#i WILL put it up on ao3 just in a hot minute lol

[possibilistfanfiction]

legitimately fuckin obsessed with the avatrice football au my dude. that last snippet brought me pure JOY im tellin you what

[well here's some ava pov while i procrastinate ch3 plot lol, s/o to @unicyclehippo for the worst/best gay pun of all time, love u. honestly this is long enough to put on ao3 so ... i'll do that in a footy au series i suppose for context... justice for chanel lol]

///

waking up from your first surgery is a blur, mostly an inexplicable terror when you can’t feel your legs, when you can barely move your fingers. tears leak from your eyes and you can’t wipe them, can only let them roll down into your temples. but then there’s a hand in yours, and chanel’s comforting touch, her voice soft.

‘it’ll be okay, ava,’ she says.

it won’t be okay, you’re certain of it, because you’d been taken straight from the field to the hospital, and then right into surgery, your kit cut off so that they didn’t move your spine more than you already had. you love football; you love football, the feeling of being so at home in your body, the feeling of going fast and the delight of the burn in your muscles, of not being afraid of anything.

‘i’m really scared.’ you look at chanel, showered and gorgeous, in a team issued bomber that seems impossibly elegant, even now. 

‘yeah,’ she grants, swipes her thumb against your cheeks and into your hair, catching your tears. she grabs a tissue and wipes your nose, which, from anyone else, would be absolutely horrifying, but she does it with so little fanfare and you’re in pain and also not pain — the worse option — you can’t even really care. she’s your favorite teammate: kind and brave and funny. she’s your friend. ’you’re gonna get through this, though.’

‘i don’t — i don’t want to.’

you don’t even quite know what you mean, still out of it because of pain meds and anesthesia, but chanel sighs gently.

‘you will. one day, you will.’

/

you don’t, not for a long time. after your fifth surgery you kind of tell yourself that you’ve definitely given up on football; they move you to a long-term rehab facility specifically for spine injuries, which is better than the hospital for sure, but it’s still hours and hours of physical and occupational therapy that leaves you feeling discouraged more often that not. once the inflammation starts to go down in your spine, you start to, at least, regain some function in your arms and hands, and after your sixth surgery, things are, you’ll admit, more hopeful. at the very least, you’ll be able to do things like use a manual chair and cook and type emails. 

you’re not great at texting yet; your occupational therapist is always telling you that if you worked on writing, and holding cutlery, and even more boring, pointless shit like pick up sticks, you’d have an easier time, but, whatever, you can type with the pointer finger of your right hand and it gets the job done. chanel visits as often as she can, most days in the late morning, which feels particularly generous in the off season when she could be being glamorous somewhere else, probably invited to paris fashion week or something. she brings makeup — expensive, beautiful makeup — and doesn’t seem to care when you clumsily fuck up lipstick or poke your eye with a mascara wand. you know she brings it so you actually do your occupational therapy exercises, but she also brings you changes of comfortable clothes and washes your hair gently every few days. she lies back in bed with you, long limbed and beautiful, and watches matches when you don’t feel too sad. 

a few days after your eighth surgery, your last, according to your neurosurgeon, you wear a giant back brace over your beatrice xin jersey, your favorite player to watch, and your physical therapy team gets you strapped into this harness that connects to the ceiling so you can try to walk on the treadmill and for sure won’t fall. it kind of feels like you’re doing a stunt or something, and chanel stands there and indulges you with a smile while you make all of your best ‘strapped into a harness’ jokes.

and then — you do walk. it’s slow going, the treadmill barely moving, and your legs feel sluggish and so weak and almost not like your own. it’s been two months since you took a step and it feels like a fucking miracle. chanel wipes a tear or two from her own eyes, even though you can only walk for five minutes and are sweating kind of profusely — it’s a fucking miracle, and she understands it too. 

/

‘what are you frowning at?’

she rolls her eyes and pockets her phone, easily pedaling with insane resistance on the peleton next to you while you struggle to get your legs to listen to your brain and pedal at all. ‘idiot bros on twitter. “trans women don’t belong in women’s sports” and all that bullshit.’

you stop trying to pedal because you’re already entirely unsuccessful today and now you’re not able to focus at all. ‘fuck them.’

she grins. ‘yeah.’

‘i’ll beat them up, just you watch.’

it makes her laugh, and you think she knows you really would physically get into a fight — on or off the field — if anyone ever said anything to her. 

‘plus, i can take you 1v1.’

‘in your dreams, silva.’

‘i’m going to, again. don’t even think i won’t.’

chanel pats your hand; you feel it all. ‘i’ve always known you could do it. i’ve never thought you wouldn’t, ava.’

you duck your head, unused to genuine praise after all this time stuck in the same boring, discouraging, painful rooms at the spine center, even though all of your doctors and nurses and therapists had been nice.

‘but,’ she says, ‘first you gotta pedal on this bike.’

‘it’s hard,’ you whine.

‘you’re just distracted.’

you look at the game you’d turned on, beatrice xin currently with two goals and two assists, and sigh. ‘i’m horny.’

it gets the biggest, best laugh out of chanel, and you feel a little something like pride bloom in your chest: you love making people you care about laugh. 

‘fine, fine,’ you grumble. you look down at your feet, your quads and calves so small and pale compared to six months ago; you try to breathe through the immediate fear and the tiny bit of shame that pops up. but you focus, feel your feet firmly on the pedals, think about how you know how to ride a bike; you know how to stand up straight and put on pants and kick a ball. the back brace you have on feels tight, feels restricting — but you focus on activating your quads, then your hamstrings, and you eventually get the pedals to move.

‘hell yeah,’ chanel says.

‘if you try to give me a high five right now i think i’ll get all scrambled if i try to move my hand.’

she laughs, reaches over and pats the top of your head instead. 

/

‘ava silva,’ chanel says, and you grin; you can’t help it. she holds her phone at a, thankfully, flattering angle as you walk along the beach — slowly, but steady: you trust you won’t fall, that you’re strong enough and getting stronger. ‘what does freedom feel like?’

chanel has like… three million followers, and she loves social media, something that your old club has always been thrilled about. they hadn’t renewed your contract, but you’d understood; they’re still paying for all of your medical care, so you don’t really feel upset, just a sense of loss you’re not quite ready to name. but chanel loves you, and she’s so, so happy for you — even if you never play again, you’re walking and even starting to run now; you’re in pain but it’s manageable. it’s okay.

‘it feels —‘ euphoric; devastating — ‘like a miracle.’

/

you flop down on chanel’s neatly made and extravagent bed; you’ve been staying in her guest room — which she had turned into her closet, so it’s still kind of packed with all of her beautiful clothes, although there is a very expensive bed for you — and training until, hopefully, you can get signed somewhere. she doesn’t even look up from her ipad when you sigh. ‘hello, ava.’

‘i have a favor to ask that i actually think you’ll be interested in.’

she pauses whatever she’s doing, then looks up. ‘i’m listening.’

‘well! okay, so. as you know, i’ve basically only worn hospital gowns and sweats for the last year and a half, and before that, i was, like, a child.’

chanel perks up, and you can practically see the wheels in her head turning already.

‘and now, wherever i get signed, you know, people are gonna care, and want interviews and all this stuff. so, in small part, i want to feel good about how i look for this next chapter of football.’

‘i love it,’ she says. ‘and what’s the large part?’

you flop back again, just for the dramatics. ‘i am… so horny. like, you don’t even understand.’

she laughs. ‘JC is nice though, right?’

‘yeah,’ you say, because he is. ‘but, like, girls.’

she pauses for a second, a happy smile on her face. ‘so, you want to look… more… bisexual?’

‘i mean, i do already? because i am? right?’

‘well, of course, ava.’ it’s gentle and reassuring but still a little amused.

‘but — yeah. like, i want to pick stuff i love, my clothes and my hair and whatever, gain back control, blah blah, everything my therapist is always going on about.’

‘your therapist is great, you love her.’

‘sure.’ she is; you do. ‘so anyway, i just — i guess i just want to feel like myself.’

‘now that,’ chanel says, ‘is a favor i love.’

/

‘you’re sure?’

‘it doesn’t matter if i’m sure,’ chanel says, sitting in the hairdresser’s chair next to yours. you have the salon to yourselves; she’d booked you a private appointment with her hairstylist immediately.

you turn to said stylist, dimitri, with their chic and very neat fade. ‘are you sure?’

‘like chanel said,’ they say. ‘it only matters what you want. we don’t have to do anything big.’

you look in the mirror; you hadn’t had the real opportunity to get a haircut in a long time, being in the hospital and rehab and then spending as much time as you could training after that. you haven’t, really, taken the time to deeply care for yourself, something your therapist has been bothering you about. you want, so badly, to live as big as you can. as much as you can. 

‘well, i’m sure, as long as you think it’ll, like, be good for my face shape or whatever.’

chanel and dimitri share a quick glance and then chanel rolls her eyes. ‘ava, you have to know that you’re beautiful, right?’

you pause for what you feel is an appropriate amount of time. ‘yes.’

‘but since you asked,’ dimitri says, ‘i do think this will be great for your face shape.’

‘alright,’ you say, feeling suddenly very excited and a little buoyed. ‘let’s fucking do it, then.’

chanel cheers and dimitri grins; they wash your hair gently, and you feel a little panicked until chanel starts talking about the threesome she had a few nights ago, which is delightful and grounding enough you stay, fairly easily, in the present of this beautiful, outrageously expensive salon, the control you get to have. not that you’re thrilled about your therapist being completely 100% correct, but… she was right. 

dimitri dries your hair and then combs it out patiently, divides it and then clips up the top part. ‘ready?’

‘definitely.’

chanel grins and it’s easy, so much easier than you knew it would be, to sit and watch yourself become. you’re filled with a sense of joy, this tiny seed that grows as dimitri cuts your hair to your chin precisely, and asks you about your plans for the day, and food you love, and chanel talks about her latest modeling contract — in addition to football, which amazes you in a way that makes you feel proud in the very center of your chest, this incredible person who showed up and helped take care of you. you feel your shoulders relax; you feel your feet firmly in the new sneakers converse had sent you, comfortable and cool; you even take time to feel your butt in the chair with the knowledge that you don’t need to do any pressure reliefs or weight shifts because, when dimitri is done, you’ll be able to stand up and walk and dance and run and even play football. and even if — even if — one day, you couldn’t, you have your friends and your teammates and your life.

‘you look hot, ava,’ chanel says, very genuinely, after dimitri finishes with a leave in, then shows you how to dry your hair and recommends a light oil. 

‘go ahead,’ they say, ‘run your hands through it, all that jazz.’

to touch; to feel. you think you might cry, all of a sudden, with your soft hair that you picked, that you wanted, and chanel takes in your wobbling bottom lip and then tuts and pulls you toward her. because of your height difference, your face is basically smooshed into her chest and, even though you do cry, you laugh too, wet and messy and alive.

‘this probably my favorite place in the world,’ you say.

chanel shoves you playfully and you grin up at her. 

‘thank you.’

she waves you off, as she always does when she’s a little overwhelmed too. ‘don’t thank me yet. now we have to go shopping.’

/

it’s not as bad as you’d feared; despite the fact that chanel only wears the most elegant designer clothes — her closet is full of gucci and bottega and, of course, chanel, and a whole shelf of louboutins — but she also loves you and knows you, deeply, and so when her driver pulls up to a row of a few very cool-looking thrift stores, you have to hug her again. she gives you helpful feedback on pieces and outfits and you feel, quite genuinely, happier than maybe you ever have. you buy crop tops and high waisted, loose jeans and a few sweaters you love; some silly earrings and a necklace and a cap that chanel laughs at, but fondly enough you know it works. you find a men’s button up with a bunch of flames on it and she rolls her eyes but you put it on anyway, knot it at your waist so it feels just above your shorts.

‘do i look bi?’

‘you look a little bit crazy, but i definitely wouldn’t think you’re straight.’

you’re practically shaking with excitement: ‘it’s… flaming. i’m flaming! get it!’

chanel groans. ‘ava,’ she says, but wraps an arm around your shoulders and throws it on the growing pile anyway.

/

you feel happier than maybe you ever have until the next morning, when you come back from a silly game of football on the beach with her and JC and a few of your other friends, your hair spilling out of the tiny bun you’d managed to get it into, which had made you laugh, and sit down to have some burrata — another one of your favorites that chanel indulges in getting for you from time to time, even did while you were in the hospital and she had to put it on little crackers and feed it to you herself — and then accept a call from your agent. you step inside to take it, close the door softly. 

after it’s done, you yank the door open this time, burst onto the patio. all of your nerves are alive; in your shorts, your legs look strong again, tan and muscular and capable.

‘good news?’

you’re almost too excited to explain that you’re getting signed by your favorite club, $6 million for the year, with, if all goes well, an option to extend your contract another season after. a bonus: they just hired dr. jillian salvius, one of the best sports specialists in the world. all of your care will be, of course, included.

chanel starts to cry, which makes you start to cry, and she hugs you to her tightly. 

‘i am so happy for you,’ she says. ‘and i’m really gonna miss you.’

‘i’m gonna miss you too,’ you tell her. 

she backs up and puts her hands on your shoulders, a smile sneaking up her face. ‘you know, i happen to remember your favorite player in the whole entire world playing at a certain club.’

you hadn’t really thought past football and then six million dollars, but — ‘fuck.’

chanel laughs, face beautiful and delicate and rich in the sun. ‘i can’t wait to show her pictures of you in her jersey.’

‘oh god, are there any on my instagram? i have to go check.’

she just keeps laughing, and it’s all brimming, so wonderful, right at your fingertips.

/

you sign a few days later, your hands steady.

/

‘well,’ chanel asks, lounging back in bed on zoom, ‘how was day one?’

‘oh my god.’ your hair is still wet from the shower you took at the training grounds; you had raced back to your new apartment to make sure you were on time for your call. ‘i got there early, to play a little bit, get the nerves out, you know. and guess who was there and wanted to play 1v1?’

she grins. ‘no fucking way.’

‘i got schooled, obviously,’ you say, think of the way beatrice xin had moved with the ball, how surely she went into tackles, how precise she was. ‘i did score twice, though, and nutmegged her once. greatest football moment of my life, i’m pretty sure.’

‘what’s she like?’

you think chanel is probably humoring you, but you don’t care. ‘beatrice is… beautiful.’ it’s really the only word you have: her neat bun that stayed in place perfectly other than a few errant strands by the end of the session today; her clipped, lovely accent; the way her calves had looked while she was sprinting; the delicate lines of her face; her freckles and her eyes; how she had been serious and professional but kind; her strong back, muscles rippling under her skin in a way that made you shiver, in the locker room when she had untucked her quarterzip and pulled it over her head; how she seemed lonely, despite it all. ‘she’s really beautiful.’

/

it’s a while later when the sheer mortification dawns on you, but then beatrice, in her weird, hot, hilarious way, seems to dissipate the extreme embarrassment you’re going to be faced with by being embarrassing first.

‘hello, chanel.’ she reaches out her hand very seriously, in her favorite linen jumpsuit and a very expensive pair of off-white dunks and black, cat eye sunglasses that are honestly cooler than you expected, in front of her favorite nice brunch place. chanel shoots you a glance and then shakes bea’s hand firmly while you both try not to laugh. 

‘hey, it’s great to meet you.’

‘you, as well,’ bea says. ‘i — before we sit, i just wanted to extend my admiration, for the work you have done both on and off the field for trans equity in our sport.’

it’s so serious, and so genuine, chanel seems a little disarmed and a little affected. ‘thank you.’

bea nods once, seriously. ‘and, maybe more importantly, even, my deep gratitude, for caring for ava. she’s spoken so highly of you, and it means — i love her,’ bea decides on, after a pause. ‘i’m glad, immeasurably so, that she has people who love her too.’

chanel suspiciously sniffles. ‘can i give you a hug? is that weird?’

bea smiles, a real smile, your favorite, and opens her arms. you resist the urge, passionately, to make a joke about how the two hottest (sorry, lilith) women you know together is really gonna do it for you during your alone time later, which is honestly a fucking feat.

‘well,’ chanel says, ‘i made a presentation of every embarrassing thing ava has done that you should know about.’

‘oh no.’

bea loops her arm with chanel when she gallantly offers, and bea says, ‘oh yes.’ you trail behind them, feeling short and small and bursting with happiness. chanel orders basically the entire menu for you to try and she and bea laugh at your expense when chanel opens her phone and does, indeed, have an entire canva presentation of you being embarrassing, but you don’t really mind at all. the sun warms your shoulders and you drink champagne that costs way too much money, the bubbles bright on your tongue. chanel laughs and bea puts her hand on your thigh, just like that: you feel it all.

[tteokdoroki]

HIGH HEELS - ryomen sukuna.

౨ৎ — about. “sukuna knows those heels, he’s pulled them off of you a million times before during a haze of lustful kisses and sly touches. he has no idea why the sight of them turns him on so much.” as rough and rugged as he may seem, ryomen sukuna lives to see his girl happy. he loves to see her smile. he loves to know she feels as good as she looks…but when you end up looking a little too good in a certain pair of heels, he can’t be blamed for making you late for a dreaded dinner... ( 6.2K )

౨ৎ — warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! nsfw, smut, pwp — video banner. modern!au, rich girl!au, forbidden romance, reader has sisters, degradation, praise, pain play, fingering (f!receiving), exhibitionism, slight!daddy kink, hold the moan, unprotected sex, oral sex (f!receiving), masturbation (m!receiving), cum play, creampies, modern bf!sukuna, rich girl fem!reader.

౨ৎ — things to note. haii everyone ! it’s been a while since i posted a longer fic so im excited. this was supposed to be a thirst lol. i’m just testing the waters with my version of modern bf!sukuna ! many thanks to @yennified for the ask that inspired it all. i’d like to thank everyone for their patience ‘n i hope you enjoy mwah mwah <3 - m.list ⋆ read on ao3 ! ִ ࣪࣪𖤐₊ ⊹

“we’re going to be late, hot stuff.” 

“no we’re not, ryo. give me five minutes! i just need to —“ 

if there’s one thing ryomen ‘sukuna’ itadori had  learned from dating you, is that time management was never and never will be your strong suit.

if the phrase fashionably late could be embodied as a person, sukuna believes that it would definitely take the shape of you. you and your beautiful brown eyes that plead with him to give you a moment not even five minutes before you leave the house for dinner reservations. you and your sinful curves only accentuated the silk slip dresses you spend so long steaming before sukuna takes you out for the night. you and your perfect lips that have to be painted with the right gloss or lipstick to match your nails, purse and heels. 

all of you, and your beauty, make up the meat and bones of the phrase ‘fashionably late.’

just like right now, where you sit reapplying your hot chocolate lip gloss, perched on the edge of the luxurious king sized bed you’d demanded be in your hotel room. a room booked by your father for a family-oriented get-away. sukuna hadn’t wanted to come, as a man from humble beginnings, using your daddy’s money wasn’t something that he favoured — but the man liked to see his girl happy. sukuna lives to make you happy, even if he won’t admit it. 

“do ya really need five minutes to fix your lip gloss?” the pink haired man chides, sweeping a hand through his rosette locks in the mirror as he re-enters your bedroom. “i’ve seen you do it in less, gorgeous,” blood red eyes are quick to place you in the centre of the room — they never stray from you for too long, sukuna will always find you in a room no matter how busy or bare it is. your presence fills him with love and brings him comfort, even if he refuses to accept that as his truth. 

there’s a coldness to the look you give him over your compact mirror while you rub the swell of your lips together, spreading the pigment across them easily. it’s a warning not to rush you, a warning to your boyfriend who knows better. “i said, i need my five minutes.” 

ryomen drops the topic with a shrug, fixing his silky tie at the collar of his dress shirt — the one you’d so carefully picked because it matches the deep tone of his eyes and the colour of your slip dress. a mark of possession on your part. once he’s done, he takes to packing your designer clutch with all of your essentials from the dresser — blotting powder, your purse, any silver jewellery you’ll want to put on in the car. he slips on a couple of expensive rings to match with you too.

sukuna is more prepared for this dinner with your insufferable relatives than you are. he knows that tonight will be about your little sister and the rich lord she’s bagged as her boyfriend along with how soon they’ll be getting married. or it’ll focus on your older sister and her marriage that she’s trying so hard to keep together, despite it clearly falling apart. both of your siblings seem to think that they’re above you and your brooding, misunderstood boyfriend. 

but you don’t believe that. 

and you like to rub your love for one another in their bitter faces. 

“pretty girl,” sukuna purrs, his chest rumbling with affection once he takes note of your heels discarded to the side. their silver sparkles glint under the warm embrace of the lighting up above. sukuna knows those heels, he’s pulled them off of you a million times before during a haze of lustful kisses and sly touches. they’re expensive too — he has no idea why the sight of them turns him on so much. “if you don’t hurry up, we won’t be able to brag to your bitchy sisters about how in love we are.”

by no means is sukuna a man of weak resolve. his will is as strong as his exterior — coated in the scars of his rough past like the thick black tattoos that ink his arms. he remains strong in every scenario except for ones that concern you, one look from you and you’ve got that mountain of a man crumbling like an avalanche and falling to his knees. you cast your boyfriend an amused gaze, smacking your lips as you watch him sink to his knees before your very eyes. 

once again, your man takes the hint — thick fingers reaching for your glittery red bottom heels on the floor before he brings them up to the soles of your feet without a word. “you know how much i love the sound of that, ryo,” comes your dark hum, the colour of your eyes dimming with a desire ryomen sukuna knows all too well. “but i don’t see an issue with looking good while i do it.” 

