#do give it a try. by the end of the first expansion (DID YOU KNOW THE FIRST 2 EXPANSIONS ARE FREE WITH THE TRIAL OF THE AWARD WINN--)

[flowersforbucky]

diet pepsi

logan howlett x reader - 2.8k words

summary: old!logan x reader limousine sex. inspired by the song diet pepsi by addison rae

author's note: i recently rewatched logan and haven't been able to stop thinking about what it would be like to have him in the backseat of that limousine. then i heard this song a few days ago and knew exactly what i had to write.

warnings/tags: smut, porn with plot, unprotected p in v, oral (m&f receiving), pet names (princess, honey), reader has kinda longish hair (nothing too specific), a little angsty but mostly fluffy? happy ending, reader is afab, no use of of y/n, 18+ only mdni

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when we drive in your car, i'm your baby

losing all my innocence in the backseat

say you love, say you love, say you love me

losing all my innocence in the backseat

The cab of the limousine reeks of leather and smoke - both stale and fresh, from the cigars he has chain smoked over the last few days and two thousand miles - give or take a few.

It's a scent you've grown surprisingly fond of. You know that no matter how long this thing between the two of you lasts, you'll forever associate the smoky sweet aroma of tobacco with him.

You've been laying down across the backseat for the last few hours, trying and failing to get some sleep at Logan's request, as he drives from Reno back to New Mexico. The two of you had left the familiar comfort of the abandoned smelting plant three days ago in search of a bulk supply of Charles’ medications - a search that led you to Nevada and yielded a six month supply of injections and pills.

You sit up in the middle of the seat, meeting Logan's gaze in the rearview mirror.

He's exhausted. He’d never admit it to you, but you know him better than he likely realizes. He's hanging on by a thread.

The digital clock on the dashboard reads it's just past noon. Another four hours and some change to go.

Asking him to pull over and rest for his own sake would be a fruitless waste of time, this much you know from the drive to Reno. What was supposed to be at least a seventeen hour drive turned into a fifteen hour drive as he sped the whole way and only stopped for the absolutely necessary food, bathroom, and gas breaks. Only after obtaining the crates of medicine did he allow himself the simple luxury of a few hours sleep.

“What's that look for, princess?” he asks as he breaks his stare, his eyes snapping back to the endless expanse of the blazing asphalt in front of you.

“I'm hungry,” you shrug with a sly grin. “And I need some coffee. And I miss you.”

He lets out a low laugh, a smirk forming across his features in the reflection of the glass. You don't miss the way his fingers grip the cracked leather of the steering wheel tighter at the words I miss you.

“We'll stop for something to eat soon, I promise.”

You hum in response, moving from your position on the further bench seat to the one that rests against the driver’s and front passenger’s seat, directly behind him. You lean your chest against the backrest, dangling one arm across the seat so that you can bring your hand to stroke the prominent stubble across his jaw.

“And what about the last thing?” you murmur, running your thumb along his bottom lip as you stare at him. He tenses beneath your touch but doesn't take his eyes off of the road before him.

“I'm right here, princess. Don't gotta miss me.”

“You know what I mean.”

He's barely touched you since you had first left New Mexico three days ago - and you understand why, truly. He's been focused on getting to Reno, getting the medication, and getting the fuck back home before the last few days worth of Charles’ injections and pills are gone. Even when you stopped at a random motel for a few hours of shut eye, you were both too exhausted to do anything other than sleep.

In fact, it was the first time that you've slept in a bed together without him being between your legs. You didn't mind it all - the simplicity and the intimacy of just sleeping curled into each other was something you'd always cherish from this trip.

But you’d be lying if you tried to convince yourself that you weren’t aching to have him in all of the ways that you’re so used to having him.

“Oh, I know exactly what you mean,” he sighs, kissing the side of your thumb that still rests along his bottom lip. It's pathetic how the small act has you ready to crawl over the seat and straddle him. “We're almost home, though. Don't you want me to shower first?” he teases.

You know that both of you have to smell something foul - the motel you'd stayed in didn't even have a functioning shower, and the western United States heat is no joke this time of year. You both did the best you could with the bathroom sink and some baby wipes that you snagged from the gas station across the road, but whore's baths and deodorant just don't quite cut it in ninety-five degree weather.

“No, I don't,” you admit - you can't even bring yourself to care if it's pathetic. You bring your face closer to his, your nose nuzzling just under his ear. “I want you to pull over, get in the back of this car, and let me ride you until we both come.”

He hisses when your lips lock around the tender flesh of his earlobe, causing him to swerve and quickly correct back into the right lane.

“Fuckin hell,” he grunts, knuckles gripping the wheel so tight that they start to turn white. “Can't be saying that shit when I'm driving. Gonna make me wreck this thing.”

You laugh into the side of his neck, trailing wet kisses along his skin. “I'd suggest pulling over, then.”

He sighs again, all but melting into your touch now. You know you're getting your way when he flips on the turn signal and looks over his shoulder before merging right and then pulling off on the side of the desolate highway.

“You know that you've got me wrapped around your little finger, don't you?” He asks as he unbuckles his seatbelt and hops out of the limousine, slamming the driver's door behind him before you can respond. You move back to your original position on the back bench seat as he crawls in with you, pulling a spare key from his pocket to lock the still-running vehicle.

“Wrapped around my little finger is exactly where I intend to keep you.” He smiles - the first real smile you've seen from him in days and you melt a little inside. He kneels on the felt carpet before you, splaying his hands on your inner thighs and pushing them apart.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he murmurs into the flesh of your thighs, his facial hair tickling the bare skin. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of both your shorts and panties and you raise off the seat a few inches, giving him the clearance to tug them down past your ankles. You're left in nothing but a thin cotton tank top, your nipples pebbling from the way he's looking up at you.

“Cause that's exactly where I like to be.”

It's a rare occurrence that the two of you exchange such sweet sentiments - he usually only goes as far as whispering my girl in your ear as he sheaths himself inside you after late nights at work, when he comes home with lips that taste like single malt whiskey.

He loops his arms around the backs of your legs and tugs you forward on the seat, bringing your cunt directly to his mouth. Any sense of hesitation he initially had about hooking up on the side of the highway goes out the window as soon as his tongue licks a thick strip from your hole and up to your clit. You hiss, digging the fingernails of one hand into the old, weathered leather of the seat and bringing your other to lace your fingers through the salt and pepper colored locks of his hair.

As tired as he is from days of driving and very little sleep, you would never be able to tell with the fervency of his tongue lapping your folds. He always eats you like it’s the last time he ever will - and knowing Logan as well as you do, there’s always that chance that it very well could be.

So, you grab his hair and pull him as close to you as he can possibly be and revel in every lick, every kiss, every tug of his lips around your clit as he makes you believe that the two of you could have a lifetime of these moments together.

You can already feel that tell-tale warmth blooming in the pit of your abdomen when he brings a singular finger to your hole and plunges it inside you. Your walls constrict around the digit and he groans against your clit, the vibration spurring you closer to the edge of your climax. You grind yourself into his mouth as he sinks his tongue inside you, your back arching off of the seat and your eyes rolling into your head.

He pulls his tongue from inside you and moves his mouth up to your clit once more, locking his lips around the nub and pulling away with a wet pop that sends you over the edge. You ride out your orgasm on his face, writhing until he pulls his finger out of you. You’re still seeing rainbows of colors and stars when he brings the wet finger to your mouth and shoves it past your lips, swirling the sweet tang of your juices around in your mouth.

“You taste that?” he murmurs, pulling his finger out of your mouth and inserting it in his own. He takes his time, cleaning the last remnants of your slick from the digit. “That’s how you’ve got me so wrapped around your finger.” His words make your head spin, like you’ve had one too many shots of his favorite bourbon that he always keeps a steady supply of.

“Your turn.” Your words even sound slurred as you bring your fists to his chest, urging him backwards onto the seat opposite of you. You take his place on the floor of the limousine, crawling towards where he’s now lounging with his large thighs already spread wide for you.

You’re about to reach for the button of his jeans when he leans forward, grabbing the tail-end of your tank top and quickly tugging it over your head. You’re left bare before him and you’re hit with a wave of relief that these windows are tinted beyond what’s legal in the state of New Mexico.

His eyes travel from your thighs and up your stomach as he sweeps your hair over your shoulders, giving him an unhindered view of your breasts.

“My girl,” he hums, not taking his eyes off of you as he pops the button at the top of his pants and tugs down the zipper. “My pretty girl.”

“Yours,” you agree, butterflies mixing with arousal in your gut as you help him pull the restrictive fabric of his jeans and boxers down until they bunch around his ankles. His cock springs free, hard and leaking pre-cum down around the head.

You feel saliva pool in your mouth at the sight. As many times as you've had his impressive length inside you, you don't think it'll ever not make your mouth water.

You take the base of him in one hand, languidly pumping him as you lean forward, gathering all of the spit in your mouth and releasing it over the tip of his cock. You continue to stroke him, smearing the wetness down his length.

He groans, deep and guttural as he throws his head back against the seat. You can't see, but you know that his eyes have snapped shut at the pleasure.

When you've got him fully lubricated, you ease the tip of him into your mouth and swirl your tongue around his head. He brings a hand to the back of your head and pulls you forward, cramming more of himself into your mouth. You open wider to accommodate his length as it juts against the back of your throat.

“Fuck, honey,” he grunts when you pause to adjust to the stretch that you're feeling in your jaws. “You always take me so well. Never had anyone make me feel as good as you do.”

You moan around his dick at the praise, feeling your own arousal budding again in your lower belly. You pull back until only half of him is left inside your mouth, and then slowly begin to bob up and down, the tip of him repeatedly jabbing against the back of your throat. What little of his length that you can't take at one time, you continue to stroke in your hand. Your free hand comes to cup his balls, massaging them in rhythm with the thrusts of your mouth on his cock. You can feel tears begin to leak out of the corners of your eyes and down your cheeks from the lack of oxygen.

Right when you feel him begin to twitch against your tongue, he threads his fingers through your hair and yanks you off of him.

“You said you wanted to ride me until we both came, yeah?” He wraps his hands around the tops of your arms, pulling you upwards and onto his lap. You're too light headed to speak so you just nod quickly, adjusting your position across his lap. His cock is pressed against his lower stomach, lodged between the wet lips of your cunt and his happy trail.

“I want you to do just that.” He grabs you by the hips, pulling you forward along his shaft. You raise up on the balls of your feet as he takes himself in his fist, running his tip through your folds to lubricate himself with your juices before stopping at your hole. He juts his hips upwards at the same time that you sink down, causing the entirety of his length to be sheathed inside you at once.

“Oh my god,” you groan as you adjust to the sheer size of him. He always stretches you so painfully sweet. You steady yourself with your hands on his broad shoulders, realizing that he’s still in a two day old t-shirt. He reads your mind and yanks the fabric over his head. You take in the sight before you - all of the defined planes of his chest, his body hair that you love to run your fingers through when you’re riding him, that one vein that bulges on his bicep that you just want to trace with your tongue -

You raise up again, until he’s almost all the way out of you and only the head of his cock remains inside you before you sink back down all at once, earning an animalistic growl from him. You repeat the ministrations until you have acclimated to his size. You begin to increase your speed, the sound of your ass bouncing off of his thighs echoing around the limited space of the limosuine’s cab.

“So goddamn tight,” he spits through gritted teeth, one hand coming to plant a firm grasp on your asscheek. He digs his fingers into the meat with enough force to leave bruises but it only spurs on your movements. You liked it - the idea of being marked by him, even if it wasn’t something that anyone else would ever be able to see. “Always feel like you were made for me.”

You let out a pathetic whimper at his words, not knowing what to say or do to convey your emotions in that moment other than to lower your lips to his. He immediately opens his mouth to you, letting your tongue inside to merge with his. His taste was so comforting and familiar to you - tobacco and peppermint and something uniquely Logan. You didn’t think you’d find a flavor quite like it in anyone else, and you never wanted to test that theory.

“I was,” you whine breathlessly when you finally pull away. “Was made for you.”

He begins to meet your bounces with thrusts of his own, hitting the sweet spot of your cervix just right with each movement.

“Say it,” he grunts - you can tell he’s close by his movements growing erratic beneath you. “Wanna hear you say that you’re mine.”

You can feel your second orgasm building with every word that he says. He brings his free hand in between your bodies, finding your clit right away. He massages you with his thumb and you come around his cock with a cry of his name.

“I am,” you pant through your orgasm as he continues to thrust up into you. “I am yours, I’ve been yours, just yours.” Your admission sends him over the edge and he spills into you from below, both of his arms wrapping around your lower back and pulling your bare chest against his.

“You mean that?” he murmurs against the sweat-coated skin of your collarbone. You lean back enough to look down at him, cradling his jawline in the palm of your hand.

“I do,” you tell him, your voice barely above a whisper. “But only if you’re mine, too,” you add with a small, nervous laugh.

“I've been yours since the day we met, princess. Just had a hard time believing you could want me in the same way.”

You snort a laugh at the confession that sounds so ridiculous to you, and then bring your lips to his once more to show him just how badly you absolutely do want to be his.

thanks for reading! comments and reblogs are always very appreciated 💕

other logan works by me: straight to my head • claw kink drabble • dog tag drabble

[loveshotzz]

Hi hi babes 🖤🦇

May I pretty please request ☆ { licking } their neck to make them gasp with our Stevie?

Thank you 🥰

Hi my sweet sweet Drac 🖤 I would love nothing more than to give you what you want.

steve harrington x fem!reader

wc: 1.8k

warnings: 18+ Co workers to lovers, Mentions of drinking at a party, dry humping, hickey giving, uh-oh did you make Steve cum in his pants? :(

You weren’t supposed to give into Steve Harrington, you promised yourself you wouldn’t after your first day at Family Video when he laid it on thick with the kind of flirting that would have gotten him anything he wanted in high school but you knew better now and his own confidence had gotten knocked down a few pegs over the years. The problem was he could tell you liked it, because as much as you hated to admit it, you did. Steve caught the twist of your lips that you were always trying to hide when he’d tell you how cute you looked every time you walked into work even on the days it was just a t-shirt and jeans. You never told him to stop, even when he’d ‘jokingly’ ask you out to dinner after every close. It was always a shy smile and a roll of your eyes with a ‘shut up Steve’.

