#sweet Lua | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-blind-assassin-12 · 1 year ago

Text

Hi, hello, I'm here to scream a little about another Psychomanteum Snack. I still have A LOT of screaming to do about the series as a whole (which I finished the other night and was wholly and entirely blown out of my bones by) but for now we're sticking to the snick snacks. And boy oh BOY was this one a TREAT! (Make sure you have a glass or six of water handy for this one, friends. And maybe a fan or a cooling towel. You'll need it.)

Listen. I love these two a completely non-normal amount. I love them for the way they get inside each others' hearts and make each other open up and flourish and see brightness, and for the way they aren't afraid to be silly together and how they openly express their feelings and fears over time and how they put so much trust - like, metric tons of trust - in each other, and for the way that they go out of their way to make the other smile or laugh or feel loved. Just, you know, for starters.

BUT. I also love them for the dirty, nasty, filthy, kinky little sluts they are, UNHOLY FUCK.

I love the idea of this strangers at a bar scenario for them and how it lets Lua experience roleplay in a way that doesn't put too much pressure on her to "stay in character". It's still fantasy because their relationship never had a bar hookup stage, but it's not foreign because this was what both of them were doing (separately) when they met, and even more familiar for Lua, because she gets to be the boss. ;)

I am living for the fact that Dieter wants to be "chewed up and spit out" by her because he finds it hot. And it is hot, that kind of confidence. And honestly I could not fucking say no to anything he wanted to try because he's so fucking worshipful and grateful about it.

YOU USED THE ICONIC DIETER DO YOU WANNA HAVE SEX WITH ME LINE. And then all that dirty talk from him. I think I would fall off my stool. In fact, I'm a clumsy bitch so I know I would. Also? What happens in that bathroom is iconic in its own right. SHEESH.

On top of the smokin' hot smut and the playful/dirty flirting and the way that these two just SEE each other so clearly, I just want to point out how much I love the depth you put into every scene. Not just in the actions, thoughts and dialogue of the characters, but also in the layers of details that you create. It's always so tactile and visual, even when what we're looking at is a graffiti covered bathroom in a dimly lit dive bar. It's very dimensional and it's incredible.

This was suuuuuuuuch a fun detour and only made me love these two even more.

acting lesson

pairing: dieter bravo x ofc louella

Summary: Dieter convinces you to roleplay with him.

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Content Tags/Warnings: LDR, roleplay, bar, drinking alcohol (casual), dirty talk, swearing, public bathroom sex, D/s elements, fluff, impact play, pet names, hair pulling, blow job, unprotected piv sex, graffiti, football mention

Word Count: 4.3k+

Notes: In the Psychomanteum universe between Ch 12 & 13. Could be read as a one-shot. Based on this ask from @frannyzooey:

Dieter and Lou — roleplay He’s an actor, she’s….not 👀👀 How does he indulge her? ❤️

The idea first came up during one of your many phone calls with Dieter.

It was the kind of call that works as a surrogate for sitting in the room together, despite the some-odd 2,600 miles keeping you apart. Comfortable silences between organic conversation, running parallel to your evening routines. In LA, Dieter hummed to himself while rifling through his kitchen cabinets for snacks. In New York, you stared at up the marigold painting hung above your bed, and you asked him, “How do you act?”

“When I’m with you, like a fool.”

His voice purred through your phone speaker, low and warm. Heat bloomed in your chest and crept up your neck.

You giggled, “I mean, like, for your job. How do you do that?”

“I don’t know. I guess I try to channel the character and pretend to be them. You ever do plays in school or anything like that?”

“In fourth grade I got to play a munchkin in The Wizard of Oz. I had one line and I completely butchered it.”

He laughed, “Seems about right.”

“What is that supposed to mean?!”

“You’re just… very good at being yourself,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his words, “It’s not a bad thing, doll. I like that about you.”

A smile spread across your face. You hummed in acknowledgement.

