#x ps reader

[bonkers-4-hatter]

Lotor X !Plus Sized Female Reader - Fall Traditions

"It's tradition Lotor! I know you don't want to be around people, but please, go for me?" I give him a pout, jutting out my bottom lip as I put on my 'puppy dog eyes' which always make him cave.

He let out a scoff, but sighed and deflated in defeat. "Okay Starlight, I'll go to this...corn maze as you say."

I hug him as he slides his arms around my plump form. "You know I'd do anything for you starlight." He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. Only alone would he show me this kind of affection, and I understand, with a smile I cherish the affection he shows that's only reserved for me.

I was giddy as we pulled up to the corn maze. Growing up, coming to these places during the fall were fun and filled with laughter and frights especially if we went through the maze at night.

Lotor takes my hand as we walk to the ticket booth. I smile as I see families with small children as they laugh and run around picking the perfect pumpkin. "You said this was a tradition starlight? Do all humans participate in it?" He gave my hand a light squeeze as we walk through the rows of pumpkins.

"Not all humans participate. It's a tradition for me and a lot of humans because we used to do this when we were younger. My mom always brought me and my siblings here every fall. We'd pick pumpkins, go on the hay ride and through the corn maze and have applie cider, it was so magical for me as a kid...and one of the rare happy memories I have...I know to you it's silly..but-."

My words were cut off as he gave me a soft, chaste kiss. My round cheeks flushed as he pulled back before I could fully process it. "It's not silly if it holds special memories for you (Y/N)...nothing that's special to you is silly my starlight, never forget that. Now let's go make more of those special memories."

We look through the pumpkin patch first, my soft, round face scruched in concentration as I tried to look for the perfect pumpkin. Lotor helped, picking the biggest pumpkin he could carry before putting it in our wagon. Picking a few other pumpkins and hay stacks we bring them to the car.

"I can't wait to carve the pumpkins! We'll put them on our porch for the trick or treaters!" I was excited as I spoke, my soft arms and hands waving in the air as I spoke with them. Lotor sported a soft smile as he watched me talk animately.

Getting hot apple cider, we enjoyed the cute hayride that showed us the farm and along the way it had cute cardboard cut outs of Halloween themed characters or scenes and even giant spider made out of black plastic pipes and hay bails. Lotor's arms wrapped around my pudgy waist, his fingers skimming my sweater clad skin.

"This drink...can we make it at home?" He was on his third cup of hot apple cider. I laughed and nodded. "I'll order some, not sure how good it'll be if I try to make it, I'm sure they sell some here too." His eyes lit up at the notion making me smile. He was enjoying himself...which would be a first for an Earth activity.

As the sun started to go down, I decided it was the perfect time to do the corn maze. Once inside, the cute decorations and cardboard cut outs were back, with festive lights scttered around. "So...you pay to be put in a maze? Starlight, what fun is that?" He asked looking down both sides of the fork in the cornstalks.

I pull him down one path enjoying the atmosphere. "Because it's fun! It's cute and it's getting dark so it'll be a bit spooky!" Hitting a dead end, I pout. "Fun you say?" He smirks before taking the lead and tugging me back the way we came.

A good chunk of time passed and we're still in the corn maze, the moon high in the sky. The sound of laughing children and soft music coming from the farm, but I was straddled on Lotor's lap as he sat on a haybail in the corner of another dead end of the corn maze.

Our lips were slated against one another in a dance. His hands gripped my soft round hips anchoring me down on his lap. Pulling back, our hot breaths lingered together. "You were right (Y/N), these corn mazes are fun." He nipped and sucked along the curve of my neck going down to my collarbone.

The sound of people nearby caused Lotor to stand with my plump, soft body in his arms before he gently sat me down. Giving me one last hungry kiss, he grabbed my hand and headed back to the maze to finally get out. "Let's find our way out, we'll have more fun at home my starlight."

Biting my lip, I flushed at his words as we both whispered and laughed together as we navigated the corn maze hand in hand.

[windyremedy]

unamused

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

scenario: saying suspicious things infront of your boyfriend.

After being inspired by a tiktok you watched a couple days ago, you decided to try it out for yourself to see how your boyfriend would react and what better time than when you’re on break from him helping you study in his dorm room.

Inconspicuously letting out a soft sigh you switched to your camera and began recording. Talking about random and mundane things for whatever reason, something you always did randomly so Bakugou didn’t really notice anything out of the ordinary until you got to a certain topic.

“In relationships it’s totally normal to lose feelings—“

From your peripheral vision on the video you could see his frown deepen, brows scrunching in displeasure.

“What’d you say?”

You stilled in your spot pretending to be confused and trying not to blow your cover already.

“Huh?”

“What in the hell are you doing now?” he asked firmly, cocking his head to the right.

“Oh I’m just giving love advice in general, now don’t interrupt me.” you answered.

He didn’t say anything else but you could hear him step closer to where you were, getting up from his spot on the bed where he was fixing something in his drawer.

“Anyways its normal to build resentment and hate your partner.”

Before he could reach your phone you grabbed it and continued on.

“And sometimes you might wanna strangle them—“

Then he grabs you quick but gentle enough as to not hurt you from the cushioned floor, body completely towering over yours.

“DO YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY TO ME OR WHAT WOMAN?”

You laugh as he shakes you in the process, papers flying off from the edge of the short legged table.

“I don’t!” you exclaimed giggling.

“LIKE HELL! WHAT’D I DO WRONG!!?”

“It’s not about you I swear!!!! as I was saying if their blonde and name starts with the letter b—“ you continued, turning away from him.

“I’m gonna strangle you.”

“NO WAIT LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING! LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING—“

©windyremedy

[yawnderu]

Pornstar!König's cock is a bitch breaker— that much you know by the way he's ramming every single inch of thick, veiny meat into your sopping cunt, his large hands digging on the supple skin of your waist in a bruising hold, his heavy balls slapping against your sensitive clit every time he manages to bury himself all the way in.

His blue eyes are fully focused on the screen displaying your face, the rhythm of his thrusts only getting rougher to drag more whiny moans out of your parted lips, exhaustion written all over your face at having to take his large dick on what was supposed to be a day off— only accepting a job after thousands of comments bombarding your media, begging you to collaborate with König. Perverts, you knew, yet you're more than happy to play into their fantasies.

One of the cameras pans to your face, fully capturing the alluring scene of your fucked-out state, beads of sweat dripping down your warm forehead, half-lidded eyes barely managing to stay open despite the way they're threatening to roll back with each deep thrust, and that famous smile that shows you crave his treatment. A trademark of sorts, something that made you end on the front pages of popular porn websites more than once, the very same thing that caught König's attention months ago.

“Harder.” A command you instantly regret the moment his hips falter, his brow scrunched up in mild disbelief, yet what is the behemoth of a man if not a people pleaser? König lets out a muffled chuckle, his warm hand trailing up to your chest, lazily rubbing your sensitive, pierced nipple with his thumb.

“Harder?” He repeats, his hips moving at an agonizingly slow pace, a smirk pulling on the corners of his lips beneath the mask the moment a whiny moan of protest is dragged out of your lips.

“Fuck yourself with my dick.” You can hear your own heartbeat pulsating on your ear, the rate steadily rising at his command. His breath hitches the moment you impale yourself onto his throbbing cock right after his words, his calloused hand giving your tit one last squeeze before moving back down to your waist, his large fingers digging onto the crevice of your warm skin, admiring the thin layer of sweat covering your body, the way your ass jiggles every single time you move on his dick.

His eyes darken with desire, his hands almost itching with the growing need to fuck into you, something he manages to ignore for mere seconds before thrusting back into you the moment you pull away, a sharp gasp leaving your lips at the way his bulbous head hits your sensitive cervix over and over, his wide hips slamming against yours, filling the room with a lewd melody of skin slapping against skin and combined moans desperate for release.

König doesn't hold back, his thrusts deep and powerful as your fingers grip the bedsheets, trying to find a way to release the overwhelming sensations. He can feel your body trembling beneath him, the sound of your whiny whimpers only serving to heighten his own arousal, shooting one of the cameras a look that drips pure arrogance— his movements becoming more urgent and demanding.

One of the screens displays the way your eyes roll back in ecstasy as your walls tighten around his thick cock, a sense of satisfaction and pride filling him as you cum, only then allowing himself to succumb to his release, his cock throbbing inside you as ropes of hot white cum shoot right into your womb, a loud groan leaving his lips.

Despite how rough he likes to fuck, König pulls out of you, his softening cock coated with your slick and his own cum as your body falls on the bed, utterly exhausted. You can feel his large arms wrapping around you from behind, the sound of fabric rustling filling your ears as you feel his warm lips press a soft kiss to your temple, whispers of praise that have never come out of his lips slip out with so much easiness that it almost surprises him.

[mylonelylife135]

Little Girl

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The sound of pacing footsteps echoed in the batcave, echoing around the cave walls with the occasional water droplets dripping and the soft chirps of bats as they awoke from their slumber.

It was surreal. So surreal.

Barbara could hardly believe it, she was in THE Batman's secret lair! the mysterious vigilante that had been foiling the villains plans and bringing the criminals of gotham to justice for over six years now!

Of course he had to have a secret lair, a base of operations that he worked in. He had gadgets and always seemed to find out the Joker's plans after all so he had to have one-

"Ah, you're overthinking again." Barbara patted her cheeks with gloved hands, inhaling deeply before exhaling slowly.

It was still crazy to think that wearing a silly bat costume and accidentally stopping a couple of crimes inevitably made her cross paths with Batman and Robin.

He seemed a bit younger than herself, and she was in college!

It had taken an entire year, but now after taking an oath at the very graves of Batman's- no, Bruce's parents she was now officially a part of Batman and Robin group, like the three musketeers! It was exhilarating, it was nerve-racking, it was so-

"Who are you?" a soft voice asked, interrupting Barbara's chain of thoughts as her stomach dropped.

Whipping around towards the sound of the voice, Barbara raised a batarang towards the intruder-

Barbara's eyes stared down in disbelief, a little girl that couldn't be older than five or six staring up at her with dilated pupils, both arms raised towards her face to presumably protect her face.

"O-Oh my gosh I'm so sorry I thought you were an intruder-" Barbara rambled quickly, voice high pitched in panic as she quickly put the batarang back in her belt.

She could feel her chest swell with guilt, she almost just threw a batarang at a little girl's head. She probably just traumatized the poor little girl- She could've KILLED a child- She didn't expect a kid in purple pajamas to be in the batcave of all things.

How did she even manage to sneak up on her?

Why didn't Bruce or Dick tell her about the little girl? Alfred did say he was going to check up on someone but she didn't think it was a kid.

What was she even doing down here? She seemed too young to be a Robin, there wasn't even a second Robin. She definitely wasn't making gadgets or doing behind the scenes work in the Batcave.

How did she even get down here in the first place? she seemed too short to even get to the secret entrances!

Barbara watched as she slowly lowered her arms, her big eyes staring up at her.

"A-Are you okay? I didn't mean to scare you like that." Barbara said in a softer tone, realizing that she had been staring at the kid for longer than necessary.

"I'm okay, sorry that I scared you. My name is (____). You're batgirl, right? I've seen you in newspapers." Barbara almost raised an eyebrow as the little girl now known as (____) spoke with a timid voice. Kids didn't usually speak so perfectly, did they? Maybe it was a rich people thing and formal education.

"Y-Yeah, I am." Barbara kneeled down, offering a hand to the child in front of her and managing a soft smile despite her unease and guilt still lingering.

Maybe it was still just the fear from what just happened, but Barbara couldn't help but wonder...

Did (____)'s eyes always look like that?

NEW CHARACTER UNLOCKED: Barbara Gordon

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A/N: A mini chapter, from the FUTUREEEEEEE! SOOOO Chapter 5 should hopefully be good by tmr unless tumblr or life decides to keep fucking me over more than it already has. Chapter 5 isn't going to be as long because shit keeps happening in life that was making progress so slow that I decided to basically make a mini chapter first to compensate for if chapter 5 ends up feeling too short.

[ilium-ilia]

He always says that—someday—he’ll get you without the cameras. 

It’s a vow he whispers to you between gritted teeth one day on set when he’s got your legs tossed over his shoulders. Your feet play peek-a-boo behind Kyle’s head, wiggling with each thrust he makes deep into your cunt, relentlessly forcing himself inside as the crew records the debauched imagery, burning it into film for it to be viewed by thousands of strangers online. 

But Kyle likes it better this way—up close. Having you all to himself; almost. Every millimeter that your lip parts, the very creasing of your brows as he pushes deeper and deeper, the unobstructed symphony of your moans falling across his ears, soaking into his psyche, burning, burrowing, growing. Shockwaves ripple throughout your body, forcing your hands to grip his shoulders, holding on lest you deliquesce into the bed. 

That’s exactly what he wants—for you to melt beneath his touch. For you to let go of the synthetic lights in your face and the pounds of makeup smudged on your cheeks—for you to stop the nervous glances in the corner of your eyes as you follow prying footsteps and a bored crew as they twiddle their thumbs and scroll on their phones. 

“Gaz…” Your voice breaks in a gasp, a pathetic moan separated by the sharp thrusts of his hips against yours, breath stolen away before it could properly expel. 

But this isn’t his real name. Just the facade he wears for the videos. For the fans. For everyone. 

Everyone but you. 

“That’s it, doll,” he croons, hips rolling, tenebrous eyes boring through you like a stake. 

He witnesses you—eyes unblinking—but you’re not looking at him. No, you’re staring just over his shoulder. In the distance. Eyes caught up in the lens as you make faces—forced faces, something for show, something that’s fake, faux, disgusting. It’s not real. All a performance. So caught up in your own head and thoughts that he no longer feels the fluttering of your cunt as strongly as it was just a moment before. Distracted. Severed. 

“Hey-” 

His voice is strong, but not sharp. Firm fingers dig into either side of your jaw as Kyle forces your head to turn, for your eyes to focus on what’s important—him. Your pleasure. Not the hulking camera behind his toned shoulders, but the way his cock bullies deep into you, each kiss of skin against skin the backtrack to the melody of your gasps. 

“Did you hear me, doll?” he whispers. You see the way his grin pulls at his lips, ever soft like velvet against your neck. “I’m gonna get you without these cameras someday. I promise you.” 

Then—it snaps. Fractures. Uncoils so deliciously, licking down the back of your legs and through your core until your stomach and cunt are both left fluttering. This time when your eyes leave him, it’s not to focus on some malevolent camera, but to roll into the back of your head with shaky legs and nails digging into his deltoids. Head falling into the side of your neck, he smothers his grin and mirth into your skin. He lets it bleed. Lets it fester. 

“There we go, just like that, doll. Just like that,” he murmurs. 

As the roll of his hips slow, allowing you to ride your orgasm out without burning your synapses too much for the next round, he repeats his mantra. This promise to himself. This oath to you. This will fade. There will be no microphones, or equipment—just you, him, and the melding of your skin. 

One day, anyway.

[menagerofmischief]

sweet as sin -> cl16

main masterlist / navigation

porn star!charles chronicles -> here

tags: everyone's got normal lives (no F1), mentions of porn/OF, very very suggestive (or very light smut idk?), mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex toys

a/n: this is just an introduction to the au. if you have any ideas or things you think would go well with the au, send an ask and lmk <3

“Oh, I don’t know, Gwen!” You said, swirling your straw around in your drink as you eyed the friend. “Other than the fact I’m moving soon, my life is a bit too boring lately. I’m done with dating apps after the last big failure and I just need something interesting to happen!”

