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sophiethewitch1 · 18 days

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What We Want - Chpt. 7 - Black N' White Knight

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Dick tells Tim, hand carting through his hair. The two of them are in the kitchen, at the breakfast bar. Tim sitting in front of his laptop with his legs crossed, and Dick tapping one foot agitatedly against the marble floor. While Tim might not be grinning ear to ear, it’s pretty obvious for anyone who knows him that he’s delighted by the tale Dick just regaled to him.

And what a tale it was. He hasn’t seen you in a year and a half, and then when he does, he finds you teary eyed staring at a picture of him shirtless at the gym. Bruce had always told him the way he played with the paparazzi would come to bite him in the ass one day, but he really can’t say he expected… that.

Obviously, it had to be a prank. That’s his first thought. That’s his only thought, really. What other explanation could there be? An accident? Maybe you’d forgotten what his room looked like. It wasn’t like he kept much personal stuff in his Wayne manor room, the only markers his clothes and the letters he kept in his drawer from his parents.

And you were wearing his clothes, of all things. He’d be surprised if you forgot how much of a Superman fanboy he was, seeing as he’d spent many hours ranting to you before the explosion. So, a prank. A show of good will, an olive branch maybe? It was more likely you were just fucking with his head, as you’d done in the past. Never like this, though.

This was just… bizarre.

“I can’t either,” and of course, Tim sounds near estatic saying that. The love of chaos ran true in that one.

Dick had managed to wrangle his life under control a few years back, and despite the universe seeming to try to unravel it at the seams, he was indisposed to let it simply happen. Even if you of all people had changed. No, Dick was getting older, and he was finding his taste for chaos a lot more… limited.

He didn’t want to suffer it’s affects. He was currently suffering it’s affects.

“I knew something was going on when she showed up to the party, but this…” Tim pauses, leaning back in his chair, “It’s gotta be a prank, right?”

It said a lot about their family that this was all the assumption they defaulted to.

“It could be something else. Did you even take her to the hospital after?” Dick offers instead, overthinking as always. This situation seemed to be made for overthinking, though.

Tim hums. “No, we did not.”

Then he turns his stare to Dick, like he’s expecting something from him.

“Seriously?”

“What? You’re the friendly one.”

Dick very much did his best to seem like the friendly one, at least. Tim was well aware it was a complete farce, though. Dick was nice but he could also be a bit… well… a bit of a dick. Another thing he’d been trying to overcome. He was doing better than when he’d been seven, at least.

Dick sighs, pressing his hand to his forehead, “I’d probably just end up accidentally nagging her, and then she’d never speak to me again.”

“That’s not my problem,” Tim shrugs, glancing back down at his laptop and squinting.

“It is, actually. Because if she stopped talking to me you’d probably be the next one till the girls and Duke came home who has to talk to her.”

“She could talk to Jay,” Tim offers, because he’s a shithead. Dick bets he did the same with Bruce, “And besides, I’m busy doing surveillance.”

“You mean stalking.”

“I do it to everybody, stop making such a big deal out of it.”

Dick sighs again.

“Hm, you might want to check your phone,” Tim says, in a way that suggests he has once again tapped the network. Keeping him out of Dick’s private life was like Sisyphus and his boulder. He still wasn't going to give up, and the time Tim and Steph mercilessly bullied him for getting dumped over text had made him all the more so.

‘Dont_try’: hey. can you come pick me up? thx

“Please, tell me you sent that and are just messing with me,” Dick begs, staring down at his phone in mild despair. Chaos. Always fucking chaos. Despite how hard he tried, he could not keep his family out of trouble. God damn it, when he’d gotten this job he’d been the one made for trouble. Where did he go wrong?

“Honestly, sounds like the sort of thing I’d do, but the girl just got bitch slapped so I really think you should respond fast.”

“What?!”

“She’s fine now, run to the bathrooms I think. You know for such an upstate place you’d think they had better camera positioning,” Tim mutters, complaining that he can’t watch every single little movement you make. Dick thinks he should probably worry about this, as it’s a clear sign of another decline for his sanity, but he’s now got this shit to deal with.

“Why, Tim? What is going on? Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Hm?” he’s engrossed by the computer, “Ah, the shitty boyfriend… some soup- ha, how is she such a clutz? Maybe we should get her head checked again- and… an altercation of some kind? I don’t know, I can’t see it properly.”

Dick leans forward in his stool, clasped hands covering his face for a moment.

“Are you going to reply? If you don’t soon, she’ll probably make it a bigger shitshow,” Tim says, nudging his foot against Dick’s. Dick, good big brother that he is, takes a deep breath and steadies himself. Even if this is really not what he wanted for his holiday, he’s dealt with much, much worse.

The press will have forgotten about this within the week. You, however, likely not. He’d promised to help you all those years ago, and even if he had no idea why you were reaching out to him, or if you would even be amicable when you met again, he’d still damn well do it.

He glances back down at his phone.

“What is going on?” Dick repeats to himself, and Tim’s head cocks to the side. There’s that familiar cat that got the cream grin spreading across his younger brother’s face, and it just really isn’t welcome right now.

“Intrigued yet?”

Unfortunately for both him, Tim and especially you, Dick already was.

He’s in his car in five minutes flat, finger tapping against the premium leather wheel. The sound of it is the only thing that manages to keep him sane.

Riding up to the place, Dick realises that no, maybe the press won’t be over this within the week. Considering the amount of paparazzi swarming the place, he doubted you’d be free for at least a few months. To be fair, the mysterious ex-wayne making such a scene was a bit of a big deal. Before you’d been basically invisible, despite your immense wealth and past.

Invisible? Dick thinks he spots at least twenty cameras. And that’s not even mentioning all the phones inside that would’ve gotten up close videos of whatever happened. Their legal team would handle it fine, that which Barbara or Tim couldn’t wipe from the face of the earth. And that was very little, all things considered.

Dick has to push past the calls of his name, ignoring all the intrusive questions volleyed his way like the pro he was. He still makes sure to listen carefully and store away every vital bit of information, as well as remember the logos on the film crew’s van. Eventually he makes his way to the front of the line, and the flustered front of house immediately recognises his face and sweeps him inside. Dick ducks in with a thankful smile, which he admits, falters when he enters the scene.

A scene which you are not in. Your gold digging boyfriend was, though. Of all the things Dick regrets with you, it’s not breaking the horrid relationship the two of you had apart. Or well, the fact that you totally, loudly hated his guts. He was a sensitive guy, y’know!

He sees your terribly boyfriend - George, Dick remembers - raging at some poor servers, and he knows he need to go sweep in and save the pour soul. It’ll be a hard fight, he can already tell.

Before he does so, he sends a quick text to his phone.

Underwear_guy: Where are you?

Don’t_try: I’ll be right out.

Shockingly, that was the truth. You come striding into the restaurant, and immediately all eyes are on you. It makes you stutter-step. Dick can see you visibly stiffen up, before you manage to gather your courage and keep walking. You don’t even pay him a single glance as you walk straight towards your fuming boyfriend.

You try to whisper, keeping your voice quiet and your conversation private. The boyfriend seems uninterested in the idea.

“What the fuck are you thinking?!” he cuts you off.

You glance around, and then say something else. It seems like you’re trying to defuse the situation, but George seems uninterested by the idea.

“This behaviour is ridiculous. You need to get it together, we’re in public!” he yells, like he isn’t the one causing a scene. He seems to be trying to intimidate you back into silence. But today and well, yesterday too, something is different about you.

Okay, that’s enough of that. Dick’s intervening.

“You cheated on me! You deserve it and everything that’s coming to you!”

Or, uh, maybe you’ve got it covered.

George’s shocked face is almost worse than when you literally bit him. Guess he expected you to be a bit more demure after that encounter. He should know better, the other version of you seemed to have been even more spiteful in nature.

Today again, you prove you are a less than stellar person. You’d stopped caring about George as soon as you’d discovered he’d cheated, but you were still angry. Not jealous, but furious. Bubbling up your throat, rage and bile and the urge to attack him once again, even if you just want to go home.

Your teeth grind. Your jaw ticks. And oddly, you realise you have a real taste for George Lancaster’s limbs.

Though your life had changed (literally) in the past few days, you were still the same girl from your first twenty-first. You wanted George Lancaster to suffer. Even more so, now that the evil cunt had hit you right in the face. The hit had stunned you, though. More emotionally than physically, but it had shocked you.

You couldn’t say you were a coward. You’d spent far too many days in your teenage years indulging in self-destructive behaviours to think that. But something about this pathetic man was scaring the shit out of you. You think that made you more pathetic, but you couldn’t quite tell. That’d be victim blaming, right?

You did have a habit of blaming yourself. It was just usually your fault.

…Maybe you shouldn’t have bit him, no matter how much the response was instinctual or his screech was satisfying. This was all too confusing, all too much. You needed to get back to your apartment, lock the doors and barricade them so nobody bothers you. And then maybe hibernate for a week. You needed some time to process all the stupid bullshit you were experiencing. The wayne manor was too much, your horrible white apartment was too much, George fucking Lancaster was too fucking god damn much.

You take a deep breath, and manage to stop yourself from bolting like a deer. Deal with the problem at hand. Deal with it now, deal with it!

“I’m leaving, and we are done. It’s that simple,” you tell George, trying to drill in a message that he seems unable to comprehend. At this point you’d assume he’d be trying to apologise, manipulate back into his good graces, but you think you might’ve completely broke him. Broke the script.

Good. That was damn well good.

“Can we talk about this somewhere else at least?” George replies, eyes flicking to Richard Grayson’s angry gaze. At least you think he’s angry. You can’t quite gather the courage to look directly at him.

Also, there’s the manipulation! You wish you weren’t right this time.

“Sure, but I’m bringing him, and my answer will absolutely not change. You hit me.”

“You bit me!”

Well, yeah, not your best moment. You don’t think you can regret it, though.

“Then I think this relationship is ending on equal terms,” you reply, trying your best to just get him to quit it. It is obviously not working by the way his expression darkens.

“I’ll tell the press everything,” George threatens, which, well, is sort of a shitty threat because I don’t even know what he’s threatening. ‘Everything’? Couldn’t he be a bit more specific?

You shrug. It is the wrong response, you know it is, but you’ve completely ran dry of fucks to give. Couldn’t be much worse than the bullshit happening right now. The press were already very well fed, considering the situation that was today. George makes a small sound of fury.

“We’ll sue,” Richard Grayson, the white knight that you’d daydreamed about, comes to your rescue. Is it odd that it’s kind of flustering? You probably shouldn’t be flustered.

George immediately snaps his gaze to Grayson’s, giving the man a look with a healthy dose of fear. Couldn’t blame the guy. Even if he was the second smallest of the three remaining brothers, he was still well known for being strong. His family often did kick-boxing, and their sister, Cass, often whooped their asses. It was sort of satisfying to watch. Anyway, his physical prowess from fighting to weirdo gymnastic bullshit was evident in his svelte build.

George was many things, but he wasn’t an idiot. With just the one threat from the Waynes legal team, he skitters away like the little rat you know him to be. He leaves the restaurant, and he very obviously does not pay or even leave a tip. You suppose you have the cash to make up for it. Then, ignoring the paparazzi, you were technically home free. You glance to the side. Richard Grayson’s beautiful face looks a mix of confuddled, frustrated, and exhausted. He still saved you, though, even after the fool you made of yourself.

White knight, indeed. It almost feels a bit anticlimactic, but it’s the results you wanted. And yet, an ominous feeling befalls you. Somehow, you don’t feel you’ve seen the last of George Lancaster. You just really hope the old you hadn’t committed any crimes. A tabloid? Humiliating, but livable. Prison? Not so much.

Not that the rich stayed in prison in Gotham, or even the rest of the world. It was kind of strange to realise you were sort of above the law now.

You glance at Dick, pulling your uncomfortably wet shirt away from your chest. You’ve sort of been bled dry of any shits you could give at this point, so you decide, very maturely, to make jokes and ignore all your problems. It had gotten you this far.

You’d seen this behaviour before. Many, many times. It was what usually got you fired. But now you didn’t really have to worry about that, so why should you worry about causing a scene and ruining your life a bit more? It wasn’t yours, after all.

“What do you think?” you joke, elbowing Dick. He looks down from glaring at the entrance George just slipped out of, to you. His blue eyes are a damn near shock to the soul. It takes everything in you not to start fidgeting.

“Think of what?” he responds, and despite how hard you try, you can not read his expression.

“I’m trying to make some more news. Don’t think the reporters got enough the other day,” you say, gesturing to the giant stain. It’s still Dick’s shirt. You hadn’t realised till now, but the Beatles was now some sort of green soup. Is it kind of gross of you to acknowledge that at least the soup smelled good?

Probably. You didn’t actually get to eat anything here. It’s also probably a bit weird that you’re thinking about eating at a time like this. Probably.

“I think you’ve done enough, honestly,” he says, glancing at the camera flashes from outside.

He sounds exactly like your mother, it’s almost uncanny. Well, this version of him technically knew her. You’re still not sure how well en-meshed your two families had been before the disaster, but maybe he’d picked up some traits from her.

…That… you’re not sure how to feel about the idea. The old green monster bubbles up at the thought, and you can’t tell if you’re jealous your mum got to meet Dick Grayson, or that Dick Grayson might’ve gotten to know your mum.

“We should leave,” he says, cutting off your bitter inner thoughts, “I know you don’t like it when the magazines bother you.”

You don’t? You don’t. Yes, that makes sense, ‘you’ definitely wouldn’t have. And it’s not like you feel comfortable with them either. In fact, if you think about the fact your drowned rat appearance will be on every tabloid in the city by tomorrow, probably alongside photos from your birthday, you feel so nauseous you could collapse. Going to compartmentalise that one.

“Yes, going, let’s go,” you say, following Dick out of the restaurant.

Despite the fact that the security guards are trying their best, it’s getting quite rowdy out here. When Dick wraps an arm around your shoulder, shielding you with his body, you almost just pass out right there. His muscles… Your heart simply can’t take it. As it is, Dick notices you jump like a foot in the air, and backs off. He still makes sure to try and protect you from their vision as much as possible.

Still, in an act that is purely rebellious, you turn and give them a big smile and a wave. Even as you hate every single person on the other side of the divide, you want to make one thing very clear. You will not be cowed by someone like George fucking Lancaster. Your peace sign and wink are a message to them, to him, and to yourself.

Despite the fact that this new life is one you have no idea how to handle, you know one thing. Put on a face, and it’ll always be easier.

Dick is probably wondering what the hell happened to you for you to be acting this way. Your shirt has a giant stain on it, you just broke up with your cheating boyfriend, went through a traumatising experience just a few days ago, and you’ve got the biggest grin on your face. This behaviour speaks more and more of a full blown mental breakdown. And it’s not the first you’ve had or the last.

There’s paparazzi snapping thousands of photos of the two of you, and instead of shying away as ‘you’ used to, you throw up a peace sign. One of the papps drops their camera. That confuses you a bit, as your peace sign deflates slightly. Didn’t they want more pictures? Weren’t you supposed to pose…?

For all you stalked celebrities online, you realise you have no idea how to pretend to be one. This is going to become an issue, you can already tell.

He points at a car, and you assume it’s his because he starts making his way over. He’s obviously done this sort of thing before, using and guiding the security with a smooth confidence. Even still, the two of you are a bit too close for comfort.

Which you prove, by putting your foot directly in your mouth.

“I don’t have abs, but do you think the press would like my stomach like they like yours?” you say, and almost immediately regret it. Another poor joke. You are deflecting so hard. And why the hell did you bring that up, you dunce? You feel your brain cells draining the more you’re around this guy, it’s not healthy for you.

“Please don’t pull your shirt up in public,” Dick sounds like he’s about to have a mental breakdown. It’s spreading, like the plague. You’re patient zero, of course. Even still he gets you guys to the car, and opens the side door for you. You follow his wordless command and slip into the passenger seat.

“I won’t. Sorry, sorry,” you reply, to relieve him of some of the trauma you’re currently inflicting.

He glances back to the papps, and then back down at you. His smile bowls you over like he’s getting the last strike in a fucking 300. He genuinely is the most beautiful human being you’ve ever seen. Thankfully, he closes the door so you have a moment to gather your sanity before he goes around the car and gets in the driver’s seat.

You hope you’re subtle when you shift away from him slightly. It shouldn’t be that surprising really. You were stupid on average. You would be stupider around attractive people. You would be frankly disastrous around someone as blastingly hot as Dick Grayson. The Waynes in general turned you into a drooling idiot.

Good god, you need to get out of this car. As soon as you think that, Dick is pulling away from the parking spot and out onto the streets. He makes slow progress because Gotham traffic, but eventually you manage to flee the horrifying stares of the cameras. Already you can tell it’ll be giving you nightmares. Probably along with images of the guy who tried to rape you and Damian Wayne sneering at you.

“So, how are you feeling?”