So how’d you end up straddling his lap in the basement at one of Rick’s parties that you didn’t even want to go to with his bottom lip between your teeth? You blame Robin Buckley and her incessant need to take multiple shots in a row to ‘get it over with’, and then abandoning you as soon as Nancy arrived leaving you with the boy you’ve been trying not to relent to and his reaction to your skirt all night.

Steve’s fingers dig bruising indentations into the soft dough of your hips when you let his lip go with a wet pop, watching it snap back into place even more swollen and pink than before from under your lashes. The mossy forest of his eyes is taken over black, pupils blown wide half hidden by heavy lids as he looks up at you with hair even messier than its normal disarray with your hands as the culprits. Your skirt sits rucked up just enough for him to see the blush pink lace of your panties underneath that match the dusting on his cheeks, and the wet patch that you know will leave a mark on the light wash denim of his jeans the more you grind against him. He lifts his hips up as he pulls you forward, gliding you over the inseam of his zipper with just the right amount of pressure against your clit to have you gasp. He feels even bigger than you imagined, bigger than all the stories you’d heard from other girls.

A cocky lopsided grin tugs at the corner of his mouth pushing up the cheek with the two moles that look like a vampire bit the apple of it, traces of pink from your gloss still linger on them and the glitter coating shimmers in the low light. He tilts his head back to look up at you, the thick expanse of his neck exposed along with the sharpness of his jaw. The new angle reveals a mess of freckles you’d only dared to let yourself look at from afar. Glitterless and bruisless, a blank canvas that taunts you.

Leaning forward your hands find a home on his chest, while his fingers spread wide over the curve of your ass. The tips of them daring to slide along the bottoms of your panties. His pecs twitch against your palms from under the thick fabric of his navy polo that fits snug over his broad shoulders, almost like it's a size too small just like his jeans and just like his vest at work. Steve Harrington knew what he was doing. Of course he did.

Tequila and pineapple are sweet on your breath, mixing with the peach of your gloss in a way that makes him impatient to collect them in a kiss again when the tip of your nose traces up the straight bridge of his. It leaves your lips just a chin tilt away from him if he really wanted but his dark eyes flick down to the growing wet patch between your thighs instead, grabbing handfuls of the soft fat of your ass to encourage you to grind harder.

“S’pretty you know that?” He groans bucking up when your hips oblige him, the tip of his cock fighting with the inseam of his jeans, pushing into the silk of your underwear making an even bigger mess of you. “Too damn pretty, honey. Could stare at you all day, fuck - I do.”

“Steve!” The way you giggle his name makes his teeth flash in the kind of smile that has you feeling like the flustered girls you see leave the counter at work.

“What? It’s true, can’t keep my eyes off you.” He sits up, straightening his back with big hands that pull you up with him.

The new position has your chests pressed, the length of him rubbing along your clit with enough pressure to make you whine and god does he need you to do it again. Grunting he starts his hunt for another with lips that find the hollow of your throat, smirking against your skin when your fingers tangle in his hair. You wanted to give it to him.

“I didn’t think you were gonna give me a chance,” His babbling doesn’t stop, especially when your hips start to circle, “you were playin’ so hard to get baby, but I’m patient when I really want something.”

“We work together Steve -“ You try to argue with a shaky breath, lashes fluttering closed as he nips at the sensitive spot behind your ear. The springs of the couch starting to squeak under your movements, too close to care about holding back any more. “It could get messy, you know? - Shit.”

He hums like he understands with your earlobe sucked into the heat of his mouth, letting it go with a pop before his eyes meet your heavy gaze with a mischievous glint that only stokes the flames he’s lit across your body, licking every inch of your skin.

“I don’t know,” The corners of his mouth twist up in a grin snapping the elastic band of your panties “seems pretty messy now.”

His tongue traces your top lip, while his fingers find purchase wrapped around your hips. Tan skin pulls taut over his knuckles using his strength to bring your hips down on him harder, a deep groan rumbling from his chest when you tug at the thick locks of his auburn hair from the roots.

“That’s not what I - “ Your lips connect for a moment, tongues meeting briefly before you pull away with a huff, “that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

The tip of his nose bumps with yours, his breath fanning across your face in a mixture of leftover peach gloss and the whiskey he opted for instead upstairs.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” He asks with another roll of his hips relishing in the way it makes your jaw go slack with a smirk, “We get paid to have sex? Big woop.”

“Is that how you think it’s gonna be?” Your bottom lip meets his top when the question comes out, your eyes meeting his from down the slope of your nose.

“Maybe,” He wiggles his eyebrows with a chuckle that hits hot against your throat, “If you want, after I take you out on a date of course.”

“Oh we’re going on dates now too?” Grinning with a tilt of your head, you think about stealing a kiss that he’s eager to give.

One of his hands leaves your hip, the warmth of it coming up to cup your jaw, the pad of his thumb tracing your bottom lip before tugging it down.

“Yeah, we’re going on dates”

He closes the little space between you, finally stealing what you’ve been teasing him with. His mouth moves with yours like he’s sure of himself, tongues meeting in a slow dance instead of a battle for dominance. His other arm wraps around your waist, biceps that are just as strong as they look pulling you closer, caging you in with another buck of his hips. The whine he’s been trying to get out of you starts to tease him from the back of your throat, the beginnings of it making his lips twitch against yours in a cocky way, even when he knows he’s dangerously close to needing a new pair of pants.

He’s not expecting one of your hands to come up and pinch the sharp edges of his jaw between two red painted fingers, or the way you start to control the kiss and Steve starts being the one to writhe underneath you at whatever mercy you want to give him. Truly, he doesn’t want any.

Now it��s him who whines when you pull away, your kiss swollen sticky lips finding the familiar path to his cheek. Another glittering trail of pink that leads down under his jaw where you nip just like he did to you.

“Honey,”

The pet name comes out like a warning when your tongue swipes across sweat slick skin. The tip of your nose nudging behind his ear with a smirk. Your hips circle with purpose now, not the wild abandon from before, feeling the way it makes him twitch in his jeans. He shudders when you lick the length of his neck, teeth scraping along the protruding vein as his arm tightens its hold, the palm of his hand curling around the back of your neck.You hum in approval, lips wrapping around where your teeth just were before sucking hard.

He groans your name loud enough you’re sure someone upstairs heard him, eyes rolling in the back of his head and toes curling in his sneakers as his hips buck up meeting the roll of yours. You know it’s going to be enough to leave his sun kissed skin lilac and blush when you’re done, but he doesn’t seem to care when the hard tip of him that threatens to bust through the seam of his jeans keeps hitting your bundle of nerves over and over again.

Steve’s head falls against the back of the couch, eyes pinching shut opening himself up more for you while his hips stutter. You feel the warmth of him flood between your legs. A string of curse words spilling from his lips, when your own release has your body freezing on top of him, thighs closing tight around his and an open mouth to his neck in a silent scream.

It’s quiet for a while, both of you trying to catch your breath with the bass of the music that vibrates the walls from upstairs. A content hum from your lips breaks the silence when he rubs his hand down your spine, nails scratching softly as he goes.

“Yeah, we’re going on dates.” He finally huffs out in a laugh, earning the giggle that he liked so much as his ‘yes.’

[earthtooz]

OMG IM FROTHING AT THE MOUTH FOR FAKE PT.2 I LOVED PT 1 SM I LOVE YOU SM EHEHEH

𝐅𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 ─ when the reader receives hate ! pt 1

includes: reo mikage, michael kaiser, isagi yoichi

warnings: gn!reader, they/them prns in kaiser + isagi, 2k+ wc for reo, 1.6k for kaiser and 1k for isagi, ooc!characters, borderline panic attack in reo's, hate and negative comments, happy endings for all, let me know if i'm missing any warnings, bad wriitng LOL

a/n: ask and u shall receive ! bro why is the cover image so low quality i can't be assed to fix it - ANYWAYS ENJOY ANON !!!

MIKAGE REO:

if there’s one thing reo is used to, it’s the amount of eyes constantly surveying his every move. there is not one aspect of his life that hasn’t been intruded by the amount of aristocratic families wondering how he’s doing. reo’s quite fed up with it himself. 

but of course, if there’s one thing dating reo mikage entails, it’s having those same eyes scrutinising your every move even harder- a fact you accepted before he asked you to be his. a fact you were starting to get used to.

despite all the glamourised smiles and ambiguous compliments of your relationship, there will always be some who aren’t afraid to voice their opinions.

which, is how you got stuck talking to some ceo’s daughter at a gala you were attending as reo’s plus one. 

“i’m not trying to be mean or anything, just honest,” she says with a particular slice of her hands, flaunting her expensive nails and jewellery. “but i don’t think you’re right for reo, and i know i am not the only one who thinks that! don’t you think it’s time you stop hogging him and y’know, return him to those who really deserve him?”

something disgusting churns within you at the way she talks of your boyfriend, as if he were some goal; a fish in a sea of hungry fishermen. the statement makes you feel violated, you can’t imagine how reo would feel being talked about like this for his entire life.

“and who might that be?” you counter, trying your best to remain calm and not give in to the storm within you.

she flares her nostrils, narrowing her perfectly painted eyes. “look around. take a good glance at the competition.”

“i won’t do that because there is no competition. reo chose me, whether you like it or not,” you firmly place your drink down on the table beside you before pointedly showing her the beautiful promise ring, encrusted with diamonds that reo himself placed on your finger. “besides, if there even was a competition in the first place, i’m afraid you’re all much too late.”

with a final sneer, she turns around with a pointed flick of her healthy, smooth hair before walking away, classy and expensive as ever.

just like everyone around you.

you, on the other hand, find it hard to breathe, and the luxurious fabric of your even more luxurious outfit is clinging to your body. before you even know it, you’re making a run for the exit, slipping past crowds of people and ignoring their looks of curiosity. 

no one would bother to look too long anyways.

you should be proud of how you managed to remain level-headed during that interaction, but you can’t help but give in to her manipulative tactics. you did take a good look of the competition and they all looked like millions upon millions of dollars. they have had their life plan sorted from the very moment of their birth, their destiny handed to them of a silver platter, and although you know to look beyond the materialism and gold, it’s hard to ignore it when you’re surrounded by marble walls and crystal chandeliers.

suddenly feeling like an imposter, you just want to hop in a cab and go home.

bolting through expansive halls with decorative arches and doors to match, you’re almost at the parking lot where the chauffeurs awaited, just a flight of stairs await your descent.

it’s not until a hand catches your wrist that you stop. 

turning around, you find no comfort in the familiarity of reo’s face which was laced with concern and worry. he’s panting, a thin layer of sweat coating his skin, and his hair was all over his face. was he chasing after you?

“y/n! where are you going?” the purple-haired asks, eyebrows furrowing even more as he notices the distressed state you’re in. he grabs both your hands, manoeuvring you to look him square in the eyes. except, it’s so difficult, you’re looking everywhere but at him. “i was calling your name the entire time, did you not hear me?” 

“reo, please, leave me alone,” you request with a shaky voice, trying to get out of his grip with no success.

“i can’t, not when you’re like this,” he protests, “deep breaths, y/n, come back to me.”

a few moments of silence pass by, allowing you to return to your senses as reo holds your hands against his heart, stroking your skin with his thumb. no longer overwhelmed and suffocated by your thoughts, it’s hard to look your boyfriend in the eye, cowering away from his gaze.

“what’s the matter?” he asks gently, pressing a hand against your cheek delicately. it’s warm. you want to melt into him.

“it’s- i, i had a really- you know what, nevermind,” you murmur, shaking your head, turning your back against reo as you pull your hands away from his. 

you miss the expression of heartbreak that appears on his pretty face. 

your cold actions don’t deter him. instead, it makes him more determined to stay by your side, chasing after you even as you descend down the stairs. since your shoes were a lot more complicated than his, the soccer player catches up to you quickly to guide you by the small of your back as he mirrors your pace.

“i want to go home,” you mutter to him once you’re on the ground, trying your best not to collapse under the gaze of so many, surrounded by butlers and chauffeurs.  

he nods with a gentle gaze. “let’s go home then.”

his kindness is not enough to shield you from the scrutiny that bears into you. “no, reo, you should stay, i’ll just catch a taxi home or something.”

he looks at you in pure astonishment, slightly taken back by your weird attitude. 

“but i don’t want to. why would i want to stay if you’re not?” asks the purple-haired. 

opting to remain silent rather than answer, you try to walk towards the main road of the highway, only to be cut off by reo shoving himself in front of you.

“and why would i let you take a cab home?” your purple-haired lover questions, placing both of his hands on his cheeks so you can finally look him in the eye. “y/n, what’s going on? something happened, didn’t it?”

taking both of his hands away from your face, you take a step away; once again missing the look of astonishment and heartbreak that appears on reo’s face. “nothing happened,” you say stubbornly, rubbing your hands against your arms.

“i don’t want to go home if you’re like this, can we please just talk for a little?” he remains behind you, getting the hint that you don’t want to be provoked or touched in any way, even if it’s killing him. the soccer player’s fingers itch with the need to embrace and trace every part of you that you’ll allow, but, for the sake of your fragile state, he doesn’t.

with a small exhale, you agree. it would be unfair for you to leave reo in the dark, continually brushing off his genuine kindness due to some chick that got in your head.

he leads you towards the gardens nearby which were dimly lit, yet still very beautiful. spring was in full season, so you could only catch glimpses of the beautiful flora that aligned the path, but there was no denying that it was still breathtaking. reo walks beside you, synchronising his footsteps with yours.

eventually, you arrive at a fountain in the middle of the garden. where you take a seat on its marble ledge, reo whispers ‘one second’ to you before running off to the bushes where the red roses were. he returns quickly, jogging back to you with a singular flower in his hands. 

“for you, my love,” he declares with a small smile, bowing with an extended hand, expecting you to take his gift.

you readily do, heart warming at his silliness whilst twirling the rose in your fingers. “thank you,” you reply, pressing a kiss to his cheek when he places his hand next to you so he can lean against the fountain for support. 

the promise ring you wear on your finger feels heavier than usual, especially when he smiles fondly at you, a lovesick expression on his face that is no doubt mirrored by you. 

but looking at him, you can’t help but recall the stinging reality that he lived in a world of glamour, decadence, and allure; only doubled by the fame that came with his life as a pro-soccer player. you love reo with your whole being, really, sometimes you fear that your feelings might be a little too much, but loving him with a materialistic barrier in between is difficult. 

the idea of letting him go than stealing him away from the world of mystique feels suddenly a lot kinder.