“You mean you need to get laid!” She accused, mischief sparkling in her eyes as she giddily sipped her mimosa, already a bit tipsy from all the previously consumed ones. “When was the last time you had a good orgasm?”

You coughed, nearly choking on your drink as you stared at her with wide eyes. “We’re so not talking about this!”

“I’ll take that as a ‘very long ago’,” Gwen said, eyeing you over the rim of her glass. “Just because you’re not dating doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun.”

“Didn’t you hear the part when I said how all the guys are sleazy and disgusting?”

She chuckled, flashing you a smile. “You can have fun on your own. Nothing wrong with that, in fact, it’s my favourite.”

“God,” you laughed, swatting her arm. “You’re definitely too drunk for 12 pm, Gwen.”

However much you tried to push it from your mind and deny, Gwen’s words stuck with you through the rest of the day. A constant echo in the back of your mind that played like a mocking tune whenever you found even a second free.

With a groan you pushed yourself up from your couch, the TV show playing on the screen already long abandoned. In the silence of your apartment you could hear every step you made, every thud of your feet against the ground seemed to echo like a thump of your heart within your chest.

You reached your bedside, eyes narrowed in a glare as you rummaged through the drawer in search of your old vibrator, an unfamiliar sensation stirring in your chest once you finally pulled it out, the thing still fully charged and ready to be used. 

You settled on the bed, head nestled on the pillow as you closed your eyes and tried to tease yourself but it was so damn hard when nothing came to mind. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you reached for your phone, holding it up in a slightly shaky hand you unlocked it and made your way onto the good old trusted … twitter porn.

Your fingers hesitated over a video of a guy. His face was half visible, but his body was in the full picture and he looked sweeter than sin. Hard abs, perfectly toned, arms worth salivating over. Yeah, the guy was made to be pornographic, that you were sure of.

You clicked play, watching as he teasingly ran his hands down his body, wrapping one big hand around his equally as big dick, the sound of his low groaning coming through the speaker.

A sigh slipped past your lips as you mimicked his movement, running your hands down your body, teasingly scraping your nails along your skin before slowly reaching your fingers under the waistband of your shorts.

The video ended just as your fingers reached your clit and a low spark of annoyance ran through you. “Fuck …” you muttured, staring at the replay button. Then the words under the video caught your attention.

Want more? Check out my OF ;)

Next to them was a link. Without thinking twice, or much, you pressed the link, watching as his OnlyFans page loaded up.

You glanced at the vibrator next to you on the bed, Gwen’s words, or more so the “You can have fun on your own,” echoing inside of your head once more.

“Fuck it!” You whispered into the darkness of your room, and then pressed the subscribe button.

taglist: @alenix @briefkittenearthquake @gamesetcheckeredflag @yara011

[thef1diary]

Pornstar!Daniel - mdni

You’d always had a bit of a crush on your neighbor.

It was hard not to when he smiled at you like that—boyish, warm, the kind of smile that made you linger just a little longer on your porch, pretending you were checking the plants. He was the type who radiated easy confidence, the kind of man who could make even the mundane days feel thrilling.

During the day, Daniel was your friendly neighbor. The one who waved at you from across the street while you backed out of your driveway. The one you always ran into while walking your groceries inside, quick to ask if you needed help carrying the heavy bags. The one you made excuses to talk to—borrowing sugar, returning a dish you never actually borrowed, or simply “accidentally” bumping into him at the mailbox.

But at night? At night, you had no idea it was him who made your cheeks flush and your breath hitch.

Pornstar!Dan, whose videos you’d stumbled across on a whim one lonely evening, quickly became your favorite escape. The way he moved—slow and deliberate, commanding attention with every touch—was hypnotic. The filthy, teasing words he murmured into the camera sent shivers down your spine, especially when he urged you to touch yourself to the rhythm he set. His voice alone left your cunt dripping and aching for more.

Pornstar!Dan, who never showed his face, but that only made it better. It let you imagine anything you wanted. His body, though—god, his body was unforgettable. The taut muscles of his arms, the sharp lines of his abs, the curve of his back, and the sheer thickness of his thighs, adorned with tattoos, had you hooked.

Pornstar!Dan, who left you a panting mess, fingers buried deep inside yourself as his voice spilled through your headphones. The way he muttered “good girl” or playfully degraded his viewers you had you writhing in your sheets, desperate for more.

Pornstar!Dan, who livestreamed just often enough to feel personal, his voice deeper and filthier as he answered live comments, adjusting the camera to give the perfect view of his inked body. It always seemed coincidental how his streams were perfectly timed with your nights, as though he somehow knew when you craved him the most. You just never guessed that it was because he was livestreaming from right across the street.

Pornstar!Dan, whose videos you’d fallen asleep watching more than once, waking up to that sinful view of his hardened cock paused on your phone screen. You’d bite your lip, cheeks burning, before turning it off and pretending you didn’t spend hours thinking about his body.

Pornstar!Dan, who had that one tattoo on his bicep, the one your fingers always traced on your screen while imagining what it would feel like under your touch. It wasn’t until much later, seeing a glimpse of ink peeking out from Daniel’s sleeve as he flipped burgers on a grill during a neighbourhood barbecue party, that you wondered why it looked so familiar.

Pornstar!Dan, whose voice haunted you even in daylight, especially when your neighbor Daniel casually asked how your day was with that same deep rasp. It was a coincidence, you told yourself. Nothing more.

The connection never clicked. How could it? By day, Daniel was your kind neighbor, and by night, Pornstar!Dan was your private obsession.

Because surely, it couldn’t be the same person. Right?

[saeist]

"did it hurt?"

"falling from heaven? a little"

"more like crawling out of the depths of hell but okay.." you say under your breath. nagumo gasps and puts a hand over his chest at your implication

"hey, that's mean!" he points a finger at you

you roll your eyes, "i mean your tattoos.. stupid"

nagumo raises an eyebrow, glancing down on his arms before it all clicks. a sly smirk makes their way on his face. he leans in ever so slightly just to mess with you

"oh? so you were looking at me?"

"nagumo, just answer the damn question! did it hurt or not?" you grumbled, facepalming as the man continues without fail to annoy the shit out of you. it was just a basic question yet he couldn't even answer it properly

nagumo laughs plenty, poking fun of your angry face. (that he may or may not like so much) when he finally stops laughing, he wipes the tears of joy from his eyes, shaking his head

"eh, depends but mostly no" he finally answers, showing off his tattoos by rolling up the sleeves of his sweater. "some on my arms i did by myself while the rest were done by a tattoo artist at a parlor"

wait a second, did he just say he did some of his tattoos by himself?

you stopped listening the moment he said that he does some of his tattoos. your eyes dart over his arms, observing the lines of ink permanently etched on his skin. a million questions running through your mind as you stare at them. how long did they take? did it hurt? how did he managed to tattoo himself on both arms precisely and accurately? who is his tattoo artist? how much does he pay for one tattoo? do each tattoos hold a specific meaning?

"hello? earth to y/n?" nagumo waves a hand over your face. you must've been staring at him for a while. "i knew i was a looker but you don't have to ogle me" he teases, chuckling to himself

you finally return to your senses when his words processed in your head. you shake your head vigorously

"i was not!" you deny, crossing your arms

nagumo laughs again, "you were totally checking me out!"

"i will check you out myself at the nearest funeral home. do not test me"

nagumo whistles low, "whoa.. freaky. though you're in luck, i like them like that" he winks

you can feel yourself burn up with how smooth he was with words. effortlessly shutting you up by just playing along. damn you nagumo and your smooth talking!

"you know what? this is pointless. i should've asked rion instead where she gets her tattoos done" you murmured, having enough of this conversation with nagumo. all you wanted was to ask where he gets them done so you could probably get one as well but since he wasn't answering properly then forget it

you turn around to walk away from nagumo, but before you could actually get away from him, he grabs onto your arm, preventing you from walking away

"hold it!" nagumo says, tugging you lightly to make you face him. he holds in another laugh when he sees you glaring at him. "no need to look for rion when everything you need is literally right in front of you" he muses

you raise an eyebrow, "what the fuck does that even mean?"

"i mean i can tattoo you" nagumo says like it was the most obvious thing in the world

you blink once. twice. trying to process what he just said

"what?"

nagumo exhales sharply, rolling his eyes. why couldn't you get the hint?

"i just told you that i did some of my tattoos. so if you want one, i wouldn't mind doing it for you" nagumo explains, taking a good look at your arm. an empty canvas in his eyes. his fingers trace over your skin as if he was already planning what he wants to tattoo onto you

his touch alone is sending sparks all over your body but for some reason, you don't pull your arm away

"let me guess, you're going to tattoo a dick on my arm" you huffed, watching him trace random shapes on your skin

nagumo reluctantly lets go of your arm and puts his hands behind his head as he looks at you, grinning

"maybe. it would be funny as fuck" he shrugs, giggling to himself at the thought of actually tattooing a dick on your arm

"this is why i'm going to rion" you sigh, rolling your eyes yet again. there's just something about talking to nagumo that is so infuriating but at the same time, so endearing

"come on" nagumo drawls, "you and me? matching tattoos? just think about it"

the mere thought of getting matching tattoos with nagumo, who's gonna do it on you just somehow made your stomach flip

what the fuck?

"never in a million years" you scoff, starting to walk away from him. "i'm gonna go look for rion. bye"

nagumo, as sharp as ever, notices the faint blush on your cheeks at the mention of getting matching tattoos with him. he lets you walk away from him with a small smile on his face. he knows damn well that you aren't going to reject this offer

"offer still stands!" he calls out after you, "you know where to find me"

you respond by flipping him off without the need to look back. nagumo bursts out laughing before he carries on with his day

later that night, you find yourself contemplating on taking nagumo's offer. all it takes was a curious cat to get itself killed. you stand in front of a mirror, trying to map out where you would like to get inked

the memory of nagumo proposing of getting matching tattoos echoes in your mind like a broken record. you mentally curse yourself for holding onto the thought of getting something permanent together. it almost feels like its a commitment

you actually can't believe that you're even considering this. from nagumo at that

on the other side of the jcc building, nagumo was sprawled over his bed, busy solving sudoku puzzles when he hears his phone vibrate on his bedside table. he pauses, picking his phone up lazily before he smirks when it was a notification from you

[7:09 PM] y/n :) : hypothetically speaking, if i were to accept your offer of you tattooing me, what would it be?

nagumo grins widely. he knew it. you wouldn't able to resist such offer from him. he immediately types his response not even a minute later

[7:10 PM] nagumo (DO NOT REPLY): hypothetically it would be anything you'd like cus that means you'll have a piece of me on you forever ;) [7:10 PM] nagumo (DO NOT REPLY): so, you down?

[shotmrmiller]

don't yell at me but i'm kinda tempted to go further into sex worker reader having a one night with a fan trope and it's our regular old bitter ghost who cherishes nothing else in life other than your work (vids, pics, mags) and when he finally does show up because he forcefully took the winning ticket from the bloke whom he knows wouldn't be able to handle all of you in bed, you're torn between locking yourself up in the bathroom to call the police or simply risking breaking your ankles by hopping out the window because this is not your average maidenless porn addict.

[nadvs]

watch and learn (part seven)

pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

content warning drug and alcohol use

summary it takes one conversation with your college dorm neighbor to know you won’t get along. rafe is loud, rude, and short-tempered. after he overhears you talking about a disappointing fling, he loses his confidence in his sexual abilities and suggests you start hooking up to both improve your skills in the bedroom. you can’t stand him, but it’s too good of an offer to turn down.

» masterlist

*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

The next morning, you sleep in, recovering from the party. Your head is still foggy as you scroll through your phone in bed, thinking about last night.

You spent a lot of time with Blake. He was nice and charming and all you did was talk and share innocent touches. He’s nothing but green flags.

Yet your mind kept reminding you of Rafe. And it kept replaying the sight of him kissing another girl.

Something between you two shifted the other day, when you dropped by after his dad’s visit. You agreed that you were friends. And then did something that friends definitely don’t do.

Then, of course, he took a few days to be a jerk. But last night, he mustered up a sorry for you, flirting with you again.

It’s almost like he’s leaving breadcrumbs, making you think he has feelings, with the possessiveness and the compliments and the looks he gives you. But time and time and time again, Rafe proves to you that he’s a douchebag who’s not looking for anything more than sex.

And neither are you, you remind yourself. Not with Rafe. He would break your heart if given the chance. And you’re not giving him the chance.

You see a text from Rafe from a couple of hours ago: you up?

You reply: i am now.

You open Instagram to see that Blake posted a story a few minutes ago. It’s a photo of a sign on the side of a building. He’s at a paintball range with his frat brothers. It must be another bonding event.

The text on the photo reads: let’s goooo red team.

You reply to the story: putting all my money on the red team.

He responds: I’ll win for you :)

Rafe has never played paintball before, but it couldn’t have come at a better time. His gun is loaded with blue pellets and he has Blake in his sights before the starting bell even rings.

This will be the best way to release his anger over the fact that he’s losing you. Well, other than getting naked with you and fucking until he can’t think straight. But you weren’t answering your phone this morning. So, this’ll do.

The field is vast under the cloudy sky, cluttered full of obstacles and barriers and embankments. When the game starts, Rafe has one goal and one goal only.

He hates how you were smiling at Blake last night. He hates how you touched his shoulder. How you laughed. How close you were.

Mere minutes into the game, he’s behind a colorfully splattered wall and finally finds Blake in his crosshairs. His finger presses down on the trigger over and over and over again, each pop loud and echoing, coating the front of Blake’s vest with bright blue drops of paint.

“Jesus, Rafe, I think you got him, man!” one of his teammates shouts with a laugh.

Even though one of his buddies on the red team nails Rafe in his arm a couple of times near the end of the round, the game ends in a blue team victory.

As the boys make their way back into the building, Blake shoves Rafe’s shoulder.

“The fuck was that, Cameron?” Blake asks, pointing to his vest, sheathed in blue. His smile is wide, but his tone is sharp. He’s trying to hide it, but he seems actually pissed off. Good.

“My bad, man,” Rafe half-chuckles, lifting his helmet off his head. “Got lost in the game. I love to win.”

The high from winning this stupid game is so intensely gratifying that Rafe wants to keep beating Blake in everything. Including in getting your attention.

When Rafe checks his phone as they leave the range, he sees you finally responded. He’s craving you now, but he’ll see you in a few hours at tonight’s party. And he wants Blake to see you with him.

He was stupid to think he could stay away from you. He’s going to see you as many times as you let him before your touches with Blake have more meaning behind them.

The “anything but clothes” party is slated to start at the Sigma Chi house in a few minutes. You and Liv decide to show up right on time to hang out with the guys and drink before the liquor runs out.

You made a stop at a party store off-campus to buy rolls of caution tape together, deciding to wrap the bright yellow nylon into haphazard tube tops and mini skirts, stuck together with clear packing tape. You’re careful so that the sticky tape is only on the caution tape, not directly touching any skin at all.

When you enter the house, you follow the noise in the kitchen. A group of frat boys are in the dining room, setting up the keg and putting out cups.

Blake and Rafe are standing with four other guys, talking as they set up.

Rafe should’ve put more effort into what he wore. He has a towel around his hips and when you walk in wearing next to nothing, he regrets it immediately. A boner would be way too fucking obvious.

Blake greets you with a side-hug and Rafe cracks his knuckles under the table.

“Hey, how was paintball?” you ask. “Did you win?”

“Lost and I’m wounded.” Blake’s wearing a plastic bag over his chest and another around his hips. He puts his hand over his sternum, the bag crinkling beneath his fingers.