Despite how you wish it not, Mr. Grayson decides he’s going to start a conversation with you.

“Good,” you reply, the answer instinctive and an obvious lie.

You can feel his gaze on the side of your face, but you don’t dare return it.

“That’s good to hear,” he says, and his voice is gentle. Sort of infantilising if you’ll be honest.

While it is very clear to anyone who looks at you that you have no idea what you’re doing, you’d rather he didn’t bring it up. You’ll figure it out. You’ve always managed to figure it out. This is what you get for asking for help. Really, despite your momentary panic you could’ve taken George. Probably not physically, but…

“You can talk to me if you want, you know?”

“Can you stop the car, please?” you respond, when that question immediately activates your fight or flight response. Dick must notice something about you, because he quickly shoots forward and into a momentarily available parking spot.

You scramble with the door, shoving your way back out onto the asphalt. The immediate distinct smell of Gotham, even Gotham’s richer districts, calms you down. Sewage, the ocean, and the ever present smoke and fog.

Fuck’s sake. You aren’t making yourself look anymore well put together.

Clearing your throat, you turn and find Richard Grayson coming around the car hood towards you. There’s a worried look in his eyes, and you really don’t know how to deal with it. It’s like you made a deal with the devil. By getting rid of George, you’d gotten a new problem - and an infinitely more complicated one.

Shit, you need to stop making rash decisions when you’re having panic attacks. You’d say you should probably try and stop having panic attacks entirely, but you don’t really know how to do that.

The sound of your name has you snapping back to attention. Dick looks even more worried.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks, taking a few slow steps towards you. Again, infantilizing. Like you’re a wild animal about to run. Wait, weren’t you just comparing yourself to a chihuahua? Well, it’s not the same when other people do it.

“I’d like to take a walk,” you say, hand scrunching into your pyjama pants, “Alone, I’d like some time alone.”

“…In that?” He glances down at the stain that is slowly starting to dry. It’s making your skin itchy, but at least it’s not as cold.

“I can buy something,” you say, remembering one of the apps on your phone was connected to your bank account, which you had to assume was pretty full. It’s kind of stupid that you haven’t checked that yet.

You’re starting to feel a bit defensive towards your own intelligence. Maybe it’s because you seemingly keep making all the worst decisions.

Dick doesn’t make it any better.

“Do you have cash on you?” he asks, showing how little faith he has in your general abilities to survive as an adult in Gotham.

“I do, I’ll be fine,” you insist, because god damn it, you will be. You just need a fucking minute.

You ran from the Wayne manor because you felt like you were being watched, and then as soon as you showed up at the world’s most uncomfortable apartment, the haunting wraith known as George dragged you out in your P.J.s. You could figure it the fuck out, if these people would give you some fucking space.

Richard Grayson seems to realise that you’re getting upset, because he goes quiet for a moment. After staring at you for a moment longer, for which you manage to find the courage to maintain eye contact through pure stubborn will, he asks you one final question.

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride home or something?” he asks, still seeming so determined to help you.

His suggestion brings flashes of images of you breaking down in front of the Bruce Wayne to mind. From almost a birds eye view, you see yourself sobbing against your own ruined dress as the billionaire looked on. Bile literally jumps up your throat, and it takes a lot of willpower not to grimace at the suggestion.

“Look, Mr. Grayson, I really appreciate-”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that.”

Once again, you feel the urge to simply sprint away from your own problems, but you manage to hold yourself still. Still, you can’t think of a solution. You can’t really think much of anything. Instead you stare at Richard Grayson with your hands threaded together and your lips pressed into a thin line.

Though you open your mouth to speak, you find you have no excuses ready or available. You’ve talked yourself into a corner already, and it’s your third day in this world. Marvellous. Maybe you should just tell the truth.

Still, the dangers outweigh the pros. They don’t know you, they don’t have any real reason to take care of you. If they believe you, they’ll toss you out onto the streets penniless. And if they don’t-

You blink. There’s a highway sign behind Dick, and it catches your attention like a lightning bolt. ‘Arkham Asylum 800 miles’. It’s white blocky letters on green panelling feels like a sign from god, warning you from the path you consider taking.

And then you realise that you might actually get sent to Arkham if you say anything, and you resolve to never tell a single soul about what has happened to you. You’ve heard enough stories about the asylum, and by god, you are not being roommates with the fucking Joker of all people.

Eventually Dick realises he’s not getting anything out of you and he sighs, shaking his head. His annoyingly perfect hair mesmerises you for a second, but you manage to wrangle your brain back under control. He really doesn’t make it easy.

“I just want to know if you’re safe. If you’re going through anything, you know we’re always happy to help-”

“Dick,” you say his name, face twisting in discomfort, “This was a… a one time thing. Usually I can handle my problems. It just… it caught me off guard. George cheating was a huge shock, and I needed someone to stand by me.”

“And you know I always will, right?”

Ah. That’s… Dick Grayson was a stranger. You didn’t know him, and more than that he did not know you. He did not know what you would do, could do. You didn’t think anyone did, not even yourself.

It’s a silly idea to expect your celebrity crush to save you, and it’s one you find you can’t stomach it at the moment. It makes you feel disgusted with yourself at the idea. It’s too indulgent, too silly. It’s very simply, not possible.

You’ve given up on relying on miracles. These lessons had been beaten into you, really. You didn’t want to have to learn them again.

Your feelings must show on your face.

Dick lets out a whoosh of air, frustration palpable. He carts his hand through his hair. It still looks perfect. The world is unfair, yadda yadda.

“You run hot and cold, you know?” he gives you a grin. It says a lot about his ability to act, seeing as it seems almost natural. Almost, being the key word.

Also, he is absolutely correct. The chihuahua effect is in full-swing. And you know what? You are probably going to continue to run hot and cold, because you’ve never made a decision in your life. He’ll just have to get used to it.

You raise your hands and shrug, in the universal ‘what-can-you-do?’ motion. He wasn’t wrong. You were being completely erratic. Not even you knew what you’d do next. At least life isn’t boring these days, right Right? You wonder who you are trying to fool, because it’s certainly not yourself.

“I’ll contact you if I need anything,” you lie, because it seems to be the right thing to end this torturous conversation, “And I’ll make sure to keep contact with Alfred. You can talk to Jeanine if you need anything, as well.”

Dick, unfortunately, calls you out on your bullshit.

“But not you, right?” he says, smile still printed on his face.

Woof. You think… you’ve hurt his feelings? Ah shit, you instantly feel like the scum of the earth. Still, you don’t know how you could fix this. Arkham is a genuine threat lingering over your shoulder, you don’t know enough about your new cut-throat billionaire world, and you can not lose any faith they have in you. Any that you have left, that is.

You’re sorry, but this is coming down to survival. And you are a greedy person, after all.

In the end, you don’t have anything to say, and Richard Grayson leaves without a word. Watching him walk towards his car, you feel… bad. Really bad. The part of you that is still crushing on this guy, a very large part of you, feels like you’ve ended the earth. The other part, the one that recognises that once again you’re going to have to fight for yourself… well, she thinks so too.

Maybe… maybe you could fix this. Apologise. Once you’ve gotten your bearings and know you’re safe and 100% financially stable, maybe you’ll figure it out. Give him his shirt back after you’ve dry-cleaned it.

For now, you give him your back as well.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #batfam x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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sugurizz · 10 months

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(SMUT/NSFW +18 - minors DNI !)

𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭.: Joo Jaekyung x f! reader - 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏 , 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: world champion Team Black's Joo Jaekyung is the hottest sensation in the MMA universe. His name is not only feared and respected on the streets, but desired in the sheets. Little did physiotherapist Y/n know, she was about to learn it the hard way.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 / 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dark content ahead! explicit content, dubcon, graphic content, dom/sub dynamics, power dynamics, degradation, nicknames (Doc, slut, whore, etc...)

𝐰.𝐜: 1,1k.

𝐉𝐎𝐎 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐊𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐆 − 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐢 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

And who's this now? What is she doing here?'

'Please welcome y/n. She'd be our substitute physical therapist for now. hope you guys would get along.' Responded team coach Park Namwook as he gently gave your shoulder a pat.

'You keep bringing these goons around! And none of them seems to get the job done right!' He harshly dismissed your presence, looking at the coach, then scoffed as he walked back into the sparring room.

'You'll have to deal with him after the sparring matches. He's quite the hardass at times, but I know I can rely on you.'

The coach gave you a rather awkward smile, brushing off the rude welcoming you suddenly received.

-----

You stepped into the therapy room and hanged your backpack, just as he came in, skin gleaming with sweat and pitch black strands messy. His eyes accidentally met yours as he layed down on the chair.

'I'm taking the shirt off. It's drenched in sweat.'

Your heart sunk. You turned around to see his large torso on full display. He clearly did it for an understandable reason, but your brain went blank and your fingertips froze for a split second, until a deep voice shook you out of it..

'Last week's treatment sucked. The last substitute coach brought here was so incompetent. My muscles remained tense anyway. And the cramps in my left shoulder got even worse.'

'I understand, sir. I'll work on a different treatment routine. I'm sorry for your last week's inconvenience.'

You somehow fancied remaining professional at that moment. Despite his clear attitude, you knew your job as physiotherapist was to provide the team members with effective remedies in the first place.

He shrugs and looks away, closing his eyes in annoyance as he muttered,

'And better make it quick. I don't have all night ahead.'

You nodded as you approached his frame. Took a deep breath as your palms landed on his skin. It was a mix of heat and cold, a marble-like texture that you didn't expect a UFC fighter -notably the best of the best- to have.

the session went rather smoothly, no words were spoken. but at least you could tell the silence was a rather relieving sign.

'S-Sir...c-could you point to me the spot where your shoulder feels most painful, please?'

He placed his hand on the back of his shoulder, eyes still closed. And you complied as you started massaging it. His features flinched for a while, and your heart skipped a beat as you slowly neared the end of the session.

'I'll have to say that your shoulder might need a few more sessions, sir. It seems that the tendons on your upper left arm are the reason you're struggling with pain in your shoulder.'

'I'm not spending any extra time on nonsense! You figure out how to heal it. And you'll do it during the normal sessions.'

He glanced at you sternly as he stood up and straightened himself. Not acknowleging you a second further...

-----

The next day's session was just about to start, an unspoken tension grew inside your chest. The uncertainty of what could happen every time your hands stroked against his rock hard abs, toned arms, and god-like v lined pelvis had your face heating up.

He walked in as usual. you greeted him with a pale smile and performed your service as good as you could...

...'Hey, do you work extra hours? I'll pay you.'

He opened a half-lidded eye, voice deeper than you recognized.

you turned around, puzzled ..

'I...can do that. It would buy me some extra time to focus on your upper arm's tendons.'

'Good. I'm only open for extra sessions in my apartment, though.'

'B-but sir! I'm not sure if I can commute to your place at such a late hour...' You jolted immediately, almost panicking at the sudden request.

'I can tell you're not good with directions. Meet me at the entrance in 15 minutes. I'm driving there anyway.'

He muttered nonchalently as he got up and left the room, leaving you standing up there, mind foggy and racing trying to process what just happened...

...the ride home was silent. The flashing lights of the city were the only way you could ignore the heavy weight upon your heart. You got off as you arrived and made your way behind him to the apartment.

'There. You can place your stuff anywhere. And follow me quick.'

He laid down on a king-sized bed, eyeing you up and down as you set foot into the room.

'I'll make it short and quick.

I fuck before matches. For a reasonable price. Choice is yours.'

You somehow managed to stay cool and collected, but the silence that followed crushed your soul. He was still waiting for your response. Not that you were aware of his fiery eyes almost piercing a burning hole through your chest.

'W-why?...sir..' a broken protest left your throat. But he seemed so unfazed by it all.

'If it's a no you can leave now. No more words needed.'

He looked away, turning around to face the huge bay window, shining through the city lights. you felt unjustifiably intoxicated. was it his huge frame? the unforgettable scent of his room? or just the nasty desire that you kept suppressing since your eyes met his dark ones? You didn't know for sure. But the way he felt like he could crush you evertime he randomly stood next to you had you picturing all kinds of the filthiest things he could do to you...

...

'W-what would it be.... if I...agreed, s-sir?...'

'Oh. playing sly are we?'

He walked up to you with a mishievious grin on his face, then leaned down enough for his lips to meet your ears.

'If you agree, you get fucked to my heart's content. No playing around. No lovey-dovey shit.'

The brutal tone was supposed to distaste you, but for whatever messed up reason made you feel the throb straight down your womb, and between your legs.

'So?'

You snapped out. His warm breath was still ghosting over your neck, just enough to tease your senses, without ever touching you.

You looked into his eyes like a frightened deer, tho your fear merged with the heat in your belly.

'N-No one...can hear about this! sir'

'Not that anyone else can see me balls deep in you, can they?'

He raised an eyebrow, shit-eating grin still over his lips as his monster-like frame invaded your space. Your brain shut down, heart hammering as you looked back into his eyes...

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑?...

𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒.

#jinx #joo jaekyung #jaekyung x reader #joo jaekyung x reader #jinx manhwa #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro #toji smut #toji x y/n #toji x you

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goldessia · 2 months

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RUINED REPUTATION — k. bkg x assistant reader

sum. katsuki bakugo is the #1 professional hero. because of this, he built an agency, and wound up hiring an assistant to help him with publicity and to do majority of his paperwork for him... something he didn’t expect was for that assistant to be so damn attractive.

warnings. injury, intoxication, makeouts, smut!mdni (in future chapters!)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 (wip)

a/n. haii! thanks for tuning in for the second chapter :) hope you like this so far! not proofread — let me know if there’s any mistakes!

tag list: @lovra974 , @gold24fish, @bkgirl, @bigsimpo343 , @missyaess

“i.. i didn’t know where else to go.”

…

here he was, dynamight himself, standing in-front of my front door with blood pooling his shirt.

i sputter. what do i even say in this situation? my boss was at my front door, looking intoxicated and like he was near to death.

“sir?” i say in nearly a whisper, “what.. what are you doing here?”

he groaned, and i couldn’t tell if it was from pain or not. “stop.. stop calling me that.” he huffs, clutching the doorframe harder, the wood sizzling.

“sorry—“ i catch myself, “um, dynamight.”

“don’t call me that shit either.” he stares me in the eye as he says, “just.. just call me katsuki. ‘don’t care.”

i meekly nod. we’re on a first name basis now?

not wanting my doorframe to burn off, i take his hand off my doorframe and sling his arm around my shoulders. when he leans his weight onto me, i nearly collapse but manage to keep myself composed.

to think we were just talking about him merely a few hours ago, and now he’s here, as if we summoned him like some sort of demon.

.. well, demon isn’t too far off.

i shut the door behind me, katsuki’s feet stumbling as i try to lead him towards the bathroom where i kept my medical aid.

i guess my year trying to be a nurse is paying off before i switched majors, as i still have the supplies and knowledge i gained from it.

“what the hell happened?” i ask, voice low as to not wake my un-suspecting roommate.

“ts’ guy at a bar, nggh!” he hisses as we drop a step, his hand unintentionally pushing farther into his wound. i mutter an apology.

he’s breathing heavily, like he’s gasping for air. i can feel his biceps clench with every walk we take, his sharp exhale at every step he as to walk on his left-injured side.

clearing my throat, i prompt, “guy at a bar?”

“had a.. a fuckin mouth onim’.” he says heavily, “put that pussy in his place.”

if dynamight is this bad.. i wonder how the guy he was fighting was looking like right now.

“as your assistant.. fuck you for causing another scene.” i say, kicking open the bathroom door, “as your temporary.. friend, good for you.”

i cringe at the word friend. friend seems weird — off.

“good for me, my ass.” he hisses as i place him against the counter, pushing his torso to tell him to sit.

he does.

the reality of the situations continues to dawn on me; my boss is in my house, in my proximity that i live in everyday. i shower in this very bathroom. it felt.. weird.

i clear my throat, trying to ignore the butterflies of anxiousness in my stomach.

“katsuki,” i test, the name unfamiliar on my tongue, “take off your shirt.” from my peripheral vision, i can see him smirk. i send a look his way, face flushing in embarrassment.

“not like.. like that.” i stutter, “‘just take off your damn shirt.”

he stares at me, blinks, then tuts his tongue and says—“yes, ma’am.”—weak, shaken hands gripping the end of his shirt and pulling it over his head in one clean move.

it both irritates me and confuses me how simply he had done it.

he drops it in the floor, too weak to care where he put it—conveniently on my brand new white bathmat.

i try to ignore how it irritates me.

“i’ll buy you.. a new one.” he breathes, falling back against the marble wall, touching a hand to the wound on his stomach and hissing a breath through his teeth.

i rummage through the drawer of supplies, purposefully avoiding looking his way out of respect — and for my own sanity.

luckily, sutures was the unit we last worked on before i switched majors, meaning the information was still fairly fresh in my mind.

taking a step closer to the hero, i smell a waft of alcohol seep off of his skin. whiskey, no doubt.

i clear my throat. “i didn’t peg you for a whiskey guy.” i say, hoping to clear some of the overwhelming awkwardness.

he grimaces when i touch an alcohol pad around the wound, cleaning the dried blood surrounding the cut.