“If you want, I can show you how I do it. Give you an acting lesson. You could be my scene partner,” he lowered his voice an octave, “We could make it fun.”

Something about this pricked your skin with excitement. You twisted a strand of hair around your finger and smirked, “How’s that?”

“Have you ever done roleplay?”

“Oh no,” you laughed, shaking your head, “I would be terrible at that—”

“Wait wait wait, hear me out,” he protested, “What if you got to play yourself?”

You quietly pondered this, then asked, “Who would you be?”

“I would be… a stranger at a bar. You’d just have to play along,” he rumbled, “Treat me like one of your hookups.”

Warmth trickled down your spine and pooled between your legs. You licked your lips and traced your collarbone over your shirt, “You’ve thought about this before.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m not opposed to the idea. It could be… hot.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe next time I see you,” you conceded.

And so, this morning, while sipping coffee together out on his patio, he brought it up again.

“Do you remember when we talked about… an acting lesson?”

Your eyebrow quirked and you glanced over at him, “You mean roleplay?”

He shrugged, draping an arm around your shoulders, working his thumb against the starfruit tattoo on your arm, “How do you feel about it?”

“I wondered what it would have been like to meet you like that.”

“Me too,” he said, then scooted closer and murmured, “You know, I’ve always thought that was something so fucking sexy about you. The way you chew men up and spit them out.”

“Really?” you studied him.

The corner of his mouth tucked up in a smirk. His gaze bore into yours, “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“Not you, though,” you brought your hand to his cheek and smoothed your palm along his cheek, “I like you.”

“No, not me,” he agreed, nuzzling into your touch, “But we can pretend. It’ll be an acting lesson, remember?”

“An acting lesson, yeah, that’s why you wanna do this. Not because you wanna fuck me in a bathroom stall, right?”

“It can be both,” he said, a devilish grin playing on his lips.

You couldn’t help but smile as you stared at him. His dark eyes flicked around your face, searching for an answer. When you released a reluctant sigh and frowned down into your coffee cup, he continued.

“I’ll give you some pointers beforehand, love. It’ll be fun. You just be you and pretend you don’t know me,” he purred, his voice growing lower and more persuasive, “I wanna see what it’s like to be used by you, Lua. Please. Let me be your piece of meat. Chew me up and spit me out.”

How could you say no?

When you step inside the door, it slams behind you. Outside, the sun still douses Los Angeles in daylight, but the underground bar shows no signs of it. Your eyes sting as they adjust to the darkness, and you find yourself momentarily blinded.

Slowly, things start to come into focus.

Neon beer signs and pucks of dim, golden light studding the low ceiling make their surroundings glow, reflecting off the dark wooden bar and high-top tables. A few clusters of people are scattered around at the tables, and one androgynous person sits at the bar, scrolling on their phone while taking occasional sips from a tall glass of beer. Over the speakers, “You Make Loving Fun” by Fleetwood Mac plays just a decibel too loud, but you have a feeling this is the standard music volume here.

It’s one of those places that seems unchanging. Static. You bet that if you walked in here at any moment, on any day, it would look and feel mostly the same.

You approach the bar and take a seat in one of the tattered barstools. Its red pleather sticks to your legs and back. One of the advantages and disadvantages of wearing your most fuckable dress: it’s really goddamn short.

“What’ll you be having tonight, miss?”

You look to the portly bartender and smile, “Vodka cranberry, please.”

He walks away, returning a minute later with your drink. You slide a twenty across the counter and thank him.

When the bartender brings you your change, he nods at the man pulling out the barstool next to you, who says, “Old fashioned.”

The bartender makes his drink and brings back your change. You leave a few bills on the rail as a tip, then lean back in your chair and look up at the TV. Two college football teams slam into each other on the screen.

The man sitting next to you is not discreet about his ogling. His eyes burn your skin, but you pay him no mind. You lift the drink to your lips and take a few quick gulps to hush the excitement bubbling up your neck.

He does the same, then you feel him lean towards you and ask, “Why do bars always play the most boring shit on TV?”

