position, you brushed off your knees with an exaggerated huff, "Alright then," you put your hands on your hips, smirking at the brunet in front of you, "fuck me."

Within the next ten minutes you learned a few new things; the first being that his name was Jisung - or at least, that's what you caught amidst his heavenly soft lips moving rapidly against your own. The second was that there was a specific way demons operated when it came to summons, and your chant just so happened to bind onto him. The third was that he had extremely sensitive ears, and for someone so sure about initiating things, he was a mere gentle breeze away from folding to your command.

And boy, did he fold.

"Oh, fuck me-"

He laid underneath you, hair an unforgivable mess thanks to your restless fingers and face wrapped in sheer pleasure as you rode him like a woman possessed; the springs in your mattress protesting in kind.

"Fuck- Fuck, Jagi, just like that."

"I can't tell," you huffed, breaking away from your assault of the pretty skin of his neck, "if you're the one who's supposed to be fucking me," your fingers slid from his hair and to his shoulders, slowly dancing their way down to his nipples, "or if I'm the one fucking you."

"I-I tried, but you-" a whimper fell from his lips as you gently pinched at the small, perked nipples, "-didn't even g-give me a chance!"

"Give you a chance? Baby," your movements changed to slow grinds of your hips, a sinister smirk growing on your lips from the way his pouted lips fell into a small 'o'. "I gave you permission to take me, use me as you wished - show me the reason why my summon worked on you." Leaning down, your lips grazed over his, "Show me why I chose you."

The air shifted around you, sparks of excitement shooting down your spine as you felt him shiver underneath you - your only sign of a physical change before you were suddenly rolled onto your back with ease.

There was no point in hiding the delighted giggle that floated from your mouth, not when it was subsequently followed by a shocked gasp as you took in the man - or rather, demon, before you.

His irises were a deep red, rivaling the prettiest of roses, while a set of horns curled from the sides of his head before curving up at his temples, the sharp points looking more inviting than they should have been.

Your pussy clenched at the smirk he wore, teeth bearing points that surely weren't there before.

"Why you chose me, Jagi?" Jisung spoke, the newfound low register in his tone wrapping around your mind and rendering you utterly defenseless. "Want me to show you why I'm the only one worthy of ruining this little pussy? Give you the treatment you got down on your knees for?"

His hands found your thighs, sliding down to your knees to hook your legs around his lithe hips before pressing forward, sinking whatever inches escaped you back into your slick cunt.

"Well?"

Taking that as your warm invitation to speak, you nodded quickly, "Y-Yes."

He tsked, loose strands of hair falling before his eyes as he shook his head, "Yes?"

"Yes, Sir." The title fell from your lips effortlessly, almost as if it was waiting to be used all along - natural.

His smirk grew wider, and you found yourself wishing he'd show you the delicious contrast of his sharp teeth and his pillow-soft lips, if only for a moment.

Anchoring onto his knees, Jisung cocked his head as if to process the simple addition of one word, "Sir... That's a good start, baby - keep it up and I might have to stay even when the contract's up."

From that moment on, the only chant you needed was his name, your sigil now in the form of your nails on his back, and whenever you summoned him, he came - and so did you, many, many times.

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @goblinracha, @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @j-onedrabbles, @happilydeepestwonderland, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @sometimesleeknows, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @broken-glowsticks, @s00buwu, @dancerachaslut, @junglyric, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89

✧. ┊Kinktober only: @selicua

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

#skz smut #stray kids smut #han jisung smut #han jisung x reader #Demon! Jisung #Demon! Han

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shawtuzi · 11 months

Note

absolutely insanely obsessed with your nerd!eren hcs <33 what are your thoughts on nerd!eren going down on y/n for the first time?

great question nonnie let’s get into it

what’s that one j cole lyric??? oh yeah i remember ‘haven’t been in pussy since the day i came out one’ now THAT describes nerd!eren perfectly when you first started dating him. sure he’d seen his fair share of pussy when he watched porn but other than that he’d never been lucky enough to be graced with the beautiful sight of a real life woman’s pussy. until now.

“you wanna take ‘em off for me?” you asked referring to your pink cotton panties that had the tiniest wet spot in the center. eren looked up at you through his lashes, his breathing ragged. with shaking hands he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties before slowly pulling them down, he let out the tiniest groan when he saw a thin string of your wetness cling the soft fabric of your panties.

“jesus christ,” eren let out a breathless moan when he finally saw your pussy in all its glory. you brought your hand down and spread your glistening folds giving eren a mouthwatering view of your lil clit that was just begging for some attention. “this right here?” you said slowly circling your clit with your ring and middle finger, “this is what you wanna pay attention to, go ahead and try touching it with your hand first.”

eren gently pressed his thumb against your clit and he swears he could feel a lil heart beat with each second that passed. “mhm now go in slow circles,” your eyes fluttered shut when he did exactly as you instructed. if eren had to choose his drug of choice ever? it would be your facial expressions from him pleasuring you. after a few moments he got greedy and begin to circle his thumb a little too fast and started rubbing his thumb against the right side of your pillowy soft folds. you sat up on your elbows and the sight before you was absolutely adorable. eren looked so concentrated with his glasses fogged up and brows furrowed it was too cute.

“eren, baby, slow down slow down,” you giggled grasping his shaking hand in yours. eren eyes locked with yours, the tiniest pout on his kiss swollen lips. “m’sorry i got a little too excited,” he breathlessly chuckled pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “it’s okay baby, why don’t you try using your mouth this time hm? if you flick your tongue sideways that’s the quickest way to make me cum,” eren brought his face closer to your dripping center, taking a deep inhale. “m’not trying to be weird…you just smell so good,” he hummed pressing a kiss to your aching clit.

eren gave your pussy an experimental lick, the salty sweet taste of you immediately burning into his brain. fuck. at first he was very sloppy, going between swiping his tongue up and down your soaked slit to sucking your folds into his mouth that he swears were as soft as rose petals. your slick was smearing onto his glasses but he just couldn’t find it in himself to care, not when he was between the thighs of the most gorgeous woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

suddenly his lips wrapped around your clit and he was sucking so fast and so hard you nearly screamed. “f-fuck ren,” you sniffled gripping onto his chocolate locs. eren traced tight little circles around your sensitive bud, relishing in the sweet moans that escaped your plush lips. “am i—hmph doing okay?” eren asked lifting his head just the tiniest bit. the entire lower half his face was coated in your wetness and you had half a mind to yank him up and lick it off him. “you’re doing so good hun, can you use your fingers too? m’so close i can feel it,” oh how eren wanted to kiss that adorable pout on your lips.

eren glanced at your cunt and groaned when he saw your lil hole clench around absolutely nothing. “okay…okay yeah i’ll use my fingers jus’ tell me if it hurts or m’doin it wrong,” his sentence slowly trailed off as he brought his mouth back to your pussy. he brought his middle finger to your entrance and slowly began to push his finger in. “shit that’s tight,” he whimpered, i repeat WHIMPERED!!!! at this time in your relationship you’d yet to have sex with eren yet so if you were squeezing only his finger this tight he couldn’t even imagine how heavenly you’d feel wrapped around his dick.