“you’re right,” sukuna quips in a husky tone, taking one foot and slipping one of your expensive shoes onto it. “who cares if we’re late to meet your sisters. as long as you feel as good as you look — i couldn’t give a fuck.” his thick fingers that know the twitches and ticks of your body oh-so-well reach for the straps of your heels and slowly begin weaving them around your ankle, upwards. 

his blood red eyes remain hooked on your exposed thighs and supple skin, littered with a beautiful array of marks and scars from over your years of existence. some from before you even knew of ryomen, others from during your time together. “do you think i look good, baby?” you ask him innocently, leaning back on the bed with the palms of your hands lost in the whipped peaks of expensive cotton sheets — most exclusively found in this five star hotel. 

sukuna grins in that slow and sexy way which makes your stomach lurch with lust, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge. “fuckin’ gorgeous, they’ll be shakin with rage.” he says, praise melting on the tip of his tongue. his words, in a symphony syllables, are accompanied by an undercover tune of desire — sukuna is a hungry man with little patience and a big appetite. once he’s settled on something, he’s damn sure to get it. 

tonight; his prey is you. 

the hulking man with the contrastingly soft pink hair bends at the neck to press a chaste kiss to your knee cap, smoothing the rough surface of his palms and workman’s hands over your doughy thighs — massaging you, easing any knots and tension beneath the top layer of your warm skin. his lips, only slightly chapped, curl upwards with a knowing smile when you let out a pleased chirp. sukuna’s hands work wonders on your body — causing your mind to drift away from the family dinner that awaits you. 

tonight; you could very well fall victim to the claws and fangs ryomen sukuna possesses.

kisses quickly become open mouthed and wet, hot and slippery over your flesh — and soon, sukuna adds teeth to the mix once he reaches your inner thighs, littering the area with deep shades of purple and midnight blue. he had no intentions of ravaging you like this, at least not so soon, but with a woman this irritable and fiery and troublesome on his arm how could he not? they say that you attract what you put out and the mirthy look in your eye, hidden between beautiful brown flecks of innocence, tells sukuna that you’re exactly what his guarded soul has been looking for all of his life.

his pulse quickens beneath the calcium cage of his chest — heart beat rising as you allow his curious lips and pink fluffy hair begin to disappear under the silky fabric of your figure-hugging dress. sukuna can practically taste you, the air underneath your skirt is dewy and warm and your flavour (that he knows oh so well) lingers within its particles.

god, he wants you so bad. he doesn’t even care how this may look. 

a man like him on his knees, ready to worship you as if you spout riches and bleed liquid gold. 

except you do, you’re worth more than sukuna could ever hope to be. the weight of your net-worth unfairly tips the scales and he doesn’t even care. all because he loves you. 

“why’re we even goin’ to this stupid dinner in the first place?” your rough and ragged boyfriend ponders out loud, with his words slipping over the edge of his sneaky snake's tongue. said tongue, if ryomen inches forward enough, could drag over your budding clit — clearly outlined through the barely-there crotch of your lace panties. “spend the night with me, doll. don’t gotta go a place…” a thick finger pulls the string of fabric away from your sticky slit, toying with the material until your premature arousal glazes his fingertip. 

but before the man can reward himself with the goods between your perfect thighs — the sharp point of your heel digs into ryomen’s firm right pec. your shoes are clean so they won’t leave a mark, but he feels like you’ve left one on his heart, even as the bottom of your shoe pushes him back and away from your warmth. 

“oh ryo, you must be hungry for the wrong thing,” you laugh breathlessly with your head tipping backwards, the sound shooting straight down to the hardness beneath sukuna’s black slacks. you push at him further until he rests back on his haunches — expression crazed and like a starved animal. “you forgot the other shoe, love.” 

it turns out, you’re just as skilled a huntress as sukuna is. a vixen who stalks her prey and makes them beg for all her mercy. “how careless of me…” the man drawls, finding himself drawn to you like a moth to a candle’s flame. he craves your attention, he basks in it when you give it to him in the way that you do now. there’s not a moment where you’re not looking at him, admiring the shape and form of your man as if he’s the rarest piece of art in the world or a treasure more expensive than any diamond. 

within the depth of those enticing brown eyes lay the truest form of love — even when you’re seconds away from devouring each other, your love for ryomen outgrows any doubt planted in your heart by your bitter family. 

“y’must be so disappointed in me…” he goes on, lifting your second ankle in one hand and adjusting your foot into the perfect position to slip your other heel on.  “how can i make it up to ya, gorgeous?” sukuna’s voice is gravelly, laced with intonations of neediness as he laces you up and finishes the job with a hand clasped over your knee. “i’ll do anythin’, anythin’ you want.”

graciously, you remove your red bottom from his shoulder and part your knees like the Red Sea — giving the older itadori the perfect view of the small string of fabric nestled between your glistening folds. even with the way you play coy, you’re always ready for him — as if it’s coded into your DNA to yearn for his touch. 

the upper row of your teeth sink into your shiny bottom lip as you look down at your man with unadulterated hunger. “anything, ryo?” 

sukuna’s chest rumbles (like a storm) with pride, his watchful gaze noting how you twitch and writhe for more. he leans forward and lets his black painted nails sink into the surface of your thighs — dragging you towards his awaiting mouth. “anythin’ for you gorgeous.” he repeats, voice raspy. in one swift movement, your red-bottom heels are swung over wide shoulders with thick muscles, keeping you nice and spread for him. 

from over your barely-there-panties, a finger glides through your glistening pussy lips and presses into your budding clit just to get a reaction out of you. a squeak that makes sukuna’s hips buck into the floor and a full body shiver that has your heels knocking behind the man’s head. arousal pearls on his fingertip through the material, which he leisurely rubs into the rest of your heated and throbbing sex, right down to your quivering hole. 

two fingers with polished black nails slip past your underwear’s waistband and dip inside of you with practised ease, instantly curling to find that special spot that drives you up the wall. sukuna knows you well, he’s spent years getting to that point. he’s committed every little detail there is to know about you to memory — the your lashes flutter when you like how he touches you, the way your throat bobs just before you mewl out his name. he knows exactly what you like and how to make you feel good. that fact drives sukuna into a frenzy.

his fingers start to work you faster, a lewd suctioning sound echoing throughout the luxurious room the deeper they plunge into you. sukuna’s thumb deliciously rolls over your swollen clit to add to your mounting pleasure, writing the signature of his claim on one of the most sacred parts of your body — where no other person can have you. 

“ryomen!” you squeal in surprise, your shaky thighs threatening to close around your boyfriend’s skilled hands. your hole clenches around his thick digits feverishly while drooling directly into the seat of his rough palm.

a resounding chuckle echoes between your legs, vibrating against your syrupy sex as his pink head of hair disappears beneath the hem of your silken skirt. “that good, huh?” comes his lazy reply to your call of his name, using his fingers to fuck your arousal back into you. “what’s the matter, pretty girl?” 

condescension twists with your boyfriend’s baritone voice, sending sparks of delight through your body like a thunder strike from zeus himself. when it comes to sex and pleasing you — sukuna is a god amongst mankind. the best you’ve ever had:

“don’t tease,” you growl out impatiently through gritted teeth, though your words melt into a whiny moan when sukuna easily bares down on your g-spot because he knows your squishy insides like the backs of his very hands. he finds it adorable when your face scrunches at the sensation of his cold, silver ring brushing up against your molten, sticky cunt and hums in content when you squirt a little bit for him in response. “we…we h-have plans for tonight!” 

“‘m sorry princess, didn’t know we were in a rush.” ryomen says smugly, leaning into the sinful scent of your sex as if he’s been bewitched. not even the sound of your silver gladiator heels knocking against one another behind his head can pull the man out of this reverie. despite your warning, your boyfriend figures that there’s still time to have his way with you, you don’t really care about being on time to meet your family and you hardly have the brain capacity to think about them right now.

not when you fall under the vicious waves of ecstasy and give in to your depraved lover. ryomen quickly has you drowning in pleasure as he finally takes the plunge and replaces his thumb on your clit with his lips wrapped around it. he sucks on the little nub from over your panties, tongue glazing the fabricated barrier with his saliva as he commits the taste of you to memory once again. 

your natural musk has sukuna drunk and high within seconds. you’ve got him returning to old habits and addictions he doesn’t have the strength to fight off. you’re bad for him and he knows it, but he can’t help but to make out with your clothed mound like it’s his life’s mission, mapping out the shape of your cunt through the stringy, soiled material. you ought to be embarrassed with the way you throb against sukuna’s eager lips as he buries his face further into your pussy. he inhales sharply, nastily, with his nose nudging against the sensitive treasure in circles — coaxing you open like a flower in the spring bloom. 

ecstasy decides to bloom within you too, evergreen roots taking residence deep within your chest and curling around your beating heart. your pulse quickens in anticipation, an intoxicating veil of covetous yearning shrouding your brain in darkness as the tip of sukuna’s tongue now begins to circle your tight little entrance. even with the fabric in the way, you greedily attempt to clench down on his predatory pink appendage and keep him locked inside your cunt — squirting small streams of your juices in the process. 

if your siblings could see you right now, how dirtily your man begins to ravage you just minutes before your family dinner while dripping on his tongue and the expensive bed daddy paid for, they’d be horrified. the sentiment strikes a pang of arousal in you, spreading to your boyfriend like a wildfire. 

and as ryomen hooks a finger around the soiled gusset of your panties to pull them down, you hardly find it within yourself to care about what your snotty sisters might think — not when you’re about to receive the best head and best orgasm of your life. 

“how d’ya wan’it?” instead of making a move to eat you out properly, ryomen takes two fingers and spreads your folds and exposes them to the blazing heat of his breath. exhaling through his nose next, he watches with blood red eyes as you twitch beneath his hold, dribbling liquid gold more than his mouth drools. “you’re so fuckin’ wet…all this from puttin’ on those pretty shoes?” your thigh shifts in response, heels clicking and back arches from luxury sheets crinkling under your back.

huffing impatiently, you send a threatening look down at your boyfriend despite how vulnerable you are to his torture teeth that could tear you apart in an instant. “ryo…your mouth,” you whinge, voice slipping into an almost babyish tone. despite your hard stare, your eyes are wet and wide like a prey animal watching its life go by right before it’s hunted or a deer in headlights, for that matter. “you promised you wouldn’t t-tease!”

“yeah, yeah, i know. ‘m sorry,” sukuna hums confidently, except he’s not really apologetic in the slightest — hardly doing his best to tame the uncomfortable yearning building up at your core. you’re a mess for him and he loves it, he’s entertained by the thought of you needing him so bad that it might kill you. he takes pride in knowing it’s not just him who feels this way. “thank you for tellin’ me, by the way. gonna use my mouth to fuck this pretty pussy til’ she’s creamin’ all for me,” he growls to you in a sultry tone, his aphrodisiac-like  words a breath’s width away from your sloppy mound — its timbre sound sending tremors of electricity through your swollen, unattended clit that convulses from the lack of attention.

nothing inflates ryomen sukuna’s ego more than the feeling of your sex throbbing against his face — juices glossing the plump swell of his lips as he wraps them around your puffy pleasure nub. his chest bristles as you open up for him like a flower in spring, the scent of your arousal acting like a perfume to him — the bee with the stinger of pleasure. he works his savage mouth along the length of your slit, as though he lacks the manners of a decently raised man, tongue prodding at your entrance just to be mean. after a while, sukuna stops sucking and making out with your dirty, creamy cunt to nip at your titillating folds, taking one between rows of sharpened pearly whites and gently pulling it away from you. 

at the abrupt feeling — you cry out hoarsely in a mix of bliss and surprise, taking a peek at the pink haired man between your spiked thighs with swimming vision. sukuna’s face is soaked, his angled jaw and cheeks and chin glazed in a layer of your slick as if he’s bitten into the ripest piece of fruit in adam and eve’s garden. the trail runs armously down and over his adam’s apple, coaxing your lover into eating you out properly this time. 

finally, finally putting his filthy mouth to good use.

“fuck, i love the way y’drool for me down here. got so much to give, don’cha gorgeous?” sukuna mewls into you whilst kitten licking your slit, drinking you in as though you’re a glass of water in an oasis of lust and sex. he chuckles happily at your dreamy sigh and circling hips that grind down on his face, tapping three fingers against your sticky pleasure bud lovingly. annoyingly ( but not without appreciation from you), sukuna takes it a step further by sloppily kissing you there. 

even with the time crunch, your pleasure takes priority. eating you out is like a reward for your man, it’s as though he was out on this earth by the gods purely to make you see stars. you feel lucky that he chose you out of all he could where he feels blessed to be the man you let touch you like this. 

“mmph, ryo… always g’na be wet f’you. for my man. only you get me this fucked up,” you drawl with a silky voice, making a show of tweaking your own nipples from over your dress for your boyfriend. with the slipperiness of a snake, your hands slide down from between the valley of your heaving breasts, over your clothed tummy ( that twists with knots of ecstasy ) and into the slicked pink locks that tickle your inner thighs. messing up his perfect look, you grip sukuna’s roots and tug on them forcefully — coaxing him further into the debauched realm concealed by the skirts of your dress.  

“princess…” ryomen lets out a pathetic, muffled groan — increasing the pace of the tip of his tongue as it lewdly flicks at your sex. “have you always had such a dirty mouth? what would yer daddy think?”

your head tips back at the new, gratifying sensation — ecstasy mounting in your lower tummy like bricks of a steady wall. “for as long as i’ve been yours,” comes your crazed and melodious laughter, only interrupted by pockets of squelching noises emitted from your squelching cunt. “oh baby…i don’t give a fuck about what my ‘daddy’ thinks. only you. let him stay mad — f-fuck! kuna!”

fuelled by the idea of pissing off your stuck up family, tattooed hands move to grip where your legs bend at the knee — pushing them back until your skirt rides up over your fleshy ass and your knees hit your shoulders and the soles of your shoes are able to lay flat against sukuna’s rippling back muscles. he hisses at the slight sting he feels from the pointed heel digging into his skin through his shirt, but it only fucks him up more. your pleasure is his pain, ryomen doesn’t give a fuck about anything else except for how good his girl feels. 

somewhere amongst the sweat soaked sheets your phone lets out a shrill cry — signifying a call from someone in your spoiled family. without sukuna’s command, you scramble through the sea of stiff fabric peaks and reach for the device, hitting the answer button before checking the contact. 

“h-hello?” you say in a poor attempt to speak clearly, stifling a deep moan. “speak of the devil and the devil shall appear…” comes your shallow whisper as you address your boyfriend. your chest grows sticky with perspiration beneath the bust of your dress — breathing uneven and heavy because of the way ryomen’s tongue wriggles past your tight little hole, squirming about against your lush walls to hit that special spot that has you screaming and seeing stars while on the phone to one of your relatives.

“excuse me, young lady?” it’s your father, much to sukuna’s dismay, his voice is irritatingly recognisable over the crackling of the line. of course he would find some way to unknowingly interrupt yourself and your loving, doting, disapproved boyfriend. “you were supposed to meet your sisters and i for dinner nearly forty minutes ago. where are you?” 

sukuna’s agitation shows with each wet kiss he aggressively places between your swollen folds, nasty and miscalculated whilst designed to leave you a shaky mess.“o-oh! hi daddy,” you emphasise the word, voice rising an octave until its light an airy. your swimming, doe eyes lock with crimson ones that bore into the depths of your soul from below — taunting and testing the pink haired man’s patience. “‘m getting ready. don’t you want me to look pretty?” 

the silky lilt to the tail end of your words causes sukuna to growl against your pulsating, temperate mound while his fingers yank you down onto his handsome face by your meaty thighs. eagerly, your hips canter down to match the stride of his tongue stroking your pretty pussy as though you’re riding his aching cock to your heart’s content. his tongue fills you up almost as good, warmly slipping and sliding over pleasure spots only he can reach. 

he kitten licks and sucks and bites at your raw sex like a wild animal, loudly moaning into you with every roll of your cunt over his face. you taste like heaven, the flavour almost angelic on his tongue. sukuna feels like a sinner with a greedy craving for more and if you cared just a little bit, you might have been concerned about your father catching the lascivious sounds from between your thighs over the phone. 

“i’m past the point of caring about how you present yourself at dinner,” your father says your name stern and low — talking to you as if you’re a child and not the woman you’d grown into. “your sisters are ravenous, they flew all the way into the country for this. don’t you think that they deserve an ounce of your time?” 

losing yourself to the danger of it all, you chuck your phone to the side after putting it on loud speaker. your lover targets your prominent, adorable clit again, the tip of his tongue rolling it in large circles until you’re close to tearing the sheets from the bed. you try your best to contain the scream building up in your throat, but sukuna has never made it easy for you to keep quiet. 

“mph…fuck!” 

“young lady! watch your mouth!” your father scolds you, still blissfully unaware of the fact that you’re getting tongue fucked by the man he hates all the way up to cloud nine. “i bet that good for nothing scoundrel has put you up to this. i keep telling you, no daughter of mine should be with a man like that. where is he? he’s the one making you late.” 

“actually, dad, sukuna’s been a good boy. sitting all handsome in those suits you like. i’m the one making…oohhh…m-making us late!” cruel carmine eyes flutter at your generous praise, lovesick as a sunburn like blush spreads over the bridge of sukuna’s nose from how desperate he is for you. if you tried your hardest to listen in over the wet sounds of your cunt being sucked on for dear life, along with the shaky delectable laments your lover lets out, you might be able to hear the sound of a zipper going down or the slickness of sukuna’s hand around his meaty shaft as he jerks himself off. no longer able to fight off his desire for you. 

your stomach flips at the sight and the pleasure mounts with your impending high, dainty fingers beginning to tug and twist at sukuna’s blushing pink hair. his pain is your pleasure.

“you’ve lost your mind, i didn’t raise you to be like this.” 

“you hardly…hardly raised me at all,” the words feel tacky in your mouth, as if it’s been stuffed with cotton that sucks up your saliva. it doesn’t help that your voice begins to waver too, reaching whistle tone notes. 

ryomen sukuna doesn’t know what’s hotter, the fact that you’re so easily able to sass your rich, douchey father or the fact that you’re letting him give you head while on the phone. “shit,” he curses as low as possible, using one had to smooth the pad of his thumb over the slit in his cockhead — smearing the precum that beads there over the sensitive flesh. his kiss swollen lips part from your sweet sex for only a moment to taunt you. he remains connected to you by a single rope of clear elixir that leaks from your precious little hole. “god, gorgeous. you’re fuckin’ drenched…all from talkin’ back to daddy, huh?” 

a lewd and sacchariferous mewl rumbles from deep in your chest as it rapidly rises and falls. it’s all too much for you to keep up with, you’re way too dizzy and it’s only made worse when sukuna bobs his head between your quivering legs so that his fat tongue drags through the entirety of your ravaged pussy lips. 

“holyfuckingshit!” you shoot the man a  glare once you remember where you are and who you’re on the phone to.

ryomen offers up a cocky smirk as his excuse before delving beneath your silken skirts once more, though it does nothing to mask how turned on he is — squeezing the base of his drippy shaft to stop himself from cumming too soon to the sight of you. 

you try not to forget the presence of your father again, it would be hard to, since he’s insistent on betraying you down the phone. “speak back to me again and i’m cutting you off. starting with cancelling the card you and your mangy boyfriend live off of.” 

“do it, i dare you.” you somehow manage to snap back, jolting at the sensation of sukuna’s razor sharp teeth grazing your clit. he hisses deliciously against your sex as your heels cut pretty crescent moons into his back. “i-i wonder what mom would have to say about it if you…if you did!” 

silence echoes down the line, broken by small pockets of your boyfriend slurping on your folds like a man starved. slurps that you’re just so blessed to be able to hear. you should feel ashamed instead of hungry, doing nothing to tame the greedy beast inside you that craves more and more of sukuna’s attention on you. you must have lost your mind, for letting him eat you out so brazenly while you converse with your father on the phone. it’s so depraved, so dirty and yet you wouldn’t give this… give sukuna up for the world. 

you love him more than anything. love how he treats you like you’re the strongest person he knows whilst handling you as though you’re made of glass. you love how he gets off to you, dribbling thick white from the tip of his cock because you make him a mess enough to need to jerk off. you love how he pleasures you, his baritone laments and simpers muffled against your cunt sending fireworks up your spine and setting them off at your tailbone where your mounting pleasure lies. 

you love ryomen ‘sukuna’ itadori, and no amount of scolding from your father will ever change that. 

“just…just be here within the hour. please.” your father requests quietly. 

“see you soon, daddy,” you hang up the phone faster than a lightning strike, all of your composure flying out of the window with the last dial tone. “ryo, fuck! i’m close… gonna cum. please, hurry!”

“god you’re such a fuckin’ menace, hah, pretty girl?” your pink haired lover quips airily, his jaw tight from flicking his tongue against your sex in sync with his fist flicking around his throbbing dick, slinging precum about the place. he’s amused and love sick all at once, a feeling that was once foreign to ryomen before he met you. “gotcha so turned on by talking back to your dad, yeah? all while i ate this pretty fuckin’ pussy out… so nasty,” only sukuna could make you feel this loved while degrading you, the only man who’s ever been able to do so. none of them could come close to knowing your body like he does, the way you twitch when you’re close and start to pout like a spoilt brat when you’re frustrated from waiting for your orgasm.

sukuna takes the edge off by lifting a tattooed arm and slapping his hand down on the entirety of your cut — letting out a haughty moan at the sight of glistening droplets of arousal flying about the place while your heels drag down his back with delightful pain. you cry out, but your boyfriend’s mouth is back on you in seconds — soothing your poor pussy. “‘m so lucky to have you though, my nasty fuckin’ princess,” he mewls into you, using his tongue to bully your g-spot over and over and over while he fists his precum glazed cock into oblivion. “gonna make you cum, gorgeous girl. let you make a mess in my mouth, you want that?” 

“m-more than anything, ryo!” you wail, fighting back tears as you spew a fresh wave of your sweet nectar from your pathetic hole. you do have a dinner to get to after all, you should only be crying from one place. your cunt. the sound of said squelching cunt and your dulcet whines make sukuna’s balls twitch with a load he would only dedicate to you.  “i love you, love you s’much…love you,” 

the delirium starts to catch up with you, becoming too much to bare as you babble nonsense into the sex tainted air. you can’t hold back, some of your release already beginning to stream out of you. “‘m gonna cum, ryo…cum with me, please!” you squeal in warning, mere seconds before your body succumbs to sukuna’s eager tongue and the wrath of your orgasm. 

“love you too, s’much,” your glittery heels knock behind his sweaty mass of pink hair, cutting into his back as he walks you through it all. “f-fuck baby, that’s it,” he goads as you gush into his mouth like a tidal wave. you have so much to give, release trickling into his mouth, painting his cheeks and sliding down his adam’s apple in a viscous current. sukuna is swept away by the arousal in the air, drinking you in as he pumps his cock harshly and in tune with the way you weakly hump at his face through the aftershocks. 

pulling his sticky mouth away from your equally sticky sex, sukuna replaces his tongue with three of his fingers to your clit — coaxing you through the rest of your high as he draws random shapes on the puffy nub. “keep that orgasm goin’ for me, pretty princess, give it to me…give it t’me while i fill you up,” he rambles brainlessly, abruptly standing up as he fists his cock pulled out from the zipper of his dress pants — barely fighting back his own orgasm. “spread those fuckin’ legs, wanna cum inside.” 

“ryo!” 