You look over at him, looking up and down his very expensive looking, and thusly very out-of-place, navy suit, obviously tailored just for him. The top three buttons are undone, revealing his smooth chest that gleams gold in the dim lighting. A lusty ache twists at your center.

You smirk and meet his deep brown eyes, “What, you don’t find the underlying threat of concussion-induced brain injuries to be exhilarating?”

The handsome “stranger” laughs, exposing this big, contagious smile, dimples tugging at his cheeks and everything, “I guess I never thought about it that way.”

You grin, staring down at your drink for a moment, then say, “I’ve found that if I go into it pretending it’s the first half of a horror story I’ll never know the ending to, it’s not as, umm,” a giggle escapes your throat, “fucking boring, y’know?”

“Wow,” he chuckles and shakes his head, “I’m not sure if I want to run for the hills or ask for your hand in marriage.”

“The first option is probably safer,” you wink, then take a sip of your drink.

His gaze lingers on you for a beat before he stammers, “I’m Diego, by the way.”

“Louella,” you take his outstretched hand and shake it.

He holds it there, grazing his thumb along your knuckles before pulling back, “What brings you out tonight? Meeting friends or something?”

You tilt your head at him, dragging your eyes across the broad expanse of his body, “Just, you know… seeing what’s out there.”

His throat rumbles and he drops his gaze to your lips, “Find anything?”

“Maybe,” you grin and take a sip of your drink, “What about you, Diego?”

“What about me?”

“You’re here, having a drink, talking to me. Is your evening going as you’d hoped?”

“Much better, actually,” he murmurs, leaning close, “Didn’t think I’d come across someone as gorgeous as you.”

You smile, and find yourself restraining laughter. Not because he’s doing bad or anything, but because he’s doing so good.

“Quite the smooth-talker, aren’t you?”

He grins, bobbing his shoulders in a shrug, “Is it working?”

At this, you do laugh. You tuck your hair behind your ear and depart from his lustful gaze, glancing down at your drink. A wide palm slides onto your back, warming the skin between your shoulder blades. The magnetic force of his body drawing close makes your breathing stutter.

“Listen,” his voice seems to melt, low and heated, into your ear, the baritone dripping down your spine, pooling between your legs, “If this is too forward, feel free to tell me to fuck off, but… do you want to have sex with me?”

You turn to find him just inches away, hooded eyes dark and heavy with want, flitting around your face like he’s brainstorming ways to make it contort with pleasure. You love seeing him like this. Needy. Aching. Putty in your hands.

“Tell me what you want to do to me, Diego,” you tell him in a throaty whisper, “And I’ll consider it.”

A flash of his pink tongue breaches his lips. He glances around as he scoots his barstool closer, knee brushing against yours, and murmurs in your ear, “As far as the venue goes, we have a couple options. Bathroom, out back, in my car—”

“Romantic,” you tease.

He raises an eyebrow at you, dragging his gaze from your face, down your neck, following the curve of your body, “But you don’t want romance, do you, Louella? That’s not why you’re here.”

“Oh yeah?” you tilt your head and bat your lashes at him, “Then why am I here?”

His throat rumbles. He leans so close, his breath scatters across your cheek when he says, “You’re here because you want to get fucked. Hard, preferably. You want me to bring you into that disgusting bathroom and stretch your sweet little cunt out with my fat cock, isn’t that right? You want me to squeeze your tits and use my teeth. You want it to hurt, not a lot, not enough to draw blood, but enough to make you feel something. Enough to make you feel… real,” he pauses here, smirking at you, licking his lips as he drops his gaze to your mouth, “Hmm? Isn’t that right, Louella?”

You swallow hard and nod, and realize you’re holding your breath. When you draw air in, it’s shaky and subdued.

“Will you let me do that for you?”

His touch trails up your bare leg and makes you shiver.

“Yes.”

He stands from the barstool and takes a cursory glance around, then nods at you, “Lead the way.”