“i’m any typa’ guy on the right occasion.” he gives a toothy grin as he says this, abs flexing from my touch.

i blink. finally meeting his eyes, i realize just how close our bodies were, my hands on his torso, standing between his legs as he sits on the counter.

i knew he was supposed to be fit considering his work involved constantly pushing his body to the brink, but man.

he was toned, abs chiseled, biceps molded and flexing with every touch to his wound. his body resembled that of a god, and even if his body was bruised and broken it still looked perfect.

his eyes are piercing, ruby-bright red paired with a shiny, toothy grin placed between his lips.

“whatcha starin’ at, hm?” he slurs. i can feel the breathe from his lips.

my eyes flick away. i murmur a, “..nothing”, clearing my throat and picking up the needle to suture the wound. "so.. what happened for you to get this wound?"

"you're really beautiful, y'know that?" katsuki breathes, eyes scanning over my face.

"what?" i flush, momentarily freezing.

he chuckles, the scent of alcohol seeping over my face as he breathes out, "everyday, when you show up in those outfits ya got.. drives me insane.."

i am unsure what to do. staring into katsuki's eyes, i can see he's totally out of it; he doesn't mean any of this, it's just the alcohol talking!

.. then again, drunk words are sober thoughts.

i scoff, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear as i rip my gaze away. "you're drunk, katsuki," slowly, i am getting used to the name, "you're just talking nonesense."

"i'd never lie t' a pretty girl like you." he says, leaning closer, dangerously close. "anyone ever tell ya you got the most beautiful eyes?"

he reaches a hand toward me, tipping my chin up to look at him, rough and calloused hands scraping against the skin across my jaw.

suddenly, the room is too hot, his touch is too hot and i can feel myself slowly going insane. i find myself wanting more, more, his hands all over--

no! what the hell am i saying, he's drunk, and unlike himself. once he sobers up, he'll realize how stupid his words were.

but oh, his touch was addicting.

"katsuki.." i whisper, feeling his hand slowly move across my collarbone. he leans toward me, his lips resting over my ear, his breath on my skin flowing down my neck. so warm, so soothing.

"y'know, everyday when you show up in them' jeans ya wear.." he inhales, the sound loud in my ear, "makes me so fucking turned on."

i take a deep breath, trying to compose myself, trying to resist; he wouldn't want this, not if he were sober.

i swallow, "katsuki." i say with more certainty.

"mm, say that again." he rasps, kissing just below my ear with such gentleness i am surprised. his lips are hot, wet, his tongue dragging softly over my skin. i feel my body heat up, having to lean against the counter because i was afraid my legs would give out.

resist. resist, all you have to do is push away.

"you.. you wouldn't want this if you were sober." i huff, my face a bright, hot pink of fluster.

a chuckle comes from his chest, "this is all i want when i'm sober. all i can think 'bout, girl."

he pulls away from my neck, and i sigh in relief before opening my eyes to see him right in-front of me. his hand grabs my chin, slanting my head to the side, waiting painfully close as if to wait for me to make the first move.

and i know it's bad. the cliche of bosses sleeping with their assistants always irked me, and considering i was an assistant for dynamight i never considered he would ever sleep with me.

but now... if what he is saying is true, my predictions were nothing but the complete opposite.

and all i can think is: well, fuck, as i crash my lips against his. his mouth is hot, fiery, just as i assumed it to be. his tongue instantly pushes against mine, teeth grazing each other as our lips meet in a hasty battle.

tongues dancing against each other, i am instantly overwhelmed. kissing has never been this sweet, this passionate with my previous partners. a raw, thick naturalness comes between katsuki and i, as if being this close to one another was simply fate.

"this is.. bad--!" i mutter between the breathes we are forced to take, his hand instead finding my hips and pulling me against the counter. i am forced to stand on my tippy-toes as his other hand finds my hair, grasping it as if to hold him to reality.

i understand that much. i feel like if it weren't for his grasp on my skin, i would simply be in a dream instead of this being a reality.

and if this is a dream, i don't think i want to ever wake up.

i bring a hand up to his torso, my hand accidentally grazing over his wound. he groans into my lips, hand clutching my hair even tighter, yet he doesnt stop his assault to dominate my mouth.

i gasp. he's wounded! what am i thinking?!

gathering all the restraint in my body, i push away from him, my back slamming into the wall behind me. i finally take a breath, heavy pants leaving my mouth as i stare at him.

a groan of frustration leaves his lips, his back falling against the wall. it seemed the dopamine had allowed the affect of the wound to become nothing more than a little thorn in his side, but now that it had run out the pain started coming back.

"please.." katsuki whispers, "'feels better when yer kissing me.."

then, there's a knock on the door.

"y/n? is everything alright in there?" mina's voice comes from outside the door.

i look between katsuki and the door, seeing his love-drunk eyes and his current state; anyone with eyes could see he was aroused, not to mention the prominent boner tenting his pants.

"uh—“ i say, "yeah I’m—i'm okay." i say back, clearing my throat, "jus' go back to bed, mina."

"you sure..? you're talking kinda weird, i'm just gonna come in—“

"no!' i panic, before realizing my tone was still suspicious.

"that' the acid freak from school?" katsuki's brows furrow, "what's that brat doin' here?"

"who's that?!" mina calls from outside the door, "wait.. thats—!"

"OKAY!" i yell in frustration, "i'm opening the door!"

i slowly crack open the door, quickly closing it behind me and leaving katsuki in the bathroom.

mina’s eyes are wide. “what. the fuck. is katsuki bakugo doing in our apartment at three in the morning?!”

i sigh, rubbing a hand over my face, “i don’t know. he just.. he just came to the front door, injured.”

“so.. bring him to the hospital!” mina says in a duh tone.

“how do you think it’d look if his assistant was with him at three in the morning?” i say in a whisper-yell, “look, it’s just a simple cut. i can suture it up, and he’ll be fine by the morning.”

she shifts on her feet, uneasy. “okay. but it still feels weird.”

i run a hand over my face, “yeah, i know. it is weird.”

she eyes me, her head slanting ever so slightly. “are you alright? you look all… flustered..” then, her eyes widen as if in a realization, “wait—!”

before she can speak, i cut her off. “okayimleavingnowbye!” i sputter, rushing toward the bathroom and closing it behind me.

i inhale a deep breath, face flushing at the idea of being caught making out with my boss.

“how about you uh.. do me a favour and stitch me up now, huh, princess?” katsuki smiles as he says this.

i turn to him. “don’t call me that.”

“uh-huh.”

#katsuki mha #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #my hero academia #mha x reader #mha

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roosterbruiser · 1 year

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A blurb about Jake with an introverted SO who surprises him with lingerie. Jake teases her, but is super feral!

𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐤-𝐮𝐩 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤

𝐚 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞

Jake has always been more outgoing than you. It's part of the reason you're together: you were the shy girl at The Hard Deck just trying to survive a night of socialization with her friends and he was the life of the party that was beating everyone in darts. And for some reason, as soon as he saw you meekly standing in the corner nursing a lukewarm beer, he decided to set his sights on you.

It happened easier than you thought it would, honestly. He charmed you from the get-go, seemingly understanding right away that what you wanted was a breather. That night, after buying you and your friends drinks (a swoon-worthy Southern gentleman) and indulging in some friendly games of darts, Jake had asked if you wanted to take a walk down the shoreline.

He was enamored with you from the get-go. Even just the way your cheeks flooded with warmth when he asked and that little pathetic excuse for a nod made his heart race. And once he got you comfortable enough to have a conversation--ones where you laughed that big, throaty laugh and ranted about the importance of the Oxford comma--he knew he was done for.

Honestly, when you first saw Jake, you were certain that he was not the settling down type. And honestly, he didn't think he was either. But then he felt himself yearning for your touch first thing in the morning, before he even opened his eyes. He was thinking about you all day--Hell, he sent you so many songs and instagram memes that you'd have eons of notifications to check. He'd always just say reminded me of you or simply you lol.

Things were just easy between the two of you. Three (perfect) dates in and you were officially a couple. After a year together, he asked you to move in with him. A year after that, the two of you adopted the most pitiful pug in the pound. And now you have settled into a most ardent domesticity.

You're sitting on the kitchen counter now, waiting for him to come back from the gym. It should be any minute now, really, and you hope so because with every passing second that you sit on this marble countertop in this piece of clothing that hardly passes as clothing at all--you're losing your nerve. You've never worn lingerie for anyone before, but Jake isn't just anyone. He's your Jake. He's the only man in the world that could sway you to slip yourself into a mess of strap and lace.

Honestly, you're not even sure you have it on right. There were so many straps and moving parts and you didn't know how much was too much and the lady at the store wasn't here earlier to help adjust you. But when you looked in the mirror, when you saw all the hills and valleys of your body, you were taken back slightly. You looked good--not even just good. Sexy. You looked sexy.

But you're losing your nerve because you're worried he'll be too tired when he gets back from the gym. That and he'll want to take a shower. Maybe he'll even be hungry and you're sitting your almost-bare ass on the counter and, really, he makes sandwiches here so maybe he's gonna be pissed--

"Well, well, well," Jake's voice is suddenly echoing in the kitchen. "And what do we have here? If it ain't my little angel herself."

It startles you enough to jump and clutch your near-naked chest. He's standing in the doorway, dressed in athletic shorts and his running shoes, and he's positively dripping sweat. It's matting his hair and casting a sheen across his smooth skin. His chest is still heaving--probably because he likes to run on the treadmill to cool down, the fucking weirdo--and there is something wild in his eyes.

"Shit," you whispered sheepishly, straightening your spine and awkwardly poking your cleavage out towards him. "Didn't hear you come in."

Jake is all grins, eyes not-so-subtly raking across your seated form. He nods to your pug, who's resting stupidly peacefully on his dog bed without a care in the world.

"Maybe we need a better guard dog," Jake laughs.

You pout, shoulders deflating as your cheeks flood. You cross your arms over your chest, blowing a piece of teased hair from your eyes with a humph.

"I was supposed to be waiting for you. I had a line and everything."

There's a teasing dazzle in his eye when he quips back at you. "Want me to walk in again, angel?"

You shake your head, frowning.

"Won't be the same," you breathe.

He's taking a few steps closer to you, eyes lingering on the sinful line of cleavage that's just begging for his tongue to outline. But you're being sore about the whole ordeal, your vision of sexiness and allure shattered by being so lost in your own thoughts that you missed your cue.

"C'mon," Jake tries. "Tell me the line."

You're embarrassed now.

He stands between your legs, eyelashes fluttering slightly when he catches a whiff of that perfume you've doused yourself in; he bought it for you on your second anniversary and you wear it on special (and sexy) occasions. Nonetheless, he lets his hands come to rest on your thighs--they're soft and warm beneath his calloused hands. But dammit if you don't grow wet at just the feel of those fingers, at just the closeness between the two of you right now. He smells like he's been working hard--not outwardly bad, but odorous. You love it, frankly, and it's something he chides you for. And right now, as his thumbs rub little circles in the meat of your thighs, you're downright dizzy from being in such close proximity to him.

"Well--well, I was gonna be waiting in the kitchen, right?"

His hands are inching up, up, up your thighs. Delicately, he swipes his index fingers along the flowered edge of your lace. You shiver--God, does he know how to tease you.

"Accomplished," he teases, a bead of sweat rolling off his forehead and onto your knee as he leans forward to press a careful kiss to your nose. "Go on."

Now he's holding the bend of your hips, kissing a sweet line down your throat and trying not to moan at just the feeling of your skin beneath his lips. He hasn't shaved today, so his face is scratching you just right--it's tingling your fingers and toes, drawing heat to your core.

After another moment, as he's kissing your shoulders and carefully nipping at the complicated strap situation there, you swallow hard and push forward.

"Don't make me say it," you breathe, wrapping your arms around his neck and curling your fingers in the damp hair at the base of his neck. "It's stupid, baby."

Jake laughs softly, sucking a bruise on your collarbone, digging his thumbs into your hips.

"You can do it, baby," he whispers, hot breath fanning out over your goosed skin. "Do it for me--say it."

You're overwhelmed, so turned on that your mind is practically swimming in a pool of something thick and viscous. He's consuming you already and he's hardly even touched you.

"Iwasgonnaaskifyou'reintofitnessandthensayfitnesspussyinyourmouth," you usher out before you lose your nerve.

He freezes, processing everything you just said. His hands were just beginning to rise to the swell of your breasts, he was just beginning to grind his hard cock against the countertop in a desperate grab for friction, but now he's laughing.

And if anyone else were to laugh at you, you'd have been mortified. Hell, you'd be gone before they could even tone it down and wipe the tears from their cheeks. But it's Jake--he loves you. Hell, he adores you. And you get the distinct sense that he's not so much laughing at you than at your line interpretation.

His grinning face is pressed into your cleavage as he laughs and before you know it, laughter is bubbling up from your throat too.

"Oh, fuck, angel," he grins, pressing open-mouth kisses to your breasts. "I love you so much. You're my fuckin' dream girl."

You grin--entirely dithered.

"Is that why my legs are so tired?" You ask, biting your lip hard.

He raises his eyebrow at you, searching your face. The realization of what's coming next dawns on him and he shakes his head, eyes widening.

"Don't--!"

"--Cause I've been running through your dreams all night?"

He wrinkles his nose at you, but you're already doing a little victory dance, kissing his parted lips as he looks down at you in something between shock and utter surprise.

"Did you Google, like, the shittiest pickup lines and just run with it?"

You laugh again, shrugging.

"More or less," you say.

He sighs in content, nipping at your collarbone again. You gasp and he keens, coming up to just ghost his fingers over your hardened nipples.

Fuck--you love this softness. The way you two are able to seamlessly go between fits of laughter and raunchy sex is something you've never even come close to with anyone else.

"Want another?" You ask breathlessly.

He nods fervently against you, grinning into your sloppy kisses ad you hold his cheeks.

"So bad, angel," he moans.

You moan outwardly when he slips his fingers beneath the lace and pulls it down far enough to take your nipple in his warm mouth, carelessly stretching the lace as he wedges his hand into the other cup to pinch softly.

"I hope you're into yoga," you start breathlessly as he continues his ruthless assault on your sensitive buds, "cause--ah, baby--you're gonna get a good stretch tonight."

"That doesn't even make sense," he mutters against you, nipple still in his mouth as you thread your fingers through his locks and pull softly. "I'm the guy."

"Fuck, I don't know," you whimper, moving your hips towards him and settling your fingers in the waistband of his shorts. "Too wet to think straight."

"Then let's slide 'n' slide to the bedroom," he says.

You two promptly break out in laughter--tears streaming down your flushed cheeks, mouths wide open, chests aching. But then it resumes right after that, like it always does, when his hands come down over your ass to pull you to him.

here is my tag list!!

𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧, 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬! 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲, 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐛!

if you liked this, consider checking out my Jake x You story!

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trashpandato · 8 months

Text

Dinner

For as much as Kara loves food, thinks about food, talks about food, dreams about food, she’s not very good at actually making it herself.

It’s been a thing for as long as she can remember. Several of her childhood memories of Krypton involve Alura shooing her out of the kitchen after Kara managed to spill key ingredients in her attempt to help her mother make dinner. In Midvale, Eliza straight up banned her from the kitchen at some point. Granted, it only happened after the fifth visit from the fire department, but Kara still feels a little sour about it. All she wants, all she has ever wanted was to learn how to cook a few basics: pasta, cookies, maybe a pie or two. But for some reason, almost all of Kara’s attempts to learn have resulted in unmitigated disasters and a general unwillingness of others to try and share a kitchen with her.

So now she mostly orders take-out, buys pre-made meals that she only has to heat up, or relies on others to do the cooking for her. At the same time, she still really wants to learn.

When Lena cooks her dinner for the first time, Kara’s mind is blown. In between mouthfuls of creamy, delicious risotto, Kara swoons.

“Lena! This is, it’s so good!”

Lena chuckles. “You sound surprised. I don’t know if I should be offended.”

“Yeah. I mean, no! It’s just, I didn’t know you could cook.”

“I don’t have a lot of time, but I do enjoy it. It’s relaxing.”

The question comes out before Kara can control it: “Would you teach me?”

“Teach you? To cook?”

Kara puts her fork down to avoid flinging bits of rice around. She’s known to gesticulate wildly when she’s excited about something and has learned that it’s better not to do that with utensils in hand.

“Yeah. I, um, I’m kind of terrible at it. So terrible, in fact, that I’m not allowed anywhere near Eliza’s kitchen anymore.”

Lena doesn’t seem too surprised at this admission.

“But you still want to learn?”