“What the hell happened?” you laugh, placing your hand on his. He pretends to wince in pain when you touch him, making you laugh again. The sight makes Rafe scowl.

“Rafe went all Scarface on him,” Sam says. You look to Rafe, and at the same time, glass shatters in the kitchen behind you.

“Shit!” a guy shouts.

“So glad tomorrow’s thing is outside,” Blake mumbles. “This place is a mess and it’s only gonna get worse.”

“What’s tomorrow?” you ask.

“Family day,” Sam says. “We’re having a barbecue.”

“Do you guys have something going on every weekend?” Liv asks.

“Pretty much,” Blake in a bragging tone.

“And when do you study?” you say.

“During the week, fun police,” Blake mumbles with a playful smile. You hate the label and think back to a conversation you had with him over text about nicknames.

“Don’t call me that, babe,” you respond. Blake told you before that he loathes being called babe.

Rafe doesn’t know you’re saying it ironically. And he’s trying not to lose his mind. He looks down at his beer and takes another sip.

A moment passes and he doesn’t notice that Blake is trying to get his attention until he realizes seven pairs of eyes are on him.

“What?” Rafe asks.

“Who are you bringing tomorrow?” Blake repeats.

“I’m not coming.” Rafe can’t imagine even mentioning the event to anyone in his family.

“What? Why not?” Blake says. “I need to meet who raised you to be so fucking competitive.”

Rafe looks away the same way he did when you confronted his dad for yelling at him. It’s not exactly annoyance in his expression, like you’re used to seeing. It’s discomfort. Embarrassment.

You don’t want anyone to grill him. Not about his family. You can still hear the way his father snapped at him, asked what he was crying for.

“Sounds like you’re just mad that you’re such an easy target,” you say to Blake, primarily to take everyone’s eyes off of Rafe.

You earn a few jeers, heads turning back in your direction. Rafe’s eyes find yours and you glance at him to see a softened expression, the hard lines in his face suddenly gone.

“I’d like to see you try to play paintball,” Blake says.

“Yeah, you’re really selling it,” you respond sarcastically, snapping your gaze back to meet his.

“What other events do you guys have planned?” Liv asks.

As Blake goes into the schedule for the rest of the year - including a community service drive, a Sadie Hawkins formal, and a camping trip - Rafe can’t keep his eyes off of you.

He can’t forget how you stood up to his father, a total stranger, and told him to calm down. He can’t forget how happy your silly little gift made him.

Maybe you were just flirting with Blake, but he wonders if you purposely took the attention off of him, knowing what you know about his family.

You two are friends that have great sex, he knows that, but he’s staring at you like you’re more. You can be irritating and a tight-ass, but you’re kind and thoughtful, too.

Rafe looks away. These thoughts make him uneasy all over. He’s not a feelings kind of guy. And Blake is so obviously your type and Rafe is nothing like him.

He’s not stupid. Anything more than sex between you two would be ridiculous.

The house fills up with partygoers quickly, air thickening, music loud and conversations even louder.

Later on in the night, Rafe’s buzzed and standing by the keg, watching you dance with your friend. The way you roll your hips reminds him of how you move when you’re on top of him and he needs to force himself to look away before he gets hard. Again.

Eventually, he notices you head towards the back of the house alone and he takes the opportunity to talk to you.

When you leave the bathroom and head down the dark hallway back towards the party, you notice Rafe leaning by the wall, a beer bottle in his hand. There’s only a handful of people around, engaging in quiet, private conversation as the music throbs around you.

“Hey,” he says. He wishes he thought of something more clever to say, but he’s pretty close to being drunk.

It’s kind of sweet that he’s waiting here for you. But then you remind yourself he’s just horny.

“Hey,” you say, eyes flitting down his athletic body and to the navy blue towel sitting at his hips. “Pretty lazy of you to use a towel.”

“Nah, it’s smart,” he quips. “That tape is perfect for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you say.

“You can read, can’t you?” Rafe simply says, his hand ghosting over the bold CAUTION on your chest. You look down at the way his long fingers just barely brush over your breasts, imagining the way they were massaging you earlier this week.

The reminder sends a swirl of warm passion in your core. You want him again. And again. And again.

“Are you trying to say I’m dangerous? I’m not the one attacking people during an innocent game of paintball.”

“I got hit, too, okay?” Rafe complains. He brings his right arm forward, showing you his flexed bicep.

“I don’t see anything,” you laugh.

“These red marks are turning into bruises,” he says, pointing to his skin. “I’ll need you to take care of me.”

“I think you’re just being a fuckboy,” you respond.

Rafe’s smirk is playful and inviting and you realize you’re only inches away from each other, eyes connected and smiles mirrored.

You want to see him naked again. Neither of you had any pointers last time you hooked up, but that doesn’t mean you’re done learning, right?

“I’ve never gotten a ‘you up?’ text at ten in the morning,” you say. Admittedly, you were a little dejected that he didn’t reply to your message earlier today.

“You woke up late,” Rafe says, eyebrows quirking up for a second. “When’d you even get home?”

In reality, he wants to know if you were with Blake. He didn’t see you at last night’s party after he made out with a girl just to unsuccessfully make you jealous. Maybe you messed around with Blake and stayed up late with him.

“I don’t remember,” you admit with a defeated laugh. “I think I need to cool it on the partying. You frat boys never stop. I can’t believe how many things you guys have going on.”

Rafe breathes a sardonic chuckle, looking down, and you’re immediately reminded of tomorrow’s event.

Just like that, the air between you shifts. You’re both thinking of the same thing. You’re painfully aware of it.

Silence settles between you and you nervously scratch your arm.

“I wouldn’t want to bring him, either,” you finally say. Rafe’s eyes meet yours. He instantly knows you’re talking about his father.

Now he’s sure you weren’t just carrying on conversation with Blake earlier. You purposely took the attention off of him. Because you’re friends. Friends help each other.

“Yeah,” is all Rafe can say.

“Did you…” you say softly. “Do you not have anyone else you’d want to come?”

Rafe thinks of his life back home. His father, who never shies away from expressing his disappointment. His step-mother, who he has no relationship with. Sarah, who’s the clear favorite. Wheezie, who Rafe actually likes and sort of misses, but wouldn’t be able to visit on her own.

“No,” he admits. “It’s… I don’t have that kind of family.”

“Must be why you’re into this whole frat thing,” you say. You can’t stop yourself from trying to understand his complexities.

Rafe didn’t think about it that way. But the sense of camaraderie he has with his frat brothers, except for one in particular, does give him a sense of belonging he’s been chasing forever. He didn’t even realize it until you said it.

But that’s what you do. You make him think and feel things he hasn’t before and it’s so uncomfortable and exciting at the same time.

“You’re…” Rafe tugs at his earlobe. “You’re a really nice person.”

“What?” You laugh in disbelief. Is he being sweet to you outside of the bedroom?

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” he says. “When he asked me why I’m not going tomorrow, you changed the subject.”

He can’t say Blake’s name.

“Guilty,” you say. You settle into eye contact that’s unlike anything you two have shared before. Rafe huffs, wanting to force away the tension sitting in his chest.

“I think you’re into this whole frat thing, too, by the way,” he says. He leans even closer to you, blue eyes focused on your lips.

“Not at all,” you joke, shaking your head. “I hate you guys.”

“Really,” Rafe mutters, his tone low. “Even me?”

“Especially you.”

“You don’t remember what you said last time we fucked? When I asked if I could put it in?”

Your skin burns as you think back to the way he asked you if you were ready before burying into you.

“You must be thinking about another girl,” you say. He won’t even entertain the thought.

“You said please,” he rasps.

“Well, at least I have manners,” you reply, looking him in the eye as anticipation curls in your stomach, refusing to shy away.

“You gonna beg me for it again?”

“I did not beg,” you respond.

You want to tease him even more, tell him you thought you were experts now, so what’s the point of hooking up anymore? But you don’t need it to be instructional to have sex with him. He doesn’t seem to need it, either.

“Don’t tell me you’re still shy about liking it.” His smirk is taunting. This cracks you, a smile spreading on your face again, your eyes trailing down his bare chest.

“Maybe,” you tease. It’s a lie. You’re not shy at all anymore. The sense of shame you felt around sex before is gone. At least with Rafe, it has.

“How can you be shy when you’re wearing that?” Rafe asks. “Showing fucking everything.”

“You’re one to talk,” you say, nose crinkling. The way you cock your head as you gaze at his body, your lashes fluttering as you blink, makes his gut warm and his groin tighten. Wow. He really doesn’t even need to touch you to get hard.

“And don’t act like you don’t like my outfit,” you say, meeting his eyes again. You shock yourself with your forwardness. He looks pleasantly surprised, too.

You hear your name being shouted. Liv rushes towards you, hands pressed over her chest.

“My tape broke,” she laughs. “I almost flashed everyone.”

“Really?” you gasp. Rafe is annoyed that you got interrupted, but he finds that he really likes what caring for somebody looks like on you. Your eyes deepen. Your brows lower. Your guard is down. You’re stunning.

“We should’ve brought extra tape,” Liv says.

“We can borrow a shirt,” you suggest. “Let’s find Blake.”

Rafe is seething. Blake. Of fucking course.

You offer Rafe a tight smile before taking your friend’s hand and walking in front of her to shield her.

When you find Blake, he leads you and Liv upstairs to his room, scrambling through his dresser to find a shirt for Liv.

“I’m not gonna get kicked out for wearing clothes, am I? It’s against the rules,” Liv says.

“No, only ‘cause you’re friends with fun police over here,” Blake replies, smiling over his shoulder as he hands a black shirt to Liv. “Special privileges.”

“I told you not to call me that,” you say with a laugh. Liv pulls the shirt over her head.

“Thanks!” she calls as she walks out of the room, a grin on her face. You know she’s purposely leaving you alone with Blake.

You meet Blake’s eyes, standing in the middle of his quiet, private room.

“Study fort’s gone,” you notice, looking down at his bare floor.

“Oh. Yeah,” he says stiffly. It’s awkward between you and you’re not sure why. “You look…”

Blake doesn’t finish his sentence. You knew he was a bit on the shy side, but he’s actually nervous.

You would normally find it endearing. But because of the intoxicating way Rafe was talking to you downstairs, how he’s so unafraid of telling you how attracted he is to you, you feel tense around Blake for the first time.

Still, intrigue coarses through you. You like him. You want him to flirt with you and to touch you and to finally kiss you. But he’s still.

Rafe spots your friend in the crowd with a t-shirt on. And you’re not next to her. He pushes through people to stand beside Liv and ask her where you are.

“Upstairs with Blake,” Liv simply responds. Rafe glances up the staircase, lips twisting as he nods. He stalks away, storming through the house with no real idea of where to go.

He paces around for a few minutes. He wants to rush upstairs and hurt Blake. Badly. Without a paintball gun this time. The thought of you being up there in his room, of his hands on you, of him on top of you… It’s too much. He’s grinding his teeth so hard that it hurts.

Rafe has had enough. He heads back towards the front of the house, not sure what the hell he’ll do if he walks in on Blake on top of you, but before he can go upstairs, he sees you in the crowd, chatting with your friend.

“I left you alone up there for a reason,” Liv says quietly when you approach her.

“Oh, I’m aware,” you laugh. “But the vibe was weird, so I left. I think we were both nervous.”

After Blake couldn’t finish his sentence, you thanked him for helping your friend and split.

“Do you not like him?” Liv asks.

You do. But you think you like someone else, too. And it’s terrifying.

Rafe weaves through the crowds, approaching you, his fingers gently wrapping around your wrist. You watch him duck to speak into your ear.

“Leave with me,” he says so only you can hear him over the music. You look at Liv, who has a sly, knowing expression on her face.

“I can’t abandon my friend just to hook up with you,” you say to him. A painful pang of rejection twists inside him.

“But do you want to?” Rafe asks. He needs to be sure. What if your next words are that you’re with Blake now?

Your pulse is racing. The promise of another night with Rafe is electrifying.

“Yes,” you admit. He smiles to himself, pulling back to look at Liv.

“You gonna be okay if she leaves?” Rafe says, tilting his head towards you.

“Of course, if she wants to,” Liv replies with an amused laugh.

Rafe pulls you towards him, out of the crowd. And for once, he’s actually glad to see Blake, who’s standing by the keg with a few friends.

He wraps his arm around your waist, mumbling to you that he’s going to rip that stupid tape off of you, as he glares at Blake, who’s staring at you two with a disconcerted grimace.

He leads you out of the rowdy house, grip tight on you as if he could lose you again.

The second you’re in Rafe’s dorm room, his hands are on your ass, fingers dipping under the tape. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, kissing him heatedly as you stand by his bed.

You can smell his cologne and his shampoo as his tongue runs over yours.

“You know everyone was looking at you tonight, right?” he says between kisses.

“No,” you scoff. While he’s helped you gain some confidence, you can’t imagine thinking of yourself as the most desired girl in a room.

“I told you not to do that,” he says against your lips. You feel the nylon around your ass lift off your skin as he tugs it away, pulling apart the material, tape unsticking.

“Do what?” you mutter. He grips your ass, feeling the fabric of your underwear on his palms. You lower a hand to undo the knot keeping up the towel on him.

“You pretend like you’re not beautiful and it pisses me off,” he says. Beautiful. He said hot before. But not beautiful. He never used that word with you. “How hard do I have to fuck you for you to get it?”

“Rafe,” you gasp with a giggle.

“How hard?” he asks. “Until you can’t talk?”

His towel drops and he kisses your neck, tugging at the tape bound around your chest. You shift to wrap your hand around his length over his boxers, aching for the feeling of him inside of you.

Rafe loves that you touch him like this now, without any hesitation. He rips the tape off of your chest, his fingers burning.

While you wore panties just in case, you’re glad you went without a bra simply because of the way Rafe breathes when he looks down to see your bare chest.

He fondles your tits with eager, rough movements, squeezing as he clenches his jaw.

“Every guy was staring at you, but only I get to do this.” His lips are against your neck, breath hot.

You tense for a second. He shouldn’t say shit like this. His words are possessive and tender and way too fucking heavy.

But you push yourself out of your head, focusing on how you feel physically, forgetting the emotions that have slowly been tacking themselves onto you like the crumpled tape on the floor.

You dip your hand into his boxers, wrapping your hand around his girth. Rafe inhales sharply, squeezing his eyes shut as you stroke him slowly. You drag your hand to his tip, feeling the warm precum and spreading it with your thumb.

“Fuck,” he groans.

“You like that?” you whisper with a smile. It’s exciting talking like this. You were always quiet when hooking up with a guy, but Rafe has pushed you completely out of your shell.

“Get on my bed,” he says gruffly, pressing your hips back. You lie down, watching his cock spring out of his boxers when he tugs them off.

Rafe almost asks to skip the condom, but it feels too intimate. Too serious. And he’s sure you’d say no.

You pull your panties off as he rolls on the latex and gets on his knees, sinking onto the mattress, hands gripping your ankles. He shifts and rests your ankles on his broad shoulders, his hands skimming down your legs.

He drags a thumb over your wet clit, gazing down at you with yearning as he spreads your slick arousal over you. You moan at the sensation, realizing just how sensitive you are from how long it’s been and how much you missed him.

“You’re fucking soaked,” Rafe rasps. “Who got you like this, baby?”

“You did,” you reply. The words coming out of your mouth are so fucking soothing. He can’t think about anyone else doing this to you. Only him.

Rafe pulls his hand off of you to grip your thigh and holds his cock at its base with his other hand, tapping it over your middle. You look at him, eyes meeting in an exquisite, mutual longing.

“Say please,” he teases.