“ahh, fuckin’…fuuuck!” in one swift move, your boyfriend slips his sensitive and bulbous cockhead past your quivering, orgasming entrance — shallowly thrusting into your tight heat as you spasm around him, before he’s thrown off the edge into his own high. “c-cummin’…” hot sticky ropes of white seed flood your womb, which sukuna keeps plugged into you as he folds you over — chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat. your heels clink at the dip in his waist behind his back. you’re still cumming as languid thrusts smear your boyfriend’s cum against your rippling walls, but you’re content, breathing beginning to even out as you both come down from cloud nine.

still releasing in small spurts, ryomen slowly pulls out of you with soft kisses pressed to the side of your face. “sorry, didn’t wanna fuck up my pants before dinner,” he chuckles over the warm static spreading over your happy little brain. 

you offer him your own dopey laughter, remaining sprawled out underneath your hunk of a man. “so you decide to just jizz inside of me? you’re a class act ryo. what about my dress?” 

“first of all, you don’t like it when shit goes to waste ‘n second off all, i made damn sure that it stuck. your dress is fine, brat.” a chaste kiss is pressed to your nose as sukuna helps you sit up, double checking for any mess he might have left between your shaky legs. “let me clean you up, don’t want your dad findin’ out what we were really up to all this time.” 

“pretty sure he already knows,” you shrug, rolling your ankles as you lean down to fix a strap on your heel. “you’re a messy eater, ryo.” 

but before you can fix your shoe back into place, ryomen sukuna is already on it — adjusting the strap to sit comfortably on your leg before he stands again and retreats to the bathroom for a warm cloth to clean you up with. 

you watch with a smirk as he goes, admiring all of the little red marks on his shoulder blades you’ve left on him with your shoes. “then i guess i’ll have to use some fuckin’ table manners at dinner,” he remarks childishly. “but i can’t help how delicious you look in those heels, gorgeous.” 

and it’s true, you’re the only meal sukuna could ever want — especially when you leave your claim on him with high heels like that. 

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere. special thanks to @yennified for the ask below !

[violettaskies]

Of Books & Beasts

Prompt: virginity

Paring: best friend!steve harrington x f!reader

Genre: romance, slow burn, friends to lovers, one bed trope

Notes: wc 9.1k // my first kinktober story (one of five) // hope everyone enjoys it // it’s very soft // a little scary movie night sleep over // reader falls asleep next to steve and things get a little steamy // i wrote everything to have as much consent as possible // steve is a bit of a perv lol

Warnings: MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY, NSFW // slight somnophilia, dry humping, virginity loss, vaginal fingering // masturbation // smut // 'just the tip' is used once or twice // please let me know if there is anymore that need to be added!

ao3 // kinktober masterlist // full masterlist // lazy ghoul’s kinktober prompts

-:-:-:-:-

The night was meant to be a simple one. After weeks of assignments, exams, quizzes, and extracurricular activities at college, all you wanted to do was relax. Well, you still had one more assignment left to do, but maybe you were able to kill two birds with one stone, right? 

Luckily, this assignment was one that you could easily ask for help with from your friend. Someone who always stole movies for you to borrow on many weekends anyways. With your class being based on books which turned into film adaptations, it means a lot of time spent reading and watching. In truth, you felt bad for your classmates who had to rent out the tapes for extended periods just to finish analysis for assignments; all while you didn’t even need to bat an eyelash in Steve’s direction for him to hide movies in your backpack while his manager wasn’t looking. 

With the theme of this particular assignment matching the season and going with horror films, a movie night was something that you craved. Thick sweaters, even thicker blankets, a bit of hot chocolate, and candy from the grocery store that had the orange and black packaging — they were all of the aspects to the marathon you proposed when you walked into Family Video on a Friday afternoon after you got off the bus. Despite all of your convincing tactics, your friend already had his answer long before you began to ask.

“Anything for you, dove. I’ll get everything on this list for us,” Steve smiled at you, after looking at the assignment rubric, as you stood on the other side of the cash register. 

“Alright, maybe I should place a pizza order now so that we don’t starve during the Friday dinner rush tonight,” you said sweetly as you nervously thought about what to order. 

“Don’t you worry about it, it’s on me. Let me treat you a little.” 

“I’m the one who asked you to have a movie marathon with me, I should really be the one paying,” you insisted while you brought your hand closer to the telephone. 

But, quickly, the man was able to grasp it lightly to stop you from moving towards the numbers. You could never admit just how much your skin tingled at the touch. “I’m serious. This shift finishes in twenty minutes, then I can drive us home and I’m all yours. Do whatever you want with me, dove. I can even help out with your stress relief later. Maybe I’ll bend —” 

“Please don’t continue that sentence,” you cut him off easily. Steve always loved to tease you and any eavesdroppers who may be listening in and theorizing if you two were dating or not. The town is full of gossip fiends. “Any louder and people will start to believe you.” 

The younger Harrington chuckled as he got out from behind the counter to stand fully in front of you. He adored to see the way you outwardly pretended you hated the fake moves he would pull. From him putting his arm around your shoulder whilst walking around town, whistling every other time he picked you up from the city bus stop, to intimidating every guy who looked in your direction for too long. However, both of you never knew the other wished for it all to be real. 

“Fine, fine, I’ll be good and stop teasing you,” he chuckled lowly. 

“Thank you,” you smiled to yourself before looking up at Steve with wide eyes. “So will you also be buying garlic knots tonight too?” 

“Yes, as long as you promise to stay awake until the final movie, sleepy girl.” 

-:-:-:-:-

You, in fact, did not stay awake the whole movie night. It wasn’t Tim Curry’s fault either. Normally, it was tradition for you two to end off every evening like this with one musical or something more lighthearted to offset the mood. But the day just exhausted you from every angle, that once you finally got to relax and watch a movie for leisure — you relaxed a little too hard. Adding the components of the cold pizza and Steve putting a blanket on you while continuously keeping a grasp on your knee, you were bound to knock out before the movie ended. Later, it was Steve who woke you up with a whisper in your ear. The sound shocked you at first, and then when you opened your eyes to see the man kneeling in front of you, it did cause a slightly loud gasp to escape your lips. After some groaning on your end about not wanting to intrude, you finally gave in to the invitation Steve gave to let you sleep over tonight. The main contributing factor had to be the fact that the man had a really nice blanket and pillow set that felt like it came from a hotel. 

However, as you both ended off the night in your room, it was Steve who began to groan — although, it was due to pure frustration.

“I don’t have any clean clothes,” your host said as he rummaged through his drawers. 

“How about any sweater and some of those long johns your mother always buys you?” you giggled as you sat on the bed now, reading a book you recently checked out from the library. 

“Or you could always sleep naked, I heard it’s really healthy for you. Plus, I would not mind at — ow,” Steve was on his little sarcastic joke before you threw an old pair of socks at his head. 

“Maybe I should just head home, this feels like such a nuisance to you,” you smiled and whispered shyly. 

Steve really was trying hard to find you something to sleep in. So much so that it caused some sweat to drop on his forehead. But, truly, the man was standing there trying to work up the courage to ask you to put on one of his old swim team sweaters and a cotton pair of shorts he knew would hug your body beautifully. 

Yes, you have slept over before when you were younger. However, those were all planned out with you bringing something from home. Well, there was one emergency where you stayed the night due to a horrific snow storm; but, Mrs. Harrington was there to give you your Christmas present a few weeks early and allow you to sleep in some pyjamas which were covered in cute bunnies. This was the first time you would be here spontaneously alone with Steve — and god, did he feel like all of his prayers were answered. The amount of times he has imagined you laying on his bed, committing the most sinful acts, in various positions and scenarios, could be seen as absolutely perverted. So to have the opportunity to have you on his bed, wearing his clothes, covered in his blanket; it all seemed unfathomable to the man. 

“Here,” Steve exclaimed quickly so that you would actually stay. “Maybe you would be alright with this sweatshirt and some shorts?” 

“This is more than alright. Thank you, Steve,” You skipped off to the washroom to finally get ready for bed and let your friend change into his own pyjamas. 

However, when you got the clothing on, it was so embarrassing to stare into the mirror. Everything fits fine — and on a normal day at home, you would probably wear something similar. But remembering the fact that you would be sleeping next to your best friend was so nerve wracking. It was just a lot shorter than what you would usually wear around him if you did wear a skirt or shorts. You just thanked the heavens that the blanket would be covering your legs so that you didn’t feel as exposed. 

Not that you believed Steve would try anything; not that you didn’t want him to try anything either. But, you were scared of getting so cold and cuddling too close to him like you did last December during the winter storm. Waking up in Steve’s arms caused your heart to flutter so harshly that your heart rate didn’t go down for days. It made you think about how badly you wished you could wake up to his handsome face everyday. Most especially, it made you think about how nicely his leg felt right in between your thighs, and the way it massaged your — 

No. 

This was an innocent sleepover like the thousands that other best friends have had over the years. All you had to do was sleep next to him with a pillow between your bodies and hope you didn’t accidentally roll your way into his arms again. You weren’t sure if you were ready for the heartbreak of knowing that being entwined in each other’s arms would not last forever. 

“Do you want the left or right side of the bed?” Steve called out from the other side of the door, startling you out of your thoughts. 

“Anything is fine,” you replied whilst opening the door. Seeing that Steve was laying in the middle, ready to roll over to whichever side you preferred. The image of him with arms and legs spread out made you giggle. 

“The left side is closer to the lamp if you’d like to read a bit before sleeping,” he said as he shifted over to the ride side of the bed and patted to your new spot. 

“Are you a mind reader or something?” you chuckled between steps.

Steve put the book in the air as you tucked yourself into bed, a nice distance away from him. Once he saw you were comfortable, he placed the book gently in your lap and said: “no, but I could tell your little nap will probably have you staying awake for the next hour or so.” 

“Oh, if the light is gonna bother you then I can turn it off and head to sleep too.” 

The concern in your eyes was absolutely beautiful. As you started up at him with the lamp glowing behind you, you looked like a nymph in the night. And oh how Steve knew he would be the luckiest man alive to sleep next to you. 

“Go ahead, dove. I can sleep through anything,” he whispered lowly whilst rubbing your thigh that was covered by the thick blanket. “What’s it about anyways?” 

You took a deep breath to calm down before speaking. Steve’s touch caused you to feel warm, even more so when he squeezed your thigh every few moments. “Not too sure about the entire plot since I’m only on chapter two. But it’s about a prince and his beast companion. They’ve been best friends for a long time and are going on adventures. This was in the romance section so I’m guessing the best friends fall in love,” you rambled, getting quieter with the last few words. 

What a dream. 

“Is it dirty?” Steve teased as he sunk further underneath the blanket. 

“No, I-I’ve never read a story like that before,” you said sternly. 

“Oh, I believe you,” his voice got deeper and slower with each word, only indicating that he was bound to fall asleep any second. “Have fun reading.” 

They were the last words he said before drifting off to sleep peacefully next to you. Luckily, that meant it was a lot easier to read the rest of the book until you felt your own eyes start closing and the words on the page started to become blurry. 

It was a beautiful story, full of lore and love, a mix of historical fiction and mythology. After reading and watching stories based on the horror genre for a few weeks now, it was nice to have a little bit of a break and just read about love. Your heart started to feel warm and giddy as each page passed — even going as far as quietly giggling when you felt your cheeks feel warm as a result of the prince’s romantic actions throughout the book. You didn’t even notice that you were sinking further and further into the blanket because you were so engrossed in the imaginary world. It didn’t even matter that the angle made your back hurt a little. 

Well, not really. Once you started to feel stiff, you moved into a straighter position. However, you were interrupted by a low and groggy voice. 

“You want to get under here?” Steve asked you through half-lidded eyes and his arm moving to invite you to move even closer into his body. 

Wordlessly, you accepted the offer and went right up to Steve’s body. The book was on his chest while your cheek was at his side. Everything felt so comfortable and domestic — a part of you wished this could last forever. 

But right then, the storyline of the book went on a different path, to say the least. 

You see, the prince got hurt whilst fighting off some evil spirits. He was bleeding everywhere and in so much pain. But the companion, a beautiful wolf-demon, was able to heal his wounds to the point where it wouldn’t be so life threatening. It was so simple, to use a little magic and bandages in hopes of survival, but the author was able to portray it wonderfully. To thank the woman, the prince moved his arms around her to hold her a warm embrace. It was so sweet, just like the position you were in now. However, it took a turn for the romantics. A little too romantic. An activity you definitely were not currently doing with Steve. 

The man kissed her sweetly: from her shoulders, up to her neck, then finally landed on her plump lips. It was beautiful, so serene, accompanied by a drawing of the two in bed with locked lips and legs. Slowly, she started to rock against his leg, adoring the pressure against the place no one had touched before. As she gasped into each kiss, the prince smiled in tandem. Even moving his hips to help the lady feel more pleasure. You wondered how that felt, it was only a slight movement of the hips — there was no way it could feel that good.

But you were so wrong. 

Just as you tried to move positions, Steve moved his leg upwards, moving his thigh right against your heat. It felt so good, to the point where you bit your lip to suppress the whimper that was about to escape your lips. The man next to you, tried to find a better position to sleep in too, moving his legs some more until it found solace as it intertwined with your own legs. 

Fuck, it felt really good. You tried so hard not to move your hips in tandem so that you could amp up the pleasure. So instead, you continued to read, trying to focus on the writing techniques and nothing else. However, you only began noting the things the characters did with one another. How they whispered sweet nothings as they continued their game to see how long it would take the lady to climax. And you noticed the way you felt warm between your legs, a slight throbbing to seal the deal. 

Maybe in another world you would wake up Steve and ask him to let you out of his embrace so that you could excuse yourself to the washroom and down. But not in this one. In this world, you were at peace in his arms. In this world, you really didn’t care about the throbbing ache between your legs because you were extremely sleepy. In this world, you would convince yourself that it would pass. In this world, the sound of both your hearts beating as one was enough of a lullaby to cause even the most stubborn of characters to sleep. Just as you did now, with the book still on Steve’s chest, and your bodies squeezing closer together. 

-:-:-:-:-

Steve was an extremely heavy sleeper when he was with you. Most of the time, you would be awake first during these little sleepovers and do something before he even pried his eyes open and then decided to keep them shut because of the sun seeping through the windows. It wouldn’t surprise Steve to see you reading at your desk or braiding friendship bracelets when you had that arts n’ crafts phase a couple years ago. This time, however, he was the one who awoke in the middle of the night to movement from beside him. Maybe it was due to some level of paranoia he has gained over the past few years regarding a life that he wishes you would never need to experience. It’s funny that you were reading books with monsters the world has nightmares about, while he was one of the people who was facing them. He wishes so badly to protect you from all of it. So when you started moving in your sleep, something you never do, Steve felt his body wake up in an instant. 

His eyes were having trouble fully opening themselves as he could hear faint whimpering sounds coming from you and slight movements near his thigh. It was enough to turn his head to the left to see what was wrong. But nothing was wrong per se. If anything this was right out of a perverted fantasy he has had millions of times before. 

As his eyes finally came into focus at what was in front of him, Steve could only smile and thank the heavens. You were laying in the same position you initially fell asleep in: book held in your hand, it being face down on Steve’s chest on a particular page, while your own face was on the side of his chest. But, the thing that surprised him the most was the grip your thighs had around his own. Slowly, your hips were thrusting back and forth against his leg, humping over and over. Whenever your body hit the perfect spot against your clit, you would mewl against his chest, sending a vibration through his body. Your hard nipples would poke Steve’s stomach once in a while too. 

Good Lord, he was so distracted by the vision of you thrusting against his thigh, that he didn’t realize just how hard he had become. He only noticed it when your leg tensed up and moved towards his crotch, touching the underside and head in the process. 

You were about to become the death of him tonight. 

Curiously, he picked up the book you were reading to put it on the bedside table, when the words jumped out at him. 

“And then the prince lifted the dress of the maiden beast. How scary she was to the eyes of the kingdom, but how beautiful she looked with swollen lips and lust-filled eyes. She was wet, so wet that it seeped through the layers of clothing.”

Just then, Steve looked down to notice how your wetness was doing the same thing. Your arousal had gone past your shorts and went onto the cotton bottoms he was wearing. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

The man skipped a few paragraphs to see just exactly what the prince and his lady were up to. Words of biting, screaming, thrusting harshly against the wall, even scratches along one another’s backs. It was pornographic, it was beautiful, and Steve was shocked that your virgin eyes read through some of this before falling asleep. 

If only he could recreate it with you. Seeing you moan and move to your lust-filled slumber was more than enough of a dream come true to the man. But this was wrong. So wrong. You both were best friends. He loved you, wished he could be more with you. But he believed that wasn’t worthy of you. You were the princess this whole town adored while he was just a former playboy many people seemed to dislike sometimes. There was a part of him that wanted to see how long it would take for you to come against his leg. However, his guilt took over quickly. 

“Wake up, my dove. It’s getting hot in here.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. The mixture of blankets and his arousal made Steve sweat through his clothes easily. 

“Hm? What?” You rolled more onto his chest, your weight atop his body nicely. It would have been the world’s most comfortable position, one that would start off most of his perverted fantasies about you; however, he had to stop himself from thrusting against your thigh that was now perfectly on top of his hardness. “Feels so nice, Stevie,” you murmured, still half-asleep. 

“Fuck — you really like that, huh?” The man whispered as you looked up at him with glazed eyes. You were still not cognizant that what you were doing was not in a dream. 

“I feel so warm down there, your leg is massaging me nicely,” you moaned whilst humping some more. “Kiss me, please.” 

Every move you were doing, every word you were saying, every whimper that came out of your throat — the man has imagined it all before. You were all of his greatest fantasies come to life. He wished so badly to ravish you on the spot and satiate all of the pent-up pleasure your body needed to release. Your lips were swollen now from all of the biting you’ve been doing to quiet down your moans; but, good god, the man was going to memorize it all for the sake of his future sessions with his right hand. 

Steve really needed to stop this, and fully wake you up as soon as possible. This wasn’t the normal you, you didn’t even realize exactly what you were doing. “Pretty girl, no matter how much I want to continue this, we can’t.” The words fell from his lips painfully. 

“Why not? You don’t feel good?” You whimpered as you reached up and put your arms around Steve’s neck, stopping your hips’ movements all together. 

“Feels so good, baby,” Steve moaned loudly this time as he thrusted against your leg like he imagined a million times before. It wasn't helping that you thought your face closer to his in order to hear his breathy moans easier. The man was so close to leaning forward and kissing your plump lips. “But, this isn’t a dream, and you’re not fully awake. I don’t want you to regret this—”

The man was going to ramble on and continue to comfort you into waking up fully. However, you got the message loud and clear. So much so, that your heart dropped and you gasped. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I’ll move over t-there — ah.” The moan coming out of your mouth was completely involuntary as you lifted your body up and intended on moving down and away from Steve’s figure. 

“Did that feel good?” Steve teased, now that you were both fully cognizant of your sleeping status. 

“I don’t know why I did that, I’m sorry.” If only you could apologize a million times, because you would; your guilty conscience would make sure of it. 

“You probably had some sweet dreams, huh?” 

Just as you were separated from the man, you heard his words and looked over at his figure. Through the dim lighting of the lamp, you could see that he was holding up the novel you were reading before bed, and it was open to the very scene that inspired any of your hormone-induced movements tonight. 

“Oh no,” you whispered. Looking down, there was a wet spot on Steve’s thigh where your heat was pressed against. He was admiring it as if he were memorizing just how it looks. And he was. “This is so embarrassing,” you though out loud

“It’s no big deal, dove. Guys have nudie magazines and a video here and there. I would never judge you for a little novel,” Steve chuckled as he sat up to the headboard to mirror your actions. 

“I didn’t know it was going to be like that in the story,” you whispered. 

“Did you like it?” Your friend was genuinely curious. Throughout your history as friends, you had never even asked him for advice about relationships — this erotic chapter of the novel must have been a shocking first exposure to it all. 

You thought about the question for a few moments. Remembering the emotions and fire you felt in different parts of your body, you could really only tell him the truth. “Y-yeah, I suppose so.”  

“Then don’t feel embarrassed or bad about it,” Steve nudged your shoulder sweetly to make you feel less embarrassed over the situation. “Never thought you were into reading it in front of other people though.”

“Don’t tease,” you pouted, putting your head under the blanket to hide from the embarrassment. 

“I’ll stop, I promise. But, you did give me a wonderful way to wake up,” you could hear him smiling just by the sound of his voice. 

Those words made you slowly peek your way out of the thick blanket to see Steve looming over you with a smirk that teased your soul. The lamp in the room made him glow, while the moon’s beams that were seeping through the blinds made him look like one of the many drawings of the prince in the book you were just reading. It took all the strength within you, not to squeeze your thighs together and satiate the throbbing between them. 

“Let’s never talk about this again,” you whispered, the blanket still covering your mouth. 

“If that’s what you would be comfortable with,” Steve chuckled as he laid back in his spot. 

“Y-yes, I would be.” 

After a moment of awkward silence, you both in regular sleeping positions, Steve wanted to break the ice a bit. “It is a well-written book. Maybe I could borrow it sometime.” 

“You’re so annoying,” you giggled, grabbing a small pillow on the bed and lightly hitting his chest with it.

“Learn anything while reading? You could use me as a practice dummy.” The man laid on his side now, looking at you as he put on a seductive tone. 

“You’re just a dummy, Steve,” you playfully scoffed with a giggle. 

“That was the last one, promise. Sweet dreams, dove.” 

In truth, Steve wanted you to sleep as quickly as possible so that he could make his way to the washroom and get rid of his hard problem. It was hurting now, even as he tried to think about anything else that would possibly subside his arousal. Your movements and moans will never be erased from his mind. Steve’s imagination was running wild with how you actually sounded as you were feeling pleasure. 

No one has ever thanked a book more in the history of mankind. 

“Is that what sex is like?” You whispered into the night, cutting off the man’s thoughts. 

“What do you mean?” Steve replied as he turned to his side to look at you staring up to the ceiling.  

“In the book, they talk about it like it happens so fast and hard,” you said the words with a concerned tone while turning your body towards his to face him. 

“Well, it can be fast and hard if the couple wants it that way. But, taking it slow is nice too,” the man next to you chuckled sweetly. 

You felt dumb asking the question. For years, you have known that Steve was a lot more experienced than you in the department of relations with the opposite sex. There have been countless times where Steve would tell you about any dates that he has gone on, or imply lewd acts he committed with his girlfriend of the week. And all you would do is nod out of pure curiosity. However, this was the first time you outright spoke about sex with him. 

“Right, right, that makes sense. It must feel really nice,” you continued your thoughts. 

“It does. Everything is so warm and wet. The noises too are something you’ll never forget. My hand and imagination does not do it justice sometimes.” Right then, Steve’s mind went through flashbacks of times he has laid in bed with the image of you stuck as his muse. He has imagined the way you would react and moan to things he would do with you. Would you bite your lip whilst looking down between your bodies? Would you whimper in the same way you do when you beg Steve to drive you somewhere and he just had a long day at work? Anything you would do would be erotic, and enough fire for him to reach the happiest of endings. However, by the end, he would pray for the day he could experience the real thing with you.  