Miraculously, the bathroom at this shitty dive bar is one of those no-stall, single-toilet situations with a deadbolt to keep the outside world at bay.

Dieter guides you through the threshold with his hand at the small of your back. You peer around the small, dim room, studying the graffitied black tile walls. Colorful tags, crudely drawn dicks, and witty remarks surround you on all sides. The scent of bleach burns your nostrils, which is a little disorientating, but you suppose it’s better than the alternative.

The lock clicks in place behind you.

When you turn to look at him, he’s already burying his fist in your hair and pushing your cheek against the cool tile wall. You gasp with surprise at the force he uses, exhaling a giddy laugh, and he murmurs in your ear, “What’s your safe word, baby?”

Your eyes dart around for inspiration, and you focus in on a cartoon giraffe wearing sunglasses, a cigarette dangling from his lips, next to a word bubble that reads: Giraffiti is cool!

“Giraffe.”

“Giraffe,” he repeats, and you nod as much as his grasp on your hair will allow.

He slides your skin-tight dress up to your waist and yanks your underwear down to your ankles, rumbling, “Fuck, look at this ass.”

His palm slides warm and gentle across one cheek, then he digs his fingers into the soft flesh and groans when you whimper. He lets go, and the deep, bruising grip is quickly replaced with a sharp, hard slap.

A gasp expands your lungs as heat tingles across the site.

“How’s that?”

“Fucking perfect,” you breathe, eyes drifting closed, mouth falling open. He does it again, same spot. Smack. This time you moan.

When he releases your hair, you stay where you are, with your hands and face all smushed up against the tile. He smooths gentle circles into your unmarred ass cheek. When it draws away, you flinch in anticipation, and he chuckles, “Too hard?”

“No.”

It’s followed by another smack, by pain and heat, and you hiss, “Fuck yes.”

His throat makes this noise that’s somewhere between a growl and a moan. He slides his hand around your front, between your legs, and he purrs, “You fucking love this, don’t you, Louella?”

“I do,” you whimper at his soft, exploratory touch, at the gentle way he spreads your arousal up and down your wet, hot middle. Fingertips dig into the curve of your ass and hold there. The contrast between his two hands is excruciating.

“What’s my name?”

Not thinking, you exhale, “Dieter.”

His gentle hand freezes against you. The other lays down a sharp smack that burns your skin and makes you whimper. He grinds out, “That’s not my fucking name. What’s my name?”

“Diego.”

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he coos, putting the hand against your pussy in motion, tracing around your clit, not touching it directly, flooding your body with a tingling, frustrated kind of excitement that makes your heart race and your breathing quicken.

You reach down and grab his wrist, pressing his hand into you harder, rolling your hips against it, and moan at the pressure it relieves.

He yanks his hand away from your grasp and buries it in your hair, pulling the strands taught, smacking your ass again, “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Please,” you pout, arching your hips back towards him, “Please fuck me, Diego.”

All the air leaves his lungs and scatters across your back.

“Louella,” he rumbles, and all your insides clench at his low, patient cadence, at the way your name vibrates off his lips onto your shoulder, then he says, “You are fucking demanding, aren’t you?”

“No—”

Smack

A hot, searing pain from your battered ass cheek makes you gasp, then whimper. Arousal shoots up your spine. Your cunt aches with need.

“I’ll be patient—I’ll do whatever the fuck you want, Diego, please—”

“That’s it,” he coos, “You’re gonna be my little slut, hmm? Let me fuck you the way I want?”

“Yes.”

The word comes out with a throaty, needy force, almost a fucking sob. You want him so bad it hurts. He chuckles at this, at how fucking desperate you are right now.

“Get on your knees, baby.”

He releases you and steps back. You turn to face him, holding his lust-blown gaze as you drop to your knees like he asked.

“Show me how bad you want it.”

You nod in understanding, your shaky hands clambering at his belt buckle, unzipping his slacks, the mechanism all strained with the force of his bulge. You pull his pants and briefs down with a frantic kind of energy that makes him hum with amusement as he watches you.