“put another one in renny c’mon,” you whined bucking your hips up. eren did as he was told and added his ring finger (he’d read online those two fingers were guaranteed to make a girl cum if used correctly and by god was the internet so right). while his fingers pumped into you at a relentless pace he began to flick his tongue back and forth on your neglected clit. “c-curl your fingers r-ren your fingers!” you squealed gripping onto your bed sheets for dear life. eren hummed and curled his fingers just the slightest bit and that’s what finally broke the dam. your thighs immediately clenched shut as you began to practically hump eren’s face, his teeth scraping against your clit in the most delicious way possible.

“god your pussy is so fucking loud, does that mean you’re gonna cum?” eren grunted relishing in the lewd squelches that came from your sopping pussy. you let out loud chants of ‘yes yes yes!’ before coming undone, nearly suffocating eren between your thick thighs. eren’s glasses were completely fogged up and for once you actually preferred to have them off, so you gently took them off and set them aside so you were able to clearly look into eren’s needy orbs. you were the one who just came but he looked completely and utterly fucked out boy was it a sight to see.

eren slowly removed his fingers, licking his lips when he saw how the milky white substance of your cum coated his digits. he brought his fingers to his mouth and greedily sucked your cum off them. “good?” you breathlessly giggled, running your your fingers through his hair. eren let out a quiet ‘mhm’ as he pressed sloppy kisses all over your thighs. “can i keep going? please?” he sounded borderline desperate and you were loving it.

it’s safe to say it was a constant struggle to get eren to keep his hands to himself once he had a taste of you. while you two would be studying in the library his fingers would not so subtly make their way up your skirt and into your panties, rubbing your swollen clit with vigor. sometimes he’d usher you into the nearest bathroom and toss your legs over his shoulders so he could get a little taste, tongue fucking your tight lil pussy until your were creaming all over his tongue.

ahh man i love me some pussydrunk eren.

#eren smut #eren yeager smut #eren jaeger smut #eren x black reader #eren x reader #eren x black fem!reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger x reader #aot smut #attack on titan smut #eren yeager x black reader #eren jaeger x black reader

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senualothbrok · 5 months

Text

Love and beauty

Summary: A few days after Astarion has taken you to his grave, you are lying in bed together. You decide it's time to make a confession.

Musings on beauty, love and death.

Word count: 1.3k

Non-18+. Astarion x female Tav. Non-ascended Astarion. References to bereavement.

AO3 link

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You are lying on your side, looking at Astarion. Here at the Elfsong Tavern, morning is rousing from its slumber. You are cocooned in the bed you have shared with him since the night he took you to his grave. The sheets are warm and soft beneath you, and in their burgundy shadows, his skin glows like porcelain. He lies on his back, his silver eyelashes fanning out below his closed eyes like silk. His crown is a white maze of waves. Just recently you have noticed the faint threads which form around his mouth and eyes when he laughs, slight indents where his eyebrows meet his nose when he is focused. And sometimes, barely perceptible dimples dance on his cheeks.

You never tire of looking at him. There is always something new to see, and you never know how long you have left to see it.

“I can feel you staring at me.” A lazy eye opens and fixes on you. “Has no one ever told you that it’s rude to stare?”

There is mischief in his smile, and you return it. You run your fingers over his collarbone. He shifts his chin closer to your hand.

“I can’t help it.”

He stretches, long and languid, a fang peeking out on his lower lip.

“I know, darling.” He turns onto his side to face you. “It’s why you’re here. You can’t get enough of my devastating beauty.”

The words carry no edge. He is still himself, not the masked imitation. He twirls his fingers around a strand of your hair as it caresses your shoulder.

“You are devastatingly beautiful, it’s true.” You play with a curl at his temple, tracing the edge of his ear. You consider for a moment. “But you know, all of that… it only goes so far.”

“Oh?” He regards you quizzically.

“Well…” You turn the thoughts over in your mind. “I’m human, Astarion. Even humans blessed with devasting, soul-crushing beauty, like yours – most of us don’t live that long. We get old and grey. We get wrinkles.”

He scrunches his nose. You laugh.

“I know, disgusting, those wrinkles. But when you have to contend with ageing, and with death… it’s different.”

You are not sure he understands what you are saying. You yourself are not entirely sure.

You nuzzle your nose into his. He slides his arm under your head, circling it around your shoulder. You curl into his chest. There is a silence, but it is so light, like being bathed in morning sun.

Maybe it is because every day draws you closer to the Netherbrain. Or maybe it is because he has shown you where he died, and has shared with you his rebirth. Now, you feel the last bastion inside you can come down. This last pearl you have hidden from him, you can now give, trusting he will not cast it away.

“I had a husband once,” you say.

You have not spoken about him for a long time. It surprises you that it does not hurt anymore to mention him. To remember.

“It was a lifetime ago now. He was beautiful too, when we met. Though nowhere near as beautiful as you.” You brush your lips across Astarion’s skin. “He was smart. He had a way with words. And he was kind.”

You are relieved that Astarion does not say anything. He does not tense in shock or anger. There is no judgment. He only listens, holding you.

“He actually looked a lot like Gale. Sometimes when he speaks, Gale even sounds like him.”

Astarion bristles at this. “So you’re telling me that one of our travelling companions, one of our closest allies and friends, is the spitting image of the love of your life? And you’re telling me this, why?”

You are not entirely surprised by his reaction. And maybe you find it endearing that Astarion could feel even a prickling of jealousy about a man you loved and lost so long ago. You chuckle, reaching up to kiss him lightly on the curve of his jaw. He eases with a huff.

“This isn’t the point of my story.”