“reo,” you begin after a few minutes of simply being in each other’s presence. he looks at you with widened eyes and raised eyebrows, directing 100% of his attention towards you. with a deep inhale, you continue.

“do you ever think that… we’re not, meant to be?”

the silence is deafening.

“what do you mean?” he asks with a small stutter of disbelief, “of course we’re meant to be! you’re the one for me- you’re my soulmate!”

usually, when reo says that, it makes your insides gush and flutter, but now it riddles you with guilt and scepticism. “how can you be so sure?”

“y/n,” he sounds so very desperate. reo’s eyes have always been the window to his soul and seeing the way they shine with tears, your chest clenches with an unpleasant feeling. “why are you doubting my love for you?”

his hand goes to your ring finger, playing with the jewellery that you suddenly feel like you don’t deserve.

“you agreed, remember? you agreed to letting me love you forever and loving me in return. i put this ring on you because it’s always going to be you, no matter what circumstance, i’ll always choose you.” 

“but is choosing me the right decision?”

“yes, a thousand times yes, there will never be. anyone. but. you.” reo increases the amount of emphasis he puts into each word, now changing his position so that he stood in front of you, caging you with his build. “can you tell me what happened, beautiful? because something clearly did and soured my gorgeous y/n’s mood.”

the sudden onslaught of compliments, mixed with how close reo was, broke down your resolve easily, crumbling at his feet as you gave in to his gentle demands. 

“i met an unpleasant someone who told me i should give you up for people who deserve you more,” you whisper, throwing your arms around his neck, a gesture of equal affection and possessiveness. 

he hums, seemingly calm but you know better. the furrow of his eyebrows was one of scrutiny and distaste. you’re glad he’s trying to remain subtle, you’ve had enough of emotional responses for one night.

“and who might this unpleasant someone be?”

“i have no idea. she gave me a name but it went in one ear then out the other.”

pressing his face into the junction where your neck and shoulder meet, the soccer player revels at this chance to be close to you. 

“it was probably important though,” you reiterate, “and, well, might be able to benefit you a lot better than i ever can.” 

he scoffs into your skin, causing you to shiver. “no one’s name is as important as mine, my love, and no one can boost it more than what it’s already worth. if anything, those who have me gets the boost, i’m already the best.” 

his (rightfully deserved) cockiness makes you smile ever so slightly as you punch his shoulder. “are you implying i’m a gold digger?”

“well, you didn’t choose me, did you?” asks reo with a raise of his eyebrow. “i begged you to go on a date with me and you only agreed the fourth time i asked.”

the recollection makes a giggle slip past your lips- a sound reo dearly missed as he admires your beauty in the dim lighting of the gardens. he places a fleeting kiss on your neck before looking up at you. 

“of course, everyone else won’t know that and assume,” you point out before leaning in towards his lips, unable to resist him much longer.

“who cares?” he mutters against you before melting against you in a gentle kiss filled with love, reassurance, and promises. “they’re all irrelevant anyways, just a bunch of talkers with nothing to back up their words.”

“then what am i?”

“you’re my future. you’re the one that actually cares about me, more than my money or my soccer skills. remember the first day we met and you told me to get out of the way? back in college?”

“well you were blocking my path. i was running late to my class as well.”

reo chuckles, pulling away from you so there was a little distance between your faces. “never thought i’d want someone so bad just because they didn’t know who i was.”

“then show me,” you say with a little challenge in your tone. “screw the gala, take me home, reo.”

“thought you’d never ask.”

MICHAEL KAISER:

“kaiser gets it in! a miracle shot, just what you’d expect from bastard münchen’s genius striker!” the announcer exclaims as the crowd shoots up in excitement, roaring and buzzing with excitement as the members of germany’s football team all swarm around the blond, cheering and celebrating. 

kaiser participates in the hype, fist bumping his teammates before running back to position, but not without sparing a look at the screen that was displaying the match. no one misses the kiss he blows in the direction of the camera and although the stadium is filled with squeals (from boys, girls, grown ups and children alike), you know something they don’t.

right before the match, kaiser made you promise that each goal of his equated to ten kisses, a deal that you readily accepted and bumped up to twenty as a way of motivating him to take the game home.

that kiss he blew was just a way of solidifying that he was thinking of you and the wink he sent straight after was just making sure you’d keep your promise.

you can’t help but feel like the luckiest person in the world with him. 

as the match progresses, you can tell it’s going to be an easy victory, with all favours towards your lover’s team - kaiser earning another two himself. 

it’s almost scary just how effortlessly he dominates, settling the score at 3-1 for bastard münchen, once again making feats you thought were difficult look effortless. as the whistle blew announcing the end of the game, roars fill the stadium once again and you too, jump up with the crowd to cheer as loudly as you can.

repping his jersey with his name on the back, it just feels too good, especially when you bask in the afterglow of a well deserved victory.

you don’t miss the amount of glances kaiser sends your way, antsy to be able to reach you and spend some time with you because he’d rather have you congratulate him than a bunch of old, white men that just want to sponsor him. they can get in line because you’re his top priority.

you hope he sees you and the heart you make with your arms over your head just for him. 

dawdling out of the stadium always takes forever because of the amount of people that always come to see his game so when over half the people have cleared out, you make your way down to the front row, where your soccer genius boyfriend was waiting for you.

“you were incredible, my love,” you say as a greeting, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug, one that he readily returns. you don’t really care that he was sweaty, too overwhelmed by how proud of him you were.

not that your opinions really mattered in the grand scheme of things, but kaiser considered it a great lucky charm, one he holds highly.

“as always,” he mutters, pressing a kiss against your cheek. you giggle at the sensation, smiling widely as he continues. “tell me more about how amazing i was.”

rolling your eyes at his arrogance, you decide to indulge him, just a little. “the best out there, greatest soccer player of all time, and you looked so handsome too, my main character,” you pinch his cheek. “done?”

“not at all,” keens kaiser, smiling at you like a cat.

“get your stuff first and then when we’re home, i’m all yours.”

“i’m holding you to your promise, pretty, that’s sixty kisses from you.”

with a final kiss on the forehead as farewell, you bid him goodbye and watch as he runs off to get changed, joining ness who was waiting for him by the exit. the magenta-haired soccer player waves at you from halfway across the field, a gesture you readily return before turning around to go outside.

passing by the security guards who give you a little nod of acknowledgement, you’re relieved to see that the audience that gathered tonight had gone off into their cars, ready to go home for the night. 

you’re about to go around to where the players exit so kaiser wouldn’t swarmed by a flurry of fans and reporters, until you’re stopped by a hand on the shoulder. the grip wasn’t strong, but demanding enough for you to turn around and greet whoever wanted to talk to you.

it was a pair of teenage girls. they were well-dressed and pampered, but the look they were giving you was less than friendly. somehow, you already knew where this conversation was going.

“can i help you?” you ask, flashing them a smile.

one of them eyes you up and down, judgement very clear in her eyes. you cringe a little. “are you kaiser’s partner?” she asks. 

you nod in affirmation. you hate the sleazy feeling developing in your gut, expanding due to the scrutiny of their gazes. one of the girls nudge the other one in an ‘i told you so’ manner, which is returned with a smirk that is mischievous in kind.

“do you need something from me?” you question, finally letting your astoundment show on your face. really, you just wanted to walk away from this conversation and find kaiser so you could go home.

“yeah, we’re just wondering why, y’know, that he’d choose you.” 

“excuse me?”

“like don’t get us wrong, you’re pretty and all, but we just think that you’re kinda bland for him,” one of them states as the other hums in agreement. 

the audacity. you furrow your eyebrows and stand your ground.

“okay, cool. what do you suggest i do then since you seem to be experts in my relationship.”

“break up with him, duh?”

“and let one of you date him instead?” you scoff. “fat chance.” 

“just give him up, okay? we could love kaiser more than you probably ever could, clout chaser.”

“gold digger!”

now amused more than frustrated, you bite back the laugh that bubbles in your chest. it was entertaining seeing some sixteen year old girls try to tell you that you and your boyfriend (of two years) shouldn’t be together. 

being kaiser’s partner had its downsides sometimes, and it was mostly just the hate you receive for ‘stealing’ him off the market, especially since he was so young, some fans didn’t appreciate that he wasn’t an eligible bachelor. but, you’re used to it. so long as you get to watch him in the spotlight, you don’t really mind the darkness. 

you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. “right… are we done here? because this ‘gold digger’ wants to see their partner and congratulate him.”

“what part aren’t you understanding?” one of them asks before the other one completes the sentence. “you and kaiser just don’t look good together!”

before you could answer, a heavy arm drapes itself over your shoulders. “aww, why not?” a familiar voice asks. the two girls in front of you freeze, panic evident on their faces. “what disturbances held you up from seeing me?”

then you see and hear an overload of flashes and camera clicks. kaiser must’ve caught the paparazzi on his way out and you suddenly remember that you left him waiting, feeling slightly guilty when you turn your head to meet his gaze. you wrap your arms around his torso, happier than ever to feel his warmth against your own. 

“what happened here?” kaiser asks, a question directed at you and you only. 

“they were just telling me that they didn’t like that i was a main role in your theatre,” you say, earning an eyebrow raise from your genius boyfriend. “how should we fix that?”

he hums for a moment, meeting the widened eyes of his fans.

“kick them out,” he simply declares before turning around with you still in his arms. you two pass by paparazzi, paying them little mind except from the small smiles you send their way. 

once you’re in a clearer, quieter area, your boyfriend turns to you and embraces you properly, a gesture you return eagerly as he breathes you in.

“what a way to sour such a good victory,” murmurs kaiser, voice muffled by his jersey that you were wearing. “can’t believe i had to play your knight in shining armour instead of the king that i am.”

you pinch his neck which causes him to flinch with a little shriek. always leave it to you to dumb down his narcissism.

“i was handling it myself pretty well, y’know,” you sigh, “being the michael kaiser’s partner, i’ve grown immune to the hate i receive.”

kaiser frowns, “i didn’t think it happened often,” he whispers. “i’m sorry. how many times have you had to defend yourself without me knowing?”

“it hardly matters-”

“-but it does. i don’t like when people slander you, less when it’s for no reason other than because you’re with me. you should be marvelled at and admired, just like the masterpiece you are.”

his words cause butterflies to erupt in your stomach, a feeling you mask with a playful eye roll. 

“yes but,” you counter, reaching to cup his cheek, “being with you makes up for it.” 

he smirks, contrasting the downhearted expression he wore moments earlier. kaiser’s skill of immediately recovering from whatever kicks him down truly is something to behold and at times, envy. “of course it does,” he boasts, dramatically flipping one of his bangs. 

“besides, i’m willing to fight back if it means i get to be with you.”

before he can argue back, you grab his arm and pull him towards the entrance.

“now come on, let’s talk about it another day. i believe i owe you sixty kisses.”

“make it one hundred now for leaving me waiting for so long.”

“if you get too greedy i’ll leave you on the sidewalk.”

“you’d do that to your king? how dare you!”

ISAGI YOICHI:

“what does your mum like?” you ask a clueless isagi who simply stares at the range of perfumes that the department store had displayed.

“i have no idea,” he mutters. “i never really paid attention to what smells she used.”

“fragrances, yoichi, not smells.”

“oh. right,” the star soccer player rubs his neck awkwardly, smiling sheepishly at you after correcting his small mistake. 

he was so adorable, you wanted to pinch his cheeks.

this was the first time that isagi was buying a gift for his mother with his own money, and the first person he turned to for help was his partner: you, explaining that this had to be the best gift she’s ever received. for how much she’s done for him, and how much she’s supported his soccer career, isagi doesn’t know if he can repay it through money, but gifts are hard to deny regardless.

readily agreeing to help, you have memories of isagi’s mother welcoming you into the family with warm arms. she would tell you how beautiful you are, how excited she was to meet you, and that her son better treat you well otherwise you could always turn to her for help; a statement that made the star striker gulp.

“i mean, you could never go wrong with a few classics like carolina herrera, dior, or chanel?” you suggest, walking over to the section filled with perfumes contained in shelves, their respective brands displayed on top. isagi follows you like a lost puppy, clinging close to your side by holding your hand, squeezing it ever so often.

everything you’re saying is going in one ear and through the other, and isagi lets it show on his face. 

“don’t worry yoichi, any perfume you pick tends to be a good gift regardless, besides, we have the whole day to figure out what your mum likes,” you reason logically, just in case it might provide him with some relief in the midst of expensive, designer fragrances. 

“right,” he huffs, reaching out to read the labels of some bottles.

after a long hunt of going through the shelves, he eventually settles on a fragrance from maison francis (with a pricetag that made you gawk yet isagi was very calm about, agreeing without even thinking about it), but since the packaged version was locked in a glass cabinet, you opted to call a store attendant.

“that’s a great idea, babe, need me to go with you?” he asks, readjusting the strap of his beat-up bag, the one he’s had since high school. funny how some things don’t change for isagi, you love that about him.

you shake your head in response, telling him to ‘wait here’ before strolling off.

however, during this brief time of being without you, isagi was approached by a trio who looked like they were a family, the eldest holding a phone between his hand.

“isagi yoichi?” he asks timidly, fiddling with the phone.

the soccer player flashes a friendly smile, hoping to reduce any of the anxiety they might feel from approaching him. he was just an average, friendly guy after all. “that’s me, need anything?”

“can we take a picture?” the middle daughter asks, pressing her hands together in a pleading motion.

“of course! come on.”

the set of siblings smile eagerly before ambling to isagi’s side, who squats down so he could fit in frame. after a ‘3, 2, 1’ countdown, the photo is taken and just as the dark-haired athlete was about to stand up, a store attendant approaches.

“would you like me to take the picture?” they ask politely, gesturing to the phone.

simultaneously, everyone agrees and soon enough, the photo is taken and done, allowing isagi to high-five them before waving them off, the three of them thanking him profusely for his time.

the store attendant lingers, turning to face him with wide eyes of admiration. “wow, i didn’t think i’d ever get to meet you!” they exclaim. “i watched your match against the under-20 team like so long ago! you were amazing!”