“You say please,” you reply, smirking. Rafe shakes his head in disbelief and awe and desire, his hair falling over his forehead.

He can’t wait. He guides himself into you, slipping in so easily, feeling just how drenched and tight and warm you are. He groans as you take him in with a deep breath, tilting to feel the curve of his cock.

“That’s so fucking nice,” he whispers, watching himself push into you. “Your pussy is so fucking nice.”

His fingers dig into your thigh as he pulls back and pushes in again. You throw your head back as he shoves himself into you, filling you completely, the pressure hard and incredible.

Rafe’s thumb is on your clit again, rubbing in circles as he thrusts, making you tremble. Your mouth is agape, your hands above your head as he pleasures you.

It’s such a phenomenal view to him. Pleasure written on your face, your tits bouncing, your chest heaving, your body jolting.

You feel your stomach tighten, the rising sensation making you moan. Rafe starts to go harder, rubbing faster, a smile curling on his lips as he watches you.

“I…” you breathe. “Fuck, I…”

“Can’t talk?” he rasps, amused. You bite your bottom lip and moan a giggle, willing yourself to look at him before he has to tell you to.

His gaze is piercing into you as you feel yourself dissolve into ecstasy, your body going numb before it heats with the most amazing feeling you’ve ever had.

Rafe feels you clenching around his cock and he leans over to get as deep into you as possible, your legs bending as his shoulders push you forward.

After you come down from your orgasm, he places his hand on your cheek, dipping his thumb into your mouth.

You stare at him as he drives into you and you wrap your lips around his thumb, tasting yourself. Rafe might just go crazy. You take him so much better than he’s ever had before.

He tightens and you watch the euphoria wash over his face, his brows furrowing and his lips parting. You love that you can do this to him, that a man so commanding and dominant and brash crumbles like this when he’s inside you.

He cums in hard pulses, hips bucking with every jerk, seeing stars. When he slowly pulls out, you close your eyes, sighing in pleasure.

Your palms rest over your eyes, feeling high off the feeling as you feel him shift off the mattress. When you catch your breath, you open your eyes to see Rafe offering you a towel.

“You have fun?” he asks. You can tell he’s trying to do the whole aftercare thing, but because it’s not genuine, you’d rather not play along.

It’s clear he wants you to leave with the way he’s holding out the towel, surely wishing you’d cover up and go. You’re not surprised. You sit up, taking the towel and wrapping it around your body.

“C-minus,” you say.

“What?”

“Kidding,” you laugh. You stand to leave and decide to let him deal with the mess of caution tape on his floor, desperate to be alone so you can pull yourself together.

You go so suddenly that Rafe watches his door shut with confusion. He thought you’d wipe yourself down with the towel he gave you, maybe sit a while with him.

He oddly wanted you to stay a little bit. He liked joking around with you earlier tonight. It was fun.

But you were so eager to go. Probably because Rafe is the kind of guy you fuck and forget, and Blake is the kind of guy you make love to and stick around for.

He knows that he’s in a competition he’ll eventually lose because he can’t offer you a relationship. You said yourself he’d be the worst boyfriend ever the night he told you not to cuddle him.

But he’ll happily take these nights with you for as long as possible. And he’ll keep fighting for as many as he can.

When you make it to your dorm, you sit on your bed, breathless. Just when you think the sex can’t get any better with Rafe, it does.

He almost disappointed you with his lack of emotion afterwards, but you’re glad you didn’t give him the power to. He’ll always let you down in that department. As long as you keep any feelings for him at bay, you know you’ll be fine.

After you feel a bit calmer, you check your phone to see five texts.

Liv: didn’t get a chance to tell you but rafe is down BAD for you

Liv: when i told him you were upstairs with blake he looked like he was about to kill someone

Liv: hope you have fun lol :)

Liv: i sure am… i made out with sam after you left… oops

Then you see a block of text in the next notification.

Blake: Gotta be honest. I wanted to kiss you when we were in my room but you make me really nervous haha. Can I take you on a date? A real one. Not just a study date lol. All good if you’re not into it. Let me know.

(part eight)

author’s note: thank you anon for this iconic idea!!

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[sky-is-the-limit]

Part 2 because poor Sanji deserves some attention.

After Zoro finally knocked out, snoring into your pillow like a damn boulder, you tiptoed into the kitchen for something cold.. and nearly dropped dead on sight.

Sanji.

One elbow on the counter and his other hand buried so far down his pants he might as well be inside someone. Shoulders tense, chest rising gradually and head hung low with messy blonde hair sticking to his sweaty face.

He was moaning softly but not discreetly, like he wanted to be caught.

You could only see him from the ribs up but that didn't matter. You knew. From the way his jaw clenched, the tremble in his arm, the wet drag of skin.. he was stroking his cock like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

And you? You just stood there.

With one leg still behind the door, you squeezed your thighs so tight your slick was leaking between them, core burning and already pounding like a desperate drum.

You were meant to grab water. Not get front row seats to Sanji fisting his dick behind the galley counter like a wet dream.

But he had to know.. that you'd walk in eventually with your tank top, bare legs and Zoro's scent still on your skin.

"I know you're there."

Your stomach flipped. He didn't even look at you. Didn't slow down either. Just kept working himself behind the counter.

Sanji's fingers tightened around the base, veins bulging along his forearm as he dragged his grip up slow, wrist twisting just enough to make his breath hitch.

Precum smeared over his knuckles, dripping down his fist as he stroked the flushed head with obscene care.

The man's mouth hung open, soft groans spilling out while his eyebrows drew tight like he was aching for release, with his jaw staying tense, muscles locked with restraint as he fucked into his hand like he wished it was you.

Then he looked up. Ocean eyes glazed, face flushed and starving.

"Took you long enough.." He muttered, stepping out from behind the counter with his pants undone, cock heavy in his grip. Red, slick and fucking angry.

He sat down on a wooden chair, spreading his legs wide like he was offering something holy.

"You can watch me finish-" His tone dropped as his hand started pumping again, lazily. "Just like I’ve been watchin' you, sweetheart."

And now you're frozen in the doorway, chest rising fast, practically drooling to the sight of the blonde man before you while Zoro sleeps two doors down.

And all you can do is pray he stays asleep.

[wardenparker]

The Secret of My Success, ch 1

Harry Castillo x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When not even a professional matchmaking firm can help Harry Castillo find love, he turns his attention to helping his best friend meet their soulmate instead. The surprise of finding his own in the process will challenge the attitude Harry has taken toward dating for his entire life, and open up a whole new world of romance.

(This story picks up where the last chapter of The Unbearable Weight of Perfection leaves off, and will weave in a few other soulmate characters from previous stories just for fun. Don't worry if you haven't read those stories though! I'll be dropping the pertinent references in each chapter's note section to read along with Harry and his soulmate's adventures.)

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12.6k Warnings: *Reader is nicknamed Mack* Continuous warnings for: food/alcohol consumption, tobacco smoking. Mentions of past bullying and mistreatment, a bit of humanizing judgmental behavior. Summary: Harry attends his best friend's engagement party, only to find that Percy's old childhood partner in crime is quite charming in her own right. Notes: In this first chapter, we have references to Tamara's friend the fashion designer whose husband is from Mallorca. Wave hi to Javi G and his amor as you read!

The ringing telephones and buzz of activity from even down the hall doesn’t reach the plush, insulated capsule of this office. The windows are encompassing, giving a sweeping view of the city that would stun visitors and impress investors. The power harness from floor to ceiling views of the most powerful financial district in the world. His back is to that view, phone pressed to his ear as he talks. “I think that with that kind of margin, we would be stupid to invest.” He says bluntly, aware that the news won’t be well received but that’s not his problem. “No, they’ve significantly overstated their assets and at this point, it’s looking more like fraud than idiocracy.”

The knock at the door draws Harry Castillo’s attention, making him look up and frown as his best friend motions for him to wrap up the call. Shaking his wrist and looking at the Patek Philippe watch on his wrist makes him wince. “No, I understand.” He murmurs. “Tom, we will have to discuss this later. Think about what I’ve said.” He tells the man on the other end of the line, rolling his eyes with annoyance when the entire point seems to fly right over that man’s head. “Uh huh, uh huh.” He stands. “Yes. Well, that’s an interesting way of looking at it.” He shakes his head, nodding towards Percy Stokes, rushing him along. “Okay, well, I have a meeting that I’m walking into, so I’ll get back to you on that.” He says abruptly, finally managing to break through the endless monologue before saying a hurried goodbye and pulling the phone away from his ear.

“Come on.” Percy huffs. “We’re gonna be late.” He shakes his head. “And Tamara will kill me.”

Harry grins, sliding his phone into the inner pocket of his suit and pulling down the edge of his jacket to straighten it out. Luckily his tie was still straight and he hadn’t run a hand through his hair. “She would if you were late to your own engagement party.” He agrees.

“Which is why we’re not gonna be late.” Percy says with absolute certainty. He’s waving Harry toward the door with enthusiasm, checking his own appearance in one of the mirrors build into the walls of the office. Harry is technically his boss but he’s far more of a friend. He’d become that along the way, as they both came up through the financial game together. The Castillo family’s connections were pure gold and Harry hadn’t minded being a sort of big brother figure to the new guy in the family firm when Percy had started years ago. Now they’re each other’s number one fan and best supporter in work and out of it.

“Do you have her gift?” He asks, knowing that it’s customary to give your fiancée a gift before the wedding. He had voted on the Tiffany earrings, but he didn’t know what Percy had chosen.

Percy pats the breast pocket of his suit jacket and beams. “The earrings were perfect,” he tells Harry as they dash for the elevator. “I went with the platinum setting. Matches her engagement ring that way.”

“Nice.” He holds the door open for Percy and steps in after he’s in the car, pressing the button for the lobby. “The car is outside; we should be there with time to spare.” He promises.

"Only because your guy finds like...pocket dimensions to drive through." Percy jokes. Harry's driver, an older man named Stanley with a sharp tongue and a hell of a sense of humor, is a goddamn treasure and everybody knows it.

“He’s driven in Manhattan.” Harry snorts. “That qualifies as a combat tour.”

"You're not wrong." Percy snorts. He leans back in the elevator car as it drops swiftly down the controlled track from the thirtieth floor down to the ground. He's jittery and excited and can't stop grinning. Tonight is going to be perfect.

“So who all is Tamara gonna invite from her end?” He asks. “I know that you’re moving to L.A., but we’ve planned all the wedding activities here.”

“She’s got some family coming down, and a few people in from LA.” His Canadian-born fiancée seems to have friends and family everywhere, and he fiddle with the cuff of his shirt sleeve where it lays over the white ink maple leaf tattoo he has from her. “Basically her family and her bridesmaids. If I read the guest list correctly for tonight, the husbands are all home with their kids and the girls are making a weekend of it.”

“That’s a shame.” Harry chuckles. “Seems like I’ll never get to meet the famous Javi Gutierrez.” He jokes. “People say we look like we are related.”

“He’s coming to the wedding,” Percy assures him as the elevator touches down on the ground floor. “His wife is one of Tam’s bridesmaids and apparently he loves weddings, which doesn’t surprise me after having met a bunch of their friends.”

Harry hums as the doors open. “Good, I’ve been wanting to talk about property in Mallorca.”

The two men stride out the glass doors of their office building and slide into a car, but Percy scoffs even before they get settled. “So that’s the travel obsession this month? Mallorca?” Harry itches to travel but never makes the time for himself and everyone knows it. Last month he had been pouring over travel itineraries for New Zealand.

“Yeah, I was thinking that it could be a good investment.” He admits. “Maybe a diversity into a resort style property.”

“You’re going to buy a hotel?” Percy’s eyebrow ticks up skeptically.

“Why not?” He shrugs slightly. “No different than owning the apartment buildings in SoHo.”

“From finance heir to real estate mogul.” The younger man laughs, nudging Harry’s shoulder. “Hey man, if that’s what you want to do? Enjoy it. Make sure they keep an owner’s suite ready for you to drop by whenever.”

“Exactly.” He grins as Stanley guides the car out into traffic and away from the skyscraper. ‘Castillo Holdings’ is proudly proclaimed in large gold letters at the top of the building and on the plaque mortared into the stone pillar beside the doors. “Name it ‘Harry’s Place’ or some whimsical kind of thing.”

Percy snorts. “This from the man who gets a giggle out of taking business dinners to Harry’s instead of Delmonico’s. Of course you would call it Harry’s Place.”

He smirks slightly, tapping his fingers on his knee. Forcing himself not to trace the scars on the side of his thigh like he would do if he was alone. “Like you wouldn’t do the same.” He huffs back playfully.

“Percy’s Palace,” he answers without hesitation, smirking right back at his friend. “Gotta have that alliteration.”

“Palace, huh?” He chuckles softly, nodding in agreement. “I like it. It would be a place that people would talk about.”

“Hell yeah they would.” Taking the approval as a compliment, he grins. “Build it right on the Vegas strip. Blow Caesar’s out of the water.”

“Now you’re talking serious investment.” It’s almost immediately that his mind starts turning over that information. Running the numbers.

"Tam loves Vegas." Percy reveals, his smirk slipping into something much more besotted. After meeting at that fateful Met Gala a month ago, he and Tamara had flown to Las Vegas for a week and spent time wrapped up in each other learning everything they could about the soulmate they had been searching for, for so long.

“You’re lucky.” Harry will admit that easily, not a hint of jealousy, even though he knows that he hides really well. “Honestly, she’s perfect for you.”

"You're next." Percy insists. He leans back in his seat and watches Manhattan roll past the windows, contended as a house cat. "I know you're bummed about not having marks, but I know we can find you the right girl."

“Yeah.” Harry nods, not willing to bring down Percy with his own depressive thoughts. He had tried that route, went logical. Lucy had ended up breaking up with him. “She’s out there.”

"Who knows?" He's trying to be encouraging, but Percy is in that giddy, dreamy place of a new relationship where everything is love-centric. And more than that, his love-centric. "Maybe it's one of Tam's friends?"

“It’s possible.” He chuckles, doubting it. He honestly doesn’t know if he’s meant for love. Maybe he doesn’t have marks because he’s not suitable for that kind of relationship. It happens. It’s just convincing his mother than it’s not the universes fault.

They're a little bit quieter by the time they arrive at the party. The Clover Club is a favorite bar with excellent crafted cocktails, unique beers, and gourmet bar food that is a perfect choice for the intimate engagement party of two people who grew up casual but like to indulge in the finer things now that it's not out of budget.

Tamara, radiant in a white dress with pink flowers, squeaks with delight when she sees the sleek, black Maserati pull up to the curb. She is getting out of an Uber with her parents and little sister but her focus has immediately shifted.

“There she is.” Percy barely waits for the car to stop before he is jumping out. Harry chuckles as he follows behind him a moment later after the car actually stops rolling. “See? We arrived at the perfect time.” He calls out to Percy, waving to Tamara politely even though she only has eyes for her soulmate at the moment.

The couple murmur to each of quietly for a moment, savoring a few sweet kisses after three impossibly long days apart. When Tamara can finally do something other than gaze adoringly into Percy's eyes, she sighs happily and looks back to the people around them. She introduces her mother, father, and her sister to her newly-minted fiancé and Percy introduces Harry in turn.

They seem like nice people, although it’s clear that they are a little out of their depths. He doesn’t miss the speculative looks as they try to take everything in all at once.

"It's our first time in New York City," Tamara's sister Renee explains. "It's...a lot."

"It's beautiful," her mother sighs happily.

"We can't wait to show you the sights." Percy ushers everyone inside. They're the first arrivals, and others will be coming momentarily, but he wants to have everyone settled. "Harry's going to come look at venues with us this weekend but I promise we won't overwhelm you with it. We'll have fun while you're here."