“Well, you best get to it soon,” he shoots back, but he does not pull back his embrace.

There is a softness, a playfulness, to his irritation. You nibble his ear lobe gently and he sighs. He waits. You go on.

“He was a lot older than me. When he got sick, I took care of him. He died in his sleep. I laid him to rest. By that point, he was an old man. And he’d lived a good life.”

You remember your husband’s face through a haze. His papery skin, so thin you could tear it by mere touch. Frosted hazel eyes, and snaking veins on hands that you clasped so tightly against your wet face after he had breathed his last. The years of love that had filled the hole he left, buoying you through the grief.

“There’s something about that kind of love. Through age, and sickness, and everything in between. The long and boring days. The petty arguments. The stupid things we joked about. Everything we shared together.”

You heart fills as you speak of him. There is no more sorrow when you think of him now, only gratitude.

“I loved him till the end. That kind of love - it went well beyond his beauty.”

Astarion is quiet and still for a long time. When he moves back to look at you, you cannot read his gaze.

“But I won’t age,” he says. “I won’t die.”

You nod.

“I’ll be like this forever.”

“Forever beautiful, forever young.” You glance at the scars and ripples of your flesh, and you cannot help but feel a pang of envy.

He frowns. In the pause that follows, you wonder where he has gone. You wish he could take you with him.

“How will I know, then?” he asks suddenly.

“Know what?”

“How will I know…” He struggles, as though each word is a heavy load. He clears his throat. “How will I know what kind of love it is?”

There is an emptiness in his eyes now, like a kind of sadness. A loss. You reach out and press your palm to his heart.

“Are you asking me whether I would still love you-“

“If I wasn’t beautiful.” He grimaces. “If I was old and grey, or sick, or…” He trails off briefly. “If I had wrinkles. Like Gale.”

You laugh, and you see that it gives him comfort. Because Astarion still cannot help but mask a plea with a jibe.

“What do you think?” you ask.

He hesitates. His eyes caress your face, drinking in every detail, every line and curve, every shadow and blemish. A balm spreads through you as he sees you, just as you see him, since the very first time you promised to be his mirror. You know he can see your answer.

But he is uncertain, and he is still afraid.

“Without a doubt, Astarion,” you breathe.

He turns away. You wait. It no longer weighs on you when he withdraws. You know now that he will always return. You will give him time, now. You will give him space. He will come back when he is ready.

But then, so abruptly, he clasps you against him. You are enveloped in the coolness of his skin, the warm wetness of his mouth, the blanket of his body around you. The moment is a world in itself, swirling and gathering and expanding, holding you fast.

It ends as it began. You lie there, tracing circles in each other’s souls. Morning has broken, and muffled voices are bustling through the bedroom walls. Slowly, you edge to the side of the bed, and he rises to join you.

“I don’t think he was the love of my life, by the way.” You say it like an afterthought, but it is not.

“I damn well hope not,” he counters, sharp and fast.

But the gentleness in his gaze tells you all you need to know.

---

Liked this fic? You can find more of my work here.

#astarion #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion x female tav #astarion romance #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion one shot

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chronically-ghosted · 5 months

Text

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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christopher-bangnaldoskzz · 2 months

Text

Paring: Chan, Minho, Changbin, Jisung x Female Reader

Genre: Dark Romance

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: Imagine this - after gathering the strength to reveal your innermost desires to your partner, he astonishingly rises to the occasion, committing himself to transform your wildest dreams into reality. Even if that means sharing you with three of his best mates.

Warnings: MDNI 18+ Anal 😨, oral sex 😜 unprotected and protected Sex 🫠, edging 🫣, blowjobs 🧐, come OMG there is so much coming 🤪 degrading language (because who doesn’t love a good shaming) use of the word Slut/whore/cum slut A LOT!!! There are some very darks sense and references in this fic so please proceed with CAUTION ⚠️

“Listen to me, my little cum slut”, he growls as tears run down your face, drool running down your neck as you gasp for air as he yanks your head back by your hair.

“You’re going to show my friends a good time. Yeah.” He presses his lips to your ear, nodding in agreement that you loved to be used. It’s been a dream of yours to have multiple men fuck you at once; this was a fantasy you often shared with Chan, who’s never been one to share you with anyone. He is selfish, really, and only wants you for himself.

“You can please them as much as you want, my little slut…. But if I see you so much cum for any of them…. It’s game over, you understand me…. This cunt belongs to me” he grabs your pussy it placates in his hand. “My little cum slut only….cums…for me” he squeezes it tighter, making your body shiver in response.

“B-but”, you quiver, the feeling of his fingers brushing your clit, making your body feel so aroused that at any moment you could explode.

“No buts, my little slut….you will hold out for me” he presses his lips to yours as he removes his hands from your soaking cunt. “ and if you don’t, I will drag you out by your hair kicking and screaming and beat your ass black and blue” his voice is low and raspy.

Nodding your head and looking up at him through your dark lashes, he kisses your lips. “Good girl,” he whispers, dragging you into the living room.

“Gentleman…. She's all yours”, he shoves further into the room.

“On your knees, y/n,” he says in a Stern voice obeying him, you kneel down, putting your ass on the heels of your feet.

“She’s a good whore isn’t she?" Minho says, using his knuckle to caress your cheek, whipping away the tear that falls down your face.

Minho goes to take a seat on the couch and unbuckles his pants, pulling them down so they sit at his ankles. “Crawl to him”, Chan commands. Not sure what the other two have installed for you, yet you gulp before crawling over to Minho.

“I want you to suck my cock with your pretty mouth” he pulls your chin up, your make-up running down your face from the session you had just finished with Chan.

"Y-yes," you say, shaking. You lick your lips before spitting down his cock to get it nice and wet. Wrapping your mouth around his top, you slowly start to move down his shaft.

“Oh fuck….her mouth is like heaven”, he groans as Chan lets out a chuckle, almost like he has told him and Minho didn’t believe him.

You halt when you feel hands pulling down your cum-soaked panties. Chan made sure to mark you before anyone got started. “I’m going to fuck that tight ass”, Changbin announces. You can see Chan wiggling uncomfortably in his seat. This would be hard for him to watch his best friend about to fuck his girl in the ass.

You begin to deep-throat Minhos' cock as Changbin circles your ass with his fingers. Pushing one inside to stretch you out, “Relax for him….remember what I taught you?" You do as Chan says and relax your body, not entirely sure if that comment was actually meant for you or state a claim to Changbin to let him know that he had fucked your ass long before he got there.