“I do! It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. Just something simple that I can make for myself at home.”

Lena hums, seemingly weighing her options, but then she smiles and nods.

And that’s how Kara finds herself in Lena’s kitchen two weeks later, kneading fresh pasta dough on the marble countertop. She’s been following Lena’s instructions carefully, taking notes, and so far, the only item she has broken is a wooden spoon which splintered under Kara’s excited grip when Lena brushed her hands along Kara’s back as she walked behind her to grab the eggs.

“You know, I really don’t understand why everyone says you’re such a disaster in the kitchen,” Lena muses as she watches Kara roll out the dough as per her instructions. “You’re doing great.”

Kara can feel the skin on her face heat up at that.

“Well, um, usually there are charred things,” she admits sheepishly. “And ruined pots and pans. And, um, the occasional visit from the fire department.”

“Really?” Lena laughs. “I would think Supergirl could get that under control herself.”

“Well, okay, the fire department thing only happened when I was younger. Before I was Supergirl. But I’ve definitely ruined several of Alex’s good pans, so I’m not allowed to touch them anymore.”

Lena shakes her head, amusement clear in her features as she takes a sip of her wine.

“It’s a good thing that I’m a billionaire, then. I’ll gladly buy some more pots and pans if necessary. But I have faith that we won’t need to go there.”

In the end, Lena teaches Kara to make the pasta and pair it with zucchini, mint, lemon and cheese and it’s among the best dinners Kara has ever eaten. Kara decides that Lena must have the magic touch and asks if they could do this again.

They do, and the pie that Kara tries to make ends up burnt, but this time, it’s not because of anything Kara does. It’s because Lena starts kissing her, first lightly, then fiercely and Kara forgets about the pie in the oven until the smoke alarm goes off and she has to scramble out of Lena’s grasp to use her freeze breath to take care of it.

Kara starts to apologize, but Lena is right there and she’s laughing but then she’s pressing her lips back to Kara’s and whispers:

“You can burn down my entire kitchen, I don’t mind. Just keep kissing me.”

#supercorp #kara x lena #supercorptober2023 #supercorptober

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angel1cjules · 3 months

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apple pie

"i'll never let your tears cause rain" summary - just jk being so gentle and consoling oc with his demeanor <3 word count - genre - just pure fluff <3 and consoling warnings - oc is a bit of a crybaby, jk is so big on kissing, whiny reader, snuggling a/n - here's something for you guys while i finish writing forbidden love pt.5!! masterlist ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ You watch as the rain outside gently falls upon the glass windows, coating them with its purity. You glance at the clock. 5:30pm it reads. You get up and decide to bake Jungkook an apple pie when he comes home. You march over to the fridge and grab some apples and start slicing them. You see that Bam's sitting at your feet as you slice them, hoping for a slice. "Oh Bammie. You'll obviously get one cause you're such a good boy" you say as you toss a piece to him. Bam quickly gulped it down and went back to the couch to sleep. Once done, you follow a recipe to bake an apple pie. You gently fold the pastry dough over the apple filling and put it in the oven. A rustling sound from the door makes you flinch and look towards it. "Hey love" Jungkook greets you as you ran to him and hugged him. "Someone missed me hm?"he teases as he hugs you back. "I did. And I'm baking you an apple pie!" you announce. "Ooh! Let me see" he says as he ducks down to the oven and peers at it. "I tried." you add. "Looks good, love." he appreciates. You reply with a shy smile. Bam runs over to his daddy and wags his tail. "Oh look, there's my good boy!" Jungkook praises Bam by petting his head.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

An hour later, you and Jungkook wake up to the sound of the smoke detector going off. You rush to the kitchen just to see the smoke coming out of the oven. Your eyes fill with tears as you attempt to rescue the pie but it's of no use. The pie has turned into a lump of charcoal.

Jungkook comes in to find you crying, your head on the marble counter between your hands. The 'pie' being placed near you. "Oh love... It's fine darling, we all make mistakes." He tries to console you, taking you into his arms.

"I-I can't even bake a stupid apple pie!" You manage to say in between your sobs. "Baby, it's fine! I'll buy you an apple pie right now." Jungkook offered. You bring yourself to face him, eyes staring at his pink, rosy lips.

Jungkook doesn't miss the chance and kisses you. Without breaking the kiss, he carries you over to the couch. You break the kiss in search of air.

You plant your head onto Jungkook's chest as he orders you an apple pie and ramyeon. "Let's Netflix and chill yeah?" he suggests with a smirk plastered across his face.

a/n: my first drabble eeeeeeeere

#jungkook #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bangtan #jeon jungkook

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yumeiyokobatsuu · 6 months

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Chase

Rin x Reader CW: None WC: 347 This is a small mini-fic based on a situation that happened between me and an ex back in 2021, I felt like Rin should have been the person running instead but hey ho.

I was sprinting down a more deserted hallway of a shopping mall, giggling softly to myself. Rin and I had been shopping, before I decided to run off. Where? Who knows. "Y/N?!" I heard Rin call out from behind me, I could hear his shoes against the marble floor. I held my mouth with one of my hands, trying to stifle a laugh.

I quickly ran up the stairs to the second floor, running into a bookstore, It was big, and there were bookshelves all over, If he did come in and saw me, I could easily loose him again because of the set-up of the store. I slowed down and tried to even out my breathing, before going near the middle, where there was a manga section. I shrugged my shoulders and picked one up to look at it. Maybe when this was all over I could buy some with Rin. I sat down in a chair nearby and read one named Madoka Magica. I read for a bit before hearing my phone ring, glancing at the contact name I saw it was Rin and smiled. I rejected it.

After a few minutes I had gotten up, having gotten bored if the book store. Leaving quickly. I decided to walk for now, saving my breath for if I saw him going after me. How I managed to out run a demon is amazing.

All of a sudden I had gotten jumped, I let out a short squeal and looked behind me, prepared to fight before seeing Rin practically cuddling me. He looked exhausted yet energetic at the same time, and he had a cute little pout on his face. "Why'd you do that?" he whined "Do what?" I responded.

"Run off!" He exclaimed, his tail thrashing about in response "Aww, I'm sorry Rin. I couldn't help myself! I was getting a bit bored and wanted to do something fun" I smiled at him. He looked at me before shrugging, not letting go of me. "Well. Your not gonna have any desert I make then." he chuckled "Wait no!" I whined out.

#blue exorcist x reader #rin okumura x reader #rin okumura #ao no exorcist #aoex #x reader #gender neutral reader

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fearfulachilles · 4 months

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11. contagious.

chapter eleven to buop (nanami kento x reader jjk medical au.) .

full contents here.

summary: kento is more than happy to give you some cooking lessons. cooking lessons turn to spending more and more intimate time with kento.

warning: sexual scenes. oral (male receiving).

You were a liar. A complete liar.

In your defense, you had to message Kento about leaving your bra behind. It was new and expensive, you couldn't justify buying a new one when you can ask Kento for it back. He was kind enough to wash it for you before you returned to pick it up a few nights later.

You stand near his entry way, your fingers rubbing the soft material your bra is made out of, before you look up at Kento.

“Can I ask a really awkward question?” You ask.

Kento nods, letting you continue.

“We've had sex a few times and we haven't been using anything...” you swallow slowly. “Do you have... anything I should be aware of?”

The older man catches on quickly. You're asking if he has any sexually transmitted infections. Kento smiles warmly, wanting you to feel at ease with this topic. “No, I don't. I usually wear condoms with my past partners, but I'm clean, I got checked at my last physical recently.”

You nod, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. It's been such a rush with Kento since meeting him, there had been many heat-in-the-moment moments that you just kept forgetting to ask him for a condom. It's not like you at all. You're usually so protective with yourself.

“Good, good.” You're almost breathless with relief. “I'm on birth control, but I always make sure to use a condom. Except, well, with you.” Your cheeks feel warm at your confession.

Kento's smile stretches just a little bit more, you almost missed noticing it. “Well, I can start wearing a condom, if you want me to.”

You think back to how nice Kento's cock feels inside of you, bare and raw, feeling the curve of the strong veins sculpted on his shaft drag against your pussy walls. You adjust your stance, pressing your legs together as nonchalantly as you can.

You quickly shake your head. “No—I mean, like, I don't mind if we don't use one.”

You try not to focus on Kento' wording, not wanting to read too much into it, or overthink like you always do. I can start wearing a condom. He can start. So, he wants to keep this fling going. You find yourself wanting to continue it too, as long as that's what it stays: a fling.

Kento's warm hand finds the side of your face, cupping your jaw, his thumb running across your cheek softly. He pulls you up to meet him and presses his lips to yours. His kiss started innocently enough, but it turns out that thinking about the fact that Kento fucks you raw has him growing an erection. You feel the outline of his cock growing and poking your body.

Your soft hand cups the shape of his dick through his pants, your palm rubs against his length, causing Kento to breathe into your mouth, his jaw slowly falling open and his tongue poking out to lick your lips open.

His tongue finds its place in your mouth, pressing against yours to taste you. You moan into his mouth, and Kento takes it as a sign to keep it going. His large hands find your hips, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of your bottoms.

“I have an overnight shift at the hospital,” Kento mumbles on your skin, his lips tracing your jaw. His hands nudge your bottoms past the curve of your ass. “I have to leave soon.”

You hum, lazily nodding your head. Your eyes flutter close when you feel his teeth bite down on the side of your neck. “Let's make it quick then. You have hearts to fix.”

Kento chuckles deeply, the sound is so nice to hear.

Before long, Kento has you bent over on his kitchen island, your bra pulled down to your middle, breasts pressed against the cold marble counter. His cock is swallowed by your warm pussy repeatedly, glistening with your arousal, his hot skin meeting yours. You feel the curve of his dick reach deep within you, his bare cockhead brushing against your sweet spot with. Your mouth is hung open with pleasurable sighs falling out.

You briefly think back to what you told your roommates.

“...it was the last time.” “...it was just a fling. He knows it, I know it, it's done.”

You're such a liar.

_________

You place your bottoms back on, adjusting your shirt afterwards, and putting on your shoes lastly. You lean against the counter Kento just fucked you on, standing across from the stove in the kitchen. It has a couple of pans on the burners, they're clean and empty, and they look expensive.

“Do you cook a lot?” You ask him, shifting your weight to one leg.

Kento nods, adjusting his pants back on himself. “Yes. Well, not so much anymore until recently.”

“Are you any good?”

“I can cook you dinner and you can decide for yourself.”

Very smooth. Your cheeks tint at his subtle date invitation and you have to bite back a smile. You ignore how your heart skipped at his words, choosing to believe it was the nervousness of imaging a date with Kento and not how much you would like a date with him.

“What if you show me how instead.” You suggests, your eyes finding a nice view on Kento's floor and away from his stare.

“You don't know how to cook?” Kento's words aren't meant to be shaming, he says it as nicely as he could have.

You pout slightly, rolling your eyes. “Apparently my cooking stunts growth and makes people sick for days.”

The memory of Choso's pale face after finishing your freshly cooked stew that you made for yourself pops in your head. You remember how he had to cancel on you for a couple of days afterwards, believing he was studying for med school. No, apparently he was dying from your cooking.

You don't want to think about Choso right now. If you think about him too long, you'll think about what Yuji told you, that Choso was in love with you. You shake your head, removing yourself from that mindset.

Kento softly laughs at what you say. “That's no good. I'd be happy to help you.”

_________

Over the course of the following weeks, Kento learns just how clumsy and forgetful you are in the kitchen.

At work, you're agile and initiative, you type swiftly without making typos, you're on top of the patient's lab results in case Kento or the other physicians you work with need to be reminded of it; if the doctor you’re working with quizzes you on anything, you answer it correct. You think one step ahead most of the time. You like speculating the patient's plan of treatment, you assess the patient's chart and give your predications to the doctor. Most of the time, the plan of treatment is what you would have guessed.

It's obvious you take work seriously, and it's obvious you're working towards learning the most you can as a scribe before applying to medical school. It's all very admirable of you.

It's a different story when you're cooking. You’re always lost, double questioning yourself and unorganized.

You've made the simple act of boiling eggs into a near death experience when the eggs exploded out of the pot you placed them in (and forgot about). You've also almost burned down Kento's apartment building when you tried mixing liquor into your meal. Kento isn't how sure, but you manage burn the water you were boiling for pasta.

You never cease to amaze Kento. He enjoys how you keep him on his toes, even in the kitchen.

After many weeks, Kento knows where to start, and a few lessons weren't going to cut it, Kento was going to have to start off small and slow with you. He's a good teacher, he's patient and doesn't mind answering the same question, which you need.

Kento always manages to save the meal you were cooking every time. He'd swoop in after you make many mistakes and turn the food around. And it always ends up tasting delicious.

Eating together at Kento's home was weird at first. You were closed off and quiet as you slowly ate his delicious food. It was time spent not devouring each other, it was intimate, something you made strict boundaries not to cross with the guys you sleep with. It's not like you're friends with Kento, you're sex friends at best and you work with him, that's it.

Kento patiently waits for you to get accustomed to spending time with him that didn't involve body parts pressed against each other. If you're awkwardly silent when eating, then he doesn't pressure to make conversation.

But Kento didn't have to wait long for you to feel comfortable, you settle into the routine rather quickly. It starts feeling like the first night at that bar, charming each other with mindless conversation, but in the privacy of his nice home where you wear one of his shirts with nothing but your underwear underneath.

Your roommates remained concerned for your situation with Kento, but you reassured them that it was just cooking lessons and then you'd pointedly remind Yuji it was his fault for hiding that secret for so long.

“Maybe if you told me how bad my cooking was back in high school, I'd be a better cook now and I wouldn't need mind-blowing cooking lessons with Kento—Dr. Nanami.” You huffed, pinching Yuji's bicep.

“I thought you'd get better over time, I was wrong!” Yuji replied pleadingly, causing you to pinch his arm tighter.

It was sweet that your roommates were still concerned, but all of their concern went out the window whenever you brought over left overs for them to try. They loved Kento’s cooking, which helped soothe over their anxieties. Your roommates started asking what was in the menu when they saw yo readying to leave.

It was just cooking lessons, you tell yourself. You just happened to thank Kento for the cooking lesson by spreading your legs for him to stuff his cock inside. It was a win-win-win situation for everyone.

You start spending most of your weekends with Kento.

Half the time you're burning what you're trying to cook, and the other half is spent being distracted by the curves of each other's body against the kitchen counter.

It started innocently enough.

Kento helped you prepare a specific sauce for the food you were going to cook with him. He let you do the honors of mixing and stirring it as he walked you through the steps. During which he comes up behind you, pressing his firm body against your back, a hand landing on your lower abdomen as the other snakes down your arm until he places his hand on top of yours, helping you stir.

“Is this part of the cooking lesson?” You teasingly ask, letting Kento take control of the stirring and press your ass into Kento's body.

He hums in response, kissing your temple before moving his lips to your ear. “It can be. This has to simmer for a little while.”

It's a clear invitation.

Kento takes out the ladle he's using to stir the sauce and covers the pan with the lid, then directs his attention to you. You smile when Kento's hands grab you from your waist, turning you away from the stove and pushing you up against the island counter opposite to it.

You sigh happily into his kiss, it quickly turns into a small moan when his tongue skillfully pushes past your lips. His large hands grip your hips and lift you, sitting you on the kitchen island. Your legs reflectively open for him and he nudges his torso between them.

You had nothing but one of Kento's larger t-shirts and a pair of underwear on. His shirt is slipped off of your body in a swift motion, leaving your breasts exposed to him. His thumbs rub small circles on your nipples, causing your skin to raise.

You scoot yourself to the edge of the kitchen counter as your hand falls between your bodies, pushing his pants down with his briefs and finding his growing cock. You wraps your fingers around his girth, slowly pumping his length with your thumb swiping across the tip occasionally.

It drives Kento crazy when you do that, you've noticed it does. You've also notice how much he likes it when you bite where his jaw meets his neck, so you do it, causing him to groan softly. His shirt is thrown away, left to be forgotten on the kitchen floor.

Kento has gotten to know your body just as much as you have gotten to know his. He knows your pussy is nearly leaking just from his fingers tugging and pinching your nipples. One of his hands moves from your breasts down to your clothes cunt, pressing his fingers against the fabric and feeling your wetness seep through it.

His finger pulls your underwear to the side. You work with him, guiding his cock over to your puckering hole with the hand you were pumping him with.

Kento's cock spreads your pussy thin, your lips forming against him to take his entire length in. His cock drags out of your cunt, making you wetter with every slide of his dick. Your arms clutch around his body, nails digging into his back as your hips move on the expensive kitchen counter to meet Kento's thrusts.

The stainless steel pot rumbles with heat, the lid jittering with over-leaking liquid and making a loud cluttering noise. It goes unheard to you and Kento, the sounds of his deep moans and your whimpering gasps tune out the rest of the room.