“Yes.” Harry nods, motioning everyone towards the doors. “Honestly it should be quick to pick the venue.”

"Mack is coming too, right?" Tamara asks, glancing over her parents' heads at her soulmate as he holds open the door for everyone.

"Absolutely." Percy nods emphatically. "She's going to be our best ally."

“Mack?” Harry frowns slightly as he looks towards Percy. “The roommate I’ve never managed to actually meet?”

"She works nights a lot," Percy reminds him, waving it off. When Tamara's parents look curious, he goes on. "My best friend growing up became a wedding planner. The event business that she works for offered her a transfer from a smaller office so she took it. She only got to the city a few weeks ago, so there hasn't been a lot of chance to get everyone together yet."

Harry rolls his eyes at the slightly protective tone to his friend’s voice. He had asked about this friend, only to be stonewalled. It had made him a little apathetic about meeting “Mack”.

"You're gonna like her." Percy predicts, pointing one knowing finger at Harry. He'd been cautious about the introduction because he's protective of his friends, not because he thought they would butt heads.

There is no more chance to talk about it though, as they step into the club and Percy turns his attention to the staff. They've booked the event space for the night and paid premium for plenty of the gourmet food and drink options for all of their guests, and he wants the night to be perfect. As perfect as Tamara is. As perfect as their wedding and their future will be.

The warm lights reflect off the brick walls. Gleam against the tap that line the wall, but Harry is more interested in the whiskey. He slides up to the polished bar and taps his fingers lightly, eager for a drink.

"What can I get for you tonight, sir?" The bartender assigned to the private event space is a beautiful young woman with a bright smile and platinum blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She slides over to him with ease, measuring him up at a glance just the way everyone does in this city.

He shoots her a small smile. “Double Highland Park.” He orders. “Straight up.”

"Coming right up." Her interest at least momentarily piqued, she takes another glance before sauntering away to pour the whiskey that was so very rarely ordered. That's a hell of an expensive glass. Maybe this won't be just another average party after all.

“Thank you.” Harry watches her pour, admiring the way she makes it look elegant. The smooth amber colored liquor in the heavy crystal cut glass is slid across the bar to him and he nods. “Thanks.” The twenty in his palm is left in the lacquered top as he takes the glass to lift it for a quick sip.

There is a commotion at the door as more friends pour in. This seems to be a particularly punctual group of friends and Harry tucks that information away appreciatively.

Music starts to pour in through the speakers, a little more festive than most parties, but it’s fun.

Jovial chattering fills the space as more and more people arrive, and people come and go from the bar around him as guests truly join the party. About ten minutes into the stream of arrivals, a tall woman in silk walks through the door to be greeted by raucous shouts from Percy.

Turning towards the commotion, Harry watches as Percy grabs Tamara’s arm and rushes forward to wrap his arms around the woman and squeeze hard enough to make her squeal. Intrigued by the display and wondering if this is the Mack Percy had been talking about.

They're almost of a height, Harry notes with interest — Tamara being fairly tall for a woman he doesn't suppose that she often meets others her size. But the new arrival is decidedly curvier than the willowy actress.

"Let me breathe, Perce!" The woman is laughing, shoving Percy with an air of sibling playfulness. "And let me say hi to Tam Tam, for crying out loud!"

Harry finishes his drink, watching the entire time as the statuesque woman pulls away from Percy and gives Tamara an equally enthusiastic greeting. Whoever she is, she is confident. Many women might be intimidated by the radiating beauty and obvious size difference between her and a famous actress, but not her.

"My mother Bernadette, my father Joe, and my little sister Renee." Tamara introduces her family in turn. "This is Mack. She's been Percy's best friend since they were kids."

So it is Mack. Harry hums, trying to figure out how he is feeling about this development. Percy had never mentioned that his roommate was positively beautiful, confident and voluptuous.

"Next door neighbors," he hears her explain to Tamara's family with ease. "Our mothers served together and we ended up in the same class at school. We were pretty much connected at the hip for a long time."

"I thought you moved a lot when you were a kid?" Renee asks, trying to place all of the story's ducks into a neat row.

"Oh, I did," Percy nods. "We both did. We ended up in Fayetteville when we were...twelve?" Mack nods and he goes on. "I had been in Florida before that, and Korea. But I was born in Illinois."

Harry moves back over to the bar, asking for another refill as he continues to watch the introductions and the way that this friend interacts with the people closest to Tamara and Percy. Sometimes he wonders if he’s too detached, but he also likes to people watch. He learns things about people that way. Reading them.

"We're not doing official business tonight." He hears Mack insist. "We're here to celebrate, not split hairs. I'm gonna go get a drink before you start quizzing me on vendors."

The sharp click of heals announces the approach and he has the new glass of whiskey in his hand right as the figure draped in black silk approaches.

"Hi honey." You smile when the bartender comes over and it's a bright, confident dazzle of white teeth and red-painted lips. "What's the best thing on your menu for a rum drinker?"

"Do you like mint?" The bartender asks. When the woman identified as Mack say yes, the bartender smiles back. "I've got just the thing. Give me one second."

Harry studies you up close as you turn to appraise him. Noting the carefully crafted makeup, professional but bold with the red lipstick. Like you had come from work and dressed up the look with a quick trip into your cosmetic bag. “Rum is best on a desert beach.” He jokes. “Burned to signal a ship to rescue you.”

"Only if you're a snob," you counter, leaning against the bar and noting his simple, straight glass of brown liquor. A subtle whiff reveals it's whiskey. "Sometimes it's okay to just enjoy things because they're fun."

Okay, not a Pirates of the Caribbean fan. “And rum is fun?” He asks curiously, tilting his head as he watches you judge his drink. He lifts his brows and offers it to you to try.

"Oh fuck, that was from a movie?" You snort, laughing at your own self for being the actual asshole in this scenario. "Sorry, no, I clearly haven't seen it. Them? I'm more of a Star Wars girl." When he motions to his glass you raise your own eyebrow in turn. "What is it?"

“Expensive, snobbish, whiskey.” He smirks, wiggling the glass enticingly. Playfully. Something that is a little surprising to him, normally very serious in life. “Highland Park.”

"Sounds like something I can't afford to breathe near," you joke, but since it's just a sip being offered to you by a ridiculously handsome man at a private party being thrown by your best friend, you figure it's safe enough and also too intriguing to pass up. "Cheers." You raise his glass to him and tip it back, taking just a sip but immediately shutting your eyes and practically sighing over the deep, complex flavors.

The smirk turns to a genuine smile as he watches you appreciate the whiskey. The bartender brings back a drink and announces the name “Queen’s Park Swizzle.” She grins and Harry nods. “Another glass of Highland Park.” He orders with a wink and nod towards you. “I think she’s stolen mine.”

"Well I do drink pirate liquor," you joke, and have another sip since he's offered. Once you put the glass down again, you hold out your hand. "I'm Mack." The nickname is more than a decade old now, something that you've absorbed into who you are and made a part of you. So much so that it's obvious who knows you intimately versus who knows you through business based on what they call you. Friends and family? They've all called you Mack since you were fifteen.

“Harry.” He takes your hand and instead of shaking it, he bends down and presses a kiss to the back of it. Smelling the fruity, spicy fragrance of whatever lotion you have used.

Motherfucker. He's charming, too? Your stomach twists, but only because you're not used to this kind of thing. Gentlemanly behavior, most people call it. The men you spend your days around are usually either very in love grooms or very out of love grooms. The former can look right at you and still not see you, which is somewhat sweet. And the later are decidedly not gentlemen. It's such a distracting moment that it actually takes you another few seconds to process who he is. "Wait, Harry Harry? Like Percy's boss? Apparently the only competition I've ever had for the position of that weirdo's best friend?" You motion over your shoulder with one thumb and make a mental note to smack Percy soundly for not telling you his other best friend was so hot. "It's really nice to finally meet you."

“I was starting to wonder if you were real.” He admits as he smirks, standing tall but not letting go of your hand just yet. “Percy has been frustratingly tight lipped about you.” Now he wonders if it was because you were not built like supermodel, but he would hate to believe that Percy thought he was that snobbish.

"A lot of people..." Finance bros "find it weird that we're still friends after so long. They expect one of us to be gay, or for there to be some secret romantic history or something. And there's none of that. We're kind of...extra siblings." Maybe that's why he hasn't said much. It is certainly why you tend to be tight lipped about him to people you aren't sure of. But then...Percy is sure of Harry. He talks about him all the time. "Well, here I am. And here you are. Maybe he didn't introduce us before because he thinks we'll get along too well."

He contemplates that and shrugs. “Who knows?” He snorts after a moment, “maybe it’s because he thinks we wouldn’t get along.”

"Maybe." That has you smirking as you tip back another sip of the whiskey that you're sure costs more than your car payment. "You are a snob."

He chuckles, tilting his head as he picks up his new drink after it’s been delivered. “Tend to be.” He can admit that. “Only about certain things.”

"Like whiskey." Which, you have to admit, he's right about.

“I have been known to drink Jack Daniels.” He admits. “At gunpoint.”

You snort, shaking your head at him. The last sip of the pricey whiskey is gone a moment later, and you set the empty glass aside. "You would not like my liquor cabinet."

“Let me guess…..” he narrows his eyes playfully and looks up and down at you. “Tito’s vodka, a bottle of Whipped Smirnoff, Sailor Jerry, Captain Morgan Original…” he takes another sip of his whiskey. “Annnnnd a bottle of Malibu.” He grins. “The original coconut one.” He points a finger at you from the hand holding his glass. “How did I do?”

"I was just going to say there's no whiskey there, but damn!" Clutching your proverbial pearls, you are doubled over laughing on the bar as you try to recall what is actually on your bar cart at home at the moment. "The vodka is definitely Tito's, but the rum is Kraken. Yes to the Malibu, but you missed the tequila. El Jimador Silver. Which is so much better than anyone gives it credit for."

“It actually is a good tequila.” Harry admits with a grin. “But I prefer Tapatio 110.” He doesn’t have anything against any of the alcohol you’ve listed, if he’s honest.

"That's an excellent choice." He has good taste, you'll give him that without hesitation. The cut of his suit is another, much larger, indicator of that. "So what do you do, Work Friend Harry, other than judge other people's liquor habits and quote movies to strangers?"

He chuckles. “I work.” He admits, shrugging slightly.

"I think we've solved the mystery of how we've never met." You pick up your cocktail now, enjoying the feeling of the cold glass and the sweet, sharp, sour scent. "We're both workaholics."

“Wedding planning, right?” He asks, even though he knows that what you do. “I bet you do a lot of business around Valentine’s Day and oddly enough, Christmas, right?”

"New Years Eve is popular these days, too. And all summer long is pretty constantly busy." You've also been seeing a rash of people lately getting married on their birthdays, which is kind of fun as long as the marriage is a happy one.

“I don’t understand that trend.” He admits, shaking his head. “It smacks of selfishness. Making all of your guests give up their holiday, plus all the staff.” He huffs, watching you switch to your swizzle. “Making them give up their holiday to work a wedding is just wrong.”

"I get wanting to make your event memorable." After all, wasn't that the goal for pretty much everyone? To remember their event forever? "I just think it's an unfortunate truth that sometimes people forget the staff that work these things are actual people with their own families and lives."

Harry nods, thinking about Lucy’s John. It’s strange to think about her again so often lately. Maybe it’s because he met her at his brother’s wedding. “Just promise me you won’t put me at the single’s table?” He snorts. “I’ll pay you whatever you want.”

"I promise." Not that there's even been any discussion of how tables will be set up at all, but you'll find a way to make it work. Something about Harry is very endearing despite being so easy to tease. He's a likable guy. "No bribe necessary."

He chuckles. “So how will it work being both the planner and a part of the wedding?” Other guests are mingling and talking but his focus has stayed on you since you’ve joined him at the bar.

"One of the junior girls from my firm is going to help out during the ceremony. It will help her get her footing on a big wedding with a safety net in place, because I'll still be there." The whole thing was already worked out, of course. You weren't the first planner at Sparkling Nights to ever plan a wedding they were in.

“Do you ever work with Adore?” He asks.

Your nose wrinkles, but you nod. “The matchmakers? Yeah. Our firms have a contact but I don’t like to work those events if I can help it.”

He lifts a brow again, noticing the judgement in your voice and expression. “What, you don’t like them?”

“Those girls are…deeply judgmental, at best.” Have you done some judging tonight too? Sure. But nothing like what they do. “Not in the every day way like we’ve done. Drinks or taste in movies or whatever. The ones I’ve met are all shallow to the bone and turn people into math equations. They talk shit about their clients behind their backs all the time, which is just horrifically unprofessional.”

He hums as he finishes his drink. Seeing how it could be seen as judgmental when you job is to literally assign value to someone as if they were an asset. He had stopped his subscription over a year ago, because it seemed like the women just kept getting younger and more obvious in their want of being a trophy wife without having any substantive value beyond their looks. “Well,” he says after he swallows the last burn of his drink. “Worked for my brother.” He tells you. “Married two years.”

Well shit. You glance down at the glass in your hand and remember all over again that there were multiple reasons why you got made fun of in school. Not being able to keep your mouth shut was a pretty old problem. “Good for him,” you manage, feeling very much like you’ve put your foot in your mouth.

“Um hmm.” Harry sees Scott Bledsoe behind you, motioning to him to capture his attention and call him over. “Excuse me.” He murmurs politely, setting his drink down and pulling another twenty out of his pocket to put on the bar. “I see someone I need to speak with.”

"Fuck..." you mutter under your breath, groaning at your own idiocy as he walks away.

******

The party has been going on for hours. Harry has spoken to, or greeted every person in this room and it’s sad to say that his thoughts still drift back to the conversation at the bar. He shouldn’t have walked away like that, it was rude, but it had kind of cut him when she was insulting a service that hadn’t even been successful in finding him a partner. He’s had a few more drinks, probably more than he should have, so he’s outside to clear his head and secretly craving a cigarette.

The scent of smoke is distinct, he knows there is someone out here enjoying the thing he is craving — but it’s to his dismay when that person happens to be a tall, curvaceous woman in black silk.

Harry assumes that you don’t see him, standing farther down the railing and looking over the surprisingly nice view from the roof deck. Groaning quietly when the fresh puff of nicotine wafts his way.

“Would you…like one?” That particular groan is the sound of an ex-smoker who misses it, but there’s definitely a risk that he might be offended by the offer because he’s quit. At this point you’re well aware this man doesn’t like you, but that’s your own fault. You just don’t want it to be too difficult for Percy during the wedding planning.

“I shouldn’t.” His answer is automatic, but he’s moving towards you. Towards the rich and sweet smell of burning tobacco. “My mother always scolds me, but I can’t help it.” He tells you as he pulls an ornate zippo out of his pants pocket.

"I won't tell on you." The antique cigarette case you found at an estate sale ten years ago is still with you, and you click it open to offer him one of the ill-advised treasures inside.

The case is beautiful, sterling silver and trimmed in gold. He plucks a slender cigarette out the case and nods as he puts it up to his lips.

"I'm sorry I put my foot in my mouth earlier." It's the adult thing to do, to apologize, and you'll do it even if it's only to keep things smooth for Percy. I had just come from a meeting at the Adore offices and I was still all riled up about them. I have nothing against the people who use the service, I just think it's shitty the way some of those girls talk about their clients."

He chuckles and shrugs after taking a long drag off the cigarette. Groaning slightly at the taste and approving of the flavor. He glances over at you. “You never talked back about a client before?”