“I wonder what it will be like for me,” you giggled, bringing the blanket close to your face again. 

“You got a good idea a few minutes ago,” Steve teased as he looked you up and down. 

All you could do was hit his shoulder then hide your face into it as he leaned back onto the bed. “It did feel really, really nice, Steve. I’m so sorry.” 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. You liked it, didn’t you?” he said, trying to soothe your embarrassment of it all. As he squeezed his arm around you tighter to have you closer to his chest, Steve realized that your bare thighs had found their way around his again. You looked so beautiful cuddling next to him, tightening your legs slowly. “Then, maybe I can help. You didn’t get to finish, sweet girl.” 

The deepness of Steve’s voice resonated through your entire body as you looked up at him with desperate eyes. His proposal sounded so good. You felt this constant throbbing between your legs that only increased ten-fold every time you and Steve accidentally breathed too close together. As you gripped his chest with your hands, and his thigh with your own — you really craved to continue the pleasure you were feeling moments before. 

“I didn’t even know that I started,” you pouted. 

“Oh, but finishing is one of the best parts,” he teased whilst moving his thigh upwards to massage your cunt slowly. 

“Steve—” you moaned like music to his ears.

Your friend began to move his thigh up and down to stroke your pussy, hitting your clit from the right angle to make you bite your lip in between whimpers. He held your face sweetly, making sure that he could see how every movement affected you. Steve was sure that the image of your pupils getting darker would be engraved in his mind forever. 

“My best friend needs help, and you know I would do anything for you,” he whispered, hovering his lips above yours. 

“More, please.” 

“So polite,” Steve teased, quickening his pace and moving one hand to your breasts. “Doing such a dirty thing and now you’re being so nice.” 

“I feel so — I feel like I need more,” you said quietly as if it were a desperate plea. 

Steve squeezed your right breast sweetly, pinching your hardened nipple through the thick sweater fabric. He noted how you thrusted yourself against his thigh and nearly fell onto his lips as you moaned. 

“Is your body on fire? You feel nice, dove,” he smiled, kissing your cheek to tease you. 

“So good. Kiss me, Steve, please.” You weren’t sure what took over your body in that moment, but you gripped onto his hair and leaned your lips towards his. Yet, he was the one who kissed you first. It was a kiss that made the angels sing above you, one that you both have been imagining for years and years. Hearing all of the stories of girls in school raving about his talents with his mouth and tongue — a part of you could never believe that he would be that amazing.

But, you were wrong, so wrong. 

As he kissed you deeply, poking his tongue through to taste you more, you couldn’t help but whimper loudly into the kiss. Steve adored it, promising himself to try everything he could to hear every variation of your beautiful sounds. Just when he brought a hand down to your back, urging your hips to move forwards on his leg, you swear you were about to see stars. This is what all the magazines were talking about. This is what all the whispered conversations during girl talk were giggling about. This is what the novel you were just reading was writing about when it came to the pleasures of the flesh. You remembered what the lady did in the book, and decided to emulate her actions. Although you were slowing down your kisses, your hand found its way to Steve’s clothed hardness. It was nearly peeking out of the sweatpant elastic by now which made you gasp in surprise. 

“God, what did you learn in that book?” Steve moaned as he felt your delicate hand on him. 

“The characters in the story were really good friends too. She was always tempted to be the one who helped him out when he was really stressed out.” You smiled into the kiss, noticing how teasing him only made you wetter. 

You hand gripped his hardness some more, focusing on the large head that could be felt through the fabric.

“Here I thought that was going to be my job tonight,” Steve’s voice was low now as he kissed you down your neck and moved the hand that was previously on your back, to your front. The shorts you were wearing rode up to tighten upon your cunt. The fabric squeezed your clit, and caused your arousal to get all over the place where your thighs met. 

Steve pushed the fabric to the side, noticing how you didn’t wear panties to sleep, and started to lightly massage your clit. “Oh God,” you moaned into his mouth while arching your back. 

The movement made Steve want to lay you down on your back to have easier access between your legs. Although you whimpered in slight disappointment when you didn’t feel the pressure of his thigh, that all went away when the man teased your wet entrance with his fingers before going up to your clit again. 

“No panties, huh? You’re bound to be the death of me.” 

“I normally don’t wear any to bed if I’m wearing shorts,” you whispered, moving yourself to feel his fingers more against your nub. 

“Is it alright if I take these off?” He barely got the question out before you began to nod. 

Looking at you in all your glory was absolutely mind blowing to Steve. He swears that he felt his cock twitch in excitement when he saw your arousal dripping on his sheets. The light from the lamp made you look like you were glowing, and the man was so tempted to taste what he has been craving for so long. But, he took it slow, circling your clit faster and faster as he leaned down to kiss you deeply. As every moan was swallowed by him, Steve began to thrust himself upon the side of your hip to satiate his arousal. 

The moment he stopped kissing you for a moment, he wordlessly looked you in the eye, teasing your entrance now with his fingers. With a nod and smile through bitten lips, you gave him full permission to fill your hole that has been desperately throbbing around nothingness.  

“Feels so good, Stevie. Keep doing that, please,” you groaned as he fingered you deeper and deeper. 

“Are you close, dove? Are you gonna come? You’re so tight, can barely fit these two fingers,” Steve teased as he kissed your neck to make you moan louder. 

“More — need more.” The grip you had on his hair became tighter as you pushed yourself down on his hand, nearly fucking yourself on his fingers. Feeling so stretched out was a brand new experience. You were never one to masturbate, even when everyone mentioned it was so much fun. Everything from seeing a hot guy at the mall, a rockstar who was shirtless on the cover of a magazine, or the angle of a showerhead accidentally focusing on a sweet spot — none of those experiences ever happened in your life. In truth, nothing ever made you curious enough to even try to see if other things would have a similar effect. But something about this night made you want to experience it all with Steve. 

The man quickened his pace with his fingers, using one hand to thrust into you while the other massaged your clit sweetly. Your moans echoed through the room as you arch your back in ecstasy. The feeling of Steve’s lips on your throat made you want to thrust against his hand harder, but you were too overwhelmed to move your hips in tandem. Instead, you lifted up your shirt and started to squeeze your lonely nipples. 

You aren’t sure what took over — all you knew was that everything felt so good. 

“Fuck, you really do have the most perfect tits,” Steve whispered to himself when he got up from your neck. He felt your movements and thought something was wrong. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of your swollen nipples, eager for some sort of touch. When he saw your fingers squeeze your right nipple, he could not handle it anymore and dove down to suck on them, leaving marks on your smooth skin. 

“Steve, everything you’re doing feels so good,” you moaned. 

“Are you gonna come for me, baby? I know you can do it.” 

And you did. Loudly. Just those words, working in tandem with his fingers and mouth, were more than enough to make you orgasm into oblivion. Steve had two fingers inside of you whilst his thumb was massaging your clit in small circles. You barely had the strength to tell him how good it felt since you were shaking below him in pleasure. All you could do was grasp Steve’s hair as he kissed one nipple of yours to the next. It was your very first orgasm, and you were welcoming it with open arms. 

“So nice —” you whimpered incoherently. 

Steve kissed you, swallowing in your moans of ecstasy. “I’m never gonna get tired of that sound,” he teased as he took out his fingers from inside of you and just massaged your clit as you got down from your high. 

“So much better than reading a book,” you giggled as your body calmed down. 

“Maybe we gotta find you crazier books then,” Steve smiled with you while kissing your soft lips. 

The kiss became deeper as you embraced one another. Your friend found his way on top of you which felt so surreal. Throughout your friendship, you never believed that some of your naughty dreams that you pushed to the side, would ever come true. Steve was having the same thoughts; however, he never pushed those dreams to the side. More likely, he would take care of any hard problem that was in between his legs. But, kissing you only made him throb harder. Especially now that he knows what your pussy felt like on his fingertips, 

“Again — I can take more,” you whispered between kisses. 

“Needy girl, you really want to?” Steve asked, making sure this wasn’t a dream for him now. 

“Mhm, yes, what if we slipped it in?” your hand moved down his body and to the waistband of his pants. Without even stretching the fabric, you looked up at him with sweet eyes. “Would it feel good too? Maybe just the tip?” 

Fuck. 

Steve needed to calm himself down. He was already on the verge of cumming in his pants, watching you orgasm on his sheets. Even now, as the remnants of your arousal covered his fingers, he wondered how it would feel against his hardness. But, Steve couldn’t do that to you now. Especially knowing the fact that it would be your first time. However, the lust that clouded your eyes as you pouted up at him, was convincing him slowly. 

The conflict on Steve’s face was so apparent that you whispered: “oh, we don’t need to—”

“Fuck, I want to,” Steve kissed you sweetly. “Are you sure, baby? Sure that you can take it all?”

“Yes, yes, I promise you that I can,” you smiled up at him and then bit your lips out of a mixture of excitement and nervousness. 

You kissed one another again, not being to stand the time your lips were apart from each other’s. As you did so, Steve brought his hands under your sweater to nearly rip it off of you — leaving you beautifully naked on his plaid sheets. His hands were calling to him, telling him that one day he needed to take a picture of you like this. But, there is going to be another time, surely. Right now, he wanted to satiate your body’s cravings. As you stared up at him and squeezed your thighs together, Steve was truly about to combust. 

“It’s kinda cold,” you giggled as you stared down at your hardened nipples. Then, you sat up slightly to meet his lips again, but not without whispering close to his mouth. “Can I take off your clothes too?” 

With those words, Steve helped you take off his tight shirt and sweatpants. You’ve been teasingly touching it throughout tonight’s escapades; however, seeing his hardness in all its glory, stunned you. It was a lot thicker and longer than you initially believed. In truth, there were countless moments where you had gotten a glimpse of his size. Like the times he invited you to his backyard to swim, and he always seemed to choose tighter swim shorts every week. Or the one time he forgot to bring a towel into the shower so you brought one to him, thinking that he was going to keep the shower curtain atop his body for some modesty; however, when you were on your way out the room, he let go of the plastic curtain a bit too early and you saw a definite outline from the side of your eyes. Every single time, no matter how crazy the situation may be, you felt warm all over your body. This time, however, seeing the way it hung and the precum leaking out of it, you were hypnotized to say the least. 

“One sec, dove,” Steve whispered as he saw that you were about to touch it. You looked to see that he bent his body to reach his nightstand and take out a little clear bottle. 

“What is that?” You asked innocently as you began to stroke him while he wasn’t looking. 

“I-it’s — fuck — it’s lube. We could use a little if you wanted to,” Steve said seriously before bringing a hand to your arousal and massaging your clit sweetly. “Not sure if we will need much,” he teased. 

Steve kissed you again, having you lay down on the bed fully. He thrusted his hardness against your pussy a few times, seeing how you reacted to the feeling. You adored it, mewling every time the head of his cock coincided with your clit. In truth, you both could have been doing this for the rest of the night until you two came; however, you were throbbing around nothing and you craved to feel more stretched out than with Steve’s fingers. 

You broke away from the kiss, eyeing the bottle of lube curiously, before Steve grabbed it and put it in your hands to look at closer. There were times you saw a similar bottle in the drug store and noticed they were next to the condoms and pregnancy tests. You saw that there were big bold letters on the front: ‘for her pleasure,’ which confused you slightly. But, you decided to give it a try anyways — it must be something good, you guessed. 

“Let's use a little, Steve.” 

“Yeah, sure. You want me to put it on?” He asked sweetly as he outstretched his hand. 

“N-no, I wanna try something,” you smiled up at him before putting a dollop of the gel in your right hand. “You’re so big, Stevie. You’re gonna stretch me out so good.” 

Your words were hypnotizing the man above you as you circled your hand over his cock and stroked a few times. And to think that he believed that he was to be taking the lead tonight. 

“F-fuck, dove. Your hands are so soft.” Steve’s moans were making you wetter by the second. You felt your heat throb harshly around nothing, before you moved your hips upwards a little and guided his cock into you. 

Just the tip — you said the words before. 

But, fuck, it felt so nice that you both needed so much more. Steve stayed still above you as he watched the way you move your hips to bounce on his cock from below. Inch by inch, you thrusted yourself upon his lube-covered hardness, causing moans to echo through the room as you got stretched out. 

This was so much better than you both could have ever dreamed of. 

“So hard,” you whispered as you got in the last inch and took all of Steve’s cock in. 

“You’re taking me so well, dove. So fucking wet,” he said as he kissed you and let you get used to the large size. 

“Feels nice.”  

“Tell me if you don’t like it,” Steve whispered as he kissed your lips one last time before moving his mouth down your neck and finally thrusting his hips into you. 

Everything seemed to amplify ten-fold. All of the pleasure, moans, tingling, stretching — it all felt so nice. It was if you two were the only people in the world, with the sky changing from a navy blue to a bright orange. Sweet nothings were whispered into the air as you both wanted to give each other the poetic justice you deserved. 

Steve kissed you every time he heard your moans get louder and louder, wanting to taste your ecstasy. He moved back and forth from kissing your lips, to your neck, to your breasts. It all made you grip his hair tightly no matter where he was focusing on your body. 

“Keep going please, Steve. Everything feels so full,” you screamed incoherently.  

“God, you're throbbing around me. I don’t think I can take it.” The man above you was thrusting into you at an increasingly faster pace, missing the feeling of your warm pussy every time he was even an inch out of you. 

“Steve, I wanna feel you cum,” you whispered before grabbing his hair to have him stop sucking on your nipples in order to look at you. 

He adored how needy you were. “Dirty little mouth, Princess.” 

“Need more — need you to go faster.”

“You know I've been dreaming about this moment time and time again. Who knew all it would take is a dirty novel, isn’t that right?” Steve teased as he reached town and pinched your clit playfully. 

“You’ll never regret driving me to the bookstore from now on,” you giggled in between whimpers.

In truth, you didn’t notice the way you were moving yourself upwards to meet his thrusts. It made Steve bite his lip to stop himself from cumming inside of you prematurely.  “Dove, you're taking me so well — fuck — better than I’ve ever imagined,” he moaned. 

“What have you imagined? What were we doing?” you asked it so innocently, stroking his chest as he continued to thrust into you. 

Where did you learn how to do that? — was what he really wanted to ask. Instead, his mind started to blurt out his fantasies. 

“Sometimes I’d have you like this: fucked out and cock drunk in the middle of the night. Other times it would be me bending you over while you’re studying. Always wearing those tiny skirts with the slit.” 

“For you, I wear it for you. I know the yellow skirt is your favourite, isn’t it?” You teased him now. 

You always noticed the way he would ask you pick things up from the floor, mention that your shoes were untied while he was standing behind you, or the way he would always take off a piece of lint from the back of your skirt — even if you had just used a lint roller on it a few moments before. He loved the way the fabric would sway, and you loved the way he looked at you. It made you feel so warm even on the windiest and coldest of days. 

One thing was for certain, it definitely felt like such a tease in comparison to how your heart and body felt right now.  

“You little minx,” Steve moaned as he thrusted into you faster. 

“Do you think I don’t imagine you ripping my skirt into a million pieces every time you stare at me?” the words fell from your lips breathily while Steve’s pace increased more and more. “You’re not so good at recognizing mirrors in front of you when you’re staring at the back of my tiny skirt, huh?”

“God, you like it when I’m being your perv, naughty girl,” Steve stated.

“Makes me feel nice. Just like this.” 

Just then, Steve made sure that his thrusts and massages on your clit were working in tandem with the way your pussy was throbbing on his cock. He could tell with the way you were arching your back more and closing your eyes, that you were bound to orgasm soon. “You’re so beautiful, dove. So beautiful and taking me so well.”  

“Oh my—” your voice sounded so sweet as you looked up at him with desperation in your eyes. 

“That’s it, let it happen,” Steve grunted, making sure to stop himself from cumming so that he could time it with yours.  

“Faster, please,” you nearly screamed now as everything was hitting you in all the perfect spots. 

Steve took that as his sign to move faster: from his hands to his hips. He loved to see the way you were reaching your climax on his cock — an image he would never get out of his mind for the rest of his life. You were squeezing his hardness tighter and tighter, with your moans getting louder in tandem. And so, Steve angled his cock upwards to try and hit your sweetest spot inside of you. 

And he did. 

Good god, he did. 

“That’s it, that’s my dove.” He chanted over and over as you were shaking beneath him, orgasming harder than you did previously. 

“S-Steve, fuck.” You rarely swear, but to know that he was the one to cause this little word to fall from lips with such grace — it was the final straw for Steve. 

He began to cum inside of you, your pussy milking him with each thrust. All of his arousal was filling you up to the point where it started to spill out and glisten all over your thighs. “So tight,” he whimpered above you. 

For a few moments, you both came down from your highs. With a few thrusts and kisses, you allowed your bodies and heart rates to calm down as one. It was beautiful and so bewitching to experience it all. You weren’t so sure what it would be like now. Being friends for so long meant that you both knew so much about each other. However, now, you two seemed to see a lot of each other too. There was no turning back to what it was before. Not after everything felt so good in this way. 

You both looked into each other’s eyes before kissing sweetly, enveloping each other in one last kiss before breaking apart under the morning sun’s rays. 

“You are so beautiful,” Steve whispered as he moved to lay next to you. 

“So are you,” you smiled while cuddling close to him. 

“Are you alright?” He asked sweetly, kissing your forehead in the process. 

“Yeah, I guess I feel a little sore,” you giggled as you moved your head upwards to feel your lips on his again. 

Steve gasped into the kiss, breaking it apart to get some tissues from his nightstand. “Do you need a bath, some water, or food?” He asked whilst wiping the remnants of his climax away on your thighs. 

“I’m fine, Steve, I promise.” You smiled as he looked at you with the biggest hazel gaze. 

Truthfully, you looked like a goddess glowing next to him with the dawn reflecting on your skin. He wasn’t sure if there were enough words in any dictionary to describe your beauty. Maybe not even from the book you were reading before bed. “How about you sleep for a bit and then when you wake up, I’ll have all your favourite breakfast foods on the kitchen table?” The offer was so tempting coming from Steve’s lips. 

“Hmm, what if I want to help you?” You giggled. You weren’t sure if you wanted to be separate from him for too long. The place in between your thighs was begging for his touch again. “There is a scene in that book where the prince and the lady were eating breakfast and then—”

You stopped speaking when you saw Steve reach behind him to find the novel on his nightstand, before flipping pages in the book to see what you were talking about. “Maybe you should read this story to me another day and I can help you every time you get really excited during a scene,” he winked. 

“Another day?” 

“Yes, for now, we could get started on writing the beginning of our newest story, dove. If you would like to, of course.” Steve whispered the words as he hovered his lips above yours, teasing you with each breath that tickled your skin. 

“I’d really, really love that,” you smiled up at him, bringing your arms around his neck in the process. 

If one thing was for certain after tonight: both of you found comfort and love in each other’s arms — and later on in a few different sections of the book store too. 

-:-:-:-:-

[slut4thebroken]

Name Your Price

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Robert Fischer x escort!reader

Summary | He has too much money for his own good lol.

Warnings | Smut, 18+, sexual content, sex work, face fucking, deep throating, doggy, light spanking lol, humiliation, lots a degradation, a sprinkle of praise, our man is needy and whiny.

Words | 3.4 k

Notes | Imagine that gif is him looking at you on your knees heheh

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Your usual clientele are definitely in a higher tax bracket than most people, but you’ve never been with someone as rich as Robert Fischer. The second he had you literally sign an NDA you looked him up, seeing that he was next in line to take over his father’s business. That’s when it all started to make sense. Usually men pay to take you out, show you off, and then more often than not, fuck you. But Robert made it clear from the start that he wasn’t interested in those services you offer. He just wanted to fuck you, and he wanted to do it discreetly. 

He bought a hotel room for the night and paid for your ride here, as well as the clothes he requested you wear. What would’ve normally pissed you off if he were paying the usual price would’ve been how nit picky he was. He told you exactly how to do your hair and make up, where to shave and where not to shave, even down to you fucking perfume— it just had to be something sweet like vanilla. You were glad that all of the details were discussed over the phone because you would’ve rolled your eyes and laughed in his face at all of his demands.

He also told you exactly how to act— submissive, obedient, subservient. You’re not normally that kind of submissive, but, again, you agreed simply because of the money. 

Staring at the clock on the nightstand, your foot bounced incessantly as you waited for him. You’ve never been this nervous for a client. He’s paying you so much money… what if you fuck something up? It was almost ironic that your overthinking was putting you into the headspace he requested. 

At 8:59, you moved down to the floor and waited on your knees with your head down, like he requested. Your heart pounded in your chest from the anticipation and it took everything you had to keep your head down when you heard the door open. 

Even though you’re used to fucking ugly, old men, you prayed Robert would be an exception, but you knew that being hot on top of how much he was paying you would be too good to be true. He sounded decently young on the phone, but you still had no indication on whether or not he’s actually attractive. You heard him walking somewhere in the room, then glass clinking, then a drink being poured. 

“Less than a minute in and you’ve already disobeyed me.” He said calmly, making your heart drop. How?? You haven’t even done anything yet! He answered your silent question for you. “Hands behind your back.” You immediately complied, feeling a little dumb for forgetting something so simple. “You’re lucky I’m in a forgiving mood tonight since I’m assuming you’d prefer to leave here with the agreed upon amount?” You weren’t sure if his question was rhetorical or not. He let out a soft sigh and you heard his footsteps before he landed in front of you. 

“Answer me.” 

“Yes, sir. I do prefer that..” When you saw his hand moving forward you almost moaned at the sight of just his fingers. But your chance to admire them went far too quickly when he placed a single digit under your chin and tilted your head up. Your eyes widened and your breath caught in your throat when you saw his face. You figured there was a small chance he might be attractive, but you didn’t actually think he’d be down right gorgeous. You bit your lip as your gaze trailed all over his face, taking in every inch. 

“Did you do everything I instructed?” He released your chin and took a sip of his drink, still staring down at you. 

“Yes, sir.” It felt like you were still in shock, just from seeing his face. 

“Good. The dress looks nice.” You couldn’t help but blush at the compliment. 

“Thank you.” 

“Stand up.” You did as he said, then waited for the next instruction. “Give me a spin. I want to see if it was money well spent.” You blushed, but turned around for him. “Slower.” He suddenly said, making you freeze, then continue at a slower pace. He hummed in appreciation and you could practically feel his eyes running over every inch of you. When you were facing him again, you waited, watching as he downed the rest of his drink then walked over to the table to set it down. You didn’t move, not sure if you were allowed to or not, and he sat down in the arm chair, then cleared his throat. 