Changbin lubricates his fingers with your pussy juice before he spreads it across your ass, sliding one finger in and slowly spreading you out for his dick.

“Holy fuck”, you moan, pulling away from Minhos' cock. Salvia now runs down your chin. Chan gets up from the chair and walks over as your body shivers. Minho briefly steps out of the way. "Breathe.... just like we practiced.... Through your nose,” he runs his hands through your hair, collecting it all, pulling a hair tie off his wrist, he ties the hair up so it’s out of your face. Giving Changbin enough time to lube the condom on his dick, Chan looks up and nods to Changbin, who places the head at your entrance. You and Chan have performed anal a couple of times since being together; he was always gentle with you. Changbin pushes his head in. “That’s it…..you are doing so well”, Chan says, brushing your bottom lip, his eyes flicking down to your tear-stained cheeks.

“Fuck, you look beautiful”, he whispered as Changbin slid himself deeper into you. He stands to allow Minho to sit back down. Taking Minhos' cock into your mouth, you moan as Changbin slides in and out of you.

You feel a set of fingers slide over your pussy lips, and you let out a moan. “Do it again, Han….the whore likes it” Han uses his fingers to spread your lips, making you grunt as Minho shoves further into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. “You are so tight, Y/N", Changbin moans as he thrusts balls deep inside your ass.

Han is now slipping two fingers inside your throbbing pussy. “Don’t you fucking dare y/n” Chan reminds you of his threat, but you just feel so full.

You moan into Minho's cock, forcing him to release his warm cream down your throat. “God….that was amazing,” he moaned as his body slumped on the couch. Minho closed his eyes for a brief moment before he freed your mouth.

You gasp, now purely focused on Changbin and Han. “I’m close,” Changbin moans as your stomach clenches, trying to stop the rising orgasm in the pit of your stomach.

“Y/N”, Chan growls, causing a shiver to crawl down your spine.

Chan takes a seat in front of you. “Look at me.” He tilts your chin up as he leans away from your face.

“Only me”, his voice was low and raspy.

“Fuck”, you hear as you feel Changbin thrust one last time before he realises he is inside his condom.

“She’s all yours, buddy," he says, slapping Han’s shoulder.

Han lines himself up before pushing his head inside slowly. "Fuuuuccck", he groans. “You are so tight.” A high-pitched squeal escapes your mouth as he pushes deeper inside you.

"Y/N," Chan said, grinding his teeth. He knows you sound better than anyone and can tell you are so close.

“I’m S-sorry…..I’m S-so close” You can barely speak as you fight the urge to come all over Jisung's cock; he is pumping, hitting your G-spot perfectly.

“Jisung, hurry up before I rip you off of her”, Chan growls, and he starts to pump into you faster.

“Don’t even think about coming inside her either," he spits. Jisung pulls out and flips you onto your back.

"Breast or stomach?” He says, pumping his dick in his hand.

“Stomach,” you say in panic as the head of his cock pulses and his warm nectar hits your stomach.

“Good….now get out,” Chan says, pointing to the door. “All of you out NOW!” he shouts as they grab their clothes and exit the living room. Chan stands staring down at your body, his lips parted slightly as he takes a deep breath.

“You look so fucking good, my little cum slut”, he smiles.

“Please….I need more,” you plead with him, knowing it’s never worked, but you will still try in the hopes that it will work.

“Here, wipe the cum off with this”, he says, pulling his T-shirt off and dropping it into your stomach.

You glide the shirt along your stomach, soaking up all the cum, while Chan gets undressed. “You are such a good girl”, he praises you, making your pussy flutter.

Chan kneels between your legs. “How many?” He grins, not sure what exactly he’s asking you to reply. “How many?"

“Orgasms”, he leans down, now hovering over your body, his fingers slowly tapping your clit. “Maybe 2…or 3”, he kisses your neck. “I don’t know what you think you deserve, baby” he is so fucking hot when he’s like this, your body tingles.

“P -please “ is the only word you can get out before he kisses down your stomach and is now kissing your thighs, making sure to suck and lick each side.

“So what will it be?” You know he won’t start until you tell him your answer, trying to think you say the first number that comes to mind.

"Three," you whisper, your voice barely audible as you feel a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins. Anticipation consumes you as every nerve ending in your body comes alive with the promise of what will happen. With a deep breath, you slowly move your hips, savouring the moment, relishing in the build-up that seems almost tangible. The room is filled with electrifying tension, the air heavy with desire. Each movement becomes bolder and more assertive as you surrender to the passion that consumes you. Your heart pounds in sync with the rhythm of your hips, as if it, too, understood the significance of this moment. And as you finally reach the peak, a wave of satisfaction washes over you, leaving you breathless and exhilarated. The power of that simple word, "three," has ignited a fire within you that burns bright and will continue to fuel your desires.

'There's my girl' His tongue dips deeper into you then he sucks your clit while licking your lips apart. “Spread your legs wider”, he groans as he spreads your legs so that he can reach your core with his tongue. His fingers trace around your entrance, teasing you and making you want more. You arch your back as pleasure courses through your body, and your toes curl up in pleasure. You feel your body tremble as you surrender. His breathing gets heavier as he moves deeper into you. His lips and tongue move faster, sending you over the edge as you climax.

“One”, you moan; you know Chan loves it when you count the number of times he makes you cum.

“Mmmmmm……good girl”, he praises, humming as he kisses your body.

Spreading your folds with his fingers, Chan kisses your neck. “You are my little cum slut…..you serve me.”

“Only you”, you moan, arching your back as he inserts one finger inside you. Your body rolled against his finger, craving more. He kisses your jawline as he smiles.

“I want you to scream my name as I fuck you tonight” he curls his finger inside you hitting your g spot, making you gasp.

“O-oh Chan”, you moan, your eyes rolling into the back of your head; after all this attention, your body is screaming for another release.

“Louder”, he groans, inserting another finger inside. Chan was not into exhibitionism by any means. Still, he knew his friends would be on the other side of the door listening to you come undone under his touch, and you knew that screaming his name while his friends listened would be a turn-on.

“CHAN…please!” you scream as you grind against his fingers.

“That’s it…..cum all over my fingers like the good little slut you are” he drives his fingers inside you, curling them as your body shakes in pure pleasure.

“Oh god,” you call as you start to see white specks in your vision.