“Not to another professional in any kind of connected field,” you insist. He looks good smoking. A little more rugged. Less like he’s been sculpted from marble. “Usually only to Percy, if I’m honest.”

“So the problem is that they are analytical.” He hums. “And you are emotional.” It makes sense. You probably have an emotional connection to every client you work with by the end.

"The problem is that they treat analysis like the only answer and demean anyone who believes in emotion." You have to qualify it, since you feel like he's barreling toward being upset with you again, and you're trying to prevent that. "Again, I'm only talking about the half a dozen or so women from that office that I've met."

He’s relaxed a little not that he’s figured out that you are malicious. He shrugs slightly. “It’s a numbers game to them. Basic addition and subtraction.” Dating Lucy had given him some insight into that world. It hadn’t been too far from his own, surprisingly.

"How do you figure that?" If his brother had used Adore then he might have some perspective on the whole thing that is different from your own.

“It’s simple.” He takes another drag of his cigarette. “Some men want a 5’6” woman who weighs less than 130 lbs, preferably with natural blonde hair and reasonably well educated.” He watches as your eyes narrow and wonders if you think he’s listing off his own preferences. “If 47% of their female clients don’t meet that specific criteria, then they have to narrow it down to what fits in that remaining 53%.” He chuckles. “It’s a numbers game. What adds up and what can be overlooked to get to that match that you could possibly tolerate grinding teeth or leaving the towel on the floor for the next 25 years.”

"I guess I don't understand why people care about the height and weight of their partner , or even the hair color, instead of their joys and hobbies and passions." Although, from his estimation? It certainly does hit home how you're still single. It stings like a burning welt but you don't flinch, just cast you eyes down at your cigarette and swallow a sigh.

“Not everyone is blessed to carry scars from their soulmate.” Harry hums with a shrug of one shoulder. Hating how he doesn’t carry them.

"And some of us have them but still haven't made that match." You just shrug, pretending — or pretending to pretend — that it doesn't matter. "It is what it is. I don't believe you have to find your soulmate to be happy. It's just one way of many."

“I can understand what you mean.” He admits. “You don’t have to like those ladies. They are just providing a luxury service to a lot of assholes.” He jokes.

"I guess I just don't like that the ones I've met act like they're the only right answer and still don't respect the people who use their service." A dry, low chuckle escapes you and you shrug. "Or maybe I'm just a bitter, single, fat girl. Who knows?"

He huffs slightly. “You aren’t fat.” He counters, frowning as he looks you up and down. “Not a part of you is disproportionate.” Yes, are you thicker than most women hoping to bag a rich husband in New York? Maybe, but your confidence is refreshing and it doesn’t seem to be steeped in arrogance.

"I don't think I am, either. But to most of New York, it's a sin for women to enjoy food." Either way, you wave it off and take a last drag from your cigarette.

He chuckles. “But they love to go out and be seen.” He reminds you with a smirk. “Where’s your favorite place to eat?”

"I've only been in the city a few weeks." You smile at the question, taking it to mean that he isn't one of the people who thinks eating is a sin. "So far I really like the sandwiches from the bodega at the end of my block."

“You should go to Keen’s.” He suggests. “Real old world vibes and the steak is good.”

"Should I?" A smile curls your lips up, red lipstick unbothered and un-smudged by smoking, and when faced with an abundance of Fuck it energy and the hottest man you've ever spoken to in real life, you sort of throw up your proverbial hands. "Is that where you take your dates to impress them?"

He tilts his head as a curious look enters his eyes. “Only if she’s a steak woman.” He admits. “If it’s sushi, I take her to Sushi Noz.” He arches a brow as he waits.

"I sincerely hope you're not too attached to the sushi idea now that you've said it. I'm definitely a steak kind of girl." The mischievousness of your smile hides the uncertainty there, because you don't necessarily have a lot of experience with guys like this. And even less success. But why not try? "What time should I pick you up?"

You’re bold. His curiosity turns into near amusement, lips smirking slightly as he takes another drag of the cigarette, his last. He grinds out the coal and blows out the smoke. “8.” He decides, chuckling.

"Eight." You echo it, tucking away the disbelief, and nod. You'll have just enough time after the appointments tomorrow to go home and change into something far more flattering and less practical. "Sounds good."

He nods, “sounds good.”

Wandering back into the party so you don't ruin the beautiful (and slightly unexpected) tension of the moment, you find Percy and Tamara by the bar when you slide up to get another drink.

“Sooooooo.” Tamara grins, still riding the high of actually celebrating being engaged this man, as she clings to his arm. “Tell me what you think about our choices for venues?” She asks.

“It will depend on the size of your guest list and how faithful to Manhattan you want to be,” you remind them, but extract a small notebook from your purse anyway. You know they want to stay in the heart of the city and they’re both fairly traditional. “Places like the Central Park Boathouse, Sony Hall, or the Foundry all have very different vibes but still give the traditional elegance you’re looking for.”

“Too bad we couldn’t have the Met.” Tamara sighs dreamily. “Since we met there.”

“You can,” you remind her. They have the budget, after all. “It’s just booked two years out.”

She sighs softly and shakes her head before turning those big, expressive eyes up to Percy. “I don’t want to wait that long to marry you.” She admits softly.

“Me either.” He leans down, kissing her twice and then a third time for good measure. “Wouldn’t it be easiest to book a hotel ballroom?” He looks back at you. “We’re going to have guests flying in from all over.”

“We can certainly do that,” you nod and glance back at your list. “And book a block of rooms for your guests in the process.”

She hums and looks over at Percy. “Where did Harry’s brother get married?” She asks softly. “Maybe we can book there.”

“Lotte?” Percy looks to you and you nod. “It was beautiful. And they were pretty easy to work with, I think.” Expensive, obviously, but he doesn’t care about that. He can afford it and Tamara is worth it.

“Exactly.” He had struggled with the idea of moving himself, but he knew that Tamara needed to live in LA.

“Buck up, soldier,” you tease, nudging his arm. “This is another adventure. You’ll love LA.”

“I know.” He tilts his head and shoots you an apologetic sigh. “I just wish that the timing was better.”

"That's sweet of you," you promise him. He really is your best friend for a reason. "But who are we if we can't handle a curveball here and there?"

“Have you had any luck?” He asks. “You know I can just keep paying rent.” He reminds you.

"You don't need to do that." The little two bedroom in Washington Heights that he welcomed you into when you arrived in the city had been more than enough for him alone and it was just enough for two. Without him, your savings will stretch a few months before you start to struggle, but you just can't let him pay rent on a place that he isn't living in anymore. It doesn't sit well with you. "I have a couple of interviews next week, we'll see if any of them pan out."

“This is my fault though.” He insists. “At least let me pay until you find someone.”

“We’re not talking about rent at your engagement party,” you scold. Truth be told you’ve been looking at moving out to Brooklyn or Queens as soon as his lease is up and there’s not too terrible options that way. Nothing fancy, but you don’t need fancy.

“We’ll discuss it later.” He points at you playfully. “For real.” You had a nasty habit of changing the subject if you were uncomfortable with the subject, and your finances were one of those touchy things for you.

“Sure.” An off-hand dismissal of the topic is pretty on point for you, but you squeeze his arm before turning back to the bar to order another drink. You’re not trying to be flippant, but this is a celebration.

Harry rejoins the party and mingles with the other guests. Laughing and trading jokes, telling stories about when Tamara and Percy met, proud that he had facilitated the entire thing. He chews on his lip as he considers getting another drink and decides that it’s a little too soon for another so he wanders over to the buffet spread.

“Have you tried any of the food yet?” Percy comes up on his side and picks up a small plate with an artfully styled piece of fried chicken with some kind of slaw on it. “It’s incredible here.”

“No,” he admits with a small grin. “I’ve been drinking my dinner so far.” He glances over towards you and then back to the artfully arranged appetizers.

“Any reason for that?” He isn’t going to pretend he didn’t see Harry talking to you earlier. Or that he doesn’t smell like your cigarettes now. You’re the only person he knows who still smokes Camel Turkish Royals and Harry always buys American Spirits when he stress smokes.

“Annoyance.” Harry snorts. “Intrigue.” He admits a moment later. “Ever met someone you shouldn’t like, but you do?”

“Plenty of times.” The two men stand in bespoke, expensive suits and eat gourmet finger food, surveying the pastry around them. “But I assume we’re talking about something a little more striking than a professor or coworker?”

“I’m apparently going on a date tomorrow night.” He snorts softly and picks up a plate with two teriyaki meatballs on it. “I guess I should call and make a reservation.”

“You sound…” Percy frowns. “Less than excited?”

“Given my history with dating?” Harry asks, lifting a brow. “I guess I’m not exactly hopeful.” He admits.

“So you’re not grumpy about it because of the girl, but because you don’t think it’ll go anywhere?” He’s itching to ask who. To find out if the glances he saw amounted to anything. But he doesn’t want to spook Harry too early.

“It never does.” Harry taps the plate and looks around the room. The very symbol of love existing is right here, but it always eludes him.

“It only has to be different once,” Percy reminds him.

He huffs slightly, unable to argue with that, but it’s so vague. “Of course.” He doesn’t want to bring his best friend down, tonight of all nights. “There’s plenty to look forward to, after all.”

“Not to be nosy,” Percy smirks. “But I���m gonna be nosy. Why did you ask if you weren’t excited about her?”

“I didn’t ask.” Harry admits, although his lips twist up slightly in amusement. “She did.”

“Oh shit.” That promotes the younger man to burst out in a fit of surprised laughter, though Percy quickly smothers the sound and peaks it down to an amused giggle. “Are we talking about who I think we’re talking about?”

“I’m sure we are.” Harry rolls his eyes at his friend as he picks up a meatball on the slender toothpick and takes a bite.

“Well shit.” Percy repeats, grinning at Harry like he’s just gotten the best gossip ever. “I mean, I’m not surprised, but I am impressed. I that makes you the third guy that she’s asked out ever.”

“Bullshit.” Harry pulls a disbelieving face because he isn’t swallowing that load of garbage for all the money in Manhattan. “That woman has only asked out three men?” He huffs, nodding towards where you are clearly chatting happily and smiling almost flirtatiously with an older man. He’s old enough to be your grandfather, but still.

"Don't let the extrovert exterior fool you." Lowering his voice, Percy glances over at you and then back to Harry. "That's a girl who lives on romance novels and period dramas, dreaming about her soulmate sweeping her off her feet." He huffs softly under his breath. "But kids are mean. She when through a hell of a lot of shit in school and got bullied pretty mercilessly. The big, brassy, bad ass thing is...it's a defense mechanism. If she asked you? She went out on a pretty big limb."

“I think she felt bad about insulting me.” Harry chuckles quietly. “She was talking shit about the women at Adore.”

"She...kinda hates them." Percy laughs along with him, but he meets Harry's eyes meaningfully. "She was telling me about the meetings she's been having and how shitty they are to her. Personal attacks. She said one of the women in the office had done a statistics sheet on her and it was awful."

“That’s because she doesn’t fit the assumed vision of what a valuable woman in this city is.” Harry agrees, knowing exactly who would have done that statistic sheet on her. “It doesn’t really mean it’s personal to them.”

"No," Percy agrees. "But it's personal to her."

“Believe me, I can understand that.” He had been encouraged to not discontinue his engagement of Adore but he hadn’t seen the point when no one had been compatible.

"All I'm saying is that if she asked, it's not out of guilt. It's genuine interest." Percy does take a moment though, letting that sink in to Harry's mind. "But if you're not really interested in return? I'm gonna ask, as both of your friend, that you tell her up front."

Harry frowns slightly. “So you don’t think this is a good idea?” He asks.

"I want you to accept because you want to," Percy says. "Not because I want you to."

“I would have said no if I didn’t want to go.” Percy should know him better than that. He sighs softly. “I guess I’m just worried that it will turn out badly.”

"No one is saying you have to marry her. But you both deserve a good date." Eternally honest Percy shrugs again. "You've both had a string of bad luck lately, that's all I'm saying."

“We are going to Keen’s.” He tells his friend, knowing that he can count on the other man’s opinion. “She’s gonna pick me up.”

Percy smirks, this time because he knows the restaurant vice was Harry’s. You would have picked Italian. “Her favorite flowers are zinnias. Just…in case you were wondering.”

“Zinnias.” Even though he hadn’t thought about getting flowers just yet he tucks that bit of information away. “Any particular color?”

“Reds. Oranges. Pinks. Yellows. Anything that reminds you of sunrise.” Patting his shoulder twice, Percy is still smiling when he steps away. “Tomorrow is going to be a hell of a day.”

Harry stares down at his plate. “Yes it will be.” He murmurs softly.

******

The morning is a complicated and energetic affair. A large, black rental car arrives in the heart of Washington Heights to pick you up with your best friend and his fiancée inside, then it’s off to get Tamara’s family from their hotel and finally Harry from his place in Tribeca. You’re in business mode this morning, dressed professionally and carrying your necessary resources. Today you’re more than the groom’s best friend. You’re the wedding planner.

Today is casually business. He dresses down, if he’s honest. Jeans, a sweater and a sports coat. Formal enough for some places but casual enough to not scream uptight. Tonight, he’ll change into something else before taking you dinner.

You go over the list of appointments for the day with everyone in the car, because everyone had (of course) had an opinion in where the wedding should be held. Even Percy’s parents had called you to give their opinion, despite currently being deployed overseas. Thankfully, the hotel that Percy and Tamara had mentioned to you last night had actually had availability today to be seen. They’ll be setting up for another wedding while you’re there, but that isn’t a bad thing.

“The hotel is fine.” Harry assures them. “Peter and Charlotte loved it. It held everyone and the staff there is very discreet.” He chuckles. “Uncle Phil got too drunk and they escorted him up to his room without any issues.”

“Everybody has an Uncle Phil of sorts,” Tamara chuckles, thinking specifically of an aunt of hers. “When in the day are we going to the hotel?” She asks, keenly interested in that particular location.

“Second,” you assure her. The earliest appointment of the day is the venue that her parents were most interested in, though you think there’s very little chance of Percy or Tamara falling in love with it. Neither of them cares much for rowing. “The Central Park Boathouse is first. It’s a beautiful venue that will hold your whole guest list with a little room to spare. And it’s perfect for some lovely photos so you wouldn’t have to leave the property for them.”

“I still wish we could book the Met.” Tamara sighs fondly as she snuggles into Percy’s side. “But I don’t want to wait two to three years.”

“I did it in a call this morning,” you let them know, but qualify it carefully. “If they have a cancellation, we’re on the waiting list.”

“Ohhhhhh you’re the best.” She beams and is a hopeful gleam to her eyes. “Whenever.”

“We’ll keep our fingers crossed, but I have a good feeling we’ll find something we love today.” If you’re honest, you don’t hold out hope for the Met. But for Percy you’d try just about anything that would make him and his soulmate happy.

“I think you have to align your expectations with reality.” Harry hums quietly. “It would be nice, but it’s a lofty goal.”

“It’s a dream,” Tamara admits. “But there are no shortage of beautiful places in Manhattan to get married.”

“That is very true.” He agrees. “You just need to find the venue that matches what you two have dreamed about together.”

It doesn't surprise you when the Central Park Boathouse isn't to their taste. You can tell almost instantly that they aren't going to take to it, and while Tamara's parents ooh and ahh and encourage them, everyone ultimately agrees that it isn't right. Focusing on professionalism means you are doing your best not to be distracted by how good Harry looks dressed down for the daytime.

You are dressed very professionally, although he can tell that the carefully crafted outfit has been one that is well used. Still, he admires that your outfit is tailored to your body, fitting it perfectly and enhancing your curves rather than detracting from them.