His cock bobs out as his pants fall to his feet. You admire it for a moment. How it’s so thick and swollen and twitchy with need, delicate skin pulled taught, a sticky little bead of arousal sprouting up at the tip. You test its weight in your palm, grinning when you look up and see Dieter’s lips part and his eyelids flutter.

“That’s it, baby, show me how bad you want me to fuck that pretty little pussy.”

You open your mouth, batting your eyelashes up at him as you drag your tongue up his length. Again and again, painting his cock with your saliva, using flat, firm strokes, until it’s shiny and soaked with spit.

He moans when you stretch your lips out around him, rolling your tongue against the tip, the salty, heady dribble of pre-cum smearing into your tastebuds. You slide your lips further down his shaft and start to suck him off at a steady rhythm, bobbing your head along his length.

“Oh my fucking god,” he gasps, eyebrows threading together, nodding down at you, “You’re so fucking good at that. Do you like sucking cock, baby, hmm?”

You look up to meet his eyes, mouth all full and stretched out from him, and answer anyway, “Mhmm.”

“Fuck yes you do—you fucking love it, don’t you?”

You pull off of him, replacing your mouth with your hand, jerking him off as you whine, “Yes I do, I fucking love it—”

He grabs your hair and forces his cock back in your mouth, gritting out, “Did I fucking tell you to stop?”

A moan surfaces from your guts. His head rolls back and he twitches against your tongue. You take the length of his cock faster now, the stretched-out band of your lips slick and tingling. He pets your hair and holds your gaze, watching you with awe as you work, quiet groans falling from his parted lips.

The doorknob jiggles, then there’s a knock.

“Occu—”

You sit up higher to plunge your mouth down on him, jamming his cock down your throat. His mouth falls open and he moans while you move in short, quick strokes. A wet gurgling noise echoes off the tiles back into your ears.

There’s another jiggle. Another knock. A faint, feminine, “Hello?”

You pull off of him, gasping for air while you wrap your hand around his cock and stroke him as he hollers, “Occupied!”

A beat goes by while he stares at the door before he brings his focus back to you, shaking his head, kicking his pants off over his shoes, “Get up.”

Your underwear tangle around your heels and trip you up. By the time you yank them off and toss them aside, Dieter has grown impatient. He rips you off the floor by your armpits, pushing your back against the cool tile wall.

Beneath you, your shaky legs buckle, but he slips an arm around your waist to prevent you falling.

As if second nature, he looks you over and draws his body close, cupping your cheek with his palm.

And… fuck, the way he stares at you, with this warm, attentive gaze… you know he wants to kiss you. You know he wants to hold you close and whisper sweet somethings in your ear. He wants to tell you he loves you and that he’ll never stop loving you, forever and ever until he’s dust, and maybe even then, if dust has feelings.

It’s all Dieter, not Diego.

You grin and search his face, then whisper, “You broke character.”

He narrows his eyes for just a moment, as if trying to process what you said. When he realizes you’re right, this big amused smile spreads across his face and he chuckles, “You hush.”

You link your hands at the back of his neck, “We can rewind.”

His throat rumbles as he considers this, brushing his knuckles along the side of your face, glancing down at your lips. The grip around your waist tightens and his hips sway a little.

“You just wanna kiss me and make sweet, sweet love to me, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” he grins, pressing his forehead against yours.

You giggle and comb your fingertips through his mess of curls, “You big softie.”

His smile falters a little and he shrugs, “Sorry.”

Your stomach twists.

“Hey, no,” you pull back enough to meet his eyes and shake your head, “It’s one of my very favorite things about you.”

He furrows his brow and blinks, “Really?”

“Yes,” you giggle, rubbing your palm against his cheek. He nuzzles into your touch and you tell him, “Diego is hot, but Dieter? My Dee? I fucking love him. And he’s hot.”