“oh, yeah,” isagi chuckles, flustered at all this recognition, even though he’s been getting more and more of it lately, “thank you for your support.”

although he inwardly cringes at the line that he’s reused over and over again, the store helper thinks nothing of it, beaming back at him. “you’re super cute too, do you think i could get your number?”

isagi lets his shock show on his face before blurting out: “no, i have a partner already.”

the attendant’s face drops into a look of disappointment and the striker wants to run off to find you. you never should have left him alone.

“what a shame. the person that you were just with right?” isagi nods. “don’t know what you think is so special about them, i personally think you’re too good for them and should find someone better, but, it’s not up to me.”

isagi feels his vision zero in, growing red with each word. him? too good for you? what irony.

“excuse me?” he vocalised lowly- practically a growl as he eyes the employee down. “i’m giving you three seconds to get out of my sight before i-.”

he’s too preoccupied with the fury he feels to notice the way the attendant squeaks, eyes laced with fear, before scurrying off mid-sentence, fully intimidated by the striker. isagi sighs, slumping his shoulders. he’s never used that tone to anyone outside of soccer in an attempt of pre-game slander and now he just misses you.

where did you run off to?

right on queue, you materialise beside him, huffing with a pout on your face. “i couldn’t find any store attendants, that’s so weird! where’d they go?”

deciding against telling you that he just scared one away for trashing you, he simply leans his body weight on you, sighing when you embrace him tightly so he wouldn’t knock the both of you over.

“whoa, what’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” you ask, unable to hide the smile on your face from his sudden acts of affection. “everything okay, love?” 

“i want to go home,” he whispers against your shoulder. “spend some time with you.”

“what about the gift?”

“i’ll order it online. it can arrive in time.”

relenting, you pluck him off you with great effort. “if you’re sure then, okay, let’s go home.”

“we can get takeout from your favourite on the way home.”

“what’s the occasion?”

“thought i needed to show you how much i appreciate you.”

[authorhjk1]

Aloha! Since I hardly find any of her fics here, here's hoping Krystal can make the cut so here are some choices if you may:

For the first outfit was hoping it could make the cut the most since if you look at it closely it is a one piece dress but buttoned up, for the second outfit I mean, look at that body sheesh and for the third a simple one.

https://kpopping.com/documents/54/2/2000/220405-H-Naver-Post-Krystal-ELLE-D-Edition-Photoshoot-Behind-documents-13.jpeg?v=1fb1e

https://kpopping.com/documents/a0/1/2992/240507-Krystal-Jung-Baeksang-Arts-Awards-2024-documents-1(1).jpeg?v=8dcd4

https://kpopping.com/documents/58/0/4500/Krystal-Jung-for-Vogue-Korea-March-2024-Issue-Vogue-Leader-2024-Woman-Now-documents-8.jpeg?v=2799c

Midnight

(Krystal Jung X Male Reader)

You're smiling from ear to ear as you walk through the building. You can't believe this is happening.

"It seems like you really want one of these."

Krystal's teasing tone makes you turn around to her. But before you can, her hands sneak around your waist and she presses her body up against yours from behind. Her chin landing on your shoulder.

"Y-Yes. This one."

You point at the car at the far end of the dealership. You've always wanted this car. Ever since you saw it online for the first time. You can't believe you're about to own it. You're barely nineteen years old and you just got your driver's license. But now you're walking to a midnight black Lamborghini Aventador.

You never checked out the price, because you expected to never be able to have enough money to buy one of these. But now it almost feels like you won the lottery.

"Are you sure you want this one?"

Krystal isn't as much into cars as you are, so she usually goes for classy and expansive over horse power and speed. The silver Rolls Royce parked outside is proof enough of that.

"This is my dream car."

"Then get in and try it out."

Krystal gives you a kiss on the cheek, before you hear heels klick on the floor as she walks away.

You carefully reach out to touch the hood. Six months ago, you would've been too afraid to even touch this car. But you don't have to worry about breaking anything. Krystal could buy every single car in this building, if she wanted to. You don't know how much money she really does have, but the first thing you did after coming home that fateful day, was researching the name Krystal Jung. The richest person in Korea. The fifth wealthiest person in Asia and maybe even one of the richest women on this planet.

Sitting down in the driver's seat, you let your hands wander over the steering wheel. It feels comfortable. It feels perfect. It feels better than you thought it would.

You tear your eyes off the car's dashboard as you hear Krystal approaching again. Her black dress matches the car and shows off her slim waist. It hugs her body like it was only designed for her and nobody else. Which is what probably happened. You doubt anyone else owns this exact dress. Maybe a cheap copy of it.

You hold your breath as Krystal stops in front of you, a car key in her hand.

"Do you want to take your new car for a drive?"

"Oh my god. Thank you so much."

You don't even dare to reach for the key. How much did Krystal just spent on you?

"Like I already said, you don't have to thank me for the stuff I buy you. It's just money."

She puts the key into your hand, before walking around to the passenger side.

Once she is seated, her arm sneaks around your shoulders, her lips right next to your ear.

"Let's take your new car for a drive along the coast."

Her free hand glides over your thigh as she reaches for your crotch.

"You can repay me by making use of that hood."

She nods towards the front of the car.

The cold midnight air hits your face as you test out the car's limits. Krystal's hair flies after her in the wind. The roaring of the engine almost makes it impossible to talk. You glance at the dashboard. 300 kph. The road doesn't have any corners in it right now, so you can drive as fast as you want. No one else is around.

You let the Lamborghini come to a hold as you reach the top of the cliff. It's not yet time for the sunrise, but the stars make the night sky bright enough. You have to peel your shaking hands off the wheel. You've never gone that fast in your life.

"That big smile on your face says a lot."

Krystal's hair is messy, but that might make her even more attractive.

"Show me how much you really enjoyed it."

You lean over and capture her lips with yours. The two of you make out in the car as your and her hands explore each other's bodies. You feel her naked waist under your fingertips, while Krystal lets her fingers graze your abs underneath your shirt.

You don't have to work and earn money or anything. Krystal has only two basic requirements for you to make this relationship work. Stay as healthy and fit as possible and make her cum more often then she can count. You work out every single day, eat healthy and go for a lot of runs. You already did it before you met her, but the amount of time you are know putting into your body makes it impossible for Krystal to keep her hands off you.

After your make out session in the car, you now kneel in front of it, after having Krystal bend over the hood. Just like she wanted.

Her dress is still occupying the passenger seat, while her naked body is pressed against the black surface.

"That's a good boy."

Krystal moans into the hood as your tongue invades her slick pussy again and again. You knead her cheeks as you hold onto them. She loves it when you worship her body just as much as when she worships yours.

"Oh, fuck! Almost!"

After six months of almost three times a day, you have Krystal completely figured out. It doesn't take much effort anymore to make her cum.

And you can tell how close she is, if you read the signs well enough. Her thighs begin to shake. Her moans become just a little higher. More swear words leave her lips. And more of her juices would run down her thighs, if it wasn't for you, eagerly licking every inch of her skin.

Your name leaves her lips in a deep moan, right before a high pitched cry echoes through the night. Krystal orgasms on top of the car. Her naked body pressed against the hood. Most of her squirt lands inside your mouth, but some finds it's way onto the car, staining the black materials.

While she recovers, you stand up and align your cock with her pussy. You're still hard and wet from her blowjob in the car mere minutes ago. You can't even keep track anymore on how often Krystal sucked you off, sitting in the passenger seat or at the back.

"That's right. Fill me with that cock of yours."

Krystal sighs as you push into her. Slow love making is a rare sight in your relationship. Mainly because it isn't a relationship based on love. Krystal is pleasant to be around, but she sometimes feels like she is from another world. Her money, her influence, her age. None of it matches your own personality. And yet, here you are, taking Krystal's pussy from behind.

"You're such a good boy. A good little toy."

Her endless praises fuel your desire to fuck her harder and harder. As much as you like Krystal dominating you, it doesn't compare to the feeling of being in control yourself. To have this beautiful woman bend over in front of you. How she takes your cock so well. How she moans your name and praises your cock.

You eventually start to grow tired. The small sex marathon on board of her plane two hours ago still lingering inside your muscles. Krystal usually isn't the type to have a lot of sex at once, due to her busy schedule. But a four hour flight in her private jet makes you work overtime.

You finally sink down on top of her, your face buried in her naked back as your cock rests deep inside her pussy. Krystal's tits and the rest of her body are being pressed against the hood of the car due to your weight.

"Yes, baby."

She sighs, enjoying the unusually slow fucking you now give her. Her snug pussy is enough to make you cum. It doesn't matter how fast you fuck her. Even if you only move at a slow pace, it manages to make you fill her up.

"Krystal..."

You kiss and lick her sweaty neck as you close your eyes. The cold midnight air roams your naked body on top of hers as you release your cum into her pussy.

-----------

Hi, everyone!

I hope you a had a good time reading. After deciding on this concept, I cose the black dress, because I think it fits the most. If you want me to write her in the blue one, feel free to request again, I will put it on my list.

[fizz-pop-thwip]

When Bucky hugged Steve for the first time since he got the serum, they were alone in a tent. They had just got back to the base camp after their miles long walk back from the hydra base and they were both exhausted.

Steve is situating himself around the very nice, fancy tent that he insisted on sharing and Bucky hasn't taken his eyes off him since he saw him from the table he was strapped onto. Steve. Little Steve. Steve who got sick every winter and who's asthma played up every summer. Steve who had been 5'4 and had remained as such since he was 14. Steve who got into too many fights and never won but not once for lack of passion.

Bucky has to say something, because he hasn't been saying anything since escaping the base and now he feels like he's about to boil over. "Steve"

The same big blue eyes he's always known greeted him and were quick to lace with concern. "You okay, Buck?"

And generally speaking no, Bucky was not okay, he'd been experimented on, he'd been taken by the enemy and strapped down to a goddamn table and he couldn't even remember half of what they did to him there.

For all Bucky knows he could drop dead at any moment but he isn't thinking about that, because he's thinking about how Steve is here, in front of him, all 6'2 of him. He's thinking about how the breath exiting his mouth doesn't follow with wheezing, or how he can take the full rib expanding breaths when he needs it without coughing until there are tears forcing themselves out of his eyes.

Bucky steps forward, his hand gently presses against the expanse of Steve's chest. He stops himself from gawking considering the fact you could park an eighteen wheeler on this thing, he even opens his mouth to say just that but then he feels Steve's heart beat, steady and pumping under his palm.

It's only slight considering the amount of muscle and thick bone in the way but he can feel it all the same and it's not stuttering and irregular. It's pumping blood, lots of blood wherever Steve needs it, constantly and in all the right places instead of spending most of its time in the lowest point of the body.

If Steve were to get sick this heart would help him get better instead of having to fight to keep itself working, and his new lungs might get congested but they wouldn't spasm every time he needed a breath of fresh air. Steve won't be laying in bed all winter sick and out of his mind with any and every illness that has always loved making his life a living hell.

Steve is healthy.

And suddenly feeling overwhelmed, Bucky clears his throat and blinks away any escaped liquid from his eyes, which are very pointedly looking towards his hand. Because if he looks up at Steve and sees those blue eyes all concerned, seeing right through him like they always do, he really will loose it.

"You're okay.." He mumbles mostly to himself.

It comes off as a statement more than anything and a choked out one at that but Steve knows, because he always knows what Bucky is trying to get at. He places his hand over Bucky's wrist and just holds him, his hand is steady and must be magical because Bucky grows calm at the touch.

"I'm okay."

Feeling himself falter at the affirmation, he leans in, arms wrapping around the waist he could once circle completely with one arm. But he almost backs out as quickly as he started it, the foreign body giving the wrong signals, like hugging a coworker or a distant relative you see once a decade.

But taking a deep breath to centre himself, Steve smelled like he always did, plus the scent of cheap soap hardly lingering, faded from the long day they both just had.

And when he ran his hands over his back he could feel the familiar humps of his spine and count them all the same. Even Steve's hands find the same spot on Bucky's back as they always used to, where his ribs end and his back start to dip in at the start of his waist.

Bucky can still reach the hair at the base of Steve's head and run his fingers through it like he used to see Steve's ma do when they were young.

Now Steve sighs into the hug and Bucky squeezes tighter since he knows he won't be doing any damage. They stay like that for a long time in their own personal world, the centre of their own solar system, everything else moving around them, floating within their orbit.

When they pull back, Bucky's hands linger on Steve's waist for longer then they should and when he looks up Steve's eyes are so full of admiration but his nose and eyebrows are scrunched up like he's got something to say.

Bucky takes his hands back to his sides. "what?"

"We aren't going to leave each other again, okay?" He says it so sure, like they aren't going to be in the heat of battle every other day but Bucky wants it just as bad as he does so he nods and smiles.

"You're stuck with me pal, I'm not going anywhere"

[lostinforestbound]

Did you have a request? It's NSFW headcanons for Astarion, Gale, Wyll, and Halsin react to their gender neutral s/o asking if they can worship his body & kiss everywhere. Thanks!

I can try! Per my guidelines, I don't write for Astarion, but I can do everyone else! I'm not as familiar writing these characters, so I hope these turned out all right!

Gale, Wyll, and Halsin Body Worship

NSFW Under Cut, Minors DNI

Gale

Gale loves giving more than anything. He cooks, he cleans, he gives love, literally everything he can for his love.

This especially happens during intercourse, and you better believe there's body worship sprinkled in there.

But being at the receiving end of it? He's so focused on his lover he never gave it much thought.

He's always willing to try something new! How could he ever say no to them, when they look so excited?

He's experienced. Of course he is! His former lover was Mystra, after all.

But when they get started, kissing his neck and down his chest where the orb lays, he feels like it's the first time again.

Personal headcannon: Gale is soft! He has plush thighs and stomach, so there's so much skin to kiss!

His breath hitches any time his partner playfully nips at the more sensitive areas; his chest, neck, and the inside of his thighs.

They have never seen his face so flushed like this, and so riled up on top of it!

In the end, they'll have some mercy and give him the best oral he's every received. He doesn't last long.

Wyll

Wyll is definitely more traditional when it comes to romance, but it also applies to intimacy.

When his partner mentions wanting to switch things up in the bedroom, he's a little surprised but pretty open to it. He just doesn't want to do anything extreme.

Body worship? He was already doing it subconsciously, always having something to say about how his love looks.

He gets pretty damn flustered when he suddenly becomes the receiving end of the worship.

Over time, I think he becomes comfortable with his infernal traits, and it definitely helps when his lover is worshiping them.

Whether it's them stabilizing themselves or just wanting something to hold, grabbing his horns is definitely a way to get him going!