On the ride over to the hotel, you review numbers with Percy and Tamara. Their guest list stands at just about 150 people and all the places they’re looking at can accommodate that easily. It will feel luxurious and intimate, rather than bustling or crowded.

“Here we are.” Percy pulls the rental car into the hotel’s parking lot and smiled up at the building. He’d been a guest at Peter Castillo’s wedding and thought it was nice, but hadn’t been thinking about his own wedding at the time. The girl he had been dating at the time was…not exactly long term relationship material. By her own admission.

“The bridal suite and groomsman suites are very nice.” Harry assures them. “Separated by a floor but there is a stairwell between them in case you need to access either party.”

“Your brother got married here?” Tamara’s mother asks, remembering that had been mentioned the night before.

“Yes madam.” He tells her with a proud smile. Charlotte and Peter aren’t soulmates, neither one of them has marks either, but they have created a strong and meaningful bond. “Very wonderful societal event.”

“But did you enjoy it?” That is the important part to her. Their family isn’t a part of anyone’s society. They’re not looking to climb into it, either.

“I enjoyed it.” It wasn’t to his taste. It wasn’t even to Peter’s taste, but it was what his bride wanted so he had happily conceded. Peter had always talked about a wedding on a beach. Harry had no idea what he would want.

His tone is soothing. Smooth and reassuring, and she smiles happily, momentarily mollified. The girl is large and grand, more imposing than welcoming, but Tamara has hearts in her eyes. “Even if we don’t have it here,” she hums excitedly. “This is where everyone should stay. We can book a block of rooms.”

“The hotel is a great place to host a large group.” Percy agrees. “The room service is amazing.” Even though he had not been a part of the wedding party, he had booked a hotel room, making a little weekend of it.

“Well let’s get inside and see what you think of the event spaces,” you urge, bringing them into the lobby with you. They can Oo and Ah while you check in at the desk.

This is a space that Harry is quite familiar with. There is a charity function held here every year, so he doesn’t walk with the others. Instead, he hangs back as you talk with a sharp dressed concierge.

The woman in all black with nearly done hair and sharp make up speaks with you for a few seconds before nodding and stepping away. “You’re not going to have a look around?” You ask Harry, surprised to find him wandering toward you as the others inspect the lobby with interest.

“I’ve been here enough.” He shrugs, taking note of the way your back straightens slightly and the toe of your heels is scuffed. “How about you?”

“Never.” You shake your head, suddenly far more focused on the man in front of you than the hotel. “I haven’t had much time to explore since I got to New York.”

“Well then we should change that.” He huffs. “You have to be able to be completely blasé about every venue.” He jokes.

“Is that what’s required out here?” You let out a soft chuckle. “Raleigh has a…we’ll call it a slightly different vibe, but that’s an understatement.”

“Absolutely. New Yorkers aren’t impressed with anything.” He tells you. “They’ve seen it all, done it all and will complain the entire time.”

“Well,” you shrug. “I’ve lived in plenty of places and seen plenty of things. But I don’t mind enthusiasm.”

He chuckles. “Give it time.” He jokes. “You’ll be just a sullen as everyone else.”

“I hope not.” But rather than judgmental, your smile is beaming. Like you’re daring the city to take away your joy. “Or at least I hope it takes a long, long time.”

“You just have to find the beauty in the small things.” He suggests. “Or sarcasm.”

“Or both.” Why does he make you smile like this? It’s like your stomach is doing flip flops.

“Now you’re thinking like a New Yorker.” He jokes. “‘Why not both’ should be etched onto the Statue of Liberty.”

“That would sort of change the tone of the thing,” you joke with a grin.

“Maybe.” He snorts, shrugging slightly. “Never actually seen her up close.”

"But..." you startle, actually taken aback by that. "You live here!"

“And how many times do the locals avoid the tourist traps like the plague?” He asks, arching a brow.

That makes you huff, albeit playfully. "If I find out you've never been to the Met, I'm changing our date tonight."

He chuckles and tilts his head. “No, I’ve been to the Met.” He hums in amusement. Apparently Percy had never shared how he had met Tamara.

"Right..." you realize it just a second later and flinch, hating that you've said something stupid. "Never mind. Forget I said that."

Thankfully, like an answer to your awkward prayers, the event coordinator for the hotel appears in the lobby in the same instant and you don't have to see the realization dawn on Harry's face that his date tonight is with someone who speaks before they think.

Harry watches as you hurry away, embarrassment bloomed on your face and it finds it fascinating. You don’t weigh or measure your words around him. ‘No filter’ his mother would say. He likes it. Makes him wonder what you will say next.

The tour is fairly standard. The ballroom is available for you to tour while it is being set up for tonight’s wedding but the bridal suites are not — for precisely the same reason.

“It’s got enough space for everyone plus dancing.” Harry reminds Percy. “And we can honestly use the penthouse for the after party if you want.”

"The best man?" The event planner asks you with a knowing half-smile. The extra guy in the group who is talking about the after party? At this stage in the game, that is absolutely the best man.

"Of course." Your return smile falters a little, just in the second afterward when you catch her give Harry an appraising sweep of her eyes. Do you have any right to be jealous of someone else checking him out? Absolutely not. Yet? You can't help it.

Percy has already gone off on a tangent about the after party vibe, Harry encouraging him with an arm around his shoulder. The wedding would be for family, for memories. The after party was gonna be for getting wild.

"What do you have as far as available dates?" While Percy, Harry, Tamara, and her parents are all watching the ballroom be set up, you are going to get a little business done. Maybe it will help distract you from that touch of irrational jealousy, while you're at it.

“The first date we have is in nine months.” She rattles off a date with a smile. “There are weddings booked every weekend until then.”

Making note of the date for yourself, you know that's a little longer than Percy and Tamara are eager to wait but they seem to really like this place. "And if the couple were interested in booking a block of rooms here for there guests as well?"

“Of course.” She clicks her tablet and looks at the bookings for that date. “The bridal suite is available as well as a large block of rooms we can hold in reserve for the guests.” She clicks through pages. “We can reserve floors 5,7,9,10,11 and 14.”

"And your team is prepared to work with extra security for the night of the wedding?" Percy isn't willing to take any chances with Tamara's safety and you don't blame him. Being a Hollywood star has its benefits, but also some distinct drawbacks.

“We are equipped to handle all manner of security.” She assures you. “Though some do decide to hire independent advisors as well.”

“Of course. One can never be too careful.” She’s given you a packet of information — printed statistics and suggested floor plans along with contact information for preferred vendors — which will best going over with Percy and Tamara. You’re about to open your mouth for the next of many questions when your work phone rings.

Normally it would be on silent while you’re in a client meeting. Your personal cell phone certainly is, but the cell given to you by your company buzzes insistently in your pocket. And since there is a minimal chance of hearing from some vendors today, it’s good that you left it on. “Excuse me,” you offer the woman a polite smile. “I’ve got to take this.” The number looks familiar but you can’t remember which of the twenty calls you’ve made in the last twenty-four hours it could be returning, so you just excuse yourself to the lobby to take it.

“Hello, this is—” You use your legal name for business, and answer accordingly, “from Dragonfly Events, how can I help you today?”

“Good morning, this is Charlotte Evans, event coordinator for the Met.” She speaks clearly, albeit, a bit rushed. “I believe you had spoken with one of our assistants about being placed on the cancellation list?” The only reason she is calling is because of the name you dropped. Tamara Wilson is one of her niece’s favorite actresses and she had been given so much grief when she had learned that Auntie Charlie had breathed the same air as Tamara the night she met her soulmate.

“Yes, good morning. Thank you for calling me back so promptly.” If this is a polite refusal, as you expect, the call should be over with quickly.

“Of course.” She clears her throat. “The notes say that your clients are Tarama Wilson and Percy Stokes?” She asks. “Would that be the actress, Tamara Wilson?”

“Yes, that is correct.” And you absolutely left their names of purpose. “My clients met at the Met Gala this past May and are quite keen to be married in the same place they met.”

“I see.” Her voice doesn’t betray the wide, excited grin on her face. Auntie Charlie is gonna be the favorite for years to come. She doesn’t add that she had literally been there that night, but hadn’t realized it until the People article came out revealing the announcement about the soulmate pairing. “Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for your clients, we have just had a cancellation this morning.”

“Oh?” Tamara is going to lose her mind with excitement. “And what would the date be for that?”

She gives the date and pauses. “That is sixty-two days from today. I do understand if that is not plausible for your clients.”

“Are there any constraints with that date?” You ask, not wanting to blurt out that they’ll be thrilled to have a date so soon. “Vendors with contracts that must be honored, or anything to that effect?” Your own pauses, Mid note taking. “And could you tell me please, what portion of the museum the cancellation is for?” Met bookings for different areas accommodate different numbers of guests. You want to have all the information before you go talk to Percy and Tamara.

“That is actually why I contacted you first.” She says, saying without saying, that she thought famous clients would appreciate this more than anyone else. “The previous contract had booked the entire venue.” She tells you. “Although the catering contract was booked with the venue, So that would also have to be absorbed into the new contract.”

“That is perfectly fine with us, as my clients have not booked a caterer yet. Can I have their name?” The entirety of the Met? That is hundreds upon hundreds of guests, or a different location for every single part of the wedding. They’re going to scream when you tell them.

Charlotte gives you the name and telephone number of the catering service. “They are quite good, and luckily the menu has not been contracted, so there is that.”

“Wonderful.” Looking down at the notes in your book, you know this is going to work. This is going to be perfect. “I’ll speak to my clients, of course, but I’m prepared to say that we will accept the cancellation slot and the reservations that have already been made. May I call you back in about five minutes to confirm?”

“Please do.” She hopes that you will. “If not, I will have to contact others who have been requesting to be informed about cancellations.

“Five minutes,” you promise her, before politely saying goodbye and pocketing your work phone again. There’s no way it will take that long for them to decide, but you want to be sensitive to the woman here at the hotel who has taken time from her day for a last minute appointment.

Zipping back into the ballroom, you catch Percy’s eye and shoot him a grin. “Pardon me,” you reinsert yourself into the conversation politely but definitely. “If I could check in with my clients for a moment?”

Harry had drifted away but he catches your grin and knows that something is up. He quickly walks over to the very nice coordinator. “While they are talking, would you tell me about hosting cooperate events?” He asks.

It doesn’t take much effort for Harry Castillo to utterly charm just about anyone into conversation, and as he lures her away you make a note to thank him profusely tonight if the date goes well.

“So…” you wave Percy and Tamara over to you and lower your voice so it won’t echo. “The Met called.”

Percy cocks up, attuned to your mannerisms and he knows it had to be something good. “Please don’t tell me the wait time is five years now.” Tamara groans.

“They had a cancellation,” you tell them, barely containing your grin. “It’s fast, but I think we can make it happen.”

“How fast is fast?” Percy asks, eyebrows raised.

“Sixty-two days.” An amount of time that seems fleeting, but your first wedding planner job had been at a soulmate agency. You can do fast and you can do it well.

“Sixty-two days?” her eyes widen and her heart sinks. There is no way that a wedding could be pulled off in sixty-two days. Not the way that they had dreamed of. “Oh god. No. I don’t—”

"Tam." Reaching out, you set one hand on Tamara's arm and smile reassuringly. "I promise you, I can do this if you want to say yes. The previous client had rented out the entire museum, and the caterer comes with the reservation. I've got a florist that owes me a favor and a photographer who will move mountains to be able to take your wedding photos."

Her eyes widen and she tries to let the panic subside. Pushing aside the little voice of doubt in the back of her mind. Her gaze darts to Percy, but he’s already nodding. “Yes.” She whispers, clutching his hand. “Yes!”

"How do we feel about booking that block of rooms while we're here, and even the penthouse if you want that after party?" You know Percy will want it, and it was Harry's idea, so this is going to be a good bridge. It will help the hotel here feel a touch less slighted after pulling out this appointment for you, and it will still get Percy and Tamara the wedding of their dreams.

“I think that is best.” Percy nods and looks towards his bride for her input. “It’s central to all the attractions and just a half dozen blocks down from the Met.”

Tamara hesitates for just a second, but looks to you with pleading eyes. "Do you really think you can do it?"

"I do." A little nod to wedding vows is cheeky, but you mean it. You do think you can do this for them. "I really do, and I think it will be great."

“I really want the Met.” Tamara admits. Grinning at Percy and batting her eyes playfully. “Are you okay with two months? Or should we wait longer?”

"Tam..." Percy takes both of her hands in his and faces her, placing a kiss on the tip of her nose. "I would marry you at the bottom of the Gowanus Canal with nothing but mutant fish for witnesses." They both giggle — the weirdos. But they're cute weirdos. "Two months in the place we met sounds perfect."

“Are you sure?” Despite wanting this more than anything else in the world, she wants to make sure it’s what he wants too.

"I love you," he reminds her, with a sort of bashful, gleeful expression. "That's all that matters."

“I love you too.” She promises. “If you told me you wanted to get married in the subway, I’d question your sanity….” That makes him laugh and she giggles. “But I would do it. But it seems like the universe wants us to have this.”

"So we're going to do it?" You ask, letting them have their moment and a sweet kiss to seal the sentiment. When they excitedly say yes, you pull your phone back out. "Let me call Ms. Evans back and get this settled. And then we can get the rooms and the penthouse booked here, as well."

“Not the bridal suites though.” Tamara tells you. “I don’t want another couple to have to book that somewhere else because I was selfish.”

"That sounds more than reasonable." This place probably has a dozen rooms gorgeous enough to host a newlywed couple, so you aren't worried about them having a nice place to crash that night. Not at all. "Let me make this call so we can really dig our fingers into planning."

“Okay.” She is immediately turning and pressing close to Percy. Both of them whispering in excitement. Harry glances over several time as he listens to the many amenities the hotel can offer for a conference or corporate event. He normally just holds any events at the penthouse, but he’s seriously considering this for the year end party.

It takes only a few minutes to step away and make the call, but when you come back to your friends they have their dream wedding venue booked and ready. All you have to do is drop off the deposit check before the museum closes tonight.

The next half hour is spent with the very nice woman who took the time to meet with you today, and she seems more than happy to be able to book the penthouse for a private party along with two full floors of rooms for wedding guests. It may not be the full night, but it is certainly a large check and damn good business for the hotel.

Harry is pulled aside by Percy, hearing the good news and smiling happily. Congratulating the couple and agreeing that it feels like the stars have aligned for their wedding.

By the time the six of you are leaving the hotel not too long after, it seems silly to think anything else could be more productive today. "Well," you tell them, grinning as you mark of Friday, August 6 on your phone with Percy and Tamara's initials. "I know we made a big decision but we have a lot to do now in not a huge amount of time."

“I already have my dress.” Tamara tells you with a happy sigh.

"And we did agree on colors already," Percy reminds you. A clean palate of white and silver with small accents of blue will be doable with any caterer, and blue bridesmaids dresses will be easy enough to achieve. His groomsman probably all own blue ties in the right shade.

“And the caterer has already been decided, right?” Tamara asks. “What’s the meal?”

"They booked the company but they hadn't picked their menu yet." Which was an incredible boon, and feels like it's a little too lucky. "I'm going to give them a call and see how fast we can set up a tasting."

Harry hums. “What’s the name of the company?”

"It is called..." Double checking your notes, you find it scrawled under the guest count for the museum. "Stand & Deliver."

Inside, Harry is groaning quietly but he nods. "They have good food." He assures them. "They catered Peter's wedding." He tells Percy, immediately making his best friend nod and grin.