“Show me the underwear.” You slowly lifted the dress until it was resting around your waist, exposing the lacy panties. “Come here.” You walked over and stood in front of him, trying to keep your breathing steady when he gently placed his hands on your thighs and snaked them up to your hips. He used his grip to turn you around, then moved one hand to grope your ass. You let out a surprised moan at the sudden spank and he hummed in approval again. 

“Very good.” You had to swallow down a whine when his hands abruptly left your body. “Face me and get on your knees.” His eyes moved up and down your body, taking you in again as you did what he said. “Remove my shoes.” You reached toward his feet, but he stopped you. “Carefully. Just one of those is worth double what I’m paying you.” You nodded and gently untied the laces of his dress shoes before slipping them off his feet and placing them neatly on the ground beside the chair. 

“Should I fuck your mouth? Or should I just get right to fucking your cunt.” You were mostly sure he was talking to himself and not actually asking you. He has you for two hours, so he has time for both. He seemed to finally come to a decision and he leaned back in the chair, staring down at you. “Be a good girl and show me how that lipstick looks on my cock.” He suddenly said, making arousal pool in your stomach. 

“Yes, sir.” You squeezed your thighs together to relieve a little bit of the ache as you worked on opening his pants. Once his belt was unbuckled and his pants were unzipped, you pulled them and his underwear down just enough to free his length since he didn’t lift up to let you take them fully off. You stroked him slowly, marveling at how big he felt in your hand, even just half hard. 

“Did I tell you to give me a hand job?” He asked impatiently. 

“N-no, sorry…” You swallowed thickly and leaned closer to start mouthing at the tip. Your hand remained unmoving on the base just to keep it steady. He let out a pleased sigh as you suckled on the head of his cock, being sure to lick up any precum. 

“Go on, whore. Let’s see if you’re worth what I’m paying.” You blushed as the crude name and squeezed your thighs together even tighter. Not wanting to make him get even more impatient, you started bobbing up and down his cock, keeping your tongue flat against the underside as you hallowed your cheeks. You moved your hand down to cup his balls as you took him a little deeper. When he let out a heavy breath and gently grabbed your hair, you looked up at him. You continued the same pace, sometimes flicking your tongue over the tip when you went up. After a while though, he huffed and tightened his grip on your hair.  

“Are you one of those whores who can’t deepthroat? Because I don’t think I should be paying full price for a shitty blowjob.” You immediately took the hint and went down until he reached the back of your mouth. After taking a deep breath, you pushed the rest of the way, breaching your throat barrier. You focused mostly on stimulating his balls as you stayed buried on his cock for as long as you could take it. Only a few seconds later, you were pulling off, gasping in breaths and trying to calm down to do it all again. You took him in your mouth again, not stopping until he was buried in your throat. 

“You can do better than that, whore.” He started moving you up and down his cock, forcing it down your throat with each bob of your head. It wasn’t long before you were choking and sputtering as tears filled your eyes. When he pulled you off, you coughed, but didn’t have a chance to collect yourself before he was pushing your face against his balls. You whimpered at the degrading act, trying to ignore the feeling of his spit soaked cock resting on your face. 

When he tightened his grip on your hair and pushed you into him harder, you started mouthing at his balls. You licked and sucked, pushing down the embarrassment to focus on making him feel good. This isn’t the first time you’ve had to do this, but it is the first time you weren’t completely disgusted by it. Robert kept himself well groomed and you found yourself getting even needier despite how dirty and used you felt. 

Once he’d had enough, he pulled you back and forced you down on his cock again, all but impaling your throat with how fast and hard he did it. You gagged instantly, but he ignored it and started using your mouth the same way he would a fleshlight. On a particularly harsh thrust, you let out a strangled whimper and the tears in your eyes began to fall. 

“Stop fucking whining.” He spat. It almost seemed like he started going faster simply because of how much you were struggling to take it. Your hands grabbed his thighs, digging your fingers into the covered skin, and he used his free hand to slap your cheek. “Hands behind your back.” He scolded and you hesitated, but eventually obeyed. The next time he forced you all the way down, he held you there, keeping a firm grip on your hair to prevent you from moving. 

“Stick your tongue out.” You did your best to do what he said. “Good girl. Lick my balls.” You let out a strangled sob at the utterly vulgar and degrading order. Regardless, you stuck your tongue out farther and did your best to lick them. “Look at me.” Your teary eyes fluttered up to meet his gaze and he let out a breathy groan at the sight. “No waterproof mascara, just like I said.” He said almost proudly as he used his free hand to cup your cheek and brush his thumb over what you assumed were mascara tracks. 

When you started gagging and sputtering and trying to pull off, he let go of your hair, letting you move back. You coughed lightly and cleared your throat, doing your best to collect yourself somewhat quickly. 

“On the bed. Face down, ass up.”

“Yes, sir.” Your voice was already hoarse. You stood up on shaky legs, feeling unstable in your too high heels, and walked over to the bed to kneel on it. He remained sitting on the chair, watching you closely. When you leaned down to rest your head and chest on the bed, a light blush tinted your cheeks. 

“Arch your back.” You could faintly hear wet noises and the knowledge that he was jerking off just to the sight of you almost had you moaning and squirming. You arched your back, but he still wasn’t satisfied. “More. Spread your legs apart.” You shuffled your knees out and bent your back even more, starting to feel the strain and discomfort. When he didn’t respond, you assumed he was happy with the position. 

“Do you always get this wet when you're working?” His tone was far too innocent for the vulgar question he asked. Your blush darkened even more once you realized that your arousal was already soaking the fabric of your underwear. 

“No, sir..”

“Speak up.” He snapped. 

“No, sir.” You said again, a little louder this time. 

“Is it the money that turns you on?” His voice was closer now, like he was standing at the foot of the bed. 

“No.” Even though the money definitely helped, it was primarily because of him. 

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you tell me what it is that’s getting you all worked up then.” With the way that he spoke, you could tell he already knew and just wanted to tease you about it. 

“You, sir.” 

“Me? What about me?” You hated the way that he was playing dumb like this, but you mostly hated the fact that it turned you on. 

“Y-your cock… And the things you do and say to me.” This was almost more humiliating than sucking on his balls with his cock laying heavy on your face. You felt the bed dip as he presumably kneeled behind you. 

“You want my cock?” 

“Please, sir.” You tried not to whine when you spoke. 

“I’m not entirely convinced you really want it.” You couldn't swallow down the whine this time. 

“Please, sir. I want your cock.” You begged, unconsciously pushing your hips back. “Please fuck me,” You jumped when you felt his hands on your ass, then moaned loudly when he ripped a hole in the crotch of your underwear. “Please— I need you to fuck me, sir.” You whined. 

“That’s better.” You gasped when the head of his cock dragged through your folds, spreading your arousal. He finally pushed in and you fisted the sheets as your lips parted in a silent moan. He’s just so fucking big. It’s not that you can’t take it, it’s just that he’s filling every part of you perfectly, satisfying every craving you have. 

“Fuck— Oh fuck,” You moaned, burying your face in the bed to muffle your sounds. Once his hips were flush with your ass, he didn’t bother giving you a chance to adjust before starting a slow pace. 

“You’re pretty tight for a whore.” He commented casually, making you sob out a moan. You’ve never particularly liked being called a whore, but for some reason when he says it, you just just get infinitely more turned on. “I half expected I’d need to fuck your ass instead.” He said amusedly. 

“Sir,” You gasped out, arching your back more and pushing your hips toward him. “Please.” 

“Please?” 

“Please go faster, or harder— anything.” You begged pathetically. You’ve never genuinely begged a client for something like this.  

“I didn’t know I was paying you to make demands.” You whined, a little too bratty for his liking based on the way he slapped your ass hard enough to leave it stinging for a few seconds. “You’re not some girl I picked up and took home. You’re my whore for the night. Fucking act like it.” You couldn’t help but mewl at his words. 

“I-I’m sorry. You just feel so good, sir.” All of a sudden, his hand was grabbing your hair and pulling your head back until you were looking at the ceiling. You held yourself up with your hands on the bed, but the position was still uncomfortable. 

“Every time you talk back, you lose a hundred.” He warned, making you whine. “That includes whining.” He spanked you again with his free hand and you cried out at the sting. “Do you understand?” 

“Yes! Yes, sir, I understand.” As soon as you got the words out, he shoved your head forward and released your hair. Your face landed against the bed with a startled grunt that cut off into a moan when he sped up. He was still going far too slow, but you bit your lip to keep yourself from whining or begging. 

“Even as a whore you’re fucking useless.” He scoffed. You let out a choked sob and grabbed the sheets harder. He sped up even more, forcing out little grunts and whimpers from you with each thrust. You ached to reach a hand down to your clit, but you knew you couldn’t. Not after his warning about “making demands.”

“Fuck— I’m already close.” You couldn’t help but notice how pretty his voice sounded as he continued becoming more and more breathless from the pleasure. 

“Remember to pull out.” You said, breaking character for a moment. On the phone, when he asked if you had any rules or limits, the only thing you said was that he can’t come inside. You don’t care if he fucks you raw, just so long as he pulls out. With a frustrated growl, he flipped you onto your back, immediately pushing back in to keep fucking you. 

“How much?” He leaned over you, his face level with yours. The feeling of his breath fanning your lips was making it hard to think. 

“What?” You asked dumbly. 

“To come inside. How much?” His pace was becoming even more frantic and he was beginning to pant heavily from the exertion. 

“Robert…” 

“Name your price. What do you want? Ten grand?” Your eyes widened at his offer. “Fifteen?” There’s no way he’s being serious right now. When he noticed your disbelief, he paused, then reached in his pants pocket to pull out his wallet and toss it on the bed next to you. When your disbelief turned into confusion, he explained. “A down payment.” His thrusts picked back up again, forcing a moan out of you as he resumed the unrelenting pace. “Well?” You glanced at the wallet, seeing how much cash was inside, then let out a heavy breath. 

“Fuck— fine. Fine.” You could immediately see the shift in his expression, showing how pleased he was with your answer. 

“Good girl. I might just have to hire you again.” He grinned at the thought and you felt your stomach fill with butterflies. “Now why don’t you be a good little whore and beg me to fill you up.” His grin turned into a smirk and he started fucking you even more desperately somehow. 

“Please fill me up. I want your come, sir.” You whined, back arching up into him. Despite your rule, part of you was being truthful. The thought of him fucking his come into your needy, abused hole was enough to make you clamp down on his cock, forcing a choked moan out of him. “Please!”

Without another word, he buried his face in the crook of your neck and rutted into you until he finally fell over the edge. He grunted with each snap of his hips, his panting breaths feeling hot against your neck. You squeezed around his cock again, wanting to make it as pleasurable for him as possible. Based on his low moan, it was working. 

He finally stilled and his sounds quieted into heavy breathing as he put some of his weight on you, letting himself rest without actually crushing you. Even though you were submissive enough right now to mostly only care about his pleasure, part of you was still disappointed that you wouldn’t get a chance to come on his cock. 

When his breathing calmed down, he lifted himself up to sit on his knees and slowly dragged out. He pushed your legs up, so you took the initiative and held them close to your chest for him. At the first sight of his come trickling out of you, he released a contented groan. 

“Fuck… Fifteen it is.” He said through a breath. Your holes fluttered as you pushed out more of his come, making him curse under his breath. “Take off the fucking dress before I rip it off and make you go home nude.” He threatened, making you instantly release your legs and scramble to take it off. He ripped your underwear clean off your body, then flipped you onto your stomach. 

“What are you doing?” You gasped, when he straddled your thighs and lined his cock up with your hole again. 

“I paid for two hours. I’m not stopping until I either run out of time, or run out of come.” You choked on your spit at his words, feeling too flustered to figure out how to respond. Before you could even attempt to just think of something to say, he was pushing back in, ridding your head of all thoughts except for him and his cock. 

When you woke up the next day, you saw that he had transferred the original price, plus fifteen thousand. You blinked rapidly and rubbed your eyes, thinking that you read it wrong in your sleepy state, but the number was clear as day. As was the memo reading: You’ll hear from me again soon. 

Taglist (join here)

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[poorlittlegreenie13]

Deleted scene from 'Rules For (fake) Dating an Italian' to keep you busy while AO3 is down:

(Sydney & Carmy babysit for Richie, set in between chapters four & five — I wrote it & then decided to scrap it, I don't even know why lol it just wasn't working. & I didn't edit it, so it might have mistakes. But anyway, you guys can have it as a treat.)

Richie runs out the front door, pulling his jacket on. 

“Carmen,” he says, walking up to Carmy and, much to Sydney’s surprise, taking Carmy’s face in both hands and pressing a firm kiss to the top of Carmy’s head. “Thank you so much. I owe you, brother.”

“It’s fine,” Carmy mutters. 

“Sydney,” Richie says, pulling away from Carmy to look at her. 

“I don’t need a kiss,” Sydney says quickly, “just a verbal thank you is more than enough.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Richie says. “Carmy explained the situation, right?”

“I told her what you told me,” Carmy says. 

“Because I never miss a weekend with her,” Richie says, “I mean, I have literally never missed a single minute of a weekend with her before, but if I don’t go to the DMV today, it’s like six months till I can get another appointment, and I really need to get my license renewed.”

“It’s fine,” Sydney says, not dwelling too much on the thought of how much Richie has been driving her around with an expired license so far. “We’re happy to look after her.”

“I’ll be back in two hours,” Richie says. “She has her iPod, and all her Barbies. There are Uncrustables in the fridge, or you can cook with whatever’s in there, and she likes watching Unicorn Academy, she can put it on herself.”

“We’ll be fine, cousin. Don’t be late to your appointment,” Carmy says, with a somber expression that looks less like someone taking on babysitting duties, and more like a soldier awaiting command.

Carmy called Syd that morning, saying Richie was freaking out about needing a babysitter. Granted, Carmy was also freaking out about being a babysitter. 

"Nat’s busy, Tina’s busy, everyone’s fucking busy, can you please come with me? I’m not good with kids."

Sydney isn’t particularly good with kids either, but she didn’t tell him that.

She would’ve taken any excuse to see Carmy. Because she’s a masochist. And because the fact that he asked her to come not because it would help trick Richie, but because he wanted her help, made her feel kind of hot in the face. 

When he picked her up, she slid into his passenger’s seat with an almost-practiced ease, and he just sat there looking at her for a minute. 

“Your hair,” he said. 

“Oh,” she said, touching the end of one freshly-done braid, “yeah, microbraids, like I told you.”

“They look nice,” he said, and she blushed, despite the stiffness of the complement. 

He always seems to rehearse his words to her in his head before he says them; they come out practiced and overly formal, and it frustrates her, how measured they seem, though it shouldn’t. 

She’s pretty sure that’s just Carmy’s way. He’s careful with everything, not just compliments. She’s learning that about him. 

She’s been learning other things about him, too. 

Like the fact that he seems to go quiet in crowds, and gravitate toward walls. He flinches if anybody moves toward him too suddenly. Sometimes, not often, but enough to notice, he stutters when he speaks. 

She wants to know everything about him. She wishes his life story was a book she could read, so she could just catch up to where he is now, and understand everything about him. She wants to know the right things to say, to do, how to put him at ease. She wants to know what he’s thinking when he looks at her. 

Now, she watches Carmy walk into Richie’s house, stooping to pet Zanzibar as the puppy runs excitedly up to them, letting out high-pitched barks and tapping his little claws against the tiles of Richie’s entrance foyer. 

In the doorframe of the kitchen across from them, a tiny girl with blonde hair and Richie’s facial features peeks out at them. 

“Hi,” Sydney says, giving her a little wave. 

“Uncle Carmy?” the girl asks. 

Carmy looks up at her, unmistakable anxiety crossing his face. 

“Uh, hi,” he says. “Richie’ll be back soon, don’t worry.”

“She doesn’t call her dad Richie, does she?” Sydney whispers. 

“She knows who I mean,” Carmy whispers back. 

Eva looks between the two of them.

“Dad said you would make me lunch,” she says. 

Sydney smiles. “We will,” she says, looking at Carmy expectantly. 

He nods seriously, walking ahead into the kitchen and beginning to look through Richie’s cabinets. Sydney follows Eva into the room, watching the little girl take a seat at one of the kitchen chairs, pulling her knees up into her chest and looking at  Sydney with huge eyes she hasn’t totally grown into yet. 

“Are you Uncle Carmy’s girlfriend?” she asks. 

“Yeah,” Sydney says, glancing over at Carm. 

He’s holding a box of Mac & Cheese, and holds it up for Eva to see, raising an eyebrow. 

“This good?” he asks. 

“That’s good,” Eva says, crossing her arms and deepening her voice slightly to mock Carmy as she says it. He cracks a smile, filling a pot with water and setting it on the stove. 

Michelin starred chef cooking boxed Mac & Cheese in a tee shirt three feet away from Sydney. Her life is a joke. 

“Why are you his girlfriend?” Eva asks. 

Sydney laughs softly, considering this. 

“Well, uh,” she says, with a little shake of her head. Carmy has his back to her, facing the stove, but he’s standing still, like he’s listening. “He’s great at cooking,” Sydney says. “And I really like spending time with him. He’s good company.”

“My dad said Carmy’s never looked this happy before,” Eva says. 

Carmy clears his throat. “I am happy,” he says, though there’s an ironic flatness to it. 

“Because of her?” Eva asks. 

Sydney bites the inside of her cheek. 

But Carmy turns around and looks at Sydney, brow furrowing slightly, eyes soft. 

“Yeah. Because of her,” he says. 

He says it like it’s true. 

Michelin star mac and cheese is about as good as it sounds. Carmy is leaning against Richie’s counter, watching Sydney and Eva eat. Eva’s iPod is set on the table in front of her, playing some Taylor Swift deepcut that Sydney doesn’t recognize. As Sydney swallows her third or fourth spoonful of food, she stands up, turning to Carmy. The heat of the stove has put a slight flush in the tops of his cheeks, and there’s a towel slung over one of his shoulders. 

“You’re not eating?” she asks him. 

The question seems to take him off guard. His eyes flicker to the pot of food, then back to her. 

“No, I made it for you two,” he says.

“There’s plenty, Carm,” Sydney says, grabbing a bowl from Richie’s cabinet and filling it for him from the pot still warming on the stove. When she hands it to him, he just looks at it for a second, before taking a small spoonful and putting it in his mouth, chewing like it’s his first time eating a meal. 

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Sydney asks him, picking her own bowl back up. 

“It’s alright,” he says, taking another, bigger spoonful. He does that sometimes; it’s one of the things she’s noticed. He eats like he’s starving, or he doesn’t eat at all. It gives her this weird urge to take care of him. To text him in the mornings, and at night, and ask him if he ate that day. To show up at his apartment unannounced with bags of groceries and make him sit down for twenty minutes while she meal preps for him. 

“It’s good, Carm, it’s better than alright,” she says again, tone light, even though she’s willing him to believe her as hard as she can. Trying to get him to take a compliment is like trying to throw a ball through a brick wall. 

He averts his eyes, nodding again. “A little flat, but I guess that’s what you get with boxed mix,” he says, pushing the noodles around with his spoon. 

“Ever make it from scratch?” Sydney asks. “Or is that too pedestrian for a fancy New York Chef?”

“I'm gonna pretend I know what pedestrian means in that context,” he says, meeting her eyes with an amused smile. “I made it from scratch one Thanksgiving, years ago. Had no idea what I was doing. My mother passed out at like 3:00pm, and we were all scrambling in the kitchen trying to get dinner together for her so she’d, you know, see it and be happy with us when she woke up. But Sugar burned the turkey, so Mikey had to spend hours trying to calm her down; she got these crazy panic attacks when she made mistakes. And I made mac and cheese.”

“How old were you?” Sydney asks. 

He seems surprised at the question, and shrugs. “Twelve, I think? Mikey would’ve been seventeen, Sugar would’ve just turned fourteen.”

“You’re the youngest?” 

He nods. 

“That figures,” Sydney says. 

He scoffs. “Why does that figure?”

“I don’t know, just does.”

His bowl is almost empty. Wordlessly, she takes it from his hands, refilling it. 

“So, did your mom like the mac and cheese?” she asks. 

Something in his face darkens. He gives a quick shake of his head. 

“No, she couldn’t get past Nat burning the turkey. We just, uh, took all the food into Mikey’s room and watched The Peanuts until she stopped yelling and fell asleep.”

“Uncle Carmy,” Eva interrupts, getting up from her chair and walking over to where Carmy is standing, looking up at him expectantly.“Daddy said you would play Barbies with me.”

“I will play Barbies with you,” Carmy says, and then, looking over at Sydney: “Syd, would you like to play Barbies?”

There’s a fond, almost relieved smile on his face, like another minute of talking about his family might’ve pushed him off some cliff’s edge that he wasn’t prepared to crawl back over. 

“Obviously I want to play Barbies,” Sydney says, letting Eva lead them into the other room. 

"You're such a liar," Sydney murmurs, as they walk behind Eva.

"I am?" Carmy asks lightly.

"Yeah," Sydney says, "you told me you weren't good with kids."

He smiles, shaking his head ruefully.

"I'm not," he says.

Sydney rolls her eyes.

And they play Barbies, for an hour. Carmy kneeling on carpet, listening attentively as Eva explains which Barbie is which (she has a Taylor Swift box set, it seems, and a Barbie dream home that looks like it cost more than Sydney’s last paycheck). Sydney sits cross legged across from them, watching Carmy delicately hold a Barbie doll in one tattooed hand as Eva brushes out its hair. 

Watching him be a good uncle shouldn't be as fucking attractive as it is. It shouldn't be conjuring up vivid images of Carmy holding sleeping babies and cooking family dinners.

God, Sydney is so fucked.

“Speak Now Taylor Barbie is marrying Jacob from Twilight Barbie,” Eva says. “‘Cept I forgot Jacob at Mommy’s house.”

“I see,” Carmy says. Sydney bites back a smile. 

“Are you ever gonna get married?” Eva asks, looking up at Carmy. 

Sydney’s smile quickly fades. 

Carmy’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“Me?” he says. 

“You and Sydney,” Eva says, looking over at Sydney expectantly. 

“Uh, maybe,” Carmy says. He’s looking at Sydney too; an expression she can’t read. “I don’t know. Depends on… lots of things.”

“Like what?” Eva asks. 

Carmy clears his throat. “Like… whether Sydney puts up with me for long enough for me to ask her?”

“Oh, shut up,” Sydney says, smiling exasperatedly, shaking her head at him. “He’s kidding, Eva.”