“I think you mean Oh Channie.” He grins, kissing you, slapping his arm playfully, and you pull away.

“You are so funny,” you say sarcastically back at him; it was moments like this that you loved most; it was the simple jokes he made right after he just gave you the best orgasm of your life that made you fall in love with him all over again.

“You look exhausted.” Chan lightly brushes your hair away from your face.

As exhaustion takes over your body, you struggle to open your eyes. But even with your energy drained, your heart skips a beat as you look up at Chan, who tenderly caresses your cheek. His gentle touch sends shivers down your spine, and you can't help but melt under his affectionate gestures. His soft lips brush against yours as he leans in, planting delicate kisses that make you feel warmth and longing.

“How about…..I'll take you to our bathroom…..I clean you up…then I’ll carry you to our bed, and we can finish this another night.” He smiles, knowing he’s pushed your limits for today.

"Like you owe me an orgasm?" Chan playfully teases you as he seductively places his hands under your hips and lifts you up effortlessly. Feeling excited, you eagerly wrap your arm around his neck, adjusting your hold to secure your balance.

“Yeah, baby…. I'll owe you an orgasm.”

Taglist: @daceydeath @krishastumblernow @cakeracha @armystay89 @choisoorin @marrivmel @s00buwu @uwuitsjungwoo

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son-of-rap-bear-art · 6 months

Text

So, do y'all remember the Adventure Time Mash-Up Pack for Minecraft back in like, 2017? Me and some friends have been messing around with that map lately and revamping some of the areas we consider a bit lacking with creative mode, and for me that was the Treehouse! I got ~100 reference pics from various episodes and tried to put it all together into the most autistically accurate Treehouse I could, and I wanna share it here cause I'm really proud of it!

Feel free to skip the text and just look at the pretty pictures. Cause when I say "autistically accurate" I MEAN IT. It's MY blog and I get to choose the special interest. :p

The exterior is mostly unchanged from the official map, but I added the orange tree from My Two Favorite People, and the pond. Also the log where Finn sits and thinks in Gotcha!

Yes, I will be mentioning specific episodes like this often.

I didn't make the Grotto, because I'm not THAT crazy, but I did make the pond really deep and filled it with the sort of things you see when Finn swims down there in Beyond the Grotto.

The first thing you see when you actually go inside is the treasure room, of course! The official map's treasure room is so small and sad, but I made it more accurate to how it looks in the show, with a ton of ladders and platforms going upwards until you get to the kitchen.

Speaking of, at this point I should show the layout I based the rooms' positions on...

I put this together myself and I THINK it's the most consistently accurate layout... of course, it's a cartoon, sometimes you'll get stuff like the bathroom in the left branch for the sake of a gag in Dentist, and characters will frequently run offscreen and then teleport to another room, BUT this is what I observed to be the most common layout seen when the camera will actually follow the characters through doors and ladders and etc.

Interestingly, the ladder in the trunk actually seems to connect to the kitchen, which is HIGHER than the living room, and then you have to go down a separate ladder to get to the living room. Confusing! But it checks out.

So yeah, climbing up past the treasure room takes you right to the kitchen! Some specific details to call out here are: - The picture of PB with the two spatulas is from Abstract, and I painted it myself in-game via a mod! Unfortunately I didn't get around to other paintings yet, they're a bit annoying to make. - The urn supposedly containing Margaret's ashes, from Conquest of Cuteness, is on one of the shelves. - There isn't a single torch in this whole build! It's carefully lit up with candles, just like the Treehouse should be! - There's actually this easily missable tiny room connected to the kitchen, seen in the last pic, that has another trapdoor and also the door to the bathroom. I believe that first shows up in Incendium and then stays around forever. - The cooler is entirely full of eggs, like how Finn exclusively buys pre-boiled eggs when grocery shopping without Jake, in Temple of Mars.

The bathroom! Funnily enough, the bathroom might be the least consistent room in the whole Treehouse. It's just made up of a toilet, bathtub, and sink, but these three things shuffle around the room entirely at random from episode to episode. In this sort of situation, I consider the most accurate way to handle it to be the same as the show: just put them wherever! So I did that.

That door in the kitchen leads to this room, connected by a bridge. I just called it the "bucket room" because it has a bucket that Finn and Jake ride in in Rainy Day Daydream, although that episode has a pretty wacky Treehouse in general.

I hooked up a hand crank with the Create mod, so you can use it like an elevator kinda.

Down the other ladder in the kitchen gets you to, the living room! This room's just a small round circle in some episodes, but others have it a bit bigger.

That bookshelf is there in Jake Suit, and has Dream Journal of a Boring Man, Vol 12 on it. Since one of the decor mods I'm using lets me place down books, I copied the 3 excerpts we get to see from it down into a written book, so it's even actually there!

A really inconsistent aspect of the living room is this weird platform with a door. I can only remember it appearing in In Your Footsteps and Three Buckets, but maybe I've just always missed it? I made it lead back into the trunk, so you can use it as a shortcut up to the kitchen.

Also over here is this workbench, which to my knowledge suddenly shows up in season 8 and becomes a REALLY REALLY consistent part of the living room?? Seriously, it's in Two Swords, Horse and Ball, Abstract... It's suddenly all over the place!! But I genuinely can't recall it existing before that. Am I crazy or is this an actual thing?

Anyway, connected by bridge to the living room is the den! Surprisingly, even though it barely even shows up in any episodes, the den is SUPER messy and lived in. I tried to reflect this by jamming as many decorative blocks as I could in there.

Also for some reason this fireplace doubles as a pizza oven in Abstract? Yeah, Abstract's got a really silly Treehouse. But it was easy enough to slot in there, so I did!

Way back to the kitchen and upwards: the bedroom! I always thought the bedroom was so tiny and cramped, but a good few episodes actually show it as pretty spacious! I tried to hit a good balance.

The pictures hung up around Finn's bed are a blurry, badly taken picture of Huntress Wizard, and a clearly old picture of Flame Princess. They're both cute choices for Finn's future, and are my girlfriends' respective favorite characters, so I included both :D

I also included the attic, which as far I know ONLY appears in Dad's Dungeon. I think it's neat, though, so I put it here. It'll be nice for survival mode storage.

If you exit through the attic, you can get to the cloud that Finn and Jake have tied down for its rainwater. The dripstone on the underside looks a bit ugly, but it makes it functional! If you scoop water out of any of the cauldrons with a bucket, it'll slowly refill with water from the cloud!