A bright, bashful smile spreads across his face. He meets your gaze with those loving, loving eyes and asks, “Can I fucking kiss you now?”

“Oh my god, plea—”

His lips cut you off, pressing into yours with passionate force. From its place pinned between your bodies, his cock twitches. He brings a hand to the back of your head and renews the kiss, pulling you closer, slotting his mouth against yours.

You whimper at the velvet of his tongue. The tug of his fingers clamping down in your hair. The persistent, pulsing current where your bodies meet.

The two of you seem to lose yourself here, in the heated kissing and touching and writhing, forgetting your presence in the restroom has a time limit.

Another knock on the door. Harder. Impatient.

Dieter parts from your swollen lips, his mouth a mess of your red lipstick, and hollers at the door, “Give me a minute!”

Then he turns back to you, his gaze all obsidian want, and mutters, “We better hurry before they ram the goddamn door down.”

“How do you want me?” you ask, batting your lashes at him, trailing a fingernail along his jawline.

“Just like this.”

Sometimes you forget how strong he is.

When he lifts your hips you let out a little yelp of surprise and hook your arms around his shoulders.

“Legs around my back, love, I got you,” he breathes. The wall bears some of your weight as you lean against it and wrap your legs around him. He settles in closer, shifting his hips under yours. The tip of his cock nudges your entrance.

“Are you ready?” he asks, caressing your cheek with the slope of his nose.

Normally, he has to work himself in slow. Let your body adjust to the stretch of him in increments. So you know what he means when he asks this.

But when you nod, and he loosens his grip to let gravity take you down, it still shocks you. The pain is immediate. And exquisite. You bury a deep, guttural moan into his shoulder and dig your nails into his skin. Your eyes flutter shut and you inhale a few sharp breaths.

“Fffffuck,” he hisses when you can go no further, “So fucking tight, holy fuck.”

All you can respond with is a whimper. He holds you here, impaled, not moving, as you start to relax around him and the pain condenses into a gooey ember right at the center of you.

“That’s it, love.”

His hips start to roll slow, dragging his cock along your walls, sending sparks up your spine.

“Fuck, Dee,” you gasp.

He snatches a kiss from your trembling lips and asks, “Too much?”

Your mouth gapes open with a ragged moan and you press your sweaty forehead into his, “Issss perfect—So fuuucking good—“

He lets out a raspy chuckle, “Listen to you, Lua, all fucking cock drunk, fuck—”

The laugh you release is delirious, and quickly devolves into moaning as he starts to fuck you faster. He’s not wrong. You feel disoriented and tingly, like you’ve been launched into space and you’re no longer on Earth, but on Planet Dieter.

You can tell he’s starting to unravel when he pants all kinds of filthy things against your frantic breathes, fueling the fire licking your insides, pulling you closer and closer to your ascent.

“You fucking love when I stretch your cunt out, don’t you doll? Hmm?”

You whimper and nod.

“Say it.”

“I—I fucking love w-when you stretch my cunt out.”

“Who’s my little slut?”

“I’m your little slut, Dee—oh, fuck—”

“That’s fucking right, baby,” he grunts, fucking you harder, faster. You clamber up his body, tugging on his hair, pulling him closer, gasping at the brilliant heat expanding at the base of your spine.

“Don’t fucking stop, don’t fucking stop, fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck,” you sob, drawing one more sharp inhale before you fall off the edge, ecstasy shattering you into a thousand pieces, then bringing you back together whole.

“Fuck yes, baby, there we go—oh my fucking god—”

Dieter’s hips drive up into you with a handful of rough, deep thrusts, while your whole body shudders and you release a choked moan. His echoes alongside yours, harmonizing in this unrestrained, unmistakably feral noise.

Every ounce of pressure held under your sweat-drenched, tingling skin deflates.

“Holy fucking shit, Dee,” you pant, ripping your sticky legs away from his, trying to find solid ground.

He lowers you to your feet, and you both stumble back a little, chests heaving, grinning at each other like mad.