“So you are getting married?”

“No,” Sydney says, “no, not right now.”

“When?”

She looks at them with expectant, innocent eyes. Sydney can’t help but laugh.  

“Not for a long time,” Carmy says. 

"How long?"

Carmy looks away from Sydney, shaking his head like he doesn't know how to answer.

"I don't know," Sydney says, drawing Eva's attention over to her. "Whenever we decide we want to."

"Don't you want to marry him now?" Eva asks sincerely.

Sydney laughs uncomfortably. When she looks over at Carmy, he's looked back up at her. His brow is furrowed slightly. He should be smiling and laughing. This is funny. Objectively. He's taking it way too seriously.

"Yeah," Sydney says, staring at Carmy, raising a taunting eyebrow at him. "Sure I do. But marriage is really complicated so I think we're probably going to wait and see. Right, Carm?"

"Right," Carmy says, with a stiffness to the word like he's in pain. "Yeah, let's not talk about getting married anymore."

Eva frowns.

"It makes him nervous," Sydney stage-whispers to her.

Eva cheers up at that, smiling and nodding knowingly.

"People get nervous when they love each other," Eva says. "Mommy told me."

Sydney scoffs softly, but when she looks at Carmy he isn't smiling. He's just staring back at her, doing that weird, hyper-focused thing where he gets, like, fixated on her face.

It makes her face feel hot.

It makes her nervous.

Fuck.

[fandom-alley]

Rekindling at the Spa

18+

Summary: Spencer has an evening at the spa as per his doctors orders, and meets up with a girl he met at Penelope's over a year ago. This time he convinces himself not to leave without getting her phone number, but he ends up getting a little bit more.

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Reader

Category: Fluff, smut (like hardly though)

Warnings: 18+, kissing, making out, semi-public (no ones around) grinding, coming untouched/in pants

Word Count: 3.7k

a/n: inspired by my recent trip to the spa where i realized just how single i am. this is my first time writing something spicier than making out, so it's not a lot and just at the end, go easy on me lol

Also on AO3

The last thing Spencer Reid wanted to do was spend his evening at the hydrotherapy spa. Germs from the water of hot tubs could make you sick if consumed, and so could the vapour that comes off the water. Not to mention the possibility of a rash due to the chemicals used. But it was his doctor's orders. Apparently his own doctoral status was not good enough to sway them to let him come back to work early and skip this step. 

There were many steps he had to complete as part of his recovery process; resting his injured leg, physical therapy, changes to his diet, therapy for his mental health. And the dreaded ‘spa relaxation’.

Now, most doctors probably wouldn’t prescribe a day at the spa as something to do as part of recovery, but Spencer’s doctor knew him well. He knew that throughout the last month, even though Spencer had completed most of his steps, he wasn’t relaxing through any of it. And his doctor was correct. Spencer’s brain had been working double time, reading twice the amount of books he usually did in a day while he was immobile elevating his injured leg. Reading up on new techniques for profiling and offering tips to the BAU when they worked a local case.

His doctor could tell that his inability to relax his brain, therefore relaxing his body, was the last step in holding him back from complete recovery.

So here he was, entering a Nordic hydrotherapy spa, where he was not allowed to bring in any cell phones, tablets, or hold loud conversations with anyone. And while it was acceptable to bring books in to read, Spencer didn’t want to risk dropping one in the water and ruining it. So he was about to be forced to put his self meditation techniques to use. 

After changing into his swim shorts, putting on the complimentary robe and locking away his belongings, Spencer stepped out of the main building into the frigid evening air. He breathed in the scent of salt, chlorine, and eucalyptus from the nearby steam room. Hidden speakers in the plant beds around the property played out relaxing spa style music. Spencer had to admit, despite his reservations regarding germs, he already did feel quite relaxed.

The steam coming off the hot pools seemed to blanket the grounds in silence. It wasn’t that busy, but Spencer spotted a few people relaxing in the pools and walking in-between sections of the spa grounds. 

Upon his check in tonight, the kind lady at the front desk informed him how to use the spa for maximum relaxation and hydrotherapy benefits. She recommended he sit in a hot pool for 10 to 15 minutes, take a plunge in the cold pool for at least 15 seconds or as long as he could handle, and then relax in a sauna, steam room, or relaxation room before continuing the process a few times.

The property was large, with 4 different hot pools, 3 different cold plunge pools, 2 rooms for wood burning saunas, the eucalyptus steam room, and multiple chairs dotting the ground surrounding fireplaces where you could sit and relax. Without putting too much thought to it, Spencer hung up his robe near the closest hot pool and stepped into the burning water. 

The change in temperature stung his cold toes as they started to warm up. The water was only up to his waist as he waded through past a few couples sitting to the sides. He made his way to the back of the pool where it was blissfully empty and took a seat. Since he was so tall sitting on the built in seats along the edge of the pool, the water only went up to mid chest. But the rest of his exposed skin felt refreshed with the cool air blowing over him. A good contrast to the hot water covering the rest of his body.

Spencer leaned his head back and closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to shut his brain off. It worked for a few minutes, before he heard a couple a few feet over whispering sweet nothings to each other. It just made Spencer start thinking about his own lacklustre love life.

With his job in the BAU there wasn't that much opportunity and time for a relationship. Sure, some of his co-workers had figured it out. Like JJ and Will for instance. Spencer had seen how difficult it was for Morgan to hold down a relationship with their crazy work hours as well.

He hadn't really put that much effort into a relationship, though. Part of the reason was that he just didn't have the time. Some of the cases kept them away from home for weeks at a time. Sometimes to the point where he really didn't know how his friends and co-workers were able to keep it up. He was the type of guy who wanted to get to know someone, be around them lots in the early stages, and that was just too hard with work.

Spencer jolted out of his daydream when someone splashed into the seat next to him.

"Is this seat taken?" The voice belonged to a pretty girl, who if he had to guess was maybe just a few years younger than him. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't seem to place where he recognized her from. "You're Dr. Spencer Reid, right?" She asked.

"Yes, that's me," he replied with a furrowed brow, wracking his brain on why her big brown eyes looked like they knew him as well.

Thankfully she caught on to his confusion. "I'm y/n. Penelope's friend from book club. We met a year ago at her place when she had a viewing party for the season finale of Love Is Blind. I almost didn't go because I really don't watch reality TV, but I had just moved to the area and I wanted to try and make some friends."

Spencer remembered her now. Back then at the party she had her hair down in unruly curls and it was the colour of fire engine red. Now her hair was tied back to stay out of the water and it was the colour of midnight black. He wasn't one to forget a face, or forget much of anything really. But something about a dramatic change in hair colour and style had the Clark Kent effect on him. Maybe it was because he was in a pretty decent state of relaxation.

"I remember you," he said, nodding his head in recognition. "I also didn't want to go to that party but Penelope is hard to say no to."

Y/n laughed, "Yes she is, isn't she. It's good though. Because of her persistence I was able to make a few friends that night. And on multiple other nights as well. Penelope frequently tries to set me up on dates." She was talking pretty quietly as per spa rules, and it would have been hard to hear if she hadn't sat close and leaned in while she talked. Normally Spencer would have backed away, but something about her presence was soothing. Or maybe that was just the water jets from the pool shooting into his back.

"So what brings you to the spa tonight?" Spencer asked her. He might have met her back then at the party, but they hadn't said many words to each other. He remembered being slightly intimidated by her fiery hair and bubbly personality and after their initial introduction he snuck away with his glass of juice to browse Pen's book collection.

"Actually, it was a birthday gift from Penelope!" Y/n smiled.

"Oh, happy birthday." Spencer smiled back at her. Why was he intimidated back then, he thought to himself. She was so beautiful and so nice, and so far fairly easy to talk to, it seemed.

"Thank you. But it's actually not until next month. Penelope just told me this was the only night she could get a reservation and that when my actual birthday happened she would buy me a cake," y/n laughed. 

Spencer pursed his lips in confusion. When he booked his reservation on his doctor's orders, there looked to have been multiple available times from now until the end of the year. The only day that was sold out was Thanksgiving weekend.

"When did she give you the gift with the reservation in it?" He asked y/n, with a hint of scepticism in his voice.

"About 3 days ago I think it was," she answered. About 3 days ago is when Spencer called up Penelope to rant to her about being forced to go to this spa. Was it possible Pen had given Y/n the gift as an excuse to try and set them up? Back at the party he had gotten the vibe when she introduced them that she wanted them to become friends. But Spencer had never gotten her number or email, and figured it just wasn't meant to be. Although how could it be, when he actively avoided her most of that night.

"What a coincidence that we're both here on the same night," Spencer told her.

"I know, right? I wasn't completely sure that you were you when I saw you sitting over here. But you're a hard one to forget, Dr. Reid," y/n said. Was that a blush he saw forming on her cheeks, or was she just getting too warm from the water.

"You can just call me Spencer. I really don't make anyone use doctor unless we're at work," he chuckled.

"Will do, Spencer. I hope you don't mind that I came over to sit with you. I can leave if you want the relaxation of being alone." She started to slide away from her seat slowly, giving him the opportunity to tell her she didn't need to leave. Which is exactly what he did.

"I don't mind. It's kind of nice to have company. I didn't realize how many people went to the spa with their partners," he told her. 

"Well, perfect. We can experience this spa together then. So how come you didn't come here with your partner?" Y/n asked slyly. Spencer could feel his face heat up with the attention turned to himself.

"No partner. I actually had to come here by doctor's orders. I got shot in the leg last month, and as the last part of recovery my doctor wanted me to relax more and figured what better way to force me to relax than to send me to the spa.”

“Oh my gosh. I’m tempted to ask if you’re okay, but it seems like you are, since you’re sitting here. I had no idea your job could lead to such violence,” Y/n exclaimed. 

“Every day is something different. They usually keep me off the field working from the office or police stations, but even then you never know what could happen,” Spencer explained.

“Wow. Okay, sorry. This is supposed to be relaxing and here I am bringing up work talk. What do you say we take a plunge into the cold?” Y/n asked with a grin.

This was probably the experience at the spa he was least likely to enjoy, but he followed her out of the water and next door to the cold pool. It was completely empty and Spencer was not surprised. Y/n grabbed his hand, sending a shock through his body, as they stood at the top of the stairs to the pool.

“It’s pretty likely that one of us is going to wimp out once our feet hit the water. So if need be, we have to drag the other person in, okay?” She said as she looked up at him. His voice got caught in his throat as he looked down at her and all he could do was nod in agreement. 

With a deep breath in, together they stepped onto the first step. It was so cold Spencer felt like his toes would fall off in a second. However he didn’t even get a second thought to think about stepping back out before y/n fell forward into the water, pulling him with her. He had to grab onto her hips for stability so he didn’t end up falling on top of her in the 3 feet of water. 

“It’s so cold,” Y/n gasped out.

It might have been 15 seconds, it might have been 5 minutes, but Spencer felt lost in time as he held Y/n in his arms in the freezing cold water. He didn’t even feel that cold in the places where Y/n’s skin touched his. Slowly, as if held down by some invisible force, he removed his hands from her hips and grabbed her hand this time to help her out of the water.

Feeling a new burst of energy from the cold shock, Spencer helped Y/n into her robe before putting on his, then wordlessly grabbed her hand and led her to one of the saunas. Inside, they were met with a blast of heat as Spencer guided Y/n to the back bench. Every seat in the sauna faced a wall made of glass that overlooked a small lake with a fountain cascading in the middle. As he relaxed into his seat, Y/n decided to lay out on the bench beside him and use his thigh as a head rest. 

Neither of them said a word as they gazed out the window, watching the birds fly by and the ducks swim in the lake. 

Spencer thought back to the night of Penelope’s party. After he had pushed himself to the wall to avoid interacting with people, he did end up watching from afar as Y/n made her way around talking to all the guests. He might have initially felt intimidated, but he was also fascinated with her. He’d seen a lot of different people with his job, and he’d seen people with colourfully dyed hair before as well, but something about her red curls just drew in his eyes and he couldn’t take them back.

She was beautiful, enchanting even, and he wanted to get her phone number. But then he had thought back to their last case. Where they had been gone for 16 days in a row. He had watched JJ as she video called Will and her kids any chance they got. Watched Hotch take numerous phone calls from his son. Even Morgan escaped for private chats with Savannah. He wasn’t sure if that was something he would be able to handle. So eventually he said goodnight to Penelope, left the party, and left any thoughts he had about Y/n behind as well.

Now that Penelope had schemingly gotten her back into his life, he was determined to make sure he got her number before leaving again. 

Spencer and Y/n enjoyed the spa amenities for another couple hours, cycling through the recommended steps while chatting quietly or relaxing in silence. Despite not doing much, they started to feel tired from the heated pools and saunas before eventually agreeing to meet outside in the parking lot after they got changed so they could say a proper goodbye.

Spencer rushed through changing, not wanting to take too long in case Y/n decided she didn’t want to stay, and made it outside in record time. He stood off to the side at the parking lot entrance, waiting for her with his heart racing. It took her a little bit longer, but eventually he saw her walking down the path. 

Her hair was down now, damp and a little frizzy from her curls trying to poke through. Wearing a simple black zip up sweater and black leggings, she looked cozy but also like she was about to rob a bank. She smiled at him when she reached his spot, taking his hand in hers to lead him to where she parked. The lot had almost emptied, leaving mostly staff vehicles and the last few remaining spa guests wanting to get every minute out of their visit as they could. Even with the empty lot, Y/n led Spencer to her car, a little black Honda, parked alone in the corner lit up only by the bright moon in the sky. 

“Thanks for letting me hang out with you tonight, Spencer,” Y/n told him when they stopped beside her car. She didn’t move to unlock it, opting instead to stand there with her hand still clasped in his.

“Of course. It was really lovely to see you again, Y/n,” said Spencer. Okay, he thought to himself, now is the time to do it. Bite the bullet and ask for her number. “Would you, maybe, be willing to exchange numbers and we can plan to go out for coffee some time soon?”

Y/n broke into a smile. “I would love that,” she said before reciting her number. She knew he would remember it, if Penelope’s constant chatter about how amazing Spencer’s memory is was to be true. 

“Awesome. So, I guess I’ll talk to you later?” Spencer moved to head back to his own vehicle but was stopped by a hand placed on the centre of his chest.

“Yeah. Or,” said Y/n, “Maybe we could do this?”

Before he could ask what ‘this’ was, she used the hand on his chest to push him back against the door of her car. Then she leaned in, rising up onto her toes to try and match his height, and placed her lips on his. It was quick, but enough to leave Spencer breathless, before she pulled away the slightest bit to look into his eyes.

“Is this okay?” she asked, and when he mumbled out a yes, nodding his head, she wasted no time going back in.

Their lips crashed together in an instant, almost too eager to finally be getting what they’ve both been craving all night. Y/n removed her hand from his chest to bring both of them into his hair, feeling the damp curls and giving them a little tug. Spencer brought his arms around her waist tightly, bringing her in closer to help relieve the strain of standing on her toes. 

He couldn’t believe this was happening, and in a parking lot. But he wouldn’t change a thing. Y/n’s hands made their way down to the back of his neck, before she brought them to his jaw. He let out a groan when she pulled on his bottom lip with her teeth, before their tongues collided with one another.  

Spencer brought his hands down even further, to grip the soft area at the back of her thigh just underneath her butt. He used his new grip to pull her up higher, spinning them around so that it was her back pressed against the car this time. She wrapped her legs around him to hold on as Spencer moved one of his hands up to her face, running his fingers along her jaw before finally pushing her hair back away from her neck. He broke away from her mouth to trail kisses along her neck, stopping to suck or nip at areas that drew a soft moan from her lips. He made his way down to her chest, where she had left part of the sweater unzipped. 

When he pulled back on the sweater he stopped with a groan, breathing deeply as he held her closer and grew tighter in his pants. Where he was expecting to see some sort of lace bra, instead he was met with nothing. She wasn’t wearing anything under the sweater. Hungrily, he opened her sweater more and he attached himself to the soft swell of her breast. Kissing, sucking, and gently biting. 

Without even realizing it, they started to move against each other. Spencer rolled his hips against hers, seeking that friction but focusing his attention on the skin between his lips. 

“Oh, fuck.” Y/n threw her head back in a moan as Spencer finally attached his mouth to the hard nub that was waiting for attention. He swirled his tongue around as he sucked on the sensitive area. “That feels so good.” she groaned. She brought her hands up to tangle them in his hair and hold him in place, only letting him move when he wanted to show her other side some love as well. 

It was difficult to move much against the car, but Spencer was hitting her in all the right places. Y/n could feel a familiar welcomed pressure building in her core and she gripped her legs tighter around him.

“Spencer,” y/n breathed out. “I’m close.”

He lifted his head enough to look at her. Her head back and eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. “Yeah?” he asked and she nodded her head while trying to move her hips faster against his. 

Spencer ground into her with a new purpose now. Paying more attention to the moves from his hips, he went back to sucking on her breast. This time he brought his hand to palm the other one. Squeezing and feeling the fullness of it in his hand. He rolled and pinched her nipple between his fingers at the same time as he gently grazed his teeth over the other one. It was enough to send Y/n over the edge, with Spencer right behind her. 

Spencer’s thrusts grew short until eventually they stopped as they came down from their high. He brought her in for another kiss, lazily moving his lips against hers while they got their breathing under control. Finally, Y/n unwrapped her legs from around him and he let her go.

“Holy shit. I can’t believe we just did that,” she said with a suddenly shy smile and glanced up at him. He looked down at her like he was seeing an angel. 

“Yeah,” he breathed out. He gripped the edges of her sweater and zipped it up tight to her neck. “What do you say we skip the coffee and go right back to my place?”

“I like the way you think. Lead the way.”

Click here for chapter 2! Available on AO3 only because it's basically smut and I was too nervous to post it on Tumblr lol

Thank you for reading, liking, or rebloging! <3

[drewharrisonwriter]

Friends Without Benefits

Status: One Shot, Complete

Summary: Even if you don't believe it, Dieter Bravo is actually capable of having platonic friendships.

Word Count: 10.5k words

Warnings: strong language, heavy flirtation, sexual tension (no smut--can you believe it??), mentions of past affairs and scandals, alcohol consumption, references to Dieter’s reckless behavior, mentions of drug use, emotional vulnerability, humor, inappropriate jokes (because, Dieter!), legal contract about not fucking

A/N: Okay, I know what you're thinking… another Dieter fic? Yeah, I know—it’s like my fourth one, so clearly, the brain rot is real, and I’m trying to get it out of my system (seriously, I’m trying… sort of). I know I haven’t updated Lifeline in a hot minute, but we’ll get to that later, lol. This fic is a little different from the usual—there’s a lot more fluff and friendship stuff, but I really enjoyed playing with the dynamic of two people who could totally cross the line but decide not to (because, honestly, it’s working for them as is). Also, apologies for any typos—I tried proofreading, but doing it on my phone isn’t exactly ideal. Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think!

P.S. My laptop, which served me well for 5 years, just gave out. With grad school, the recent loss of my stepdad, and ongoing medical bills, finances are tight. I’m currently managing writing commissions and my dissertation from my phone, which is okay but really challenging. If you can help with a donation or by commissioning some of my writing, or just by simply commenting or reblogging, it would mean the world to me. 💜 Thank you from the bottom of my heart for any support you can offer. 💜🙏🏻

Read this on AO3 | Check out my Masterlist

It started with a rejection email.

Not the kind that offered hope for future opportunities, but the type that crushed your spirit in one curt sentence:

"We regret to inform you that your application for the Screenwriting Development Program has not been accepted."

She read it over twice, then a third time, hoping something had been missed. A reason, some constructive feedback, anything. But it was just a copy-paste response sent to dozens—maybe hundreds—of other hopefuls like her. She blinked away the sting in her eyes and put the laptop to sleep.

The screen faded to black, reflecting back an image she barely recognized anymore: tangled hair, circles under her eyes, and the lingering trace of a smile she hadn’t used in days.

“Whatever,” she muttered to herself. “I didn’t need it anyway.”

That was a lie.

The Screenwriting Development Program was her shot, her dream, the chance to step out of her day-to-day grind and into the world she’d always wanted. A world where she wrote stories that people would actually care to hear.

But she didn’t have time to dwell on it. In fifteen minutes, she had to be at the diner. She grabbed her apron off the back of a chair and stuffed it into her bag before heading out.

As usual, the shift was long. And slow. She spent most of her time refilling coffee for the regulars and plastering on a smile that barely reached her eyes. The rejection lingered like a dark cloud, reminding her how close she was to giving up completely. By the time her shift ended, she was so exhausted that she didn’t even change out of her uniform. She just grabbed her bag and headed out into the night.

The long walk up to her apartment felt heavier than usual. It wasn’t until she reached her front door that the next wave of despair hit her like a punch to the gut.

An eviction notice.

She stared at the paper taped to her door, her heart sinking.

“Great,” she whispered bitterly, ripping it off and crumpling it into a ball before shoving it into her bag.

Four weeks. She had four weeks to come up with the rent, or she’d be out on the street.

Later, she sat on her couch in her underwear and a camisole, trying to ignore the cold chill of the eviction notice that still hovered at the edge of her mind. The TV buzzed in the background, Dieter Bravo’s voice filling the small apartment with a familiar rasp. A half-eaten carton of ice cream sat beside her, its contents softening to a puddle as she mindlessly scooped the melting mess.

Hunger Strike was playing again. She’d lost count of how many times she’d watched it by now. Dieter’s performance was the kind that stuck with you, the kind that won awards. It wasn’t just a movie anymore; it was the movie that had put him on the map—had made him a star and earned him that Oscar. She didn’t care if everyone else had moved on to the next blockbuster; for her, Hunger Strike was it. Every look in his eyes, every rasp of desperation in his voice felt real, almost too real. It was like he wasn’t acting at all.

"We don’t need them. They need us!" His character was yelling now, his voice hoarse, raw with intensity. She could practically feel his pain, his determination radiating through the screen.

She wiped at her eyes, even though she wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was everything—her life, the rejection, the eviction notice looming like a ticking time bomb. Or maybe it was just Dieter. Watching him made her feel seen, like somehow, through all the chaos, someone else understood what it was like to be on the edge.

The credits rolled on Hunger Strike, but instead of turning off the TV, she did what any fan would—she went down the rabbit hole. The screen filled with suggested videos, interviews, and, of course, the latest tabloid scandals. Dieter Bravo was all over the place lately. She had seen the headlines—everyone had. It was impossible to ignore him, even if you tried.

She grabbed her phone and scrolled through Twitter, where his name was trending yet again.

"Dieter Bravo's Latest Scandal: Sex Tape with Male Assistant Exposed!"