We're nearing the end! Here's a back shot of things. I added the power lines, Neptr's cave, and the farm. For some reason, Holly Jolly Secrets has a second, distinct set of powerlines, but those would be ugly so I didn't include them.

Lastly, the chicken coop, as seen in BMO Noire and mentioned in Three Buckets, featuring Lorraine. Who looks like Boobafina in this texture pack, which is silly.

I'm... honestly not very satisfied with the coop's placement, as BMO Noire shows it being out on a rarely-seen branch, but this is the best I could do without a major facelift on the tree itself.

So, yeah! That's the image limit. There's a good few extra details scattered around here and there, but I'll leave it at that. I hope this is as fun to read as it was for me to write :D

#adventure time #atimers #minecraft #mineblr #yall use that tag right? mineblr?#minecraft build

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eternalxvenus · 17 days

Text

ˏˋ°• jealousy, jealousy *⁀➷

summary: You and Sarah have been seeing each other in secret for a while. When she catches you flirting with Rafe, she gets a little jealous.

cw: smut 18+, sarah cameron x f!reader, fingering, oral, scissoring, light nipple play, some fluff towards the end, JJ is a pain in the ass

wc: 1.8k

notes: based on this request from @percyswhxre !! this was my first time writing sapphic smut but i loved writing this and i really i hope you enjoy it!!!

You were at the Chateau having a lazy day with all the Pogues and Sarah. JJ and John B sipped on beers while you all listened to Kie recall the time John B had kissed her.

"Remember how you just kept apologizing and then tried insisting I was acting weird afterward?" She laughed.

John B shook his head. "That's not entirely true! And in my defense, JJ was the one who talked me up to it."

"Okay, now that is true... but I thought she was into you, man don't blame me," JJ chuckled, throwing his hands up in surrender.

The rest of you rolled your eyes and laughed at their banter. Pope and Cleo sat closely next to each other, and you sat next to Sarah with your legs draped over hers.

"Okay, realistically, who'd make the cutest couple in the group?" Pope asked everyone as the laughter died down. Almost instantaneously, everyone's eyes looked over to you and Sarah.

The fire in the middle of your somewhat circle felt like it moved directly in front of your face. You and Sarah had been seeing each other, but haven't told anyone else. It's not that you were ashamed, but you just weren't sure how everyone would take it. After all, she was John B's ex, even though they broke up mutually and on good terms.

Sarah laughed before giving you a quick glance. "Why are you guys looking at us? Personally, I think we all know the real lovebirds are Pope and Cleo. Look how cuddled up they are. No love club my ass."

Cleo shook her head, denying loudly. "No no no, don't try and put everyone's attention on us. You two have been all close and cuddly for a while."

The fire crackled lowly as everyone waited for your rebuttal. You shook your head with a sigh. "You guys are crazy."

JJ jumped in, pointing at you both with skeptical eyes. "We may be crazy, but you guys are hooking up, no doubt about it."

You gasped, throwing a stick from the ground at JJ. "You're fucking drunk JJ." Sarah nodded in agreement, laughing. Her phone buzzed, and once she checked it, a smile formed on her face. "Come on guys, we're gonna go crash a Kook party."

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱✩•̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

The Twinkie finally pulled up in front of Tannyhill, and the music could be heard from a block away. Out the window, you could see the many bodies holding drinks, talking, dancing, and everything else Kooks did.

Upon entering, you guys got some sideways looks, but no one could say anything since it was Sarah's house. Everyone grabbed a drink and chilled outside. Topper came over and tried talking to Sarah, but she quickly brushed him off.

As you sat back, sipping your drink and people-watching, JJ leaned over and whispered, "I stand by my earlier statement. You know you could tell me." Referring to you and Sarah hooking up. You rolled your eyes and pushed him away, not wanting to deal with his pestering attitude.

A few minutes later, you stood up, announcing you were grabbing another drink. The inside of the estate was loud and humid. Rap music was blasting, and sweaty bodies were all around, drinking and dancing. After grabbing a Mai Tai out of the cooler, you see Rafe across the room talking to a few of his friends. Pushing the bodies out of the way, you made your way to him, smiling once he looked your way. "Hey Rafe, how are you?"

Rafe licked his lips and took in your body with a smile. It was known that he found you attractive, trying to flirt and make passes that you always ignored. "Hey pretty girl, I didn't know you were here. What can I do for you?"

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱✩•̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Sarah tried to look into the house from her seat, wondering what was taking you so long. She went in after you to make sure there wasn't any trouble being started. When she walked in, she immediately saw you talking to Rafe. She watched as you placed your hand on his bicep and kissed his cheek before walking away.

There was a tense look on her face as you got closer to the door. You saw her by the door with her arms crossed. "Hey baby," you giggled, placing a hand on her hip.

She moved back, making your hand fall. "Don't 'Hey baby' me. You were flirting with my brother. You kissed him on the cheek!"

You tried to hide your smile but failed. "Aw, are you jealous?" Sarah scoffed. "Don't be mad! I was flirting just a little bit. For... this." You pulled a baggie out of your pocket that had weed in it. "I just wanted free weed."

She looked at the bag and rolled her eyes. "Fine. Next time you're gonna flirt with my brother for free weed, get enough for both of us. Plus you know he wants you," she stated rather than asked. You nodded, hands finding their way back to her hips, squeezing softly. "Yeah, but I don't want him. I want you."

Sarah stared at your lips, which had formed into a cute pout before she grabbed your wrist and dragged you upstairs into her old room. She closed and locked the door, immediately pushing you onto the bed. Her lips crashed onto yours, and she kissed you hard. The feeling of her soft lips made you moan as your hands slid down to grip her ass through her shorts.

The blaring music from downstairs seemed to fade away as she moved down to your neck, biting and sucking. You brought your hands to the front of her shorts to get them off, and she did the same for you. Next to go were shirts and bras, leaving both of you in your underwear. You sat up, taking her nipple into your mouth and massaging her other breast. The softness of your hands elicited a quiet moan from Sarah's lips.

One of her hands cradles the back of your head while the other slides down to rub your covered clit. "You're already so wet and we've just started baby." Looking up to meet her eyes, you smile. "What can I say? Seeing you all jealous was hot as fuck."