“Perfect.” Tamara is grinning so widely that her face is threatening to split in two. “So what do we do now?” She asks you, bright with excitement and anticipation.

“Today? Go and enjoy having your parents in town,” you tell her, holding in your private sigh of relief. “I’m going to spend my afternoon setting up appointments for you to meet with your vendors as soon as possible so we can get everything squared away.” Looking at the group of them, you see a hell of a lot of work in those joyful faces, but it will be worth every second. “Why not take your Mom shopping for her mother of the bride dress, or even visit the Met?”

Harry watches you manage the nerves, the expectations with an aplomb that leaves him impressed. “Why don’t you take them to lunch?” He suggests. “I can help her with anything that she needs.”

“There’s a sit down restaurant in the museum,” Tamara remembers, perking up brightly.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” On the sidewalk, Percy gives you a squeezing hug. “Text me appointment info when you have it?”

“I promise.” There is even a pinky swear involved. A long held tradition from childhood that is an unbreakable promise. “You guys go have fun. Harry and I will take care of some business and I’ll talk to you later.” It’s sweet of him to offer, and you won’t say no, but you also don’t really expect him to want to sit around while you made phone calls and scribble notes to yourself for a few hours. Especially not when you’re supposed to be taking him to dinner tonight.

“I’m assuming the Met needs a signed contract and a payment to reserve the space?” Harry asks when you’re alone for the first time since landing their dream venue. He checks his watch as he estimates how long it would take to get there.

“We have an appointment to sign the papers tomorrow.” You had made sure that was acceptable, otherwise you would have rushed over today. “I’ll have to drop off the physical deposit check today but we’ll give them the rest tomorrow.”

“What do you need to do today besides that?” He asks.

“Phone calls. Lots of phone calls.” His expression is so earnest that you soften a little, feeling your cheeks burn. “And I was going to change before I picked you up tonight,” you admit.

“Do you have an office or do you normally work from home?” He asks, unsure of your business model.

“I do have an office.” You were going to go hang out on your couch with some leftover pizza for lunch, but something nagging in your stomach doesn’t want to separate so quickly. “Are you asking to see my cubicle?” You ask, tone teasing like he has asked to see you naked or something equally as scandalous.

He snorts and shakes his head, amused by the way you are asking. “I actually was going to offer you my conference room if you needed a space to work.”

“That sounds fancy.” There’s still teasing in your voice, but it’s softened.

“Espresso machine.” He ticks off with a small smirk. “There’s a vendor that caters lunch in the breakroom.” He shrugs. “Changes every day. Not sure what today is.”

“You have enough people working on a Saturday to warrant a catered lunch?” In your office, your company was just part of one floor. Staff are in and out all the time because of the nature of what you do. You hadn’t figured his family’s financial empire had anything but a 9-5 existence.

“It’s for the people who come in to work on the weekends.” He tilts his head. “Sometimes normal working hours don’t fit our business. We try to treat everyone like we care.”

“That is…” Your head tilts a little, considering him as much as the offer. “Both unexpected and very nice to hear.” He has a warmth to him that makes you want to believe he knows every employee by name and every birthday, anniversary, joy, and hardship. It’s easy to picture Harry giving a shit about his staff. So easy that you catch yourself smiling again — maybe even a little dreamily. “Alright, sure. Let’s go to yours.”

He nods and he finds himself smiling back at you. You have this way of slipping past his defenses. Making him go on instinct and try to figure you out like some kind of puzzle. “Good, because I’m hungry.”

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

[casualhedonists]

“slut!” ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

pairing: academy!coriolanus snow x reader

warnings: nsfw (18+), sub! and possibly virgin!coryo, handjobs, edging/orgasm denial, degradation, name calling (reader calls coryo a slut) very mild dacryphilia, also v mild corruption kink, overstimulation, also reader gets coryo to taste his own cum idk what else to call it <3

a/n: thought abt calling coryo a slut and this happened <3 i have nothing else to say for myself

“Slut.”

The word slipped from your lips, smooth like honey.

“What?” His eyes darted to yours. Your hand, nestled in his pants, slowed its movements, and his lips parted in a plea.

“You heard me, Coryo. I said you’re a slut.”

You didn’t miss the ragged breath of air that he exhaled, or the twitch of his cock as you stilled your hand entirely. He whimpered, red faced in shame.

Poor thing. Poor, desperate Coriolanus Snow.

“Who’d have thought? The academy’s brightest star, the golden pupil, putting out on the first date.”

His eyes squeezed closed. You hummed.

“What did we say about that? Eyes on me.”

He obliged.

“This is a date?” He breathed after a beat, brain playing catchup.

“It’s whatever you want it to be, handsome.”

Your hand moved faster as you saw him get more comfortable with the pace; you couldn’t be having that. Not when he’d started to pick up a very vexing little habit of deliberately contradicting any point you made in rhetoric class, glancing over at you with a self-congratulatory grin that had you aching to make him cry.

You'd asked him over to study, which he'd almost fallen for. Led him to your couch, made him believe you'd let him take whatever he wanted, then flipped the tables.

“That feel good? Is it too much?”

“Mm.” Was all you got out of him as you picked the pace up, thumb pushing over the tip.

“So wet for me, Coryo. Like a fucking girl.”

“Don’t-"

“Oh? So you want me to stop? Okay.”

Your hand stilled again, moving your hand as if to take it out of his pants.

“No. What? Don’t… don’t stop. Keep going.”

“You know, nobody’s gonna believe you’re as well-bred as you claim you are with manners like those.”

You'd overheard Highbottom's taunts once. Kept it to yourself, but made the occasional low blow of your own when he pissed you off. His eyes shone in an angry defiance. You stood your ground.

“Please.” He looked at the floor.

“Please what?”

“Please, keep going.”

You smiled.

“Good boy.”

When you spoke the words, he visibly relaxed, but a frown etched across his face when you wrapped your hand back around his cock, but didn’t move it. He looked down, then back at you.

“What?” You blinked innocently.

“You’re not… please. Don’t be fucking mean.” He repeated pathetically.

“I don’t know, Coryo. My hand’s getting a little tired.”

“Because you’ve been edging me for half an hour.” He gritted. You laughed, cruel.

“So dramatic. If you’re gonna be ungrateful like that, then fine. I won’t move a muscle.”

He sighed, ragged and heavy. He didn’t move.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy now. All I’m asking for is a little bit of effort. Fuck my hand, Coryo. You can do that, can’t you?”

His blue eyes bored into yours, but you weren’t falling for his tricks. Your free hand gently turned his chin to you, and you moved in, soft kisses peppering his jaw.

You squeezed the base of his cock a little, enough to make him pull in a sharp breath.

“Move.” you commanded, voice no louder than a whisper, but harsh.

He obliged. Slowly, at first, shame all too clear on his face, but he noticed the look on your face when you glanced down to see his hips rocking up, fucking into your fist under his pants, and lost himself a little more.

He saw the way your legs pressed together sat next to him, hips shifting uncomfortably as he found a rhythm, and lifted his hand to touch your thigh. You batted it away.

“No touching.” you scolded.

“But…” he trailed off, eyes longing.

How cute.

“No buts, either. Are you close?”

He nodded. Shame slowly starting to melt away.

“Good. You can move faster, Coryo. Can you make yourself cum like this?”

He moved faster, and let out a half-laugh, more like a strung-out sigh. As if to say, are you kidding?

“Does that feel good? Use your words, baby.”

You felt him twitch again, wet sounds filling the room as he moved, a cruel satisfaction filling your head.

“Yeah. It feels... fuck.”

“Look at you,” You mused, “Fucking my hand like a desperate slut. You’re this close and I’m not even doing anything.”

This time, when you said the word, he whined. He sounded delirious, and you soaked it up, basked in it. Hungry for more.

He was getting desperate now, needy and careless. Rutting into your hand like a fucking virgin.

You wondered if he was, and it made your torturing him all the sweeter. You let your mind wander, thinking about all the things you could introduce him to. So perfect, so clean cut. You wanted him frayed at the edges, torn at the seams, coming undone for you.

He got loud, whimpers building into cries as you started to move your hand again, tight and mean, brushing over the tip carelessly rough, desperate to see him fall apart. His words were broken and ragged.

“That’s… shit. I think I - can I? Please. I’m-”

He cut himself off, mouth falling open, eyes slipping shut in bliss. You could feel how close he was, hard and heavy in your hand. When his hips gave in, stuttering and tired, you sped up your motions, eyes never leaving his pretty face as he started to crack.

“Cum for me, Coryo. You’ve earned it.”

When he fell, he fell to pieces. You memorised each broken sound he made, every whine and gasp, knowing they’d be replaying in your head for a very long time to come. He came hot and sticky into your palm, and you kept your hand moving until he was trembling from it, until he winced.

You looked back at his face, eyes still shut, and a single tear had slid down his cheek. You pressed a gentle kiss to his open lips, and another to his cheek, tongue dipping out reflexively to trace the tear stain, salty in your mouth but sweet like satisfaction.

He was still catching his breath, and you shifted your hand out of his pants, smirking to yourself as he hissed a little.

You lifted it to his face, your clean hand holding his chin, and the other one bringing two dripping fingers to his perfect, parted lips.

“Now suck.”

a/n: idk WHO to tag since this is my first coryo fic i’ve posted since attention?? and my tag list is just for attention rn? think i need to do a few separate ones, we’ll figure something out. as always feedback keeps my world spinning around. ily 🤍🤍

[yawnderu]

>Being invited to have sex on camera was never in Simon's plans or Part II of Simon being obsessed with a pornstar.

Half-lidded brown eyes struggle to focus on you, shivers running down his spine at image in front of him. You're riding his meaty, long cock on your feet, the sounds of your ass slapping against his thighs and your wet cunt mix in, forming a symphony he's never heard before.

His rough, calloused hands guide you up and down, feeling his numb nuts getting stickier as your cream leaks down his cock, perfect, pierced tits bouncing up and down right in front of his face. His eyes drift to the set up of cameras in different angles, all of them being displayed on a large TV as you record.

“Fuck, angel...” Simon grunts out, muscles bulging as he squeezes your pretty waist, trying his best not to cum yet despite how your experience mixes in with the desire, fucking him nice and hard, your hands using his hard chest as support.

He's barely lucid enough to push you off of his dick, registering your expression of surprise when he positions you in all fours, one of his warm hands coming up to make your back arch, getting a better look at your sopping, slutty cunt.

“Give 'em a good show.” He whispers only for you to hear, voice dripping with dominance. This is all he ever wanted; the chance to prove he could fuck you way better than any of your co-stars, better than any of the many people he's seen you fuck on social media.

His grip tightens on your waist, slamming into your needy cunt without a warning. He manages to catch the surprise on your pretty face first-hand, a small smirk forming beneath the mask when he sees you give the camera your trademark smile. Simon doesn't hold back, his thrusts aggressive and unrelenting, the natural curve of his cock hitting your spongy cervix in such a perfect angle that you're not even able to follow your regular dialogue.

“Harder...” You manage to moan out, a sharp gasp leaving your lips the moment the intensity in his thrusts builds up, becoming faster and more erratic. His hand snakes around your pretty throat, applying just enough pressure to add an extra edge of pleasure.

“Yeah...? Like that?” He growls in your ear, his voice low and thick with desire. You can barely nod your head, your hand coming up to hold his tattooed arm as he chokes you, holding you even closer to his imposing, burly body, his grip possessive and demanding. He can feel your walls tightening up around him, louder moans escaping your fucked-out body that only seem to encourage you to go harder.

“That's right, sweetheart...” Despite not being a porn actor, Simon's words contain a hint of affection that can't be denied by either of you, only making the tight knot in your stomach come undone. Your long nails grip the sheet, feeling the familiar sensation on your core before you're cumming all over his cock, coating every single inch in your needy juices.

Simon's thrusts become more intense when he realizes you're cumming, fully lost in the primal need to drag out your orgasm as he fucks you raw with pure hunger.

“Show 'em how much you love being fucked.” His hand drifts up to your jaw, applying light pressure and lifting your head up, making sure that your audience gets a perfect look at your face when you have a real orgasm for the first time on camera.

With his own words as the catalyst, Simon follows close after, his release washing over him with the intensity of a tidal wave, shooting ropes of thick, hot cum deep inside you.

Part I | Part III

taglist: @gazsdirtysocks @infpt-zylith @love-simon @chrishy973 @just-another-personal-side-blog @ghosmooth-operator @b100dr0t @bisky-business @watersquirtpewpewboomm @li85367 @thenonweeknd @jamesrifftapes @lastofabbyy @xxshadowbabexx @yumimak @cherryblossomandpeace @kodiackwrites @angelaut0matec @fell4fictionalman @winbinw

[becca-e-barnes]

I've spent a while indulging my own fantasies on here recently but I've been tailoring this one so I need to talk about it

I'm obsessed with the thought of sharing your naughtiest, most depraved fantasies with dad's best friend!bucky and him giving you a safe space to try them out.

You almost think he's forgotten all the filthy things you admitted one night, cuddled up in bed together until a few weeks later when you're making out in the kitchen after dinner and he leads you upstairs to his bedroom.

He's placed a chair in front of the TV and your heart begins to race because he's surely not doing what you think he's doing. He couldn't be letting you live out the fantasy you've never shared with anyone else.

He kisses from your shoulder, up your neck and you're glad that he can't see your excitement when he's standing behind you. "Sit down". He whispers, placing a final kiss behind your ear and for once, you're happy to do as he tells you.

While you sit down, he flicks the TV on and starts playing a video you recognise within a few seconds. It's one you'd taken together not too long ago.

In the video, you have your face close to the bedroom carpet, your ass in the air and Bucky is behind you, recording in a mirror, pounding into you in a way that had you cumming mindlessly on his cock. You have one hand barely supporting yourself while the other rubs your clit frantically and although it's the start of the video, you already look over pleasured.

"You see how fucking gorgeous you are?" Bucky brings you back down to earth, kissing along your shoulders while he shuffles the skirt of your dress up, dragging your panties down your legs and letting them fail in a little wet heap on the floor.

Your own moans in the video are breathtaking, you almost didn't know you could sound like that. "Look at you. You take it like a pornstar. I can fucking hear how messy you were." He's right, the video captures every tiny little wet sound your eager cunt makes for him and you hang on every last one.

You hear a quiet click and a faint buzz starting and that's the only thing that could draw your attention away from the video playing in front of you. God, he really did listen to you.

Bucky presses the wand between your legs and even on the lowest setting, the sensation against your clit makes you squirm.

"Keep watching. I'm pretty sure you cum in a minute or two and I don't want you to miss it." Bucky's so smug, holding your chin gently in one hand while he makes your body quiver with the other.

He clicks the toy up a setting, rolling the head right where you need it most.

"Such a pretty little slut. You just want me to fill your holes with cum, don't you? You're desperate for me to cum in you, I can feel you trying to milk it from me. You have no idea how warm and wet and perfect you feel. Might fuck you until I'm totally empty. You know you'd like that; being so stuffed full of my cum you can't sit up without it spilling out of you." Bucky in the video fucks you through your first orgasm and you get to watch the way your body trembles and your eyes roll back.

You're so close just watching yourself but that doesn't suit the man kneeling beside you. He takes the wand away, making sure your impending orgasm fizzles away, despite your protests.

"You cum when I say you can sweetheart, and we've got a lot of videos left to watch."

[menagerofmischief]

god of sin (cl16)

god of sin aka the porn star!charles chronicles

summary: after a friend calls you out on being sexually frustrated you subscribe to a guy's OF and it's the start of a great unraveling

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Want more? Check out my OF ;)

1. sweet as sin

2. coming soon...

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