"Gender Identity Crisis or Another Stunt? Dieter Bravo Caught in Love Triangle with Married PA!"

"Oscar-Winning Actor, Homewrecker? Dieter Bravo Linked to Personal Assistant's Broken Marriage!"

She exhaled sharply, half-amused, half in disbelief. Every few months, it seemed, something like this would pop up—another scandal, another explosion in the media circus surrounding him. But this one? A sex tape? With his male personal assistant, who was married to a woman?

It was outrageous. It was chaotic. It was exactly what you'd expect from Dieter Bravo.

How does one even make this shit up? she thought, as she tapped one of the articles. The details were just as wild as the headlines. Apparently, the PA was a guy named James, and he’d been with Dieter for years—right up until last week, when everything blew up.

An article excerpt says: "Sources say that the sex tape in question was filmed during a drug-fueled party at Dieter’s mansion. It shows intimate moments between the actor and his assistant, James, who is reportedly married to a woman. James has since left Dieter’s employment amid the scandal, and insiders claim the actor is ‘unapologetic’ about the affair. This is just the latest in a long string of public meltdowns for the once-revered actor. Dieter Bravo’s chaotic lifestyle has led many to question his mental stability and even his gender identity, as he continues to defy traditional labels."

She snorted, shaking her head. “Unapologetic? That sounds about right.”

It wasn’t that she supported his reckless behavior, but there was something about Dieter that always seemed to push boundaries in every direction. He lived like a car crash happening in slow motion, and yet, people couldn’t look away. The scandals, the chaos—they were just part of his public persona. But there was more to him than that.

She clicked on an older interview from the Cliff Beasts 6 press tour. That was the movie where everything started to unravel for him. The film was supposed to be a big comeback, but instead, it had exposed the man behind the Oscar-winning actor—drugs, sex, alcohol, and a level of unpredictability that no one in Hollywood could quite handle.

Interviewer: “Dieter, after your incredible performance in Hunger Strike, people expected another award-winning role in Cliff Beasts 6, but... that’s not what happened. Can you talk about what went wrong?”

Dieter Bravo (slouching, visibly tired): “Cliff Beasts 6... yeah, man, that was a mess. But, like, it was supposed to be a mess, wasn’t it? I mean, we were trapped in that goddamn bubble for months longer than planned, and by the end, it wasn’t even a movie anymore. It was survival.” He laughed, a rough, bitter sound. “I overdosed on camera, for fuck’s sake. People thought it was part of the documentary. Maybe it should’ve been.”

Interviewer: “So, the extended shoot during the pandemic—did that affect the film’s outcome?”

Dieter (rubbing his temples, shaking his head): “Affect it? It was the outcome. By the time we got to month six, no one gave a shit about the movie anymore. It was just about getting out of there alive. People wanted me to deliver some award-winning performance? Dude, I was barely holding it together. I mean, look at the film—Cliff Beasts was never about art. By the sixth one, it was just... noise. Star-studded, CGI-filled noise. People expected something big, but I gave them a disaster. Maybe that’s what it needed to be.”

Interviewer: “The overdose incident—was that something planned for the documentary, or did things just... get out of control?”

Dieter Bravo (smirking, then shrugging): “Planned? Nah, man, nothing was planned by then. I mean, the cameras were always rolling, right? So when I went down... they just kept filming. Thought it’d make for good behind-the-scenes footage or something. But that’s Hollywood for you.” He paused, letting the weight of it sink in before adding, “People don’t care if you’re falling apart. They just want to know if it’ll sell.”

Interviewer: “That’s pretty heavy. Do you think Cliff Beasts 6 was the start of your... well, decline? It’s no secret you’ve had a rough few years since.”

Dieter Bravo (lighting a cigarette, ignoring the studio's no-smoking policy): “Decline? Maybe. I dunno. I think people were already looking for a reason to tear me apart. Cliff Beasts just made it easier. It wasn’t the overdose that got people talking, it was the fact that it happened while I was making a movie no one cared about anymore. The sixth installment, man. By that point, the franchise was running on fumes, and so was I. But people love a good downfall, right? They see someone on top, and they wait for you to crash. They’ll stick a camera in your face and call it a documentary when really, it’s just a freak show.”

She paused the video, the cigarette smoke still curling from Dieter’s lips frozen on the screen. The words hung in the air, heavy and raw. It was no wonder the media loved to tear him apart; they were practically fed the narrative on a silver platter. His whole life had become the entertainment industry’s favorite sideshow.

She stared at the screen for a few more moments, Dieter’s face frozen in that half-smirk, half-exhausted expression. He was unraveling, and everyone was watching. Cliff Beasts 6 might have been the breaking point, but it wasn’t the cause. No, Dieter had been falling apart long before that.

In a different world, she imagined, she and Dieter could be friends. He’d probably laugh at the mess she just made, tell her not to sweat it. In another life, maybe they’d meet over coffee or work on some crazy indie project together. They’d both be swimming in their own chaos, but maybe that’s what would make their friendship work.

She wasn’t delusional; she knew Dieter Bravo was a celebrity—someone she would probably never meet, never know beyond the screen. But sometimes, when he said things like that, it felt like he was speaking directly to her. Like maybe, in some other life, they’d get along. They’d get each other.

Her eyes drifted down to the eviction notice sitting on the coffee table. Four weeks, it said. Four weeks to come up with the rent, or she’d be out on the street. It was hard to feel hopeful when every option felt like a dead end. And yet, watching Dieter talk about his own collapse, she didn’t feel so alone.

Her phone buzzed on the cushion beside her.

She ignored it at first, assuming it was just another bill reminder. But when she glanced at the screen, her breath caught.

Studio Callback - Screenwriting Internship.

Her heart stopped. A callback? After all this time?

Without thinking, she sat up too fast, the ice cream carton tipping over the edge of the couch and spilling melted chocolate onto the floor. “Shit!” she cursed, grabbing a towel and wiping at the sticky mess with quick, frustrated swipes.

It felt surreal. She had applied for that screenwriting internship months ago and had long since written it off as a missed opportunity. But here it was—another chance.

She stood there, towel in one hand, her phone in the other, staring at the message like it might disappear if she blinked. Four weeks until eviction, a job that barely covered her bills, and now, out of nowhere, this lifeline.

Her eyes flicked back to the TV, where Dieter’s face still stared back at her.

She picked up her phone and, without hesitating, replied to the message. Yes. I’ll be there.

–

The next day…

The waiting room buzzed with the same dreary energy it had since she’d arrived nearly an hour ago. Grey walls, uncomfortable chairs, and that humming fluorescent light that seemed to buzz directly into her brain. She sat on the edge of her seat, fingers tracing the spine of her portfolio, glancing at the door every time it swung open.

But this time, it wasn’t her turn.

It was him.

Dieter Bravo stormed into the room like a hurricane, sunglasses still perched on his face even though the room was dim, his hair a chaotic mess, like he’d just rolled out of bed—or maybe stumbled out of a party. His team trailed behind him, all looking frazzled and overworked. He barely acknowledged them as he flopped into a chair across from her with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world.

“Well, this is bullshit,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “I’m a goddamn Oscar winner, and they’ve got me sitting in this dump of a waiting room like I’m some extra on a low-budget indie film.”

She bit her lip, trying to hide her amusement. She knew who Dieter Bravo was the second he’d walked in—who didn’t? His face had been plastered on every tabloid for weeks. But there was something surreal about seeing him up close, in the flesh, like he’d been plucked straight from her TV screen. Don’t freak out, she told herself. He’s just a person.

Still, the excitement bubbled up inside her, and for a moment, she just stared at him, feeling the shock wear off.

He caught her staring. “What? You think this is funny?”

She blinked, pulling herself together, giving him a deadpan look. “I think you’re acting like someone who’s forgotten what a waiting room is.”

Dieter raised an eyebrow, his mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to be offended or intrigued. “And you are?”

She shrugged. “Someone who’s been sitting here for an hour. Pretty sure I’m about to merge with this chair if they don’t call me soon.”

Dieter snorted, sitting up a little straighter, like he wasn’t used to people talking to him like that. Not outside his circle, at least. “An hour, huh? That’s it? Try six months trapped in a COVID bubble filming Cliff Beasts 6. That’s real torture.”

She laughed softly. “Yeah, I saw that movie. Pretty sure it was a crime against humanity.”

He cracked a grin. “Hey, that movie’s still paying my rent.”

“Is it? Seems like you should be able to afford better waiting rooms, then.”

Dieter leaned back in his chair, adjusting his sunglasses even though they weren’t needed. “Touché.”

There was a pause, a silence between them that felt more comfortable than awkward. They were sizing each other up, like two kids sitting next to each other on a school bus, deciding if they wanted to be friends.

“So,” Dieter said, shifting his gaze toward her again. “What are you here for? You in trouble, too?”

She smirked. “I’m always in trouble.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Yeah, well, me too.” He ran a hand through his messy hair, looking around the room as if just noticing how drab it was. “You work here or something?”

She shrugged. “Depends if they think I’m good enough to work here.”

“Good enough for what?”

“I’m a writer,” she said, half-smiling, but there was a vulnerability in her voice. “Or at least I’m trying to be.”

Dieter’s eyes lit up with genuine curiosity, which caught her off guard. “A writer, huh? You got anything out there I’ve seen?”

She snorted, shaking her head. “Only if you read stuff on Medium and Tumblr.”

Dieter laughed, the sound deep and unexpected, like he wasn’t used to laughing like that. “Tumblr, huh? So you’re a real writer.” He gave her a playful look. “What do you write? Fanfiction about guys like me?”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a teasing glint in her gaze. “Nope. But if I did, it’d be better than that train wreck you called Cliff Beasts 6.”

Dieter clutched his chest dramatically. “Ouch. Right in the ego.”

She smirked. “Ego as big as yours can take it.”

For a second, he just stared at her, genuinely caught off guard. He wasn’t used to people talking to him like this—like he was normal, not some Oscar-winning disaster wrapped in a scandal. She didn’t seem to care who he was or how many headlines he’d been in. It was refreshing, and he found himself more interested in her than he had been in anyone outside his usual crowd in a long time.

“So what do you do?” she asked casually, keeping the banter going.

Dieter laughed, a full, deep sound that made him look younger than he usually did in the tabloids. “What do I do? I’m a professional disaster. You haven’t heard?”

She chuckled, nodding toward the door. “I think you’re better at it than you are at acting.”

Dieter looked at her for a beat, his mouth twitching into a smirk. “You know, I don’t get a lot of people talking to me like this. Most people, they want to kiss ass or they just want something from me.”

She shrugged, her eyes flicking up to meet his. “What can I say? I’m not most people.”

He leaned forward, intrigued. “You like books?”

She raised an eyebrow. “What kind of books?”

“The kind that make people uncomfortable.”

Her lips twitched into a smile. “I see you’ve read Camus.”

He grinned. “The Stranger. Ever read it?”

“I did. Twice. Though I’m more of a Kafka fan.” She paused for a beat, her voice deadpan. “I like my existentialism served with a side of why is everything a nightmare and also I’m a bug.”

Dieter laughed again, clearly impressed. “You’re alright, you know that?”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she said, her tone casual, but inside, she couldn’t quite believe she was having this conversation. With Dieter Bravo. Of all people.

They stared at each other, neither blinking, as if trying to see who’d crack first. But before either could say anything more, the door opened again.

“Mr. Bravo?” A frazzled assistant appeared in the doorway, eyes wide as they motioned for him to come in. “We’re ready for you.”

Dieter groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes as he stood up. “Finally.” He paused, turning to her with a smirk. “Don’t go anywhere, book lover. We’re not done with this conversation.”

She gave him a small smile, though inwardly she rolled her eyes. Yeah, sure. Like you'd remember me in two minutes, she thought. Dieter was famous for being distracted, for forgetting people as soon as he turned a corner. Everyone knew about his ADD—it was practically part of his public persona. He’d probably forget her name before the door even shut behind him.

Inside the meeting room…

Dieter slouched into a chair, his eyes flicking toward the group of studio executives sitting across from him, all with tight-lipped expressions. They weren’t here to chit-chat. They were here to clean up his mess. Again.

“Alright, what’s the damage?” Dieter asked, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair.

One of the executives, a tall man with silver hair and an expensive-looking suit, sighed heavily. “We’ve already settled with James and his wife. They’ve agreed not to divorce, but we’re paying for damages—and couples therapy.”

Dieter raised an eyebrow. “Couples therapy? Really?”

The man didn’t blink. “Yes, Dieter. Really.”

The room was thick with tension, the kind that only came when the stakes were sky-high. Another executive chimed in. “The headlines are out of control. We need to distance you from this. Fast.”

“What do you want me to do? Apologize? I already said I was sorry.” Dieter’s voice was tired, edged with sarcasm, but underneath, there was a flicker of frustration.

The silver-haired executive leaned forward. “Dieter, this isn’t about a simple apology. You’ve gone beyond that. Your lifestyle—this hedonistic, Roman emperor routine you’ve got going on—it’s not just damaging your reputation. It’s hurting us. The studio. The people you’re supposed to be representing.”

Dieter blinked, caught off guard by the harshness in the man’s tone.

“We’ve invested millions in you,” the executive continued, “and right now, you’re a liability. There’s talk of ending your contract early. Cutting ties before you bring the whole house down.”

Dieter’s jaw tightened. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No,” the man said coldly. “I’m not.”

For a moment, Dieter just sat there, staring at the man, trying to process what he was hearing. They were serious. He was this close to losing everything.

Another voice chimed in—his publicist, trying to smooth things over. “We’re not saying it’s over, Dieter. But we need to fix this. Charities. Positive press. You need to lay low for a while.”

The executive nodded. “No public appearances, no parties. We’re going to find some charity work for you, get the public to see a new side of you. You’re going to disappear for a bit. When you come back, you’ll be better. Clean. Understood?”

Dieter clenched his fists, the frustration boiling beneath the surface. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you need.”

“And we’ll get you a new PA,” his publicist added. “Someone who can keep you grounded. Keep you out of trouble, hopefully, someone you could not fuck.”

Dieter waved them off, already bored with the conversation. His mind drifted back to the waiting room, to the girl sitting across from him, trading quips like they were old friends. At least she’s interesting, he thought.

Back in the waiting room…

She sat there, slumped in her chair, staring blankly at the wall. The interview hadn’t gone well. She hadn’t gotten the job. The casting director had been polite but distant, and she could tell by their expression that they already had someone else in mind. Her stomach twisted with disappointment.

No extra job. No extra paycheck. And no way to make rent by the end of the month.

She stared down at her portfolio, feeling the weight of her failure settle in. She’d have to start packing soon. Maybe call her mom, tell her she was coming home. She could already imagine the conversation.

“We told you so,” her mom would say. “You should’ve gone into nursing. Writing was never going to pay the bills.”

Her stepdad would nod in agreement, disappointed but unsurprised. “Creative writing? Really?” he’d say. “What did you think would happen?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, trying not to think about it. But the thoughts kept coming, relentless. She’d have to pack up, move back home, admit defeat.

God, I’m such a screw-up.

The door creaked open, and Dieter stepped out, glancing around. His entourage had already disappeared down the hall, leaving him standing alone for once. He spotted her instantly.

“Still here?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She forced a small smile, shrugging. “Didn’t get the job.”

Dieter nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, well... my meeting sucked too. They’ve decided I’m officially the next Caligula.”

She snorted. “That bad?”

“Worse,” he said, shaking his head. He stood there for a beat, looking around the room, then back at her. “You know what? Screw this. Let’s go grab a drink.”

She blinked, surprised. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Dieter said, eyes glinting with that familiar mix of mischief and exhaustion. “I need a drink. You’re funny. Let’s go.”

She stared at him, unsure if he was joking or not. But he wasn’t. She could see it in his eyes—he was serious.

“You buying?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dieter grinned. “I’m an Oscar winner. Drinks are always on me.”

She hesitated for a moment, then slowly stood up, tucking her portfolio under her arm. “Alright, Bravo. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

He smirked, leading the way. “Baby, you don’t know who you’re talking to.”

–

The black Audi’s engine purred as Dieter navigated the dim streets, his phone vibrating endlessly in the cupholder. Text after text, call after call—all from his team. They were probably losing their minds, wondering where he’d disappeared to. He glanced at the notifications, scoffing, and shoved the phone further out of reach.

“So,” she said, glancing at him from the passenger seat, “do you do this often?”

Dieter smirked, keeping his eyes on the road. “Do what?”

“Pick up random strangers and ask them to grab drinks with you.”

He laughed, the sound low and lazy. “No, I mean, I pick up random strangers... just not usually for drinks.”

She chuckled. “Well, you should probably get better at vetting your strangers. I could be a serial killer, you know.”

Dieter shot her a quick glance, grinning. “Even better. Might actually enjoy being murdered by you.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “You really are a disaster, aren’t you?”

“Disaster, masochist, artist... depends on the day.” He glanced over at her, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You’ve got a hell of a sense of humor, though. I like it.”

“And here I thought you were the sadist for thinking being murdered sounds fun.”

“Nope.” Dieter grinned. “Definitely a masochist. But don’t let that scare you off.”

She smirked, leaning back in her seat. “Too late. I’m terrified now.”

They drove in comfortable silence for a while, the city lights flickering through the tinted windows, casting shadows on Dieter’s face. It felt surreal, sitting in the passenger seat of Dieter Bravo’s car, heading to God-knows-where. But she didn’t feel uneasy. In fact, she felt strangely comfortable. It was weird how easily they’d fallen into this rhythm, like they’d known each other for years.

“So,” she asked, breaking the silence, “where exactly are we getting these drinks?”

Dieter’s smirk grew as he pulled into a parking garage, winding his way up to the fifth floor. “Here.”

“Here?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow.

Dieter parked the car, and without another word, led her to the elevator. When the doors slid open, she was met with the sleek interior of his penthouse. Glass walls, dark furniture, and a view of the city that stretched on forever.

“Oh,” she said, stepping inside, taking it all in. “I thought we were going to a bar or something.”

Dieter chuckled, locking the door behind them. “Yeah, well, I’ve been told not to be seen in public too much for a while. You know... the whole ‘clean up the image’ thing.”

She turned, leaning against the counter, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Right. The scandal.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, that.”

She tilted her head, a playful glint in her eyes. “So, should I be worried now? You could be the serial killer. I didn’t tell anyone where I’m going.”

Dieter grinned, moving toward the bar in the corner of the room. “Well, if I am, at least you’ll die with a good drink in your hand.”

Dieter’s penthouse bar looked like it had been pulled straight out of a high-end hotel. Polished wood, rows of bottles perfectly lined up, and a set of cocktail tools that would make any bartender proud.

He moved behind the bar with a familiar ease, pulling out a few bottles and setting them on the counter. “What’s your poison?”

“Vodka, Negroni... surprise me.”

“You got it.” He started mixing, moving around the bar like he’d done it a thousand times. She followed suit, sliding behind the bar beside him, the space between them feeling natural.

As they worked, they fell into a rhythm, like two old friends who’d done this countless times before. It was easy, the way they passed bottles back and forth, the clink of ice in glasses punctuating their conversation.

“So,” she said, shaking her drink, “you always this smooth with your guests, or am I special?”

Dieter smirked. “You’re special. I don’t let just anyone behind the bar.” He watched her expertly pour out the drink, nodding in approval. “You’ve got skills.”

She chuckled. “I bartend. Well, I used to, now I just work at a diner, but it counts.”

He laughed. “I used to bartend, too. Before all this.” He gestured vaguely to his sprawling penthouse. “I kinda miss it.”

“Miss what? Making drinks for drunk people at 2 a.m.?”

He shook his head, grinning. “No, the simplicity of it. The quiet moments before the rush. And, I guess, the people. You get to talk to all kinds of weirdos.”

She handed him the cocktail she’d just mixed, and he took a sip, his eyebrows raising in surprise. “Not bad. Actually, really good.”

She smiled, taking a sip of his creation in return. “Yours isn’t half bad either, weirdo.”

He snorted as he finished drinking, “Looks like we’ve both still got it.”

They clinked their glasses, a quiet laugh shared between them.

–

They moved to the couches near the window, drinks in hand, and the night outside stretched on in glittering silence. It was one of those rare moments when the city was alive, but they were in their own little world, insulated by glass and a few too many drinks.

She stretched out on the couch, swirling the last of her drink in the glass. “So, this is what it’s like, huh? Being Dieter Bravo. A penthouse with a killer view and a bar that puts most cocktail lounges to shame.”

Dieter leaned back, grinning. “You sound impressed.”

She tilted her head. “I mean, it’s nice. But I’m not that impressed.”

He snorted. “Figures. I’ve gotta work harder to impress you, huh?”

“You said it, not me.”

There was a beat of silence before he broke it. “So, what’s the story? Why’re you still working at a diner when you’re clearly way too smart for that?”

She shrugged, taking a sip. “You make it sound like I had a choice. You think I want to be a waitress?”

“No, but...” He trailed off, clearly thinking. “I don’t know. You strike me as someone who should be... doing more.”

She arched an eyebrow. “More, like what? Writing fanfiction for Cliff Beasts 7?”

Dieter laughed, the sound filling the space. “God, no. Please, spare me.”

She grinned. “It’s not for lack of trying. I just... haven’t found my place yet. It’s not as easy as, ‘Hey, I’m talented, someone notice me.’” She shook her head, her voice growing quieter. “It’s a lot of failing. Mostly failing.”

Dieter nodded, leaning back in his seat, his expression more serious now. “I get that.”

“Do you?” she asked, her voice softer but still edged with sarcasm. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re pretty damn successful.”

Dieter looked at her, really looked at her this time. “You think success means you stop failing?”

She didn’t answer, watching him with curiosity.

He set his drink down and ran a hand through his hair. “You fail more when you’re successful. Trust me. People are just waiting for you to screw up. And when you do... they’re there to watch you burn.”

“You’re talking about the scandal.”

He nodded, taking another sip. “It’s not just the scandal. It’s everything. There’s always someone out there with a camera, waiting for you to mess up. They don’t care about what you do right. Just the crash.”

“So you’re saying you’re a slow-motion car crash?” she asked, her tone dry.

He smirked, nodding. “Exactly. A car crash people pay to watch.”

She stared at him for a moment, her mind working through his words. “That’s... kind of tragic.”

Dieter raised an eyebrow, his grin fading. “It is, isn’t it?”

They both went quiet, the weight of his words settling between them. But then she leaned forward, her eyes narrowing playfully. “You ever think about, I don’t know... getting out of the car? Stopping the crash?”

He barked a laugh, shaking his head. “And do what? Go back to bartending? Give up the Oscar for a shaker and ice?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged, her voice light but serious underneath. “Or maybe just... do something real. Something that’s not about everyone else’s expectations.”