“God, I love you,” he says, shaking his head as he doubles over to catch his breath, then he glances around and mutters, “I need to lay down.”

Three hard bangs against the door make you both jump.

“Are you done fucking yet?”

Your wide eyes meet his for a terrified moment, then you both burst with laughter.

“Yeah, give us a second,” Dieter calls back, then scoops his pants off the ground. After adjusting your dress and collecting your underwear, you walk to the sink to wash your hands and notice something resting between the faucet and wall: a metallic silver sharpie.

A smile spreads across your face. You grab it and hold it up to Dieter, who’s buckling his pants, “Do you want to do the honors, or should I?”

He raises his eyebrows when he glances up at you, and when he realizes what you’re implying, grins like a madman, “May I?”

You hand him the sharpie and he finds an unmarred section of black tile on which to write the message, framing the words with a frilly Valentine’s Day heart: DEE + LUA 4EVA!

#marchficmadness24 #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo x ofc louella #dieter bravo fic #dee & lua forever and ever and ever #i love them when they're cute i love them when they're sweet i even love them when they're big ol messes.#but boy oh boy do i ALSO love them when they're slutty with each other #whatsnewalycat #fic rec fic rec fic rec!!!

144 notes · View notes

wannaeatramyeon · 1 year ago

Text

Lookism x Reader: Boyfriend Moments

G/N. Fluffy scenes. Yes, this bitch delulu. Sammy, Vin, Goo, Jake, Ryuhei, Gun. Masterlists

Samuel Seo

"Try this," you offer to Samuel your tea.

That is delicious, by the way. And the way he pulls a face at the milky concoction mildly offends you.

You continue to wave the cup in your boyfriend's face, straw close to being shoved up his nose, drink splashing perilously against the lid.

He gives in. Because your dedication for annoying shit like this knows no bounds.

Steadying your hand and leaning forward, he takes a gulp from your drink. It's actually not bad. Better than he thought but-

"Too sweet," Samuel says, straightening and pushing his glasses back up his nose.

"Suit yourself," you shrug, appeased that at least Sammy has given it a go and you take a sip yourself. Then, with a grin- "It's like we just kissed."

He arches an eyebrow at you pointing at the straw, can't help rolling his eyes even as he chuckles at your silliness.

"Here," Samuel leans down again and kisses you. Tasting the tea on your lips except this time it is much much nicer. Delicious even. "Now we've actually kissed."

Vin Jin

Vin is undeniably cringe, according to Mary. And also a simp, according to-

Everyone, actually.

But he reasons that everyone must be jealous because if they found someone like you, they would also be all over them too.

Much like Vin is.

He's a lot more PG-13 than you expected though, less handsy. Even with his reputation, cool and cocky and honestly a bit of an asshole, Vin loves simply holding your hand, your fingers intertwined with his. Walking down the street and everyone knowing you're together.

Maybe it's a bit childish to like this one simple gesture so much. But he doesn't care. Sometimes he likes to just look at your hand in his, comparing sizes, touching your palm against his, and feeling the softness of your skin.

It doesn't stop there though.

He gives you loud obnoxious smooches on the cheek, rests his chin on your head, forces you to share a seat, squished together with your legs draping over his.

Vin wants you close by all the time. And he used to be annoyed when Mary would call him embarrassing, tell him to get a room.

Has tried to keep a little distance at first yet continues to be drawn to you like a magnet. In the end, he has stopped caring. Besides, he thinks having you by his side automatically makes him a lot cooler.

Goo Kim

Goo knows what comes out of his mouth is gold, it’s just a shame that other people don't.

Gun tells him to shut up frequently, Crystal's eyes glaze over as she hums politely, and he knows Kouji tunes him out.

He takes it as a challenge sometimes, to see how long he can keep talking before he makes them awkward and uncomfortable, wasting their time, hoping to drive them insane.

It hasn't happened yet, but he's proud to say he's been close.

"And then what happened?" you ask Goo, leaning forward eagerly to hear the end of his story.