Kento only hears you, your noises, and your sound. He tells himself that he loves how you sound now the best, when you're moaning his name. The truth is he enjoys hearing you laugh at his dumb jokes, how say his name, when you speak to his patients, just as much as he enjoys hearing you now. He enjoys your sound in every tone you've given him.

His hand reaches up to your hair, wrapping his fist in it and tugging your head up. You slowly open your eyes, your low moan quickly turning into a fearful scream.

“The pot!” You shrieked, tapping Kento's strong shoulders with your hand until he finally snapped out of his lustful haze and realized what was going on. He looks over his shoulder and sees the pot of boiling sauce lost in a cloud of smoke.

His body rips away from where your body is, leaving you to sit on the edge of the kitchen island. You cover your mouth with your hands as you watch Kento hurriedly turn off the stove, grab his oven mitts to move the spot over to a burner that wasn't on, and then clear out the built-up smokey fog, all while staying clear not to burn his naked body.

“I'm sorry,” Kento apologizes, obviously disappointed in himself. He puts his oven mitts down. “I shouldn't have distracted us while the stove was on—”

He's interrupted by a burst of your laughter.

It's loud and contagious, it makes his frown straighten up before turning into a smile, his lips slowly parting as he joins you in laughing. The situation was funny to you, almost causing a fire because Kento's cock buried inside of you made you dumb to the rest of the world.

You've had some mild sex adventures, so this was easily the funniest thing that's happened. Kento is aware of the situation, he also finds it funny. He finds it almost exciting, his previous sex life being so mundane and void of touch. Laughing with you comes naturally.

With a smile on his lips, Kento goes back to wrap his strong arms around your waist, pulling your body to the edge of his counter. You continue to giggle at what’s just happened, burying your face into his neck and melting into his arms.

“Well, the sauce is ruined.” His lips kiss your shoulder. “How about we forget the cooking lesson and just order in tonight?”

You nod, your arm snaking between your bodies until you reach his cock, half hard now after the excitement of nearly starting a fire. You stroke him slowly, kissing his neck. “Good idea.”

The messy cooking and even messier sex don't affect your work life.

Satoru had noticed how well Kento works with you; he's more talkative, he's nicer to his nurses, and he opens up a lot more with you around. Satoru chalks it up to your natural demeanor contrasting Kento's. You're both in your own shared world when you work together.

So, you start scribing for Kento on his days in the clinic regularly and you rotate between the rest of the physicians when Kento is in the operating room.

The tension between you and Kento is thick. Kento's eyes would always find you from across the exam room, sharing a look with you whenever a patient said something that was awkward, funny, and everything in between. Kento failed to keep his presence from you, always pressing up against your back to read the patient's chart, rather then looking it up on the free computer at the nurse station.

Sex wasn't affecting your work life, but it started happening during work.

It started when there was a large lull caused by last-minute canceled post-op appointments and a handful of no-show patients. Kento decides to use this time to review some of your chart notes in a communal office towards the back of the clinic, in private.

There were three communal office rooms made in the clinic for physicians to utilize during downtime like now. Kento asks you to follow him to one of these offices.

It did start with Kento going over your chart notes, a total of two before you both get distracted with the overwhelming taboo elephant in the room.

He closed the door as it was appropriate to do when discussing sensitive patient details with someone, and the office was fairly small, so your thighs pressed against each other when you sat beside him, sharing the tiny screen of your traveling laptop. His hand finds a way to your knee somewhere during the review of the second chart note, and by the end of it, his fingers press into your middle inner thigh.

You carefully set your scribing laptop to the side, exiting out of all the classified pages of chart notes as Kento kissed down your neck, his fingers inching closer to your core. Once the work is secured, you turn to meet his lips, raising off your chair to move over and straddle Kento's lap. His large hand cups the side of your face, his fingers burying themselves in your hair.

Kento has never done this at work before, he never thought he would, but he wants to now. It's nerve-wracking and exciting all at once. He's taken back when you slap his hand away when he pushes against your clothed pussy with his fingers.

He watches you as you sink down on your knees, settling between his legs. You tug his pants down to his mid-thighs, his cock springing out of his briefs, red and swollen, pre-cum already leaking for you at the tip.

You take his cock into your hand, slowly pumping him, your thumb swiping across the head. Kento sighs deeply, his body relaxing into the office chair. He knows he has to keep quiet, nurses and doctors walk past the closed office constantly.

It gets hard to keep his voice down when he feels your warm tongue press against the underside of his curved cockhead. His shaft slowly gets enveloped in your mouth, your lips massaging his shaft.

His cock hits the back of your throat and his breath gets hitched. He captures his bottom lip between his teeth. A soothing hand goes to your hair, pinning loose strands behind your ear before you place your hand over his, you make him push you further down on his length.

You want him to fuck your mouth.

Kento forces down a moan at the realization. He tangles his fingers into your soft hair and guides your movements. You breathe through your nose, dragging your tongue along his cock's shape as he slides your lips back and forth on him. Your hands grab his thighs, they're muscular and hard, tensing at the sensation of your mouth.

“That's so good,” Kento's voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper, but you're able to hear him. “You're so good.”

The tip of his dick hits the back of your throat again, you slow your movements to prevent from making a gagging noise. Kento hums, cooing you to keep quiet, his voice sounding strained. His tender words shoot straight to your pussy, feeling yourself grow wet.

His dick twitches against the flat of your tongue, you know he's about to cum down your throat. You want him to. Your lips tighten around his thick size, drool seeps out from the corner of your mouth, it makes this all messier and Kento loves it.

Kento's orgasm is stopped before he reaches it when a nurse loudly knocks on the closed office door, calling out for Dr. Nanami's attention.

You quickly pull your mouth off of Kento's cock, wiping the drool from your lips with the back of your hand. You jump into your abandoned chair, grabbing your scribing laptop and pushing yourself to the corner of the tiny office space, putting distance between you and Kento.

Meanwhile, Kento pulled his scrub pants back up, adjusting his dick and dying erection before tucking his lower half under the desk that was in the office. He lets whoever was knocking know it's okay to come in.

The nurse walks into a seemingly innocent scene of a doctor and his scribe working. She doesn't suspect anything.

“Sorry, Dr. Nanami. There is a pharmaceutical rep wanting to talk to you.” The young nurse said.

Kento's focus isn't completely back. His mind is still hazy from the feeling of your lips on his dick while at work. It was a rush, his heart was still beating. He clears his throat. “Who?”

“She said her name is Asami, she mentioned she's worked with you before. Should I send her in?”

His breath hitches in his throat, suddenly feeling like he's crashing down from the high you gave him. Kento grunts to himself, closing his eyes for a moment before nodding at the nurse. She leaves to bring back Kento's waiting guests. When she's gone, Kento calls for you.

“I'm sorry, I—”

“Kento!” A voice chirps in before Kento can finish his words.

You look towards the direction of the feminine voice, your eyes falling on a woman that made her way into the tiny office like she knew her way around. She's beautiful. She has long black hair, it was voluminous and curled. Her lips were full and painted red, it suited her paler skin. The woman's sparkling green eyes look over to you, smiling brightly as she extends her hand. She also doesn't suspect anything.

“Hi, I haven't seen you before. Asami Haibara, pharmaceutical rep for some of the medications Dr. Nanami prescribes to his patients.” She introduces herself. Her hand is soft, her nails are nicely manicured. She carries herself so elegantly.

Wait, Haibara, like Dr. Haibara. Now that you really look at the woman, she does bare some resemblance to the OB-GYN you've worked with. She must be his sister, the one she heard was engaged to Kento before, the one who left him at the alter months ago.

You try your best to mirror Asami, smiling big and introducing yourself back. “I'm one of Dr. Nanami's scribes, a few of us were hired a couple of months ago.”

“I love that idea, scribes are the unsung heroes.” Asami is so nice, you want to like her.

Kento was being uncharacteristically quiet. Well, uncharacteristically to you. To Asami, Kento was being Kento.

He calls your name again, his voice is tender and carries your name carefully. It makes Asami look over to him with a small arch to her brow.

“Could you please excuse us? Prep the chart for the next patient I have.” Kento tells you. He's different.

You nod slowly, gripping your scribing laptop and standing from your chair. You move around Asami to exit the room. You look back over your shoulder once you left, but the door is already half way closed.

You touch your lips, thinking of how you just had Kento's cock down your throat, almost readying to cum, before his ex-fiancée showed up.

The situation really sets in when you get to the nurse station, setting your laptop down and blankly staring at the direction of the offices you just came from. You shake off the weird feeling you have. You don't care what's going on in that office right now. Really, you don't.

Nobara reminds you how much you don't care about it when she comes up to you, gluing herself to your side. She brings her voice down to a whisper. “I heard Nanami's ex-fiancée is here. Don't worry, I don't plan on being nice to her.”

It's sweet so you muster up a small smile. “You don't have to do that. I just met her, she's seems nice.”

Her eyes widen and her hand clutches your arm. “You met her?”

Your fingers ghost over your keyboard, your eyes trying to comprehend the patient chart in front of you. You give up, turning to tell Nobara how weird you're feeling, but you swallow back your words when you see Kento walking towards the nurse station you're at.

Nobara squeals quietly, rushing away from your side to join Dr. Ieiri again.

You don't look at Kento as he settles by you, leaving inches of separation between you two. He's quiet so far, he avoids glancing towards you and focuses on the computer screen at the nurse station. You avoid looking at him too.

From the corner of your eye, you see Asami's figure walking towards the exit of the clinic, her long hair bouncing with each step. She looks over her shoulder, her eyes landing on Kento first before she catches your stare on her. You keep your eyes on her until she's out of vision, then you look at Kento.

Kento is staring at you. His eyes look tired and a little darker than usual.

“I have to cancel on us tonight,” Kento announces suddenly, his words sounding like he had to push them out.

You two had plans for another cooking lesson and what happens after. You already promised your roommates some delicious left overs, so you can only imagine the disappointment Yuji is going to have now that you're not delivering what you promised. Still, you want to appear normal about it. You want Kento to know that you're casual about this and it's not weird at all.

You nod quickly, ripping your eyes away from his gaze. “Sure.”

Kento follows your eyes. He knows the situation between you two is not inclusive, but Asami showing up so suddenly put him on edge.

The rest of the work day was stale, long, and very tense.

Kento kept as much distance as he could between you two. His eyes didn't look over to share a look with you. He hardly acknowledged you. It made you feel off.

You feel this may be the end between you and Kento. All it took was his ex-fiancé showing up once, to your knowledge, and Kento was over you. You're sure this is how things will stay between you two, uncomfortable and rigid, maybe until he finally marries Asami, then he'll feel secure enough with a gold ring on his left hand to talk to you again.

Those thoughts are irritating. You try to not think about that, or anything close to that, because you don't care.

At the end of the day, you didn't expect Kento's hand to drift across yours. It grabs your attention, you look up at him. He's already placed a jacket over his scrubs, rushing to leave now that the clinic was closed.

“I'll text you soon.” Kento assures you.

You should shrug, dust it off your shoulder like it's nothing. You should act confused, ask him what he means, and then last-minute realize what he means. You should do anything that proves this isn't as big of a deal than you both feel it is.

Instead, you let your eyes finally meet Kento's again. You sigh to yourself before you nod wordlessly. His finger tips trace your knuckles for a moment more before Kento tells you he has to go. You try your best not to watch him leave.

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morallyinept · 6 months

Text

JET SET CHRISTMAS - A Dieter Bravo Christmas One Shot

Summary: Dieter is flying away for a tropical filming schedule over Christmas, and you find a way to give him some First Class Service on his flight.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 5.6K

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶️🌶️🌶️ "You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/triggers - Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks)/tit wank/oral M receiving/drug usage/Dieter is a mess, as always.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: I really enjoy writing for my sweet, messy Dieter. And Christmas Dieter is no exception. 😎

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy & Happy Holidays! 🎄🖤

Fun fact; approximately eighty-seven and a half million passenger’s travel through LAX airport in a given year. And each year that number steadily increases.

To put it mildly, it’s a damn fucking busy airport, capiche?

It is the world’s fourth busiest airport and the United States’ second busiest airport after Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta.

LAX holds the record for the world’s busiest origin and destination airport, since relative to other airports on this blue marble floating in the universe, many more travellers begin or end their trips in LA, rather than use it merely as a connection onwards to somewhere better and less congested. It's also the only airport to rank among the top five U.S. airports for both passenger and cargo traffic.

And considering approximately two-hundred and thirty-nine thousand odd passengers flow through this airport during any given day, being singled out and spotted amongst the hordes is always as surprising as it is annoying.

Dieter is used to people shoving their phones in his face and snapping away at him as he takes a massive bite of a vegan chilli burrito, or as he’s pissing over a fire hydrant whilst high on LSD; it kind of comes with the territory of being an actor whose notoriety precedes him.

You’d think you would be able to remain inconspicuous as you trundle on through the swilling crowds of holiday makers and businessmen in their fancy, Armani suits, wheeling your suitcase beside you.

But oh no, that’s asking too fucking much, right?

He’s not bitter about it; more of a casual acceptance that this circus is his life now, as absurd as it all seems when he falls back to Earth to try and keep his feet on the ground with a sharp shunt. And the mishaps keep on mishappening, even though he tries.

He tries so fucking hard sometimes.

But, at times like this, when he’s simply doing what everyone else is doing in the airport for the most part, it’s somewhat irritating to have fans and paparazzi stalking his every move around the terminal like poachers waiting for their chance to capture an endangered species.

Look, there he is, buying wired earphones! Get him!

Keeping his head down, masked behind large Rayban sunglasses, Dieter makes his way towards the private lounge near his gate. Only stopping when he’s accosted, seemingly at gunpoint, by over enthusiastic admirers of his work and surly attitude alike, begging for a selfie.

He tries his best to feign a smile for them, after all they buy all the cheaply manufactured shit with his face on, but more often than not it comes out as a less-than-impressed blank look about his prominently exhausted features.

Eyes that seem dull, peer out lifelessly at the screens through puffy sockets, and fuzzy scruff peppered across his jaw line grazes around his weak smile that is almost non-existent.

(He would read later online, that he was on drugs, hence the tiredness straining around his bloodshot eyes. And they would be fucking right about that.)

Although truth be told, Dieter hasn’t really slept much at all, which is to blame for his current deer-in-headlights appearance.

Staying up into the wee hours of the morning reading through the script, still trying to decide if he actually wants the part or not, despite contracts being signed well over a few months back, with what felt like a gun to his back.

Dieter Bravo is reduced to doing fucking romcoms now.

Damage control, his agent had dutifully warned him.

Punishment for his latest screw up is some stupid romcom set in the Bahamas, with filming scheduled over Christmas, and his wardrobe will consist of jazzy floral shirts for the next few months.

His phone is chock full of voice notes reciting the lines of his character Mateo in different accents, that he’s still not happy with as he listened to them on repeat, whilst strolling through the terminal, until his earphones gave out, and he queued in line to buy some more at the Duty Free.

Mateo. He’s playing a fucking character named Mateo. He grinds down so hard on his teeth he dislodges a filling.

He’d survived the night on coffee to get him through; his frantic night owl tendencies over taking him to the point that he decided to just stay up anyhow and indulged in a blunt or two whilst watching porn, despite his dick pulling limp after a few tugs. Something that happens more often than not as of late.

Well, at least Christmas alone in the Bahamas beats spending it alone in rehab. Again.

But the caffeine and weed is starting to wane and filter out of his system, leaving him slugging like a zombie as he trudges through the airport.

He passes a giant Christmas tree, its twinkly bokeh lights bleeding into the back of his retinas as he squints under the sunglasses.

Dieter makes his way through the terminal with lazy strides after leaving the prowlers behind; the wheels of his suitcase squeaking against the shiny flooring, that at times, feels like navigating an ice-rink.

Once he arrives at the Private Boarding lounge, reserved only for super important executives, or washed out, coke-head movie stars on their last chance, he approaches a woman behind the desk who appears to have been using the self tanner a little too enthusiastically.

“Good morning, sir.” She chirps away happily through an obscenely orange face.

A security officer takes his case and bag, and lifts them up on the belt to be scanned as Dieter empties his pockets and takes off his Rolex and rings. They plink into the tray the officer holds out for him.

The colour of her skin stops him in his tracks as he peers at her over the top of his shades incredulously.

Meh, he’d still fuck her if given half the chance. Yeah. He could do with a nice blow job or something right about now.

Her smile is unrelenting, revealing stark white gnashers that gleam and glare through bright red lipstick. How anyone can be this jaunty at this time of the morning is beyond Dieter’s scope of understanding, but he throws a ghostly smile back at her trying not to stare at her face, bemused, as he’s scanned and patted down.

He hands over his passport and notices she won’t stop touching her hair.

She scrutinises his credentials and looks back at him and smiles even wider; a jaw full of white piano keys, her teeth seemingly unable to fit inside her mouth fully, with a massive overbite going on for dessert.