The best position, or at least the one he most enjoys while his lover appreciates his body, is riding him.

He wants to watch them always, even when he goes weak for their gentle touches and kisses to the scars on his face.

He has a hard time letting them do all the work. He wants to worship them right back, but he'll listen if they tell him to sit back.

While he enjoys it a lot, next time, he wants it to be his turn.

Halsin

Halsin is older, and based off of his stories, he's been around the block when it comes to his exploits!

Body worship is nothing new to him, and he's happy to let his significant other take over and do what they'd like.

He'll lean into their touch, letting their hands run over the expanse of his chest and neck.

Touching and rubbing his ears would make him sigh in content, but pinching the tips of them makes him groan.

Halsin doesn't get too flustered as he's pretty experienced, but he definitely lets his love know what he likes by being noisy.

Is he trying to embarrass them a little? He'll never tell, but he does love to tease.

As his lover runs their hands all over his body, they can hear plenty of pleased sighs as they kiss. This isn't something he indulges in too often.

He ends up taking control right back in his excitement, biting their lower lip in the process.

Thank the gods they aren't anywhere near camp, the others would hear them all night long.

[ohimsummer]

BLOOD BANK

—vampire! suguru x reader, bloodsucking, predator/prey elements, light choking, kidnapping technically

wc 1.1k

there is a thrumming in the woods. a pair of hearts trying to out-beat each other, both for vastly different reasons.

the man—this dark-haired beast—savors his time in reaching you. his walk is a slow, menacing lumber, one he can afford to take when his prey is just some shivering little thing with their back literally to a wall. a lost lamb out in the woods, way out of their element and woefully easy to rip apart.

he looks amused. you imagine for someone like him, that you’re making quite the easy meal; fear cementing you to the spot, only part moving is the involuntary tremble in your limbs and those wide, frightful eyes looking for an escape route.

the tall, otherworldly man stops just several feet short of you. he waits, and when you make no sudden movements, he talks. “aren’t you going to run?”

it’s all a little…confusing. is he really giving you permission? he’s letting you go? or is this just another trick, granting you a sliver of hope before he promptly snatches you back into reality? there is only one way to find out.

you clamber up onto wobbly legs, using the large wall of rock behind you to help steady yourself. he only watches, hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, fascinated, amethyst eyes detailing your every clumsy move. staggered steps. the frantic turns of your head before you obviously pick a random direction to run, not even knowing where it goes, if it doesn’t lead to a dead end.

barely ten steps in, and you’re hitting the ground with a thud. your head makes a sharp collision with the ground, leaving you both stunned and confused. did you trip over your own feet again—

the heavy weight on top of you says otherwise.

as your captor manhandles you onto your back, a heap of whimpers worm their way up and out your throat. the helpless bleats of a caught animal. he pins your wrists with one hand before you can even fight back, legs on either side of you to straddle your waist. he turns his head to the side, moonlight catching on the sharp edge of his jawline, and he laughs at the weak flailing of your legs behind him. you’re so puny and vulnerable. he’s been having fun with you since the start.

your desperate mewl of ‘please’ is cut off with a shush, soft and low as if to console you. “no begging, my darling, none of that.”

he looms over your helpless form, leaning down to bury his nose in your neck and all you can do is cringe and cower further into the dirt. the man hesitates over the skin of your neck, and then you hear him, feel him take in a deep whiff of your scent.

“i hadn’t planned on hunting, tonight, “, he murmurs along your skin, lips tracing over the expanse of your throat, “but, you smelled too delightful for me to pass up, and i am dying to know if you taste just the same.”

he pulls back to admire you again, and long, feathery, raven locks form a curtain around you, isolating your vision to just him. him and those bewitching eyes that keep you so mesmerized, afraid to look away.

his other hand traces up the length of your arms, where the man laces fingers with you. he gives your hand a light squeeze, then presses it down hard enough to keep your other hand secure to the ground. the opposite hand comes to a rest on your throat, squeezing lightly as if he feels the blood racing through you.

never breaking his gaze gives you a first-hand view through the windows of his eyes, straight into his thoughts and you watch in horror as the veil of hunger in those violet shades morphs into pure, predatory greed. he doesn’t look like he wants to just play with you anymore. like he wants to maybe sink his teeth into you here and there. no, this is a look that says he yearns to devour you whole.

your captor can see the realization cross your features, and the look of sheer terror on your face makes him want to just go ahead and eat you right up.

“n—no, i—,” you begin writhing beneath him again, thrashing and pleading and crying for an out, but he doesn’t even have to adjust his strength to keep you in place. “i don’t taste good, i promise, i swear!”

the man only chuckles, amusing himself with your pitiful escape attempts. “let me be the judge of that.” and then he flashes you a wide, toothy grin.

a glimpse of those fangs turns your blood to ice, and your body goes numb. he laughs again as you grow still in an instant, long, forked tongue running over his glistening canines. they’re abnormally long, sharp as glass with a pointed tip. perfect for puncturing skin.

it happens faster than you can anticipate. his eyes narrow, and then a split-second later, there’s a light pressure on your neck, swiftly followed by stabbing pinpricks of pain. an abrupt gasp followed by a stuttered choke leaves your lips. your chest heaves. and then the man is looking at you again. there is red on his immaculate teeth, coating his lips, running down his chin to stain his once-pristine white shirt.

the side of your neck feels sore. a constant, throbbing pain just below your jawline, only soothed when he leans down again to run a warm tongue over the spot, feeding from you and, despite his courteous persona, it’s clear that he’s a messy eater. you can feel the smear of blood on your neck, jaw, dripping down to the dirt below and seeping into the earth.

“didn’t take you for a liar.” he is speaking again, working his snake-like tongue over his lips to poorly clean away the blood. “ i’m not usually one for sweets, but i can make an exception. just for you.”

a wave of nausea threatens to drown you entirely; birds swim in a halo around your head, eyesight blurry and faded. there are arms under your back and the bend in your knees, and then you are weightless.

“where….where are we…..”, you mumble out the incomplete inquiry.

“we’re going home.”, he says.

your head lolls to the side before resting on his chest. it’s firm, with the muted tone of his slowed heartbeat inside. his hair feels ticklish against your cheek. it makes your face scrunch up, and now there is the low rumble of his laughter at your expression. between that and the nausea, the exhaustion, it takes no time for you to drift off to sleep. and the last words you hear from the man is him calling you his new little blood bank.

🩸: @teddybeartoji @staryukis @babytoshiii @reiluvr @kentophilia @ohsuguru @risuola @soraya-daydreams @starlightanyaaa @luvvmae @domainexpansionmypants @apatauaia @b-b-b-my-b-f-f @getouolgy @sataraxia @leilalilox @sugu-love @akumicchi @sugojosgf @k-cris @triviahct @venzlenes @bubblez-blop @lovesickliyue

[trulyumai]

pizza time!

—pairing: Eddie Munson / Reader

synopsis: with rain interrupting your plans, you and Eddie decide to have a lazy day. did someone say pizza time?

—warnings: none. just fluff!

“Eddie knock it off—!” fingers danced across your waist and around the expansion of your hips. It was a mistake telling the man how ticklish your sides were, now that he took advantage of it.

“I can’t hear you sweetheart, I think you gotta speak more clearly.” His ringed fingers didn’t end there assault, he even went as far as to blow raspberries on your neck.

“Eee— okay okay! I give!” Finally ceasing his movements, the guitarist leaned against you heavily. Panting and out of breath his hand came up to cradle your cheek. “So I win… that means pizza for dinner?” A smile broke out onto his face, showing the little laugh lines molded into his skin.

“Pizza for dinner,” you hummed. Already moving towards the dial phone to appease your needy boyfriend with the much needed greasy cheese slices.

Eddie, slouched on the couch, already wanting to reach out for your frame. Pouting, he waited as you finished the call with the restaurant, and with open palms gestured for you to come back.

“Yes, okay. Thank you Reese.”

Eddie frowned, “how the hell do you know their name?”

“Because we order every weekend, dummy.” Back in his grasp you molded against him. “Someone has a problem with indulging themselves.” Your man let out a dramatic gasp, instantly disagreeing with such a statement.

Although you were having pizza again, you were so glad these lazy days came to fruition.

It rained all day today; leaving you and Eddie to sit around and just bask in each other’s existence. The man could be happy with every day like this, but with you busy with finals and Eddie finding new gigs it was getting harder and harder to have time together.

“Do you love me?” Eddie rubbed his hands across your back, somehow trying to pull you closer. If it were possible— the man would tear his skin open for you to nestle right in.

Or was that too much?

“Of course I do! You’re my everything,” hands grasped at his cheeks, demanding his full attention and halting the wandering, nervous eyes.

“And you think im handsome?” His digits were cold against your bare skin, they lightly found their way under your (his), baggy shirt. Moving up and down comfortingly.

“I think you’re the handsomest, prettiest dungeon master in existence.”

Eddie laughed. “I am the prettiest, aren’t I?”

Humming in agreement your head leaned down and rested onto the man’s chest, now facing the little television that graced the living room.

“I can’t wait to start a life with you, baby. Little you’s wandering’ round, a cute little house.” Eddie sighed, pressing his slightly chapped lips to the base of your head.

“Woah there big guy. One step at a time,” you traced the line around his jaw. “First we need to graduate. And then we’ll go from there, hm?”

“Okay, okay, im just saying. I hope they get your eyes.” sinking back down into the smushed cushion, Eddie relaxed.

…

“Do you think the pizzas close?”

A pause.

“…No hunny.”

——

Taglist!

@ali-r3n & @anukulee (If you wish to be tagged in future Eddie Munson blurbs or stories, let me know!)

[roanniom]

Asking virgin eddie if you can blow him

Is That a Serious Question?

Virgin!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, blow job

"I'm sorry, I might have destroyed my ear drums after years of absolutely shredding it on guitar - what did you say to me?"

You and Eddie are standing in the tiny kitchen of your even tinier apartment. You'd invited him back to your place for a night cap after several weeks of hanging out with him through the go between of your mutual friend Robin. You'd been pretty certain when he'd accepted the invitation - coming at the tail end of a pretty tame night out with the gang - that he understood what you'd been implying. So you push your glass aside and lean over your counter towards him, giving him your most sultry smile.

"I asked if I can blow you, handsome."

Eddie's eyes are wide as saucers and you're pretty sure if he grips his glass of whiskey any harder he will certainly shatter it. To avoid that bloody outcome you reach out and pry his fingers off the glass, moving it also to the side and using your grip on his hand to pull him around to your side of the counter.

"C'mon. I felt how hard you were when we were dancing earlier. You can't tell me you're not into me," you say with a playful smirk.

Your casual confidence floors him. Not that he's surprised you're confident. That's precisely what drew him to you in the first place. But the fact that you seem to be aiming that confidence in the direction of pursuing him? That is something he can't fathom.

"I...I'm not sure...I mean if you want, I don't know..."

You start laughing at his stuttering, not unkindly, reaching up to smooth your hand over his upper arm soothingly.

"I promise I don't bite," you tease, giving him a wink. When he doesn't relax the tension laying siege on his body, you chuckle, less certain. "When was the last time someone gave you a blow job? It can't have been that long."

"Try never, princess," Eddie says with a forced chuckle. You go rigid for a split second. Only a split second. And then you give him an easy smile.

"Eddie. Do you want me to put my mouth on your cock?"

Eddie short circuits. He looks at you with half dead eyes that register almost no emotion before his cheeks set aflame, blushing all the way down his neck and, you assume, across his entire chest.

"I...yes. Yes I want that."

Without further preamble, you drop to your knees. Entirely unceremoniously. Right there in your kitchen. Eddie lets out a gasp and reaches down to you, stopping short of touching you in an awkward attempt to keep space even as you begin to unbuckle his belt.

"What?! Right....here? The tile is like....hard and stuff!"

His concern for your comfort is touching and it swoops your stomach in a pleasant way that makes you want to make him cum immediately. You smile up at him.

"You're cute. You know that, Munson?"

Eddie blushes even harder. Completely unsure of what to do in this situation where you seem totally at ease in the face of his anxiety.

You pop open his button and unzip his jeans, giving his boxer-clad cock room to spring up, extending from his body impatiently and clearly ready to be tended to. Yanking his boxers down under his balls, you tsk at the sight of his leaking, angry red cock.

"You poor thing. How long have you been like this?" you ask, reaching and taking him in your hand. His eyelids flutter shut at the feeling of your palm moving up and down the length of his shaft, something he's only felt from himself before.

"I...oh fuck. I got hard the second you said hi at the bar today, princess."

The honesty makes your smile widen. He looks down at you with hooded eyes when he feels the wet expanse of your tongue press to his mushroom head. You lick up the pre-cum that's collected there and Eddie's knees almost buckle. His hands shoot to the counter, gripping at the edge like he's on the side of a cliff about to fall. It's your intention to push him all the way over.

"Fucking shit," Eddie grits through his teeth, looking down at you almost entirely wrecked already with your tongue swirling around the head of his cock and your fist loosely closed around the shaft.

"Feels good, handsome?" you ask, leaving his cock mashed against your bottom lip as you speak. Based on his words and reactions you've pretty much gathered by this point that he has little to no experience. But that's fine. More for you.

"Is that a serious fucking question?" Eddie asks you, sounding absolutely pained. You laugh and lick a stripe up the underside of his cock and he practically convulses.

"So I guess the answer is yes," you tease. One of Eddie's hands drops to the top of your head. Only gripping gently, but the weight of it spurs you on. You take him fully into your mouth and bob once, twice, three times.

"Are you kidding me?!" Eddie moans out. You anchor your hands on his thighs and get to work sucking on his cock. His fingers tug harsher at your hair in response to the fresh experience of having his soul sucked out through his dick, but you don't mind. It only informs and motivates you. Dropping fully so that your nose nestles in the hair at the base of his member, you let his cock move into the tightened space of your throat. When you gag, Eddie practically shout.

"Oh my fucking - fuck!"

Only seconds later Eddie lets out a shuddering groan that is your only indication that he is going to cum, which he does almost immediately after. The salty spend shoots down your throat and you accept it willingly, swallowing till his balls finish seizing and he's practically gasping for air.

When you finally pull off him, like you're done sucking on a lollipop, your face is devious and thoroughly, thoroughly pleased.

"How was that for you, handsome?"