His brows knit together, puzzled. "Huh?"

"You can't stop there. What happened next?!"

Goo blinks. This (or 10 minutes ago) was usually when everyone told him to shut up. "You actually wanna hear the rest of it?"

You give a look to say 'duh' and nod.

Huh. Goo feels himself tearing up, dramatically thumps his hand against his heart and tells you you're the best.

"I know. Now finish the story."

Jake Kim

Jerry can recite all your key facts. Where you were born, your date of birth, blood type, horoscope.

Jason sometimes corrects him on the MBTI though.

Brad knows your favourite foods and favourite drinks, Lineman your favourite clothes and brands.

Lua knows that you prefer colder weather, although there's nothing like a sunny day to brighten up your mood. Or hiding somewhere warm and cosy when the rain pitter patters outside.

Sinu can recite your's and Jake's anniversary off by heart. The gifts that you have bought him, and what he has bought for you. He also knows what Jake was considering buying for you but decided not to in the end, for one reason or another.

Fact of the matter is, Jake slips you into all his conversations with everyone. It's a bit of a talent, to be honest. Even if the conversation isn't remotely related to you, Jake still finds something to mention that involves you.

It was a headache, at first. Jake derailed discussions and Big Deal meetings with anecdotes and tidbits when you first got together. Over time it became barely noticeable, only off hand comments or throw away remarks here and there.

This worked out well for the crew, because no one had the heart to tell Jake to shut up. How could they when his face lights up, eyes soft and crinkling. and he smiles so sweetly talking about you.

Ryuhei Kuroda

"Hey," you murmur, kissing Ryuhei on the cheek as his eyes flutter open.

He's looking at you bleary eyed, smile spreading as he comes to. You both sport matching pillowcase wrinkles on your face, and Ryuhei's cowlick is even more outrageous than usual.

"That was good," he says, stretching his hands overhead, elongating his limbs and arching his foot.

"The best nap," you agree.

Intimacy used to mean sex to Ryuhei. All physical.

Now, well it still means that because it is Ryuhei after all. But it also means deep conversations into the night with you. Sharing opinions and thoughts and vulnerability. Having another half (a better half, if you asked him) to be with, share experiences with.

And one of his favourite experiences that he recently discovered, is napping with you.

Ryuhei had expected his favourite experiences to be all manners of lewd and explicit things. But nothing can beat the soft domesticity of him curled around your back, both your breaths starting to deepen as you drift to sleep in his arms and he follows closely behind.

Gun Park

You wouldn't say Gun is a feeder, but the fact that he cooks and feeds you so well came as a surprise.

"Nutrition is important," he would tell you, prepping in a frilly apron that you bought for him as a joke but wore anyway because why wouldn't he? It's from you.

You also don't understand what role nutrition plays when he prepares the food in cutest ways. Carrots in the shape of flowers, octopus cut sausages, onigiri with faces made from nori.

Tonight, you peer down at your katsu curry, with a bear shaped out of rice lounging in it.

You can't help the burst of laughter, thinking of your boyfriend - the fearful Gun Park, the Shiro Oni, in the kitchen cooking this for you.

"What?" Gun asks, seated across the table, a spoonful halfway to his mouth.

"It's too cute," You grin at the black eyed menace, the guy that was supposed to be all about fighting but has a terribly soft spot for you.

You glance down at the bear again, in an adorably relaxed position with steam rising around it reminiscent of an onsen. It seems almost a shame to eat it. "I can't believe you made this."

Gun gives you a matter of fact answer, "You like it more when it's cute."

Oh.

The fact he goes to all this effort, just because you like it more, makes him the cutest of all.

#lookism #lookism x reader #samuel seo x reader #vin jin x reader #goo kim x reader #jake kim x reader #ryuhei kuroda x reader #gun park x reader #ryuhei x reader #samuel seo #vin jin #goo kim #jake kim #ryuhei kuroda #gun park #wannaeatramyeon

984 notes · View notes