Both of you removed your final piece of clothing then Sarah pushed you down once again, getting on top of you in the 69 position. "I'll never get tired of seeing your pussy so wet and ready for me." she groaned, not wasting any time and sucking your clit into her mouth. You moaned loudly, copying her movements with your tongue.

Sarah's hips stuttered as you slipped a finger into her hole that was begging for attention. She started rubbing your clit as she felt her orgasm approaching. "Fuuuuck– baby don't stop!"

You sucked harder and moved your fingers faster as she started to fuck herself on your fingers for more stimulation. A gush of wetness spilled onto your mouth and chin as she came, her whimpers filling your ears.

"I wanna see your pretty face when you cum," she breathed out as she maneuvered her body so that she was scissoring you. You squeezed her thigh as she rocked back and forth at a speed that made your eyes roll into the back of your head. "Ohmygod– Sarah right there, right fucking there!"

The messy wet sound of your cunts sliding against each other was making your head spin. You pulled Sarah down to place a messy kiss on her lips, wanting her closer than what seemed possible. Her perfectly manicured hand found its way to your sensitive nipples, pinching them with a knowing smile.

The tight knot of pleasure in your stomach was getting tighter and tighter, you knew you wouldn't last much longer. "I'm so close... please, I wanna come with you," you whimpered out. Sarah nodded, and the rhythm of her hips became erratic and sloppy. "You ready baby?" she groaned, and the look in your eye said it all.

Your orgasm took over your entire body, and you almost screamed, leaving your pussy slicked and spasming while Sarah tried to keep her hips moving as her orgasm hit her too. "Oh fuck– God, I love you!" Sarah moaned out, not realizing what she'd said.

She moved to lay next to you while you both caught your breath. When your eyes finally opened, and you looked over at her, you could see the blush on her cheeks.

"You love me?" you asked softly, not sure if it was something she said in the heat of the moment or if she really meant it.

Her head turned to you, and she had a sheepish smile on her face. "Of course I do... you make it hard not to."

You didn't try to hide the grin on your face as you leaned over and kissed her deeply. "You make it hard not to love you too."

The moment was broken when you heard your phone buzzing somewhere on the ground. When you found it you saw several missed calls and texts from the Pogues. They were all along the lines of 'Where are you?', 'We're about to leave.', and 'Is Sarah with you?'.

After rushing to get dressed and make your way downstairs, you hoped they didn't leave yet, or you and Sarah would be stuck with no ride. They weren't outside where you all originally sat. Walking to the front of Tannyhill, you saw the Twinkie parked in its spot with the doors open as everyone sat around waiting.

Kie saw you guys first. "Fucking finally! Where the hell were you guys? We've been calling and texting you both."

JJ chimed in, saying "I can't tell you where they were, but I bet I know what they were doing." Sarah flipped him off as she climbed inside the car.

"Topper and John B fought. Again." Kie said with an accusatory tone. John B shrugged. "He was being a dick."

You sighed at what seemed to be their never-ending rivalry. After a few minutes of silence, JJ tapped your knee. "So... where did you guys sneak off to?" he questioned, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Give it a rest JJ." You groaned.

He threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Okay, fine! I'm just asking 'cause..." he looked at you with a smirk. "I'm pretty sure those are Sarah's shorts. And the hickey forming on your neck is a little distracting."

You felt your cheeks burn as you gasped, looking down at what were definitely Sarah's shorts. Everyone in the car— including you and Sarah— burst out in laughter. You flip JJ off in the middle of it as Sarah leaned in closer and kissed you lovingly on the cheek.

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#sarah cameron #sarah cameron x reader #sarah cameron obx #sarah cameron smut #sarah cameron x female reader #sarah outer banks #sarah obx #obx x reader #obx #obx smut #outer banks smut #outer banks #divider by: plutism #black writers #outer banks x reader

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 1 month

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hi ! i was wondering if it would be okay to ask you to write a hc, however long you please, about the m6 setting off a trigger for mc?

i love your content, you’re the best :3 !

The Arcana HCs: When M6 accidentally trigger MC

CW for descriptions of panic attacks, references to being burned alive/MC canon backstory, and your LI feeling very guilty

-- to set the scene --

It was just a midnight cupcake.

You already knew there were plans for your birthday in the morning, which is why it was such a surprise to see your beloved stealing into the darkened room at midnight with a small excited smile and a single cupcake with one lit candle. For a moment, everything's perfect. Cozy, sweet, calm, if a little blurry from the sleep in your eyes.

Until you reach up to rub the sleep out of them, and when you bring your hands down, the flame of the candle is right in front of your face where you least expect it.

Your beloved's invitation to blow it out and make your first wish goes unheard as your sleepy brain catapults itself into fight-or-flight. Your limbs seize with panic as the flame grows a hundred times the size in your mind, the dimly lit room turning into the yawning darkness of the Lazaret. Your breath comes short and fast and you can't talk - you can't speak - you can't tell them you're not dead yet, you're not dead yet -

Julian

Recognizes the symptoms of panic instantly but is a little confused about why - he doesn't recall you being afraid of midnight treats

Of course, this doesn't hinder him from helping you at all. He's a doctor. He doesn't stop to ask why when there is clearly something wrong and you need his help

Putting the cupcake down (candle still lit) on a nearby surface right away so he can focus completely on you

Being as tactile as he is, his next movements are to lay two large, cool, steady hands on your shoulders and give you just enough pressure to ground you long enough to listen to him

Breathe. You need to breathe. Listen to him while he counts, and he'll get you through this safe and sound

Nobody beats this doctor's bedside manner. His voice is soothing, steady, and just persuasive enough to help you follow his instructions as he walks you through several grounding techniques

Once the panic has passed and you're mentally back in the safety of your room, though, that's when his own questions begin

What set it off? Was it ... was it something he did? It was, wasn't it? Was it trying to talk at midnight? Did he walk towards you too fast?

You can see horror dawning across his face when he puts two and two together, whether because you tell him or because he guesses. He's ready to spend the rest of the night condemning himself

You already know that it'll take much more than accepting his apology to convince him that things are alright

Which mostly takes the form of responding to every apology with a thank you for getting you through the panic, and coming up with ways to let him take care of you

Will propose triggering him in return, to make it even (don't do it)

Asra

Realizes what's happening as it's happening because being fully tuned in to you is second nature at this point and oh no - oh no

Hastily blowing out the candle and summoning some gentle lights instead, reaching out to hold you and try to make it better and worrying as they do so that it'll only make it worse

Thankfully, his touch has been soothing for as long as you can remember. He's tracing a slow square on your palm to breathe in time with, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close

Draping the closest blanket or shawl around your shoulders, using magic to cool the temperature of the room enough to avoid any uncomfortable warmth

Quietly pulling you out of the flashback and back into the mundane, safe present by asking you the simplest questions

Is that a triangle or a circle they're tracing on your knee? Are they touching your right hand, or your left hand? Can you count how many fingers they're holding up? How about now?