Eddie pulls you roughly up from the floor and into his arms.

"Again with the stupid questions," he says breathlessly before pulling you in for the most lascivious kiss of your life.

~*~

.....

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....

Just adding space so Tumblr can delete this if it wants to instead of the actual writing lol

[fanficsformyfaves]

I Don’t Wanna Live Forever Pt.1

Rhea Ripley x Fem Prostitute!Reader

WARNINGS: SMUT 18+, ANGST, Oral Sex (R Receiving), Fingering (R Receiving), Strap On Sex (R Receiving), Prostitution, Mentions Of Abusive Pimp and Past Trauma, Confessions

PREFACE: Reader was Rhea's favorite girl to call on a Saturday night, but little did she know that the wrestler was falling harder and harder with each visit

A/N: Flashbacks In Italics!

As we stumbled into her bedroom, our hands were all over each other, as our lips met in yet another heated exchange. I pull away briefly to get on my knees, when she stops me.

"Not tonight", she exhaled,

I pout playfully.

"You never let me go down on you"

"Cause that's my job"

My eyebrows furrow at the irony of that sentence.

Rhea had been my main client for the last year. She'd always pay the most, which got her the longest sessions, so I wasn't complaining...except for the fact that I was getting attached.

I couldn't deny it. From the first night we spent together, I knew she wasn't just a regular client. We'd just got done going at it for hours and just when I go to gather my clothes, she stops me.

"You don't have to leave yet", she breathes out,

Leaving me confused.

"I'm sorry?"

"I mean, we could just lay here a while"

This was a first. As obvious as it sounded, I've gotten accustomed to being hastily shoed away right after my sessions, that I was genuinely caught off guard.

"Are you sure?"

"Why not? Do you have any other clients to attend to?"

"Not tonight", I answered,

Suddenly overcome with a new found shyness.

She offered a small smile, before taking me by the hand back to bed. The rest of the evening, I laid in her arms, as she slowly caressed the expanse of my back. We didn't talk or do much of anything past that, besides enjoy the gentle silence and for the first time in what felt like ages, I felt like a person again.

Not just entertainment for someone's pleasure or something to be used. A person.

I know that might not make much sense, but when you've spent so long feeling like you've had to fight for your life everyday, the simple things remind you that it's worth living.

But that in and of itself was a double-edged sword. I couldn't get too used to the comforts I find, cause I knew it was only a matter of time before it gets taken away from me or I end up ruining a good thing for myself. I knew the pains of being used and left behind like trash on the road and I couldn't allow myself to go through that again.

When the morning came, we were still entangled in each other's limbs under the sheets and as much as I wish I could just stay in that moment for longer, I knew my boss would get pissed at me if I missed an appointment.

So with that, I carefully slipped out of her grasp and got dressed, before leaving.

It didn't take long before she booked me again for the following Saturday.

And the one after that and the one after that. With each passing meet, we slowly got to know each other past the physical things like her job, her interests, etc.

"Why'd you get into wrestling?" I asked,

As she lit my cigarette for me.

"Well, I had to do something with this strength...besides carrying pretty girls like you into my room", she teased,

Bringing a blush to my face.

"You say that to all your girls", I challenged,

"No...just my favorite"

Her thumb gently tracing back and forth on my thigh.

Yes, the actual sex was good, but nothing beats what happens afterwards. The talks, the cuddling, the smoking on her balcony. It was all I could want and more.

Which only made it all the more harder to swallow the feelings that were desperately trying to claw their way out of me. I even asked my boss if he could start booking me with other people instead for the sake of not jeopardizing anything, but of course, that wasn't how things worked.

"You're making demands now? You think you're someone special?"

"I didn't mean it like that-"

"You want this job?"

"Yes, but-"

"Tough shit, then. You take what I give you or you walk. You need me more than I need you. I don't care how pretty that face is. You ain't getting special treatment", he said,

Slamming the door in my face.

I was just gonna have to figure it out on my own, whilst pretending like everything was fine, which brings us back to where we were now.

"Plus, you'll ruin the surprise"

She slips my top off over my head, before helping me out my skirt.

"Look at you", she whispered,

Pulling me in by hips, before kissing me once more.

She eventually backed me up against the bed, whilst I unbuttoned her blouse. My eyes wander up and down her inked skin, as my tongue swiped over my top lip in anticipation. I licked a stripe all the way up her abdomen, before eventually meeting her mouth with mine. Her fingers get a grip on my roots, gently pulling my head back to leave wet kisses against my neck.

One thing about Rhea is that she's passionate in the way she touches. She wants me melting before she even truly got started.

She reaches behind me, undoing my bra, as I worked to get my underwear down. I then tug at her sports bra, signaling that I wanted it gone, to which she tugs it off and drops it at our feet. My mouth immediately wraps around one of her stiff buds, causing quiet groans to escape her smeared lips.

"That's it", she praised,

Cradling my head and gently sitting me down. I undo her jeans and pull them down, revealing the surprise in question.

"When did you get this?"

"Came in this morning", she said answered,

Brushing a strand behind my ear.

It was a good length and the thickness was sure to leave me feeling this night well into tomorrow. She's used toys on me before, but nothing quite like this.

"Mind getting it ready for me, darling?"

I chew at my bottom lip, looking up at her with a mischievous grin, before taking the strap into my hand and running my tongue over the tip.

Her eyes stared daggers into my bare skin, taking in every second of the little show I was putting on. Eventually, she pulls away and gets me on my hands and knees. I hear shuffling and just as I go to turn to see what she was doing, I feel her tongue press against my soaked heat. I let out a gasp, feeling the cold metal of her piercing rub against my clit.

Her fingers began rubbing up and down my entrance and with no resistance left in the way, she pushes two digits into me, pressing directly against my sweet spot.

"Oh, God!", I cried,

"He can't hear you", she smiled against me,

Sending chills up my spine.

She spends a good few minutes between my legs bringing me closer and closer to edge and at the very last second, she pulls away with a huff. I whine at the loss of her touch, but she was quick to soothe me.

"Patience, love", she exhales,

Wiping her mouth of my taste and reaching over to shove them in my mouth. I couldn't have accepted faster.

"So good", she says,

Pressing kiss after kiss against my shoulders and back, whilst lining up the toy with my slit. She thrusted into me in one swift motion, shamelessly ripping a scream of her name out of me.

It wasn't long till her momentum picked up and she was repeatedly hitting the spot I needed most. The tight grip she had on my hips would surely leave marks, but did I care? No. I was so engulfed in the pleasure, that all possible consequences ceased to exist.

She then reaches under me and began toying with my already-sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Rhea!", I cried out,

Grabbing behind for one of her hands.

I was at the brink of coming fully undone and it didn't help that her pace only grew more relentless with each pound.

"I'm here, darling", she groaned.

Unbeknownst to me, her own core was rubbing against the harness, meaning she was also chasing a high of her own.

"God, the things you do to me", she praised,

Biting down on my skin, which added even more fuel to the fire that was consuming me whole. The knot in the pit of my stomach was on the verge of snapping apart and I knew she could tell I was close.

"Do it. Fuck, cum!", she moaned,

And with that, I was hurled over the edge along side with her. She kept going, allowing me to ride the orgasm to its last legs, before we both fell against the sheets.

I desperately tried to catch any breath my lungs would allow, as she did the same, holding me in her arms. It took a few moments, but eventually, my vision found its way back to me, despite still seeing stars from how intense it all was.

After allowing me to fully calm, she gently pulls out, making me whine at the sore emptiness.

She soothed my aches with a few quiet hushes, whilst turning me to hold my frame in her arms.

"You did so well", she reassured,

Kissing me softly.

The remainder of the night we had left was spent with her just holding me.

Something about tonight felt different. She was more quiet compared to how she usually was.

"Something on your mind?", I asked,

Looking up into her eyes.

"Nothing. Just you"

There goes my heart again, drumming against the walls of my chest.

"Could I ask you something?"

I nodded against her bicep, not tearing my eyes away from hers.

"Do you ever wish it could just be this?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Just...you and me?"

My heart went from beating at the speed of light to a sudden pause.

"Rhea"

I sit up, pulling the comforter to cover myself.

"I've just been thinking about it", she continued,

"I like you, (Y/N). It's all I've been able to think about"

"You don't mean that"

"I do", she takes my hand into hers,

"That isn't how this works", I sighed.

I could tell she could sense the reluctancy and indecision in my voice.

"We'll never know if we don't try", she argued,

And at this point, I could feel myself holding back tears threatening to spill.

"You pay for my time and I service you. That's it"

She turns away and that's when I knew it was over. I managed to destroy what could be my last shot at something worth living for.

"I'm sorry", I said,

Stepping out of bed.

Not wanting wallow in the mess I made any longer, I simply just got dressed and left without another word. As painful as it was to go for the very last time, I knew it was for the better.

Or so I thought.

[g1rld1ary]

lifeguard!james x reader 3

wc: 1384

cw: horny.

the next time you saw james was early in the morning. you were on a run, trying to get it in before the sun reached full strength and it became awful to even move, so most of your town wasn't awake yet. you ran through the streets, legs burning and lungs heaving as you focused on the good parts of the experience. the emptiness of the streets let you admire the old buildings -- maybe worse for wear but still architecturally beautiful. the smell of bread filled the air from one of the nearby bakeries, so far untouched by the stench of petrol usually pervading the main street. you waved at one of the bakers arranging the display cabinet in the window, the father of someone you went to school with.

the joy of the morning had distracted you from the pain of running, but when you reached the site of a public drink tap you realised how much your legs ached, tired pain shooting out from the knees. you'd run a bit further than you normally would have caught up in your daydreams, so you took a break for a drink and to stretch out the soreness in your legs, pulling your cap off to wipe the sweat from your brow. you glanced to your left casually, whipping your head back for a double take when you saw james in the window of the 24-hour gym, doing god knows what on a machine you didn't know the name of. you did, however, know that it was turning you on.

both your interactions with james thus far had featured him shirtless; as a lifeguard, it was bound to happen even with the mandatory red and yellow sun shirt, and james in particular seemed determined to wear it as little as possible. so, you knew he was gorgeous, with the body of a Greek god and the confidence to show it off. this somehow seemed more sensual -- how was it that sometimes wearing some clothes was more sexual than wearing nothing? james was in a muscle shirt with the arm holes cut longer to give a peek into the broad expanse of chest underneath. he was on the ergo, you remembered marlene explaining once, and the way his muscles shifted under his skin was downright sinful. you'd never understood why they were described as 'rippling' until you saw james'.

you realised with a start you were openly ogling him on the side of the main street and tore your eyes away with a start, pretending to admire a nearby tree as you felt your embarrassment catch up to you. you fanned yourself with your cap quickly, putting on a big show of taking a rest break for no one but yourself. stealing one last glance at him, glistening with sweat and looking positively unearthly, you began to run again, filing the image away for when you were alone.

you were pretty sure he hadn't seen you, thank god, but your hammering heart still matched the pounding of your feet against the pavement as you headed home. you figured if nothing else, giving you full-body goosebumps just by working out probably earned him your name, and you resolved to give it to him the next time you met.

you thought you were safe for the rest of the day since you were working a shift at the local supermarket, alas, fate had other plans. you'd been behind the counter for a few hours, well into the groove of scanning the items through and getting them into bags as fast as possible.

"hi, welcome to -- oh!" you said, meeting his hazel eyes. "james."

"nice uniform," he glanced down at your shirt, eyes catching on your silver name tag. he tried it out, seemingly content with the way it sounded from his mouth.

"you caught me." you smiled, not upset your game had come to an end.

"how do you know this girl, jamie?" the woman next to him said and you noticed her for the first time. she had to be his mother, both contextually and because they shared the same spark of trouble in their eye and lopsided smile. you raised an eyebrow in his direction: jamie. james seemed unfazed, to his credit, smiling down at his mum warmly.

"this is one of the girls i told you i met down at the pool. my first friend here." his earnestness caught you off guard again and you hated the way it warmed your heart.

"it's nice to meet you mrs, uh..."

"potter," she finished for you, "but call me effie, all of james' friends do." you smiled at her, introducing yourself politely despite the name tag rendering it superfluous.

you continued to make small talk with them as you bagged their groceries, surprised by how easy it was to talk to james and his mum. you were never really one for new people in general, growing up in a smaller town made it an unnecessary skill to develop, but you were especially bad with parents. you could hardly talk to lily's parents, and she was your closest friend. yet, with effie it felt natural, as if you'd known the both of them all your life.

you answered her questions about the town patiently, giving her recommendations about what you thought were the best restaurants and telling her about the book club your mum was part of that might be a good way for her to make friends. as the transaction came to an end effie was all gratitude, showering you with kind compliments and an invitation to visit their house whenever you pleased (much to james' chagrin, judging by his red cheeks).

"you bring these to the car, mum. i just have another question and then I'll be right out." you looked at him curiously, unsure of what couldn't wait or be said in front of effie. james watched her leave for a second before turning to you with an unnaturally innocent expression.

"you follow arsenal, right? pretty chuffed with their results this season, though I wish they could've brought it home." you opened your mouth to reply before pausing, your eyes narrowing to scrutinise him.

"how do you know i support them?" you asked, sure you hadn't brought up football in your limited interactions with him.

"you were wearing their hat, right? this morning?" he asked, and you tried to think back, oh. if you hadn't picked up on the reference, james' shit-eating grin told you all you needed to know. he'd seen you this morning. oh god, james had seen you checking him out from the street and you wanted to sink into a hole.

somewhat predictably, james didn't appear mad. in fact, he looked rather pleased with himself as you covered your face with your hands, hoping he'd just leave you to wallow in self-pity.

"you know, you could've just asked," he said casually, as if you weren't utterly embarrassed, "i would've let you watch. hell, i'll let you touch if you ask nicely." now he was teasing, and for the sake of your pride you had to come up with something in response or he'd take the upper hand and never give it back.

"i was just making sure you didn't hurt yourself, big boy." not your best, but at least it wasn't tears of shame, and james seemed amused anyhow.

"good to know you would have saved me, supergirl." he shot you a wink and you scoffed good-naturedly. you shooed him off with the excuse of his mum waiting in a hot car, but honestly, you knew you couldn't keep up the banter or staring up into his eyes for much longer without jumping his bones in the middle of the checkout line. you had a feeling your boss wouldn't take too kindly to you riding james potter on the conveyor belt, even if he was the hottest man you'd ever seen in your life.