He hastily rethinks the possibility of a blow job.

“Can I just say, I really loved you in Cliff Beasts…” She gushes, leaning forward to him over the desk.

Dieter gets a whiff of her perfume like a suckerpunch to the jaw; overpowering like she’s doused herself in gasoline. It almost knocks him out like Novocaine. But the flash of cleavage more than makes up for it as his nostrils flare and itch.

“Oh yeah?” He says, elbow on the desk and sliding his sunglasses down the bridge of his aquiline nose with a grizzly smirk.

“Yeah. My son really loved it too.” She finishes, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

He ignores her swooning compliment and smiles thinly through gritted teeth. He instantly pushes his shades back up. He has enough baggage to check in, he doesn’t need more.

��You played Gary right?”

“Gio.” He corrects.

“Right. Gio. He likes Gio. Would you sign this for him?” She pushes him a piece of paper and he takes her pen and scrawls his John Hancock over it without any resistance, despite yelling no, fuck off! Loudly and repeatedly inside of his sludge brain.

“Thank you so much, that’s amazing!” She exclaims at him in a high pitched voice that makes his ears bleed.

“No problem, honey.” Dieter replies in a heavy voice as he puts his watch and rings back on.

“Did you pack your bag yourself, Mr Bravo?” Orange face asks, suddenly remembering she has a job to do despite being immensely star struck by this handsome, yet incredibly hungover, enigma standing before her.

He nods once.

“Have you been approached by anyone asking you to carry anything for them?”

“I have twelve kilos of cocaine in my carry on.” Dieter remarks sardonically as he scratches under his chin, as he eyes the security officer who doesn’t find it funny.

She laughs however, and taps away on the keyboard happily with her nails, stealing glances at him as he frowns glumly. This whole charade is already starting to grate.

She hands him back his passport, and he’s blinded again by the searing light from her mouth as she wishes him well on his journey.

“Merry Christmas!” She calls to him and he responds by throwing his fist up in the air, dragging his case and bag as he walks away.

Once in his First Class seat on the plane, he orders two whiskeys neat from the gnarly looking steward who eyes him scathingly, and dutifully reminds him that drinks won’t be served until they're in the air, no matter who he is.

Dieter’s phone vibrates in his hand, and it's his agent wishing him a happy holidays, or some shit.

He replies with the middle finger emoji, before switching it to airplane mode.

Sulking, Dieter slumps into his spacious booth seat throwing the complimentary, soft fleece blanket over his head.

Dieter wakes a few hours later into the flight, the crick in his neck at breaking point and his bowels about to vacate all over the seat unless he goes right now.

He passes the same steward and asks if they have anything natural for a dicky stomach, and she scoffs at him like he’s the self-entitled prick she assumes him to be.

He’s not sure why he’s got the shits like lava coming out his ass; he hasn't eaten anything substantial in the last forty-eight hours as he grips onto the toilet seat with vigor.

Once the stomach cramps subside, and he feels like he won’t shit himself on the way back to his seat, he leaves the confines of the bathroom sheepishly and looking somewhat worse for wear.

Biting back a growl, he sinks into his seat forlorn and weary.

That is until you approach him and touch his shoulder gently.

“Here,” you say to him. “I couldn’t help but overhear you're not feeling so hot.”

“Um, yeah.” Dieter says, pulling his sunglasses off completely to get a better look at you.

You, in your neatly pressed uniform and scarf coiled around your neck. You, with your fluttery, kind eyes and a smile that literally steals the breath from his lungs in a quick snap. So much so that he almost chokes.

You, leaning forward into his personal space to put down a bottle of Fiji water and some Imodium in a box you fish from your pocket.

“Any chance of a diazepam in there?” He asks and you smile.

“Fraid not. Nervous flyer?”

He shakes his head. “No. No.” He reaches for the box with shaky fingers. “Thank you, honey. You’re really sweet.” Dieter compliments.

“Dieter, please.” He slaps his hand over his heart, possibly an attempt to mask how hard it’s beating right now.

“You need anything else Mr Bravo, you just ask me, okay?”

He peers at your name tag and looks up at you smirking.

“Feel better, Dieter.” You wink at him and carry on down the aisle.

He watches you go, his head poking out, neck craning like a Meerkat as he zones in on your ass.

“Well, shit.” He mumbles to himself and the passenger inside the seat across from him snorts in agreement.

“Merry fucking Christmas, right?” He says to Dieter, and Dieter can only but raise his cool bottle of water in agreement.

“Oh. Easy. Here comes Medusa!”

Dieter snorts, trying to hold his whiskey in his mouth.

“Well, we’re going to do one of those things at least.” Dieter smirks.

“I think she thinks we’re going to get drunk and cause a riot. Get our dicks out and piss everywhere. Maybe open some airlock doors for shits and giggles.” The passenger opposite him whispers, chortling as the stony faced steward walks past them, giving them a careful stink eye.

They both burst out laughing like little boys as soon as she’s out of earshot.

He can already feel his head getting fuzzy and floaty; well on his way to boarding the train at crunkered-town. Mix that in with hardly any sleep and you’ve a recipe for a drooling, comatose mess right there.

“Did you know it’s absolutely impossible to do that? Open the airlock door mid-flight, I mean? Air pressure and all that shit, man.” The passenger twists the cap off his small wine bottle and pours it out into his plastic tumbler.

“It’s not like the movies.” Dieter agrees.

“No. You’re all a bunch of fucking liars, making us believe that shit. Fucking shame on you, man.”

“What’s your favourite movie?” Dieter asks.

“Well it ain’t that Cliff Beasts shit.”

Dieter wheezes as he laughs.

“Seriously man, what were you thinking?”

“I was high for most of it. Stuck in some fancy British hotel during lockdown.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“You ever screw that Carol Cobb? Man, I’d love to get me a piece of that ass.”

“Nah. Not my type.” Dieter says, sucking against his teeth and trying not to remember the clusterfuck of his quick divorce from Anika - who seemed exactly his type - after their quick wedding in Vegas.

Turns out she wasn’t an angel at all. More like a crazed, obsessed demon whose PMS tantrums were worse than the Devil’s. Dieter shudders as he literally feels his balls recoil.

“Oldboy.” The passenger says, sipping his wine after a few minutes contemplating.

“Classic Korean viewing for budding serial killers. Are you a budding serial killer, David?” Dieter asks with glassy eyes.

“Depends on what day of the week it is, my friend.” David states.

They both laugh manically again.

Dieter flops back in his seat; his body turned into his head rest, glancing down the aisle, as he and the stranger, David, who over the last hour or so he’s learned is on his way to a conference, talk and drink merrily.

Dieter spots you further down the aisle, tending to another passenger when you look up and smile at him.

“Shit man, I gotta take a piss.” Dieter announces, standing up on wobbly legs.

“Yeah, whatever.” He notices David put some wireless buds in his ears.

“Shouldn’t use them things, man. EMF.” Dieter says.

“Pffft.” David retorts and waves him off.

Dieter follows you as you retreat to the galley and smile again before pulling the curtain closed behind you.

Inside the bathroom, Dieter slaps his face and talks to himself in the mirror.

“Just fucking talk to her, man. Say hello. What, you don’t know how to say hello to anyone? No, that’s fucking stupid… Hello. Hey. Hi. Hi. Hello? Helloooo…? Who the fuck are you man, the Queen? Jesus.”

After washing up, he retreats out of the bathroom and glances down the aisle where the cabin is slowly dimming as the oncoming night swallows the plane; most people are already catching Z’s.

He glances at the drawn curtain and takes a deep breath.

Behind the curtain you’re tidying up the galley, when a head pokes through the middle of it, floating there with unkempt fluffy hair and slightly dilated eyes.

“Mr Bravo.” You greet, with a coy smile.

“Helloooo.” He says, and then chuckles.

“Hello.” You repeat back. “Can I help you with anything?” You query as he stumbles through and tries to straighten himself up.

“I’m good. I’m good.” He looks around the galley. He scratches under his scruffy facial hair, his earring catching the light above, and twinkling at you. “This is a nice place you’ve got here. I like what you’ve done with it.”

You lean against the galley, watching him as he strokes down the shiny metal of the galley doors.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Who? Me? Never better, honey.”

“How big are your hands?” You ask, looking at them as he gesticulates wildly with them.

Dieter looks down and makes a fist with his hand before letting it free into a wide, stretched out palm. Silver rings adorn his pointer and pinky.

“Pretty big, I guess.”

“You know what they say about men with big hands...” You remark.

“What do they say?” He grins.

“Makes their dick look really small.”

Dieter grins and then wheezes again into a laugh. "God, I fucking hope not."

“Let me see those bad boys.” You reach for his hands and he regards you carefully as you step closer to him.

You hold your hands up to his and he rests both palms flat against yours; his fingers towering over yours ridiculously, and you chuckle, amazed.

Dieter hooks his fingers over the top of yours and squeezes, smirking.

“You know, I really can’t fucking stand long haul.”

“Yeah?” You ask as you drop your hands.

“Yeah. Loathe it. I suppose you’re used to it though, right?”

“Yeah, I do it a lot. I don’t really notice it that much now.” You shrug.

“Yeah, me too.” He says and you snort.

You busy yourself pouring him some water and place the plastic cup in his hand.

“I’ve enjoyed it this time, though. I suppose I have you to thank for that.” Dieter gasps as he gulps back the water and wipes his lips on the back of his hand. “Sorry, sorry. That sounded so weird."

“No, it didn’t.” You reassure.

"I'm not creepy." He assures, scratching behind his ear.

You smile at one another for a few moments, just starting at each other’s faces quietly until Dieter hiccups. Loudly.

“You’re kinda cute when you’re drunk.” You say, taking the empty cup from him.

“Cute enough that you'd want to have sex with me?” He asks, brazenly.

You scoff and laugh and then look at him biting your lip. “Are you drunk enough that you can’t get it up?”

You watch as he shoves his hand down the front of his pants and gives himself a squeeze. Oh yeah. He’s hard. “Not yet.”

“So come on then.” You tempt him.

“Here? Right here?” He baulks as he watches you pull your panties down from under your skirt and tuck them in his pocket. “Fuck!”

“Why not, it's kinda hot, right?”

“Fuck yeah it is-” He’s silenced mid-sentence by your lips pressing onto his, and taking him by complete surprise.

He simply leans forward and plants one on you; his body in the driving seat, and he can only look on from the back seat as he careens into you, right through the windshield.

Dieter pulls away, hovering in front of your face, groaning as your hand cups his cock over his pants, and biting his bottom lip as he pants hungrily.

You kiss him again with a slick smile, and his big hands find their way onto your face. His fingers stroking delicately and feeling your skin under the pads of them and trying to convince himself that you’re real.

“You are real, right?” He gasps as you suck on his bottom lip. His lips are soft and inviting and so full - especially that damned bottom one. Squidgy like marshmallows, so wet and juicy.

“I’m as real as you want me to be, baby.” You growl sucking his lip harder.

“Mmph, fuck…” He gasps. "It's just, this one time, I got really high and fucked a woman that lived in my mirror. This is happening, right? We’re going to have sex?”

“Yes, Dieter. We’re going to have sex. And I don't live in your mirror.”

“And you definitely want to have sex with me?” He checks. “You’re not drunk, are you?”

“No,” you giggle.

"Good, good." He kisses you again, groaning wildly.

It suddenly gets extremely hot, like the plane has just dive bombed right into the sun and Dieter feels it on the back of his neck and down his back.

You can hear murmuring behind the curtain and it’s the familaral snark of the stony faced steward. You quickly take his hand and seal you both inside the nearest toilet cubicle.

You flick the latch to lock the door behind you; his hands are reaching for your waist as you kiss him hungrily on the lips.

You both clatter backwards; the back of your calves hitting the base of the toilet and him keeping you steady as you lose your balance for a second.

You’re both gasping around your kiss; you’re tugging at his oversized cardigan, and running your hands up under his t-shirt, feeling his paunchy stomach underneath your fingers as they run amok over his skin.

His hands are doing the same, squeezing around your hips and under the back of your shirt before he comes to the front and begins to unbutton it slowly.

You break away from his lips; looking down at his fingers shaking profusely as he does it, his tongue out concentrating on the task.

“Are you okay?” You ask, tilting his chin up to you.

“Yeah. Um…” he drops his hands and sighs. “It’s just, you’re so fucking hot. And I'm... not.”

"Yes you are."

He shakes his head. "I'm a mess, baby."

"A hot mess." You say.

He looks as if he’s about to cry when he stares at your chest as you open your shirt to reveal your bra to him.

Imagine his excitement when it’s one that hooks together in the front and not the back.

“Oh my God, your tits are fantastic!” Dieter wheezes from the back of his throat, beside himself. “May I?”

You nod, giggling, as he gulps and runs his hands all over your breasts, squeezing and massaging them, before slipping his fingers around the clasp and freeing you.

He begins feeling out your nipples that are wide awake under his rough fingertips; pinching them and twisting them gently. Teasing them and causing the utmost carnage between your legs as he does it.

He can only stare like a dimwit as they heave out; the teenage boy in him having a fit as though he’s seeing mammary glands for the first time in his life.

Look, Dieter. Boobies... heheheee!

You gasp and throw your head backwards as his digits run amok over those erect buds, and he kisses and nips at your neck avidly like a hungry vampire.

You reach out your hand and steady yourself on the sink as he kisses down your collarbone towards your cleavage. He sucks on one of your nipples and you can see him doing it in the grimy mirror too.

Dieter Bravo has my fucking nipple in his mouth! Jesus Christ…

His mouth is suckling enthusiastically, as he groans and pants, and the pull of it, his tongue flicking against it, feels incredible, like electric tingles pulsing through them as he nips on them gently between his teeth.

A delicious throbbing begins to take place inside your clit, making it ache profusely, and your pussy is having a panic attack and breathing into a brown paper bag - completely over-hyped and overwhelmed.

“Mmm.” You whine.

“Are you enjoying that?” He asks, eagerly. "Is it nice?"

“Yeah, baby. Feels so good when you play with my tits.”

“Fuck,” he gulps, giddy and starts to grin.

You smirk, biting your lip.

"What else can I play with?" Dieter asks, giddy somewhat.

You run your hands through his already messy hair, tugging it lightly, as he does the same heinous act to the other nipple, and looks up at you with blown mesmeric eyes as he murmurs contentedly around your nipple.

“Mmm, Dieter.” You mouth to him. “I need you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm, I need to feel your big, fat cock fill me up, baby.”

“Want me giving it to you?”

“Yeah. Want everyone to hear you make me scream as you pump me full. Let me go back out there with your come dripping down my legs.”

“Oh… Shit. You're naughty, aren't you?" He grins.

"Bad to the bone, sweetie." You smirk.

He then kisses slowly up your clavicle like a snake slithering towards you, hypnotising you in the process with wide pupils and a crooked grin, heading back towards your mouth where he swamps you again.

“I-I need a minute.” Dieter says, pulling back.

You reach down and grope his swollen cock over his pants, rubbing and jerking slowly as you swallow his moans that intensify around your tongue as you pump.

He whines, shuddering, hips bucking into your grip enthusiastically before stalling with a heavy grunt.

“You okay?” You query, bemused.

“Yeah I just… I might’ve…” he looks a little sheepish and embarrassed.

“Did you just come?” You ask, stroking through his greying, fluffy hair and he pushes his forehead to your chest and groans loudly.

“Hey, it's alright. It’s kinda hot actually.”

“Is it?” He winces.

He pulls his pants down and his thick cock is sticky and covered in himself. He's still half hard and you can work with that.

You push him back gently so he’s sitting on the toilet, seat down. “Show me.”

"What?"

"Show me the mess you've made." You prompt.

“I’m sorry… this doesn’t usually happen.” He lies. It happens all the time, especially when he’s half cut. Which is, you know, all the time.

“Sssh, baby. Let me take care of you.” You crouch down between his legs, pick up his softening cock and place it between your tits.

"Can I suck it?" You ask licking your lips.

“Jesus Christ…” He groans, watching as you pump him with your breasts.

It squelches, his creamy ejaculate in the deep trench of your cleavage as his flush cock is massaged slowly back to life by your mounds.

"Fuck..." he groans, watching you.

"Oh, I would love you to, baby." Dieter gasps.

He holds his crumpled t-shirt up, revealing more of his soft tummy spread and slotted belly button, as you run your tongue up the hard length of him.

He whines out as he slides fully into your mouth. His hands are thrown up on the back of the wall behind the toilet, pressed flat as you hoover up his cock with intense grit.

He grunts out a fantastic noise that gives your scalp prickles as he fills your whole mouth with his length and girth, fully hard again.

His rolling eyes search up to the ceiling as his hips move in time with you as you slurp him up and down.

You’re taking him in further with each suck, and he can feel himself at the back of your throat, tickling against your uvula and gag reflex.

“Okay, we need to fuck or I’m going to come again.” He pants. “Please.”