When you're back and your breathing is normal again, the silence is tense. He knows what set you off - and he still blames himself for leaving you to a fate like that, even if he fought to change it after

They're quick to try to brush it off, focusing on making you comfortable and lulling you back to sleep to avoid addressing it

But given how inextricably twined the two of you are at this point, you're not the only person who's been triggered by this

Holding him close as well and telling him it's not his fault will result in wide-eyed, vulnerable look, a slow sag in his shoulders, a shared slump into bed together to remember that you're both alive and ok

They are also extremely resilient, and will wake up on your birthday morning ten times lighter for the release and ready to celebrate

Nadia

She's not entirely certain that the flame is what set you off, but she's pretty sure it is and she's already scolding herself internally for putting it so close to your face

Setting the treat down, blowing out the candle as she does and immediately trying to talk to you and figure out what you need

No, she's not an expert on helping with panic attacks, but she likes to think she's an expert on you, and she is dedicated to giving you the best. Talk to her, if you can -

Oh. Oh dear, it seems you can't

She's taking her cues from you, positioning herself where she takes up most of your field of vision, using her capacity to take control and make you feel safe to help you focus

Cupping your face between two manicured, strong hands, stroking her thumbs along your cheekbones and telling you in a rich, authoritative voice to take some breaths, good job darling, another

Slowly bringing you down and practically gluing herself to your side so you don't have to feel alone in this for one moment

At the same time, she's trying not to let you see how her forehead is wrinkling up from the worry and disappointment she feels in herself. How could she do this to you?

Her worst fears are confirmed when she insists on helping you verbally process what just happened, shouldering the guilt of having hurt you and of not taking a moment to think first earlier

She doesn't forgive herself easily when she feels like she's failed in her duty to care for her loved ones. It's a great moment to remind her that care goes both ways and doesn't have to be perfect

Still needs to ramp up her efforts to pamper you over the following days to prove that she can take good care of you

Muriel

Oh, this is his worst fear coming true, and if the guilt of triggering you wasn't enough, he already feels bad for wanting to walk away to work through his own triggers coming to light

He's not going to walk away. Not from you. He just feels bad that he wants to, when you already put up with so much from him

None of the above thought processes slow down his response. The cupcake is being put to the side. He's crouching in front of you and searching for the earliest "ok" to touch you since he knows it helps

And then he's scooping you up, getting you to the safest part of the hut (in the bed, scooted all the way into the corner) so he and Inanna can sandwich you in a warm, heavy, safe embrace

He's tucking your favorite carving into your palm, layering a heavy fur over your shoulders, pressing your hand to his chest so you can feel his deep breathing and mimic it

He doesn't trust his voice, and words are hard anyways, but he knows how to speak with his actions and he'll do whatever works best to tell you that you are safe

And, if you need to talk about it as you start to breathe easy again, he'll listen as much as he needs to to tell you you're heard

Of course, once the crisis has passed and you're doing better, the urge to isolate himself is stronger than ever. His own worst fear came true in hurting you, and that was in an act of love alone

He didn't even need to touch you to cause distress

Until you're both able to fall asleep, the time passes as you trade comfort and grounding, taking turns to reassure each other that the past holds no threat to your present and future

He's not going to ask you to start or tend the fire for a long time, though. That's his job now

Portia

She's frozen in shock for all of five seconds when you start to panic, simply because it's so completely unexpected

Shoves the cupcake aside completely forgotten on a fire-safe surface so she can take your hands in hers and squeeze them enough to make you look at and listen to her

Lowkey panicking because she has patience, sure, but she has very little experience sitting with anyone through something like this besides her older brother, who she usually just slaps out of it

She's going to fix her mistake of making your environment feel threatening by making it feel safe instead

She's shoving Pepi into your lap, wrapping a heavy quilt around your shoulders, trying to find a balance of lighting that's as soothing and cozy and grounding as possible

All while she inwardly battles feelings of worthlessness with uncharacteristic levels of quiet

She's sure her older brother would be more reassuring, with all that worldly knowledge under his belt - or the Countess, who knows exactly how to take charge and make everything better

She's in front of you with your hands in hers, watching you with total faith in your ability to survive and overcome, feeling a little too much like her five-year-old self guarding Ilya from the tooth fairy

Helpless. She feels helpless. And worse, she got you into this mess because she didn't know you well enough

Seeing you pull through and return to your usual self (albeit very tired) is enough to lift her spirits, but it's the way you still want her to sleep next to you that starts to give her hope

She still apologizes multiple times as she's falling asleep

And she's not letting anyone else use this trigger against you, ever

Lucio

He's plenty familiar with symptoms of panic. He grew up on a battlefield and has plenty of suppressed trauma, he knows what being triggered looks and feels like

That said, he's caught entirely off guard because it's a cupcake with a candle in it!! Since when was that scary?? This was supposed to be a sweet romantic gesture, not a horror show -

Oh right right right you're panicking and it's probably his fault and oh no he's familiar with this but that doesn't mean he's good at helping with it, he needs backup

Mercedes and Melchior are already on it. Their doggy senses have one of them curling around your back while the other crawls into your lap, offering their silky smooth fur to touch and soothe you

Lucio is putting the cupcake down to be quickly forgotten so he has his hands free to try to help, doing the things that he's noticed calm you down on a regular basis

Bringing you your favorite blanket, patting you on the back in a steady rhythm so you know he's right there if you need a hug, telling you it's okay to cry, he'll keep you nice and safe

And dedicating every speck of his being to some good quality cuddles if you need them, because he doesn't take a moment of your wellbeing for granted. He's holding you as tightly as needed

There is the aftermath, of course. He won't stop asking until you tell him why you panicked, and then he'll be faced with knowing he's somewhat responsible for both fires

He's actually pretty used to being the guilty party at this point. There's always the fear, deep down, that he'll run out of grace, but as soon as you forgive him he fully believes you

None of this is stopping him from partying hard for you tomorrow

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana game #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

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