"see you later, hot stuff!" he called, probably too loudly for the grocery store, a cheeky salute to you as he braved the heat outside.

"bye, baywatch," you muttered, praying you didn't look as flustered as you felt. you called the next customer over, greeting them politely as you tried to pretend there wasn't an aching in your core.

not sure if im convinced by james as an arsenal supporter but lmk if you have a more fitting team for him!!

[veritas-scribblings]

lip gloss - @jegulus-microfic - words: 1,171 [explicit / NSFW]

James would like it on record that he did not have an ulterior motive. It was a little bit of innocent fun. His curiosity had got the better of him. So when Sirius said, ‘Can I do your make up?’ James had eagerly replied, ‘Sure!’

Sirius had gone through this stage while back at Hogwarts, see. He called it his ‘cheek and chic’ stage, in the spirit of David Bowie and Freddie Mercury. Glam rock. Flamboyant and larger than life, much like Sirius himself. Kind of rock and roll, but with a heavy dosing of glitter and sparkles. 

And make up.

Because Sirius is a rebel. He had spent years trying to find himself, trying to define himself, and he can never do anything quietly. These days, Sirius is more subdued—there’s less glitter and sparkles involved—but he’s still an artist at heart and every once in a while, he likes to dabble. Dip his toe back in.

That’s how they ended up here, with Regulus pinning James to the couch, his gaze fixed, charged. 

Regulus runs his hands through the hair Sirius had so meticulously styled, kisses, licks, sucks a pathway up James’s neck. He’s unbuttoned James’s shirt, pushed it open, so he can get his hands on every square centimetre of skin exposed. 

James wants to ask Regulus what he wants: what can I do, what can I give you, what do you need? But Regulus’s movements are determined, hungry, desperate and soveryintentional that all James can do is gasp, hiss through his teeth, grip Regulus’s silky locks in his fist. And then carefully, he releases them, pats Regulus’s hair back down in apology because he knows that Regulus hates it when James pulls. Gently, James cards his fingers through a few times, biting back a deep moan. 

It’s just that Regulus hasn’t said anything to him yet since he walked through their front door, spotted James on the couch and all but attacked him. Now, James is laying on the couch, Regulus straddling his waist, the friction against James’s arousal overwhelming, and he keeps dodging James’s attempts to kiss him. 

Preferring, instead, to tend to James’s chest, rubbing the pad of his thumb over James’s sensitive, hardened nipples. He leans down and takes one into his mouth, gently licking, sucking, grazing his teeth over it, swirling his tongue around it. James cries out, the sensation washing through him like a wave, knows that he’s swearing. Because Regulus is a menace, an absolute menace. A beautiful, beautiful menace. He rocks in James’s lap, swivels, rolls his hips in sharp thrusts and deep grinds, all but riding James.

The movements pull ragged, breathy moans from James. Gripping Regulus’s waist, he curses, slamming his head back against the couch cushion in frustration. Certain that Regulus is trying to kill with sosomuch and notnearlyenough. James tugs frustratedly at Regulus’s shirt as Regulus’s hips reach a tortuous, merciless pace. With the sweetest of smiles, Regulus pulls his shirt off, giving James a wide expanse of flushed, milky skin to run his hands over. 

‘Reggie,’ he warns, low and shaky, ‘keep it up and I’m going to finish in my pants before we get a chance to actually do anything.’ 

Regulus leans back, hands gripping James’s thighs, fingers scratching at the fabric of his trousers. ‘Are you wearing make up?’ he demands at first, then quickly changes his phrasing. Because it’s not a question. He knows James’s hair, James’s eyes, James’s cheeks and lips and colouring intimately. 

And, oh…oh, is that it?

‘You’re wearing make up,’ Regulus says.

Regulus takes James by the chin, tips his head to the left, to the right. With a quizzical expression, he drags his thumb over James’s lips, a pink nude colour, Sirius had informed him. His lips are sticky, James knows, and he can tell that Regulus isn’t so sure about that part. That Regulus has been weighing the pros and cons of kissing him.

That being said, Regulus does appear to be quite the fan of the other parts. 

‘Careful, dear,’ James says between laboured breaths. ‘You’ll smudge me.’

Regulus just frowns and leans back again, swivelling his hips, eliciting a chesty groan of, ‘ohshitohshit,’ from James. Regulus’s expression darkens, his movements pooling straight through James so he’s that much closer to teetering on the edge of his orgasm.

And then where would they be? Because ever since Regulus had walked through the door and all but tackled him onto the couch, James has known exactly what he wants, and that’s to get Regulus naked and to worship his magnificent body. But what James also always wants is to give Regulus what he wants, and what Regulus really seems to want right now is to pry an orgasm directly from the depths of James’s soul with how very into James he currently seems.

And James can never not give Regulus what he wants, so here lies James: conflicted

When Regulus plants his hands on James’s shoulders and rocks again, James hastily rushes out, ‘Fuck, Reggie, stopstopstop, just wait.’

Regulus diligently stops. Waits. He shuffles backwards so he’s no longer seated directly on top of James’s achingly hard erection, and then has the audacity to give James the sweetest, most innocent of smiles that James can’t help but smile back. James closes his eyes, because looking at Regulus all flushed and incredibly turned on and slightly mussed and shirtless is doing nothing to stem the pleasureblissarousaldesire rushing through his veins. 

‘Just give me a moment,’ James says, breath heaving, heart racing marathons in his chest.

‘Then we continue.’

‘Yes, then we continue.’ James groans, has to grab Regulus’s hands, which have started to trace a pathway to the waistband of his pants, and warns, ‘Don’t touch me if you want to continue. Don’t even look at me.’

Regulus laughs quietly. ‘I like the make up,’ he leans over and whispers by James’s ear. ‘You should wear it more often. You look so lovely.’ To his credit, he’s being careful not to touch James, hovering over him, James left feeling somewhat bereft, but…fuck.

James moans, grips the couch cushion beneath him, hips jerking up into the air. Regulus’s words have hit James straight in the groin, and he shudders, twitches. Feels the energy of Regulus’s words like static, electric, a buzz in the air, on his skin.

‘You’re so pretty like this, Jamie, so beautiful,’ Regulus whispers by James’s ear, his breath warm, ghosting against James’s skin. ‘Did you do it for me, Jamie? You did, didn’t you. You’re so good like that. So good for me. I love you like this.’

James whines, teetering now. Teetering so close, and when Regulus finishes with a quiet, ‘I love you,’ James’s eyes roll back and he’s seeing stars, seeing white, the full force of his orgasm hitting him so intensely that he is lost to the world for a moment. 

When James comes to, Regulus is kissing him. Regulus pulls back, brushes James’s hair from his forehead, studying him with an expression so enamoured that James’s heart flutters in his chest. Distantly, James thinks that Regulus may be right. And that maybe make-up should come with some sort of warning label.

‘I love you too,’ James murmurs drowsily as Regulus lays down, humming, so they’re chest-to-chest. ‘Just give me ten minutes to recover and I’ll get you back.’

[rooksamoris]

💞 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐒.

💞 — in which jamil realizes that no matter how hard he avoid the oasis, the thirst will not disappear till it is quenched.

💞 — jamil viper x reader

💞 — warnings: hurt/comfort type fic. some descriptions of gore to emphasize yearning (the arabs be dramatic, what can i say)

💞 — 1.7k words. inspired by "sawwah" the song by abdel halim hafez. you should listen to it while reading tbh. first in a series of me assigning old school arabic songs to various characters. and yes, arabic speaking jamil is back. the translations are italicized with the arabic, and i changed some lyrics to fit third person, instead of first.

Wa ana mashi fil bilad, sawwah.

And I walk through countries, a vagabond.

Jamil had a job. He was bound to eternal servitude to the Al-Asim family—practically property to Bait (house/clan) Al-Asim. He had a job, and yet he spent his nights away in his mind, wandering like a vagabond. Purposeless, jobless. 

All those nights toiling in the kitchen of Scarabia made him forget purpose and work were different things. He would never call working for that spoiled boy his purpose. He was made for more—to be praised, to rule and command. He deserved more. Jamil deserved more than having to push away his moon, his qamar (moon). 

You were like an oasis in the desert expanse that he called his mind, and yet he walked away from you. He walked away when he desperately needed a sip. When he desperately needed rest and dates from your palm.

“Qad jinint? (Have you become crazed?) I have too many things to deal with. And you’d be better off without the burden of my title. Imshi (Go on/walk off).”

Jamil saw it. He saw the way your expression faltered, the softest twitch in your brow, the smallest tremble of your lips. It was cruel, he knew it, and it hurt him to say it. But in the end, he knew there was nothing else he could say. There must have been a better way to delicately reject your confessions, and yet he took the harshest route. Jamil plucked the dates from your palm and trampled over them.

He hurt himself by doing so, denying himself the one thing he desperately wanted. In the end, it was simple. Mishwar baeed, wa hu gareeh. His life was a long journey that only injured him. He did not want it to injure you as well.

Still, his charcoal eyes would seek you out. He would still ask Kalim about you, wanting to know how the distance was affecting you. Did you become a vagabond as he did? Were you avoiding oases?

Did you ask about the brown-skinned boy who broke your heart? He just wanted to be reassured—tamainu (reassure him)—that his qamar was doing alright. Wa in la’akum habibi, salamuli alai, he wanted to tell Kalim. If you see my love, wish them peace from me.

He would never ask you himself, nor did he get the chance to since you would scurry off whenever he passed by. The one place he could not avoid you was the kitchen of Scarabia, his domain, during one of Kalim’s parties. You were hiding away from the madness, and he had been trying to hide away from you. It was the same spot in which you cooked with him, listened to him, and were eventually rejected by him.

Jamil froze after walking in, and you turned your head up from your phone once you saw him, “I’m sorry,” you said, pushing yourself off of the counter and heading for the other door. You could not face him, not after that rejection. Not after he told you that your feelings were that of a crazed djinni (genie/jinn).

He shook his head and walked to the stove top, turning it on, “Stay. I’ll make chai,” he muttered. He did not even look at you.

You still wanted to leave, but instead, you just nodded. Honestly, you were a fool for the man, for that long dark brown hair which he braided so perfectly, and his aquiline nose which you desperately wanted to trace your finger along, “I don’t want to trouble you—”

“It’s no trouble. It gives me an excuse to get away from Kalim.”

You swallowed and nodded.

The silence was horrifically uncomfortable. The only sounds in the kitchen were the boiling water in the kettle and the sound that the mortar and pestle made while Jamil began to grind the herbs for the tea. Chai, cloves, cardamom—he added cinnamon this time. The scent always made everything more cozy.

Ya qamar, ya nasini. Oh moon who forgets me. Jamil hoped you would have gotten over your feelings for him and forgotten about the rejection, but he could tell it stung. The way you looked around the kitchen proved that enough. He poured the evaporated milk into the tea, let it simmer with the racing of his heart, and then poured both of you cups. He was gentle as he set your cup in front of you, unlike the savagery that he handled your heart with. 

Jamil leaned against the island, his eyes trailing over your face, “Are you—”

“I’m fine,” you blurted, holding the cup of tea. Waseitak, waseiya, ya shahid aleiya, “I promised you—you heard. You saw,” you elaborated, “I’m fine.” Tekilu ala beiyak. You could have told him of the state you were in after the rejection, but you opted for lies veiled by a fake grin.

He understood. He did not let you see past his veil either, “I see.” 

“The tea is great.”

“Thanks.”

There it was, another uncomfortable silence. His eyes said it all, though. Had you looked close enough, you would have seen how they ached to sacrifice themselves for you. He wished his worries for you would leave him alone—he would have gouged his eyes out just to make the aching in his heart disappear. It was curling in on itself, threatening to burst with the violence of a desert storm, sand filled his lungs, suffocating him. The weeks felt like years, and he was just a nomad in the night.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he set his cup down.

You immediately frowned and put your teacup down as well, scared you would drop in, “You don’t get to say that now,” you mumbled.

Jamil nodded in agreement. It was cruel, rejecting you so harshly just to turn around and claim he did not mean any of it. Especially when he still did find you crazy for loving him as ardently as you claimed, “It’s wrong. I know,” he said, looking away from you and to the door where all the commotion was. The music was muffled by the shut doors, making the kitchen feel like an entirely different building, “But I… I feel the same.”

That was another lie. He did not just feel the same, Jamil longed for you. He yearned, his heart ached and his veins begged to be torn out for your sake. Every cell in his body called for your name, his hands begged to grasp your waist, kiss your neck—his hands which artfully painted henna, wished they could trace every curve and every dip on your body.

“Jamil…” you trailed off.

He merely shook his head, “It is because I feel the same that I must reject you. You—you have so much more waiting in your life without me. My suffering should not be yours,” he said, and he said it as if it were the law of the universe. He was a vagabond eternally bound to avoid the oases because the oases were not meant for him. They were meant for Kalim Al-Asim.

Despite all that, he did not push you away when you cupped his face. He did not protest as he drowned. He did not thrash, he did not fight. His body did as it wished, leaning into your hands, “Ya qamar… you are making this more difficult than it needs to be,” he muttered, the disdain dying before it could embrace the quiet air of the kitchen.

You frowned at him—sevens, he wanted to kiss that mouth of yours—and your brows furrowed, “Let me, Jamil. Just let me,” you said. What did you want him to let you do? You had no clue, or perhaps it was just too broad to describe.

Nawarli, wararili, seitak al-habayeb.

Enlighten and show me the path to the beloveds.

He was so weak when it came to you. Before he knew it, his hands were at the small of your back, pulling you closer and forcing you to arch against him as his lips met yours in a fierce kiss. He sighed into your mouth, his tongue slipping in when you gasped in surprise.

Jamil needed you even closer. His hands made their way down to your hips, his thumbs slipping under the hem of your shirt to feel your skin. It was just as nice as he dreamed it would be. What made it all the better was how you kissed him back.

One of your hands gripped his shirt, right at his chest, right above his cruel racing heart, and the other held the back of his head. The quietest of whimpers escaped you as he bit your bottom lip, causing him to groan. 

He pressed you against the counter, causing your hand to slip from his chest and move to hold onto the surface behind you. You kissed him till you could not breathe, “Ja—Jamil,” you stammered when your lips parted from his. 