“You’re cute when you beg, Dieter.” You say, tonguing over his head.

“I’ll get on my fucking knees on this filthy piss stained floor if that’s what it takes!"

You pull him up on his feet as the intense, wondrous feeling travels the length of his cock.

He slips his hand between your legs and slides his fingers across the slit of your pussy; feeling how wet you are before he pushes two of them up inside you. Although, wet is an understatement; it’s like a tsunami has just hit.

Swirling his thumb over your clit, you gasp, feeling those fingers, thick and wriggling, in the slick oil inside your fleshy walls. You moan out as he begins sucking on one of your nipples again.

“Fuck, you’re soaking all over my fingers.” He groans as he pushes them in you deeply.

"Mmm, it's all you, Dieter." You see him blush and it makes you soar. "You're so hot."

"I am?"

"Yeah. So fucking hot."

The feel of his fingers furrowing inside you makes you dizzy and weak. You reach for his cock and pump him slowly inside your hand.

His mouth is like an engulfing vortex that you’d happily dive into, and be cast off into oblivion forever. A deep choking is felt in your throat as you gasp out around his pert lips, struggling for breath.

"Let me fuck you, how shall we do it?" He whines.

You smirk and simply sit him down on the lid again, straddling him and sliding down onto that bulging cock of his.

You both groan out as you slip yourself over him and begin riding him slowly and deeply.

He utters out a deep, guttural groan inside your ear.

Despite him being a bit of a mess, his cock is impressive as you feel it bottom out.

“Fuck, Dieter!” You gasp as he utterly fills you up to the point that you’re the fullest you’ve ever been. That feeling you get when you’ve had way too much fucking pie and if you move you might split and spill out the sides.

"Damn, you have a big cock, baby." You grin at him.

“Oh God, this pussy is so tight.” Dieter whines.

You’re snug, tight fitting around him; pinching slightly, but you will yourself to sit all the way down on him - wanting every inch of him - and rocking your hips around him in a steady rhythm. Round and round, and up and down…

“Shit…” He puffs and you can see him clench.

“Don’t come, Dieter.” You warn gently. You’re nowhere near close yet.

He blows out through his cheeks. “I… fuck. Feels too good.”

“Don’t. Come. Dieter.” You repeat, working a little harder, feeling your clit rub deliciously in the bundle of fuzzy hairs at the base of him.

“Please…” He whines.

You shake your head as you whine.

“Please baby, let me fill you up.”

Dieter utters out a small groan again to you through his puffy lips. You can’t abnegate yourself away from biting down hard on the bottom one, and sucking it between your lips.

“Not yet. Hold onto it.” You instruct.

"I can't, fuck-"

You pinch his nipples, hard. "Yes. You can. Hold it, Dieter."

“Ah, ow!” He whines as you feel his fingers dig into your hips.

He smirks at you as you kiss him again as you wind yourself up and down on him whilst he grabs and gropes at your ass and moves you around on him too.

The sounds from the wetness of your cunt sliding up and down on his cock can be heard around the toilet cubicle like fine music, your mutual gasps leading the vocals.

“Does that feel good?” Dieter croons to you as you whine and mewl around him. “My cock inside you, hmm? Am I doing good, baby?”

You nod and smile at him. “So fucking good.”

He kisses your breasts again as you lean back; your hands on his broad shoulders fisting inside the wool of his cardigan. His own large hands supporting your back.

After a few minutes, he stands up with you and sits you on the cold metal sink, pushing his dick up into you faster.

“Aah fuck, Dieter!” You cry out and then realise that it’s probably too loud and wonder if anyone in the cabin has heard it, as you both enrol in membership at the Mile High Club.

Dieter fucks you harder; moving in and out of your pussy with the rolls of his hips like he's winding a hula hoop around his waist; looking down and watching himself do it too. Seeing your sticky juices coating his dick in a slick honey and making it squelchy good.

“Fuck me harder, Dieter. Don’t come.” You rasp to him.

“You want it hard?” He wheezes. “Turn around, baby.”

He’s pushing you forward as far as the confined space will allow you to go over and enters you from behind.

“Oh shit!” You pant as he fucks you harder at your command.

“Like that? Is this how you want it?"

You can feel yourself soaring; that intense, pleasurable moment where all the building reaches its peak and starts to spill over. Unwinding like a coil, snapping back like an elastic band; a nuclear bomb destroying a small city.

He can see your face in the mirror; lips parted through your pants, eyes staring back at him as he fuck you into high Heaven. At thirty-seven odd thousand feet, you’re not that far off from it, to be fair.

"Oh God... fuck, baby! I can't hold on much longer!" He pants. "Your pussy feels too good."

“Ah yeah!” You mewl through a long, drawn out gasp, coming hard as fuck. “Come for me, Dieter!”

Dieter’s orgasm face is legendary; eyes rolling so far into the back of his head like he’s been possessed by demons. His mouth is making a small O as he sucks in hisses and breathes out grunts slowly through his bliss.

“Fuck, I’m coming, baby!” He splashes out inside of you, filling you up with that hot, salty goop, and it’s already beginning to drip out the sides of your pussy as you come around him. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

Waiting for the delicious cream pie when he slides out of you and watches as his ejaculate sluices down your cunt.

A few slow thrusts and twitches as he empties out, and Dieter leans forward and trails tired kisses up the side of your neck; coming down from the high and feeling that his legs are now shaky, unsteady stalks.

“We just had sex,” you can hear him smirk and chortle inside your ear.

“We did.” You agree.

“We just had fucking hot sex in the sky.” He sighs and his weight feels heavier against you.

You giggle as he nuzzles into you.

"You're really beautiful, fuck..." he says, gazing at your reflections in the dull mirror.

He reaches into his pocket for your panties after you clean yourselves up.

"So are you." You kiss his scruffy cheek as he blushes.

"No. Really?"

You nod. "A beautiful disaster."

He hums into your shoulder and plants a row of smooches there to bloom into something pretty.

“Keep them. Early Christmas present.” You say.

He kisses over your face eagerly and growling as you giggle again.

"I like that sound." Dieter says into your face.

"I like some of the sounds you make, too." You smile, kissing on his nose.

“Ladies first…” He gestures to you after a few more minutes of canoodling.

“You just want to look at my ass.” You whisper to him as you unlock the door.

“It’s like you know me so well already,” Dieter remarks, smirking.

He simply grins at you, and you’re not wrong. He remembers squeezing those cheeks as you rode on his cock and it makes him giddy at the recall.

Dieter slips back into his seat breathing out and relaxing.

You slip out of the toilet cubicle first, making sure the coast is clear, before he follows a few minutes afterwards. Taking some time to adjust his messy hair in the mirror and smirking to his own reflection.

You called him beautiful, and he can't stop his pink cheeks from pulling tight into a jaw aching beam.

“Must’ve been some fucking piss, man.” David says from the adjacent seat.

Dieter simply grins wider.

The plane touches down at Lynden Pindling International Airport in the Bahamas a few hours later, with a bumpy landing that rattles Dieter’s stomach to the core.

He’s slept a little, and that makes him feel worse somehow. At this point, he certainly looks like he’s been snorting drugs all night as he blinks through wretchedly dry eyes.

With his bag, he makes his way down the aisle towards the open cabin door, but lingers as he spots you in the galley.

You turn to see him, bent over as you zip up your case and he’s staring at your ass smirking, knowing that your panties are still bunched up in his pocket.

“So…” He says, sunglasses back on and fumbling around his words.

“So.” You echo, standing upright. “Don’t be weird, Mr Bravo.” You muse and he laughs.

“I’m not. Sorry. Sorry.”

After a few, heavy lingering moments you speak first. “I guess this is goodbye, then?” You say.

“I guess.” Dieter says, with a frown brewing, adjusting his bag on his shoulder and pouts.

“Listen, this is dumb and I’m expecting you to say no, but I have a two day layover before I have to fly back and I’m staying at-”

“Yes!” Dieter interrupts.

You baulk.

“I mean, carry on.” He says, smiling.

You laugh. “I was going to suggest maybe you’d wanna buy me dinner?”

“Well, we can start with dinner. And more sex.” You clarify.

“Sure. I’d like that.” Dieter nods, smiling. “I’d kinda do anything for you right now.” He mumbles bashfully.

"Anything, huh?" You quip with a smile.

"Anything." He reiterates, nodding.

“Fuck. Yeah. Definitely more sex.” He nods like his neck is broken and can’t stop.

He walks down the steps off the plane after you, and Dieter spots another Christmas tree twinkling in the terminal, and thinks that this might be a good fucking Christmas after all.

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal x reader #dieter bravo x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo the bubble #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #christmas stories #jett's writing

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hometoursandotherstuff · 7 months

Text

Got a crazy one for you today. I still can't get over it. I live near this, but thanks to Curieously for bringing it to my attention. I had no idea. This is Horizon House in Fort Lee, New Jersey, built in the 1960s- there are several buildings. It was always THE most prestigious place. How I always wanted to live here. My mom, who was a decorator, had several clients there. Okay, but here's where it gets weird- this is a glam penthouse for sale. 2bds, 3.5ba, yet it's only $190K. I won't reveal why until the end. You will be shocked. Curieously and I are still talking about it.

The sunken living room is very large. Walk down marble stairs.

The view is New York City across the way. That's the Hudson River dividing NJ/NY and there's also a view of the George Washington Bridge (circled) leading into NYC. (Traffic is a bitch, though, if you're commuting to the city.)

It's very open and spacious. You can even fit a baby grand piano in here and look at the cool canopy over the dining area.

Big kitchen- love that exhaust hood.

The kitchen is so large, it's an eat-in kitchen. Look at the big table that fits.

Check out this guest powder room.

This is the family room- it's a bit dated, but it was built in the 60s, so it's mid-century modern. Got a great view, though, a fireplace, and a door to the terrace.

Huge primary suite. You can see the walk-in closet, too, plus a built-in.

Check out the marble bath. (Remember - all this for only $199K)

Isn't the 2nd bedroom cute? It's got nooks.

Bath #2.

And, marble bath #3.

I wish my building had a lobby like this.

Resident's pool and patio.

Tennis courts.

Gym.

And children's playground.

Okay, so what's the deal? Well, apparently, it's only $199K to buy it, BUT, the HOA fee is a whopping $7,004.13mo! Oh, and Co-op board approval is required -income ratio 4:1. (B/c who the hell can afford that?) So let me get this straight. You pay a fee of $7Kmo. to live here and when you sell it you only get a measly $190K? How is this even possible? That's not all, though- it's an additional $98mo for parking/$106mo if you want valet parking. It's called a Stock Cooperative, which I really don't understand: A co-op is a way to own a primary residence, but where homeowners don't own their units outright; instead, each resident is a shareholder in the co-op itself.

#condos fort lee nj #horizon house condo #houses #house tours #home tour #co ops #submissions #WTF real estate

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dr-qian · 5 months

Text

backburner // q.k

kun x reader

"hey, i want that"

i told him while pointing at the lonely chips bag lying flat in the shelf on front of me.

it seems like people did not bother to buy it today, i don't know if it's because they don't like the flavor or it's just gonna expire soon.

either way, i'll take it home 'cause I pity it. like how i should be for myself.

"take it if you want it, i'll pay for it anyway" he mumbled the last part, and I chuckled.

and then suddenly i jumped on his back and wrapped my arms around his neck.

"you serious?" i asked as I squished my cheek onto his.

"get off me" he said while quietly laughing, pushing me off his back, conscious that the few customers there could see us like that.

so I granted his wish and hopped down. i'm still smiling.

"yeah, i'm serious, just take what you want..." he said while continuing to roam around the aisles.

and so i got what i want...

"how about you? are you going to get something?"

"i'm good with this" he lifted the coca-cola can in his right hand.

We walked towards the sleepy cashier near the exit, suddenly jolting up when he heard the sound of the can landing on the marbled counter.

then i started staring at his face while he fishes for his brown wallet in his jeans' pocket.

and i stared.

"hey, let's leave now" kun snapped his fingers on front me, stopping me from staring at him too much.

he's used to it. i'm used to it. so it doesn't really matter i guess...

he was about to lead me out of the store, carrying the paper bag, when suddenly raindrops started pouring.

"shit, let's just stay here for a while..." he told me, pushing me gently back inside the store.

i said nothing as I went back to looking at his face.

"you know, your staring won't change anything between us..." he finally looked at me, then looked out the glass window walls to see if the rain finally stops.

"i'm sorry i can't help it, it just gets worse everytime i'm with you..." i mumbled the last part.

suddenly, the floor is so pretty to look at.

i felt that he looked at me again, taking a long pause before saying the next brutal words for me.

"you know i'll never be in love with you, right?"

shit. uhh, that hurts. like really fucking hurts.

i nodded in agreement.

"i hate that you keep torturing yourself for this..." he said to me. pitying me for what i am to him

"no, don't be...I...I'm just hoping that we w-would continue being friends like, this..I" a tear accidentally came out of my eye as I tried to explain it to him.

he stood there in silence.

"I just still want to be someone you can lean on to, even if you don't really like me back or anything, no, I...just want to be your friend..."

now i can't stop my tears from coming out. i'm glad that the cashier finally gave in and slept so he wouldn't hear me sobbing at the corner because of the man right beside me.

i can't really look at him straight in the eyes because he's going to hurt me more, so my eyes just wandered everywhere around the store, avoiding his..face.

i know that kun doesn't really know how to react to this, to me.

so he just pulled me by the hand to keep me close to him, my left cheek on his chest as he rubbed up and down my back to calm me down from crying.

my hands gave in to him, and weakly held onto the hem of his shirt to keep him close to me even more.

and it helped me calm down, but the pain of it was still lingering inside me...

and i'm already okay with that.

now playing: backburner by niki

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discotechque · 1 year

Text

oh, i think you’re standing on my left foot

pairing: jamie tartt/gn! reader word count: 915 warnings: allusions to nsfw requested: no

establishing myself as a ted lasso fan and s2 jamie tartt ... i miss you and your mess!!!

if there's one thing you learned during your time tethered with jamie is that there are no good relationships, only boring ones.

Jamie watches you like prey. It’s the only real way to subtly attract what he wants. Lingering glances, a trailing hand, circling around your frame. To be wanted is to be hunted, you've learned that he is not interested in things that don't give chase.

It's a motivation, after all, a purpose that keeps your relationship relatively stable. You are caught within his bite, punctured right through your chest and stiches slowly pulling apart. He sews them back up through fleeting meaningless affection. If neither of you had that, this would have surely failed long ago.

So, you're not particularly bothered at his sudden departure from Richmond to Manchester. His physical presence comes without attachments and dialogue is exchanged through some messages. His appearance on a dating show wasn't anything of note. There's not enough shame in him to weigh a full ounce an even that description is grossly generous. You didn't mind him crawling back into your lap after his status had been stripped for him and he was a liability only you could handle.

You are not jaded by his worst qualities, it's something you've learned to embrace over short moments. Realistic is a term that sits well as coffee pours from his sponsored Keurig. It already looks dent and worn despite being a newer model, obvious marks of his most epic battle of configuring basic technology. The machine spurred to life only after a second and doesn't even fill your cup halfway. It's a shame because Jaime only buys shitty holiday creamers, lured by their supposed seasonal exclusivity.

He's forced you to bring your own, the splash of French vanilla hardly does anything to increase volume. Imposed domesticity, is there anything more romantic than that? Some would argue that's all this arrangement is.

"You're up early, eh?" His voice doesn't spark your attention.

The patting of his feet trickles alongside him as he treks downstairs. This house is fraught with empty crevices that echo any sound that grazes their walls. The sound of a spoon swilling in your cup is deafening, it's somewhere around seven in the morning. Jaime doesn't keep any clocks near him—your guess is purely intuitive, and this attempt of an early departure has gone unnoticed.

His arm slips past your waist and plants itself against the marble counter, a chaste kiss pressed against your collarbone follows in quick succession. He's nothing if not a man composed of unrecognized rhythm. "Gettin' real sick of me already?"

His canines lightly dig into your shoulder, teasing teeth marks that will somehow inevitably find themselves in planned positions later on. Jaime takes time with his hunt, what he's struck down is his alone. You don't altogether mind the implications of it.

His bare pelvis grazes against your backside but he's still soft. The grasp he's kept on your waist is tender alike to his tone. He's reeling you in for more. "Don't ask stupid questions. Your sudden modesty isn't doing you any favors."

Modesty is an exaggeration. If you hadn't chosen dramatics, you would have settled on slim dignity.

His hair tickles the back of your neck, face resting against the dip in your shoulder. "Least, I didn' beg you to stay. What an absolute sad sack of shit I would be." He would have done so though; you don't dare to say it out loud. Instead, a complacent grin rises upon your lips as you turn within his hold.

He would've stuttered through some messy halfhearted apology that only concerned itself with fibs if you hadn't taken him back after everything. You wonder if he would've resorted to some insincere confession. I really like you; the words would be chewed out into sticky syllables, molasses coating each one.