Greedily, he went in and kissed you some more. Jamil had taken a sip, and now he wanted it all. He only pulled away when your hands pressed against his chest to push him away. His eyes widened and his hands fell back to his sides. He pulled the hood down to hide his face from you as he turned his head, “Sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s—It’s fine,” you replied, fixing your clothes and hair, “Are we…” you let the question hang like a date on a palm tree.

He nodded, “If you’ll still have me,” he replied. What he wanted to do was get on his knees and beg you to use your lips to end his suffering—beg that you use those hands to pull the sand out of his chest.

“Of course, I’d still have you, Jamil,” 

Your words were like a soothing balm. It was the salve that you spread over his burns, over his scars, and over the bruises that his yearning created, “Okay,” he said, and it was all he could manage to say for now. 

He picked up the kettle of tea and poured you some more. No matter what he did, he could not run away from you, his purpose. You forced the vagabond to stop and pulled the title right off of him, before pushing him into the waters of the oasis.

“We have some ma’amoul (semolina biscuit stuffed with date filling),” he says, after some silence.

[kaixserzz]

eons adrift ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ wanderer x gn!reader

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🎐 ꒱ "i'll come and find you in every life celestia will give me." "that's not possible, you and i both know that." "watch me!"

 ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ cw: character analysis-ish, mildly proofread, drabble but it's kinda messy, its more like an idea than a fic LOLLL im sorry, hurt/comfort

scaramouche took you for a naive fool, just as he was when oh so stupidly believed those words as kunikuzushi.

you are but a human. a mere breath of his everlasting eternity. a few hundreds of years and he would forget everything about you.

insignificant, you humans were.

frail.

vulnerable.

so so easy to break.

as he walked into the path of darkness; consuming him and turning him into someone he doesn't recognize in the mirror no longer—kabukimono, kunikuzushi, the love of your life, was long gone. memories like the leaves that turn yellow and crumble to ashes as winter approaches.

yet the winter will remain in his empty chest for as long as he walks teyvat. churning into a blizzard of ice cold pain, destroying everything around him as it grows. he continues to walk this wretched path he chose.

but then he met someone, rekindling the spark that was once there beneath his porcelain skin. trying to light up a burn out wick, to bring an end to his winter and bring forth the beautiful spring he was once.

scaramouche never thought he'd love again.

even after all through the pain he went from the doctor's experiments, after roaming the great expanse of the abyss, after becoming the balladeer, the 6th of the fatui harbingers, he still felt.

love.

happiness.

pain.

sorrow.

and regret.

he hates it, but he loves them, just as much as he loved you.

though he allowed someone new worm their way into his heart, he kept them in arm's reach. he cannot bear to be vulnerable to someone else. they were human, they were to die; he is a puppet, he is meant to live on forever.

but then he heard them say things only you would say. giving him lavender melons you bought off the market, accidentally calling him names only you would know.

he remember that promise you made him before you died.

"i'll come and find you in every life celestia will give me."

scaramouche did not understand what he felt when he realized that his new lover, was in fact, just a reincarnation of you. and just like that, your name burns back itself into his mind—a name he thought he had erased into obscurity, along with his past.

he was a fool, scaramouche thought. he laughed at himself, a laugh void of humor, nor joy.

it was your name, your first incarnation, just in a different language.

it appears that scaramouche didn't like this feeling. of bitter butterflies in his stomach, the familiarity when you try to get close to him, the same smile you had, the light full of love in your eyes—it was all too much for him.

so he left you in the snow of his ever growing blizzard. buried under the thick layers of freezing ice.

and again, to your next reincarnation. a fatui, a vendor, an adventurer, a knight, a scholar—male, female, neither, or all of them; tall, short, plump, slim, dark or light skinned,

he cannot bear to lose you just as he first did.

slipping by his fingers, to the one thing he is not affected by.

death.

he doesn't accept the fact that your love has led you back to him, again and again.

why do you even keep coming back? don't you know he's part of the fatui? don't you know what he has done? don't you know what he has become?

and yet you'd knock on his door, calling his name with your voice full of warmth, arms wide for him to take and allow himself to be called yours again—all he had to do was open the door.

he has kept a lock on it ever since he met you again.

worn down and rotten; chains all rusted, handle jammed and barely working. he approaches the door once again. this time, as wanderer. a better version of himself,

one that's finally willing to open the door to you.

but you weren't there anymore, waiting for him on the other side.

how could you? you were never there in the first place.

not with this version of himself.

not as the wanderer.

and maybe that was for the best. even though he cries himself to sleep at night for all the things he has done to you. weeping, as he curls onto the sheets, praying to the stars above in hopes you'd hear his heartbroken apologies, yearning for your love, your touch, your smiles—

this was his punishment for hurting you, for being a fool. he was underserving of your love, after all.

"hey, wanderer, was it?"

a new voice, someone unfamiliar. he refrained from sighing, for buer's sake, and instead took a deep, refreshing breath. he turns, and the stranger smiles brightly at him.

immediately, as if the winds of spring has hit him all so suddenly in the face. the fragrance of blooming flowers that was once buried under the snow, the sun shining brightly in the skies, and birds chirping symphonies.

like the mornings brimming with new found hope, the smell of dew sticking onto his clothes as he trace his fingers all over the a tree's trunk. like the the juices of a fruit he sank his teeth into, dribbling down the corners of his lips and down his arms.

warmth tingled on his skin, and his heart leaps.

"nice to meet you!" you say your name, a name he has heard hundreds of versions before, all so different and yet they all felt and tasted like honey dripping down his tongue. "i hope we get along."

"yeah," he says, almost breathless, as the tears begins to well in his eyes. his fingers tremble, and his smile grew wobbly. tipping his hat down to avoid your gaze, his voice cracks. "i hope so too."

his door was wide open, waiting for you come in.

you grin, and take a step inside.

 ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

author's note: "i thought this was a dottore only blog? SHUT UP!!!!! SHUT UP!!! 🥹🥹🥹🥹 IM MAD AT MYSELF TOO BUT THIS IS FOR @fatuismooches also new format because im too lazy to open my files :/ not back yet, i just wanna write this for the pookie 💗💗 ty for listening to me ramble like a madman ur single handedly gettin me thru it ong LMAOOO /lh

[mncxbe]

HII can i have sfw prompt 1 with tetchou and jouno, and nsfw 15 for tetchou and jouno too?? thankies

1– first time going on a date with them

15– they want you to call them daddy

ღೀ๋࣭ ⭑𝒄𝒘: threesome, double penetration, creampie, little bit of degrading, hair pulling, calling Jouno daddy cuz I don't see Tecchou being into that

"Excuse me, what?" deadpanned Jouno "You want both of us to take you out on a date?"

"Yea, exactly that. Whoever offers me a better time will be my boyfriend" you said confidently, looking at the two men before you.

For the past few weeks, Jouno and Tecchou had been trying to win you over. It was a silly competition, really, but both of them were adamant to make you their girlfriend. So you provided them with the perfect chance to do that.

Little did you know that your colleagues would go out of their way to make sure you choose them. From taking you to the most expansive restaurants in town to showering you with gifts, the guys really outdid themselves. You had such a fantastic time that, at the end of the night, you really couldn't choose between them. Good thing that Jouno had an idea how to settle your indecision once and for all.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡

The sounds of skin slapping against skin bounced off the walls off your bedroom as your colleagues' hips snapped against yours. You were sandwitched between the two men, your face buried in the crook of Tecchou's neck as you huffed out moans and ragged breaths. God knows how both their dicks fitted inside your cunt– you were so full and the stretch was borderline painful, but you were taking it like a champ.

"Can you please slow down" you babbled out. The comment earned you an amused chuckle from Jouno. Running his hands through your hair, the white haired man behind you tugged at your roots, pulling you closer to him. "Come on, baby, you're doing good for us. Quit whining."

"Don't be mean to her, Jouno" retorted Tecchou, but Jouno was relentless. He pulled you flush against his chest, pistoning his cock inside you at a punishing pace that Tecchou struggled to keep up with.

"Don't go defending her, idiot. She's the one who asked for this, making us spoil her all day, follow her around like we're damn dogs." His words were punctuated by a harsh thrust, making both you and Tecchou groan. "Oh I bet this is what you wanted all along, you little slut. To have us fuck you like this."

"M-no Sai 'm sorry I didn't wanna upset you" you mewled, eyes rolling back into your skull as the two man tightened their grip on your body. You felt your head spinning from pleasure and it was getting harder to breathe, shallow breaths getting stuck in your throat. Your skin was clammy, sweat dripping down your abdomen as your colleagues bounced you on their cocks.

"No one's mad, baby. We just ah fuck– just want you to choose someone." reassured the white haired man, a devious smile tugging at the corners of his lips "Unless you want us to share you."

Tecchou nodded frantically, his pretty face scrunching up in pleasure. "Y-yea, we'll share you, beautiful, just give us the go." You could tell both of them were close, their cocks pulsating inside your walls.

Your colleagues sighed contently, spilling their loads inside you before collapsing on the mattress. Jouno pulled out of you with a wet pop but Tecchou remained sheated inside you, his strong arms wrapping around your waist as he pressed his forehead against yours.

This was just too perfect, having the men you were head over heels for agreeing to share you; not to mention the amazing sex you'd get on a daily basis. "You bet shit— I'm all yours."

"Oh yea?" smirked Jouno "Tell me, who do you belong to?"

"Fuck– you daddy. I belong to you."

"You were so good for us, pretty" he praised and your mind went blank, a fuzzy feeling washing over you as you snuggled closer to his chest. Jouno heard your heart skipping a beat and frowned, pettily crossing his arms. Now that was something he'd need time to get used to.

"Back off, idiot. We agreed to share her so I get to hold her too."

[garycxjk]

Why most people don't get Europapa

So, Joost Klein's Europapa apparently is taking the world by storm. With its happy hardcore or gabber house tunes and beats and the silly music video, there's no denying that this song has a certain charm, though it also has its detractors.

The thing is, though, most people on both sides don't fully get the song.

To summarize the song, it's essentially about an orphan who travels around Europe to find himself. Those were in Joost's own words.

Europapa is about an orphan who travels throughout Europe (and beyond) to find himself and tell his story. At first, people don’t recognise him, but he goes on seizing any opportunity he gets to let himself be seen. Europapa is a tribute to my father. When bringing me up, he passed on to me an expansive view of the world.

Okay, but why does the song sound so silly? Well, that's something deliberate. I don't really know much about Joost Klein's music, but what I do know is that this is basically what most of his songs are. Silly, yet deep.

Okay, brief detour to give context to the rest of what I'm writing, but it's important to remember that Joost Klein basically became an orphan at a young age. He lost his father to cancer when he was 12, and a year later, his mother died as well. This essentially shaped his music. From what I can gather from the many YouTube comments, he always watched Eurovision with his parents, and told them that one day he'd be there on stage.

So, let's just talk about the elephant in the room. Some people call this European propaganda. However, just the first few lines clue you in that it isn't just some pro-EU propaganda.

Welcome to Europe Stay here until I die

In fact, there are several lines used that wouldn't sit right if it were pro-EU propaganda. Let's look at the second verse.

Ich bin in Deutschland Aber ich bin so allein

Which roughly translates to

I'm in Germany But I'm so lonely

The next lines, "Io sono in Italia / Maar toch doet het pijn" (first line Italian, second line Dutch), which translates to "I'm in Italy / But I still feel pain".

Essentially, the entire song is him trying to let go of his past, to let go of his grief. That's essentially what the burning house and the windmill represent at the end, finally moving on from the past.

And that's essentially what the entire song is about. The entire song sounds like it's stuck in the '90s and early noughties. Naturally the most glaring part is the music style. Back in the '90s, happy hardcore and gabber house was really big, especially in the Netherlands. The way people dance back then and dressed when they did can be seen in the scene with Paul Elstak. Then there's the Gameboy Advance, which came out in the early 2000s.

Another cool thing is a reference to New Kids, a Dutch comedy show from 2007, when someone says "Welkom in Europa jongen!" ("Welcome in Europe boy!"). On the television screen, you can see Gerrie van Boven, played by Tim Haars, a character from New Kids.

But it isn't just a throwback. It's all being done deliberate. Something that gets lost in translation is the text. The rhymes work, however, to a Dutch person, it sounds a bit... childish. Very simple, at the very least. But I think that even that is done deliberately. It sounds like a child has been writing these lines, but I think that's the point of the song. It's supposed to sound like a child has been writing these lines.

The entire song is about the protagonist being stuck in the past, being stuck in his grief. It's why there's a disconnect between the text and the melody. Sure, it's a celebration of Europe, of Eurovision. Joost Klein genuinely loves Eurovision. However, it's also essentially him saying, this is me closing another chapter in my life.

Let's take a look at the outro of the song.

Op kruistocht in m'n spijkerbroek, lopend door de velden M'n papa en m'n mama zijn voor altijd mijn helden Aan het einde van de dag zijn we allemaal mensen M'n vader zei me ooit: "Het is een wereld zonder grenzen" Regen op het raam en ik stond huilend bij het venster Veel te vroeg duister, het is winter in de lente "Ik mis je elke dag", is wat ik stiekempjes fluister Zie je nou wel, pa? Ik heb naar je geluisterd

This... seems quite long, doesn't it? Well, that's because that's the full outro. What most hear during the video clip is this:

Aan het einde van de dag zijn we allemaal mensen M'n vader zei me ooit: "Het is een wereld zonder grenzen" "Ik mis je elke dag", is wat ik stiekempjes fluister Zie je nou wel, pa? Ik heb naar je geluisterd

Let's translate the full lyrics. I'll put the translations of the lyrics in the music video in bold and italic.

On my crusade in jeans, walking through the fields My dad and mom are forever my heroes At the end of the day we are all human beings My father once told me: "It's a world without borders" Rain on the window and I stood at the window crying Darkness far too soon, it's Winter in Spring "I miss you every day", is what I secretly whisper You see dad, I listened to you

So, basically, the gist is, this song has many layers. It's a heartfelt tribute to Eurovision, while also telling a personal story about grief and letting go of said grief.

Though I think this interview with Joost Klein on De Avondshow met Arjen Lubach may say more than I could.

Well, sometimes you must say goodbye to whatever is most dear to you. And when one door closes thousands of others open, apparently. But what I've learned is that you tend to hold on to your own pain sometimes. So this letter provides some sort of closure, dare I say. Saying: "Hey, Mum and Dad... You will always be there for me, but I can't carry this pain forever."