The thought would be so amusing if you didn't know that in another life, it would be true.

"The day Jamie Tartt has to beg to get his way will be when hell in unleashed."

Your hands languidly wrap around his neck, fingers loosing connecting near his upper back. Scratching a trail along his clothed spine and he hums in affirmation. Jaime shuts his eyes, keeping his hands on you and shallowly swaying.

"D'ya always have to speak so melodramatic?" Unsubtly, his grasp manages to travel down your waist. Small squeezes encouraging you to find a seat on his marble countertops. "Nothin' like oh yeah, Jamie, I think ya so smart and I want your cock."

His suggestions are something you often resist at first.

"You ever hear me say cock in this lifetime and I want you to hire a militia firing squad to go at me. Promise me that."

His first curls up nearly your shoulder, it's gone through a hesitantly travel you've only been acutely aware of. There's an instinct for Jamie to cup your face, you can sense his conflict over such an insignificant action. "I'm not good on promises, love."

"Yeah," his calloused fingers return to dig into your thighs. They aide you in finding some purchase on the cramped enclosure. In the meanwhile, you trail light pecks along his jaw. "I'm aware."

He wants you this morning, roaming down the length of your frame with precision. Just like he did last night and just like all the other nights where you'll stumble into his home with him half bruised. Somehow, he's been made the epitome of temptation in your eyes. You don't think prey often wish to be devoured.

It doesn't matter. You'll indulge him this once.

#obbbbsessed with jamie cause he's an asshole and that's what makes him stand out and his humility has made him average as a result #idk i feel like i am the person who loves writing a good situationship or realistic outcome compared to most writers #ITS COMPELLING ITS GOOD HES THE MAN WHOS KINDA YOUR BOYFRIEND BUT YOU HAVENT WENT ON A DATE WITH HIM #ted lasso x reader #jamie tartt X reader #ted lasso #jamie tartt

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hauntedwitch04 · 9 months

Text

Fools in love

Remus Lupin x reader

Words: 1,8k words

Warnings: none, just fluff and idiots totally in love with each other

Author’s note: Hi everybody! It fells so good being back, I missed writing and this is the first one-shot I write in a lot of time, so I'm really grateful for every tiny bit of love you gave me. Hope you enjoy the first day of my Halloween Party

Requests are open I Ask

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Join the Taglist

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🎃Halloween party 🎃

DAY 1: “Take my sweater, I love you and i don’t want you to transform into a popsicle”

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Rain beats hard against the windows of the Gryffindor common room. The fire near me crackles, and the pieces of wood seem to break like bone after a very hard punch, as my heart probably had a few hours ago.

I've spent a lot of time by the fire, but even so, I can't shake the cold that got into my bones, in the rush in the rain I made to get back to the castle, after waiting for more than two hours for a Ravenclaw boy who asked me out, outside the Mielandia.

I still remember the feeling of the cold wind against my cheeks wet with hot tears. My sweater was now dumped on the sofa, soaked with rain, and dripping rhythmically on the floor, mesmerizing me.

The fire dances before my eyes, and I can't help but feel like two people hugged tightly, dancing to music of their own created by their love.

A little bit I feel stupid in feeling so bad, for a guy who basically I don't even like since I've actually been in love with one of my best friends for what seems like ages now, but I think the thing that has hurt me most of all is not being able to be loved even by this mysterious guy whose name I honestly can't even remember.

For hours now I've been asking myself if I'm really worth loving? Why should people fall in love with me? Am I worthy of someone's love? If I can't even date a guy I don't like, how could I ever date the one I consider the love of my life? And why the hell does Remus John Lupin have to be so perfect?

I spend what seems like days sitting there staring into the fire. I hear people passing by, coming in and out of the dorms, some stop and look at me with compassion, trying to somehow share my pain, while others whisper hypotheses and theories about why I am in that situation. I, however, remain impassive, like a marble statue, the only emotion I allow to shine through are the tears I cannot stop.

It is still a long time before I can glance at the clock without seeing it fogged up by my crying.

Midnight.

I close my eyes and pray for any otherworldly entity to erase my memory of this rainy early October day, when my thoughts are interrupted by a warm hand resting on my shoulder. I turn slightly and my breath catches in my throat for a moment, for fear that the object of my thoughts will see itself reflected in my eyes and be able to read into me, into my soul.

"Lily told me you've been stationary here for more than four hours. I had to practically make a deal with the devil to get Poppy to let me leave early to come to you, luckily yesterday wasn't too bad." He says quietly as he sits down next to me, the famous Remus Lupin, every Hogwarts girl's dream, looking at me softly. Shit, I think to myself, there was a full moon yesterday that's why I didn't see him all day. I hadn't worried about it too much actually before I went to the appointment, too caught up in the anxiety of this meeting, but now I realize what a shitty friend I've been to him. I look at him and see his face battered by sleep and exhaustion, while only a few new scratches or scars adorn his face. My eyes land on his, and selling his worried look I can't help but feel guilty and go back to crying. After a few seconds, I realize that I am not only crying out of guilt, but also out of the realization that he, the boy I love more than my own life, will never see me in the same way that I see him but only as a friend to be taken care of.

His warm hands brush my shoulders and I immediately shiver at that contact. His gaze grows even more concerned and he immediately decides to take off his heavy sweater, one of his favorites that his mother made him last year after his had all grown small when he grew up all of a sudden during the summer. As he takes off the sweater, with his arms still above his head and this one still covered by the garment, his T-shirt, which he wore underneath, rises slightly so that his athletic body covered in scratches can be seen. I feel my cheeks turn red as I look at him, but I am quickly distracted by my friend handing me his sweater.

"Take my sweater, I love you and I don't want you to turn into a popsicle," he says, fixing his hair. His words strike me more pain than a bullet, but I hide my distress behind a bitter smile, and put on his sweater. Immediately I am hit by his scent: chocolate, cinnamon, ink mixed with book pages and cigarettes. I thank him in a thin voice, before returning to silence.

"I guess I understand that the date didn't go very well." He says after a few minutes, trying to figure out if I felt like talking about it, watching me carefully as I played with my sleeves.

"Actually, there wasn't even a date." I reply, chuckling bitterly.

"What do you mean?" He retorts confused, as he moves closer to me, to study me better.

"Well he never showed up. I stood like a moron in front of the place where he told me to meet for a couple of hours, even caught some rain, then when I realized that I was merely making a fool of myself I came running back here, and I haven't moved from here since." I explain quickly, not wanting to cry again.

I see the anger mounting in his eyes as he takes one of my hands between his and brings it to his mouth.

"If anyone has made a fool of himself it's him, honey. He's a fool if he missed an opportunity like this. You deserve so much better, the best person the world has to offer." He says in a whisper as he holds me in his arms, doing nothing but twisting the knife in the wound making me bleed more and more.

After a while he breaks away from that grip and takes something out of his pants pocket, which I discover is a piece of chocolate, and hands it to me.

"Eat, you'll feel better." He tells me, but I shake my head.

"I don't feel like eating, Remmy." I try calling him by his nickname, hoping to soften him, knowing that when he puts his mind to something, it's hard to change his mind.

"Honey, I won't take no for an answer. I care about you, like a sister, and I don't want to not only see you suffer for that moron but also starve to death." He continues, pulling my face up, resting one of his fingers under my face.

I don't know why I feel something breaking inside, as if a pitcher full of water has decided to pour in, and I no longer have control over my words.

"That's exactly my problem Remmy. I'm not crying, sitting here for over four hours for a guy whose name I can't even remember, I'm feeling like I'm dying inside because what happened made me realize that the only guy I've ever really loved in my life will never look at me, if he's not even interested in me even a person who's not even worth a hole in his sock. I've been sitting here for hours crying because I'm afraid that I'm not worthy of being loved, because I'm afraid that I'll have to live with these damn feelings, because I'm afraid that I'll see this boy grow up and fall in love with someone else while I'll still be here, and he'll continue to see me as just a sister, and he just happens to have reminded me of that fact himself just a little while ago." At my last words I see his eyes light up, having realized who I was talking about, after being dark and dull throughout my entire speech. "And now if you don't mind, after screwing up our friendship, I'm going to bed." And I try to get up, but I don't make it in time because a hand encircles my wrist and Remus draws me toward him forcefully, in contrast to his delicate lips brushing against mine. It takes me a few seconds to return the kiss, unsure of what this moment might change between us, before I let myself go completely to him. I bring my hands behind his head, and run my fingers through his hair, while his hands go around my hips to take me on his lap, as we continue to kiss, as if we were suffocating and that was our oxygen.

"I love you, I love you, I've loved you for what seems like forever, and I'm just a coward for not telling you sooner." He says pulling away slightly, so he can breathe before giving me another full kiss. Then he starts giggling, and I look at him shocked, before I start laughing too. We laugh until our stomachs hurt and tears furrow our faces. Remus stands up, picks me up and lays me down on the couch in front of the fire, then lies down next to me.

"We are two idiots." I say, chuckling some more. "We are so stupidly in love that we didn't realize each other's feelings."

"We're all idiots in love, honey." Remus replies, kissing my forehead. "Sirius will never get tired of holding it against me that he was right." He says giggling and hiding his face in the crook of my neck.

"Not even Lily." I chuckle in response as well, before I feel that being held tightly in her arms, sleep is slowly taking over my senses.

"By the way, you look very good in my sweater, honey." Those are the last words I hear before I fall completely asleep.

At that moment, however, neither of us knows yet that our friends will never let us forget the fact that they found us the next morning cuddled on the couch in the Common Room, in front of the fire, and I was wearing the sweater of what would become my husband and the father of my children, to whom Sirius would tell this story and how their parents fell in love and how he and Aunt Lily were right.

#hauntedwitch04's writing #becky's halloween party #halloween party #marauders x reader #marauders fluff #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus x reader

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teaandransacking · 1 year

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okay hear me out; the concept of five times… and the one time.. with lockwood and reader, where they are in a secret relationship, maybe reader could be kipps sister to give a reasons why they can’t tell anyone. and then just five times (or less idk) they were nearly caught and the one time they were?? i think that would be amazing, also i’m a sucker for forbidden romance trope so…

I love this. I hope I did it justice for you.

Words: 1400 ~ Content: angst, kissing, forbidden relationships

clandestine meetings and longing stares

This is a public place. We’re not doing anything wrong.

It’s true. The Archives is a public place. Where people go to study.

Except that’s not what you and Lockwood are doing.

Not that you’re defiling the books here or anything. You’re just stealing a moment together.

Towards the back of the first floor, in the stacks of the Ancient History section, where hardly anyone goes, Lockwood has you pressed up against rows and rows of leatherbound books.

He’s so close that you can see tiny flecks of gold in his dark brown eyes, make out a few stray hairs on his jaw that he missed shaving this morning.

You settle your hand over his heart, feel the rhythm of it beating.

You’d like to do this in public. Hold his hand in front of everyone; claim him as yours.

There’s just one problem: Quill Kipps is your big brother, and if he found out, there’d be hell to pay.

Lockwood’s nowhere near good enough for you, he always mutters.

And isn’t Anthony’s life hard enough already? An orphan by the age of 6, and responsible for Lucy and George (not that they need taking care of) at 17, he has worries galore without adding sneaking about with you to the list.

But he loves you. You feel it in his hand at the small of your back, hear it in the timbre of his buttery smooth voice when he says your name.

“Lockwood-” you begin, but he presses a gentle finger to your lips.

“Shh. Listen.”

And sure enough, you hear it. The swish of rapiers against clothes. Other agents are here.

You spring apart, you tucking yourself around a marble pillar just in time to see your brother approach.

You’re safe.

This time.

—- ---

The second time, it’s George who saves your bacon. He’s known for weeks; he was the first one to figure it out, because of course he was.

The three of you are in a little cafe a stone’s throw from Covent Garden, drinking tea and sharing cake. Lockwood feeds you bites from his own fork and you reciprocate, while George playfully rolls his eyes about how sickeningly domestic it is.

You’re laughing and brushing a bright pink angel cake crumb from Lockwood’s mouth when George suddenly knocks his cup of tea right into your lap, and when your gaze cuts to him he mouths: Go.

A second later, you hear your brother’s voice at the cafe counter and you disappear into the bathroom.

—- ---

The third time is a very close call.

Lockwood’s shimmied up the tree outside your window. Your heart jumps into your throat every time he does this, especially because it’s usually after dark.

When he taps on your window, you let him in right away. He’s windswept and his skin is cold from the winter air. He smells of crisp fallen leaves and earl grey tea, and you kiss the confident smile off his face.

“Lockwood,” you say when he’s safely seated on your bed. “We have to stop this.”

He tugs you close, pulling you between his legs so your back is to his front. “Don’t ask that of me. Please.”

You turn and kiss him. “No. I mean, sneaking around. Quill will have to just deal. I mean, we face terrifying Visitors on the daily, but him finding out you and I are together is worse? I don’t buy it.”

“He hates me,” Lockwood murmurs, tangling his fingers with yours. He sighs. “And maybe he’s right. You can do better.”

You twist in his arms. “You shut up right now. You’re the best person I know.” He still looks so sombre, so you add, to make him laugh, “Except George. Of course.”

“Except George,” he agrees, but his seriousness is for show now, and the little glimmer of happiness on him makes your heart soar.

He leans down for another kiss, and his mouth is delectable, and you turn fully in his embrace to line your bodies up.

You’ll never get enough of him, you think as you slide your hands into his hair, pulling him closer still. Your tongues tangle, and when he breaks the kiss you lean back so he can drop kisses down your neck.

The sound of your name from outside the door makes you go rigid.

It’s your brother.

He knocks. “Are you in there?”

“Shit!” You breathe.

You practically push Lockwood off the bed. “Hide. Hide!”

He scrambles under the bed and you stuff your quilt in behind him just as Kipps opens the door to find you reclining on bed with your over-ear headphones on.

“Would you knock?” You exclaim.

He frowns. “Sorry. I - why is your window open? Aren’t you freezing?”

—---

The fourth time, everyone’s in the dark - literally.

You’re all working together, Lucy, Lockwood and George, and Kipps and his crew, including you. The basement of the creepy old church is silent around you. You only have the one torch, but Kipps wants to survey the space without light at first, to get the lay of the land.

By some divine providence, you’ve ended up crouching next to Lockwood, and you startle when he takes your hand, only to relax when you feel his familiar rapier-callused palm.

You don’t dare to speak, but you rest your shoulder against his.

His fingers start to move on the flat of your palm, and you’re confused for a second until you realise that he’s tracing letters on to your skin, with full stops in between to demarcate the words.

Love.

You.

It makes your heart swell as you imagine him saying the words, imagine his gaze holding yours, strong and sincere.

And then Bobby loses his nerve and switches his torch on, and all hell breaks loose, and the moment is lost.

—--

The fifth time, you don’t even try to hide it.

It’s the aftermath of a huge battle. Several Type Twos. Not enough agents.

When the fog from the salt and smoke bombs clear, Lockwood’s lying on the ground a few feet away, next to your brother. You crawl over, see your brother stirring, but Lockwood isn’t.

Desperate, your heart clenching, you kneel by his prone form, cupping his face with both hands.

“Lockwood. Anthony,” you beseech softly.

Kipps sits up, but you ignore him. You settle your fingers on Lockwood’s pulse point.

It’s sluggish, but it’s there.

Relief makes you weak as Lucy, George and Bobby crowd around.

“He’s just playing-” Kipps begins.

“Shut up,” you snap.

He recoils but says nothing else.

“Lockwood, wake up!” You plead, patting his face.

Around you, Lucy and George look stricken and pale.

You wait for what seems like an eternity, but then Lockwood lets out a little cough.

“Help me sit him up,” you tell your brother, and to his credit, he responds right away, and between you you prop Lockwood up against Kipps’ chest.

“You’d better not die,” Kipps mutters. “My sister will never be happy again.”

Your gaze flits to your brother’s face.

He rolls his eyes. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. Neither you or Lockwood are as clever as you think you are.”

Lockwood’s eyes flutter open at that moment. “Good to hear that normal service has resumed, Kippy,” he groans.

You lean in and kiss his dear face. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been thrown around like a ragdoll.” But he smiles, and some of that Lockwood bravado lights up his eyes. “But getting to kiss you in front of everyone just might be all I need to recover.”

You laugh and kiss him again. Kipps makes a face, but doesn’t protest.

“You don’t mind?” You ask, still cuddling in close to Lockwood.

“Hard to mind when he saved my arse literally ten minutes ago.”

“Aww,” Lockwood coughs, still weak. “Kippy and I are having a moment.”

Kipps shoves Lockwood off him. “As long as you never, ever refer to us having a moment again, we’re good.”

The whole hang of you walk home together, you and Lucy supporting Lockwood between you, and, you think:

We’ll be all right.

#tumblr askbox #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #anthony lockwood fanfiction

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