Dieter looked at her for a long moment, something in his expression shifting, like he was seeing her in a new light. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

She nodded. “I do. Look, I might not be some hotshot writer, but I’ve always believed that what matters is the stuff that’s real. The art you make when no one’s watching. The stuff people don’t get to tear apart.”

“Yeah, but the problem is, everyone’s watching.”

She leaned back, crossing her arms. “So maybe that’s their problem.”

Dieter laughed, and this time it wasn’t the careless, guarded kind of laugh he usually gave. It was genuine. “You’ve got a point.”

“Of course I do. I’m always right.”

“Okay, Camus,” he teased, rolling his eyes. “You’re officially hired as my life coach.”

She leaned back, eyes glinting with mischief. “I don’t know if you could afford me.”

Dieter snorted, swirling his drink. “How expensive are you?” he asked, playful but intrigued.

She paused, pretending to consider it for a moment. “Depends… do you personally know Gérard Depardieu?”

Dieter grimaced, raising an eyebrow as he took another sip. “Gérard Depardieu?” He repeated, blinking in confusion.

She nodded, downing the rest of her drink in two big gulps, the alcohol warming her throat. “What? You don’t know him?”

“I mean, I do, but wow...” He let out a low whistle, shaking his head with a chuckle. “That’s a... pretty weird choice.”

“Well, what can I say? I like them like that.” She shrugged, her expression completely serious as she set her glass down.

Dieter threw his head back, laughing harder than he had all night. It was loud, unfiltered, and completely genuine, the kind of laugh that came when he wasn’t performing for anyone.

“You’re a trip, you know that?” he said, still grinning as he wiped at his eyes. “Gérard Depardieu. Damn. Haven’t thought about that guy in years.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What, are you saying you don’t have weird celebrity crushes?”

He tilted his head, considering the question for a second. “I mean... I am the weird celebrity crush.”

She rolled her eyes, but a smirk tugged at her lips. “How humble of you.”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” he replied, taking a sip of his drink. “You should hear the shit people say about me online. I’ve been everything from someone’s ‘gay awakening’ to someone’s inappropriate uncle.”

She snorted into her drink, barely containing her laughter. “Jesus. People are wild.”

Dieter smirked, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So, c’mon. Who else you got? Who’s on your weird celebrity crush list? Lay it on me.”

She took a slow sip of her drink, savoring the moment, then said with a completely straight face, “Willem Dafoe.”

Dieter almost choked on his drink, eyes widening in disbelief as he stared at her like she’d just told him she was into cryptids. “Dafoe? Willem Dafoe?”

“Yeah,” she said, completely deadpan. “What’s wrong with Dafoe?”

He blinked, still recovering from nearly spitting his drink out. “I mean, nothing’s wrong with him, but... wow, that’s... unexpected.”

She shrugged, taking another sip of her drink. “I already shocked you with Depardieu. What were you expecting? Besides, Dafoe... he’s got range.” She gave him a wicked grin and added, “Plus, you know he’s freaky in bed.”

Dieter let out a loud bark of laughter, nearly doubling over. “Holy shit... you’re a freak. A true freak.”

She raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Oh no, it’s definitely not a bad thing,” he said, still chuckling as he reached over to refill her glass. “I’ve met some freaks in my time, but this? This is different. I like it.”

She eyed the freshly poured drink, tilting her head. “Not sure if I should feel good about that comment.”

Dieter grinned, clinking his glass against hers. “You should. Trust me.”

They both chuckled, the easy, playful energy between them lightening the mood even more. But then Dieter leaned back, giving her an amused look. “You know, I actually know Willem.”

Her eyes widened, her curiosity piqued. “No way. You know him?”

Dieter nodded, taking a slow sip. “Yeah. Great guy. Not as intense as his characters would make you think. Really down to earth. Freaky in his own way, sure, but... I get it. I guess I see what you see in him.”

She smiled, leaning back. “Well, that’s comforting.”

Then she paused, glancing down at her drink before adding, “I actually met him once. Worked as an assistant on a theater production he starred in a couple of years ago.”

Dieter’s eyes lit up. “No way. Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously,” she said, nodding. “It was this small indie thing in New York. I wasn’t his assistant or anything, just part of the general crew, but I did get to work around him a bit. He’s... different, in a good way.”

Dieter leaned forward, intrigued. “Okay, now you’ve really got my attention. You’ve done PA work before?”

She shook her head, swirling the ice in her glass. “Not really. That was more of a part-time gig while I was in school. I applied for a real PA job a few years back, but it didn’t exactly go well.”

Dieter’s brow furrowed. “What happened?”

She sighed, her smirk fading as she stared down at her drink. “Well, I got all the way through the interviews, and then the celebrity—someone old-school—told me I was too chubby to work for them. Said I wouldn’t look good in photographs.”

Dieter’s face immediately twisted into a mix of shock and disgust. “Wait, what? Are you kidding me?”

“Nope,” she said, the bitterness in her voice barely masked by the nonchalance she was trying to project. “I didn’t even bother applying for PA jobs after that. Figured it wasn’t worth the hassle.”

Dieter shook his head, clearly appalled. “That’s... Jesus. I mean, I get that people in this industry are eccentric as hell, but that’s way too much. Who the hell cares what you look like in photos? You’re supposed to be doing a job, not starring in the damn pictures.”

She shrugged, a small, sad smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, well, some people care. Guess I wasn’t the image they wanted.”

Dieter looked at her, his expression softening with empathy. “That’s seriously messed up. I’m sorry you went through that.”

She waved him off, smiling more genuinely this time. “It’s fine. Honestly, it was a while ago. I just stuck to writing and waitressing after that.”

“Well, for what it’s worth,” Dieter said, leaning forward, “that guy was a complete idiot. You’d make a damn good PA.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Thanks. But I think I’m done with that world.”

Dieter studied her for a moment, then raised his glass in a small toast. “Well, here’s to not being the kind of asshole who judges people by how they look in photos.”

She clinked her glass against his, smiling again. “I’ll drink to that.”

The conversation lingered in the air after their laughter died down, a comfortable silence settling over them. She leaned back against the couch, her gaze drifting to the massive windows overlooking the city, the skyline glittering like a distant dream.

“Gotta say,” she began, her voice soft but still playful, “this penthouse is... something else. It’s almost too perfect, though. Feels more like a set than a home.”

Dieter glanced around the room, smirking faintly. “Yeah, that’s because it’s not home.”

She raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “It’s not?”

He shook his head, swirling the last of his drink. “Nah. It’s just a place I own. I use it for... all the shit you probably hear about in the tabloids.”

She snorted, leaning in. “You mean the orgies and sex scandals?”

“Pretty much.” Dieter chuckled, but there was something more behind the laughter. His expression softened as he set the glass down on the table. “It’s not where I live. My real home is out in Sherman Oaks.”

She tilted her head, surprised. “Sherman Oaks?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It’s an actual house. Big, built for a family, but too large for just me. I don’t bring anyone there. Not my... conquests, not my parties. Just me. I paint there, you know? I’ve got this studio in the back, and when the world gets too loud, that’s where I go. It’s the only place I feel... I don’t know, settled.”

Her eyes softened as she listened. She hadn’t expected this level of honesty from him, but the vulnerability in his voice was unmistakable. “That sounds... nice, actually. Quiet.”

“It is,” he agreed, his gaze distant, as if he could picture the house in his mind. “But the silence can get too loud sometimes. Especially now that I’m older. That’s when I come back here. The penthouse. To drown it out.”

She frowned slightly, her fingers tracing the edge of her glass. “The silence?”

Dieter nodded, exhaling softly. “Yeah. You wouldn’t think silence could be so damn loud, but it is. Especially when you’re used to everything being... chaotic.”

She didn’t respond immediately, just watched him, the weight of his words sinking in. There was a loneliness there, one that no amount of parties, conquests, or tabloid headlines could fill. It wasn’t just about being alone—it was about being seen. About finding a place where the chaos didn’t define him.

She took a breath, her tone gentle but sure. “You don’t strike me as someone who likes the noise. Not really.”

Dieter blinked, turning his gaze back to her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, people see the chaos, the headlines, the scandals. But I don’t think that’s really you.” She paused, her voice steady. “You’ve got a whole world inside you that no one bothers to look at. You’re not just the guy who parties and ends up in the tabloids. You’re more than that.”

His eyes flickered with something—surprise, maybe, or recognition. He opened his mouth to say something, but she continued before he could.

“They don’t see the parts of you that matter. The parts that create, that make something out of all this mess. The fact that you’ve got a studio and you paint—that tells me a lot. You’re more than just an actor, Dieter. You’re an artist. And not because you say so, but because you are.”

For a moment, Dieter just stared at her, as if her words had landed somewhere deeper than he’d expected. She was looking at him like no one had in years. Not like a star, not like the scandalized mess the world saw. She saw him. The real him.

His throat tightened, and suddenly, the air felt heavier. “You really think that?”

“I know it,” she replied, her tone matter-of-fact. “You’re not just memorizing lines. You’re putting something into the world that most people don’t even take the time to understand. But that doesn’t mean it’s not real. It’s real, Dieter. And it matters.”

He blinked, the familiar burn of tears stinging behind his eyes. It was strange—he hadn’t felt this exposed in so long. The vulnerability, the rawness of being seen for more than just the surface.

A tear slipped down his cheek, slow and steady. He swiped at it quickly, but another followed. It wasn’t a sobbing mess, no dramatic breakdown. Just a quiet release, like the weight of everything he’d been carrying finally had somewhere to go.

“Damn,” he muttered, laughing softly through the tears. “You’re really messing me up here.”

She smiled, nudging him gently with her elbow. “You needed to hear it.”

He wiped his eyes, still grinning despite the tears. “Guess I did.”

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. The silence between them wasn’t heavy or awkward. It was comfortable, filled with an understanding that went deeper than words. In the quiet of the penthouse, with the city lights twinkling in the background, Dieter felt something he hadn’t in a long time.

Peace.

But of course, Dieter couldn’t let the moment just sit there. He leaned over slightly, raising an eyebrow as a mischievous grin spread across his face. “So... is this the part where we kiss?”

She burst out laughing, her head falling back as she clutched her sides. “Oh my God, Dieter, you’re such an ass.”

For the first time in a long time, Dieter didn’t feel even a twinge of offense at being laughed at. In fact, her reaction made him laugh, too—a deep, real laugh that didn’t feel performative. It was just them, laughing like idiots in the middle of a moment that could’ve been serious, but wasn’t.

He shrugged, grinning. “Hey, had to shoot my shot.”

She shook her head, still giggling as she nudged him. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you like me,” he teased.

“Debatable,” she shot back, smirking. “But that was not the move, Bravo.”

He threw his hands up in mock surrender, still laughing. “Alright, alright, no kiss. Got it.”

She rolled her eyes, the amusement still lingering in her expression. “Seriously, though. You’re an ass.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” Dieter said, smirking. But beneath the joking, there was a warmth in his eyes, a softness that hadn’t been there before. He liked this—being around someone who could take his nonsense and throw it right back at him, without missing a beat.

–

They had been hanging out for days—Dieter laying low like his team had asked, and her finding herself more and more wrapped up in his world. It was easy with him. The lazy mornings that bled into afternoons, the spontaneous outings, the hours spent talking about nothing and everything. It was like living in a bubble, where the real world and all its mess didn’t exist.

But it couldn’t last forever.

They were lounging in his penthouse, another aimless afternoon with the TV buzzing in the background, both of them lost in their own thoughts.

“So,” Dieter began, his tone casual, but there was an edge of hesitation in it. “I’ve been thinking...”

She looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Uh-oh. That sounds dangerous.”

He chuckled, but there was a nervousness in his smile. “No, I mean... I’ve been thinking about you. Us, I guess.”

She frowned slightly, sitting up a bit straighter. “What do you mean?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze for a moment. “I think I... I really like you. And I want to stay friends, you know? If you’re cool with it.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Of course he liked her—they got along too well not to. But she knew what had to happen next.

She swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “I don’t think we can keep doing this.”

Dieter’s face fell, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Wait, what? Why not?”

“I can’t afford to stay in LA anymore,” she said, her voice quieter now. “I’m going home. To my mom’s and stepdad’s. The diner job just doesn’t cover rent or utilities, and figuring things out in this city isn’t really feasible for me right now.”

Dieter stared at her, the words slowly sinking in. His expression shifted from confusion to something deeper—sadness, maybe even panic. “You’re... leaving?”

She nodded, trying to keep it together. “Yeah. I’ve got no choice.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just looked at her like she’d just ripped the floor out from under him. Then, true to form, Dieter went into full dramatic mode.

“Are you serious?” he groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. Like, ever.”

She laughed, despite herself. “Dieter, stop.”

“No, seriously,” he continued, flopping onto the couch like a petulant child. “You’re leaving me to fend for myself in this godforsaken city, and for what? Your mom’s house in the middle of nowhere? This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

She rolled her eyes, amused but touched by how much this seemed to affect him. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Where’s your loyalty?” he muttered dramatically. “I thought we were in this together.”

She snorted. “I didn’t realize hanging out with you was a lifelong commitment.”

Dieter sat up suddenly, his eyes lighting up as if he’d just had the greatest idea of all time. “Wait a second...”

She eyed him warily. “What?”

“You still need a job, right?”

Her eyebrow arched. “...Yes?”

“I still need a PA,” he said, the excitement building in his voice. “My team hasn’t found anyone, and let’s face it—they’re probably going to stick me with some lifeless corporate robot.”

She blinked, not expecting this. “Wait, are you offering me a job?”

“Hell yes, I am,” he said, grinning like a kid with a new toy. “You’d be perfect. I mean, you know me. You get me. And you’re already here half the time anyway. Why not make it official?”

She hesitated, her mind racing. “I don’t know, Dieter. It feels like... I don’t know, like you’re just offering it because you feel bad.”

He shook his head, his expression softening. “No, I’m offering it because I need you. And not in a weird way, okay? I mean, yeah, it’s a job, but it’s also more than that. I trust you. And I don’t trust a lot of people.”

She bit her lip, still uncertain. “Yeah, but it comes with a paycheck, right? That’s gonna make me feel... really dirty.”

Dieter laughed, leaning back into the couch. “Oh, come on. It’s a legit offer. And I’m paying you well, so you’ll get used to feeling dirty real quick.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“Seriously,” he continued, his tone softening again. “Think about it. It’s not charity. It’s not a handout. I really need your company, and I think you need this too.”

She exhaled, staring at him for a moment. “I’ll... think about it.”

A few days later, she was back at the penthouse, this time with Dieter’s manager, his lawyer, and Dieter himself, all sitting around the sleek kitchen island. It felt surreal.

The manager went over the details of the contract, but it was hard to focus on the specifics when her mind was spinning with how fast everything was happening.

“And, of course,” the manager added sternly, “we have to include the no-fucking clause. If you two get involved, it’s not only grounds for termination but also blacklisting.”

Dieter raised an eyebrow, looking slightly offended. “Seriously? That’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

She snorted, waving it off. “It’s fine, Bravo. I don’t think you’d want to fuck me anyway.”

He frowned, almost hurt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The manager chuckled, shaking his head. “He fucks anything that moves.”

She furrowed her brows briefly, her face showing a flash of disgust at the comment, but she kept her mouth shut. This wasn’t the time to start an argument with his team. Still, she couldn’t shake the sour taste the comment left in her mouth.

Dieter noticed her reaction and shot his manager a look, but the moment passed quickly as the lawyer handed her the contract to sign.

Once the papers were signed, it was official. She was now Dieter Bravo’s new assistant.

After the contract signing, they were back in the quiet of the penthouse. She stretched her arms out, feeling a mixture of excitement and disbelief at the day’s events. Dieter leaned against the counter, still processing it all too, and for a moment, the two of them just stood there in silence.

Then she clapped her hands together, breaking the moment. “Okay, Bravo, I’m treating you to dinner.”

Dieter blinked, confusion crossing his face. “Wait, what? You’re treating me?”

She grinned, nodding. “Yeah, to celebrate. You know, new job and all.”

He hesitated, raising an eyebrow. “You just signed a contract. You shouldn’t be spending money on me.”

She waved him off, rolling her eyes. “Take a chill pill. I just landed a sick new job with a really dirty paycheck. I’m excited, let me have this.”

Dieter chuckled, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “I’ve taken way too many pills in my life. Not sure I remember which one the chill pill is.”

She burst out laughing, grabbing her jacket. “Well, then this will be the antidote. C’mon, we’re getting Five Guys.”

Dieter’s grin grew wider, his eyes lighting up. “Damn, baby, you know I can’t say no to Five Guys.”

She shot him a smirk. “Then let’s go.”

They drove in Dieter’s car, windows heavily tinted, cruising through the LA streets as the sun dipped below the skyline. They grabbed their order from the drive-thru window and found an empty parking lot, parking under the dim glow of a streetlight.

Dieter reclined his seat all the way back, pushing the front seats to give them more space to lounge. She did the same, their legs stretched out as they unwrapped their burgers.

“So,” he mumbled around a mouthful of fries, “what now?”

She shrugged, her voice muffled as she stuffed more fries into her mouth. “Idunno.”

They ate in comfortable silence for a moment, the radio playing softly in the background, the quiet hum of the city far off in the distance.

Dieter glanced at her sideways, studying her face. “You seem a little... off.”

She paused mid-chew, looking at him. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, biting into his burger. “I dunno. Just felt like something’s been bugging you since we left the penthouse.”

She exhaled, setting her burger down, wiping her hands on a napkin. “Well... your manager pissed me off. Big time.”

Dieter stopped chewing, his eyes widening a little. “What? Why?”

“That comment he made,” she said, rolling her eyes, “about you humping everything that moves. It was gross. And unnecessary.”

Dieter’s face reddened, the blush creeping up his neck as he rubbed at it, a little embarrassed. “Yeah, uh... that’s just how he is.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “That doesn’t make it okay.”

He chuckled awkwardly, setting his burger down. “I mean, he wasn’t wrong. You’ve heard the stories, read the articles, right?”

She stared at him for a beat, then sighed. She knew he wasn’t trying to defend his manager, and in a way, she found that endearing—his loyalty to people even after everything they’d said about him. All the rumors, the scandals, the affairs. But she tucked that thought away for another time.

“That’s not the point,” she said, shaking her head. “As someone who works with you, the first thing your manager should be doing is protecting you—even from your own team.”

Dieter blinked, her words hitting harder than he expected. He felt something crack open in his chest. She wasn’t wrong. And hearing her say it so plainly made him realize just how much he’d let slide because of loyalty. Because of fear.

He smiled softly, biting into his burger, his voice quiet. “Thanks for saying that.”

She shrugged, offering him a small smile in return. “It’s true.”

Then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, she leaned over, wiggling her eyebrows. “Besides, you haven’t tried to fuck me yet, so I don’t think what your manager said was true.”

Dieter choked on his soda, laughing and coughing at the same time. “Jesus Christ,” he wheezed, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

She grinned, leaning back into her seat. “What? Am I not fuckable enough for Dieter Bravo?”

He immediately shook his head, his voice firm. “No, baby–you’re...fuck– you’re hot. Like, really hot. And I’m an idiot for not jumping you the second I met you.”

She snorted, clearly amused. “But?”

Dieter sighed, running a hand through his hair, his voice quieter but more grounded now. “Look, if we hadn’t had that first conversation, that night in the waiting room... I probably would’ve tried to sleep with you.”

She gasped dramatically, her eyes widening in mock horror. “Excuse me? What made you think I’d even want to sleep with you?”

Dieter burst out laughing, shaking his head. “Oh, c’mon, I’ve got ways. If I really wanted to, I could have charmed you into it.”

She snorted, shoving another fry into her mouth. “Yeah, right. You can’t charm your way into everyone’s bed, Bravo.”

Dieter stared at her, deadpan, raising an eyebrow. “Uh... yes, I can.”

They both broke into laughter, the moment light but laced with a shared understanding. Once their laughter died down, he leaned back, the humor fading slightly as he spoke again, this time more serious.

“But seriously,” he continued, his voice softer now, “I didn’t want to cross that line with you. Because... you’re different.”

She glanced at him, curious now, the playful energy between them simmering down as he opened up.

“I’m a messy person,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to the steering wheel, fingers idly tracing the edges. “In every sense of the word. My life, my relationships—they don’t end well. And I’ve ruined... too many things that mattered. I can’t ruin this. I won’t.”

She tilted her head, watching him closely. “Why do you think it would ruin things?”

He took a deep breath, the vulnerability flickering in his eyes as he finally met her gaze. “Because when I sleep with someone, I lose track of... what’s real and what’s not. It always starts out fine, but I mess things up. I make it complicated, and then it all falls apart. And I don’t want that to happen with you.”

She studied him for a moment, seeing the weight behind his words, the sincerity he rarely showed to anyone. This wasn’t the over-the-top, scandal-filled Dieter Bravo the world knew. This was a man who was genuinely afraid of ruining something good.

“Wow,” she muttered, trying to break the heaviness. “So you’re saying I was basically a goner if we hadn’t talked that first night?”

He chuckled, giving her a teasing grin. “Oh, absolutely.”

She laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “You really are full of yourself.”

“No, I’m just honest,” he said with a playful smirk. “But really, I don’t want to just fuck this up. You get me, more than anyone has in a long time. And I don’t want to lose that because I was... impulsive.”

She looked at him for a long moment, their earlier banter giving way to something deeper. It was clear that he meant every word, and it made sense in a way she hadn’t expected. Dieter Bravo might have been a disaster in relationships, but he was choosing not to be a disaster with her. And that meant something.

“Well,” she said, her smile returning as she reached for another fry, “that’s good to know. I mean, you’re still a complete disaster, but you’re my kind of disaster.”

Dieter’s grin widened, the tension finally easing as he leaned back in his seat. “I’ll take it.”

She chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then added with a smirk, “Besides, now I’m legally being paid to not fuck you.”

He laughed, throwing his head back in genuine amusement. “And I’m legally paying you to not fuck me.”

She nodded sagely. “Sounds like a pretty sweet deal if you ask me.”

Dieter chuckled, the heaviness of the earlier conversation replaced by their usual playful energy. “Yeah, it’s working out pretty well so far.”

They both sat there, comfortable in the aftermath of the conversation, knowing that while the chemistry between them was undeniable, the friendship was what mattered most. And neither of them was willing to risk it, even if they joked about it.

They sat in the car, the remnants of their Five Guys feast scattered on the console between them. The night had slipped into a comfortable quiet, the kind that came from hours of laughter, honest conversation, and greasy burgers. Dieter stretched, glancing over at her with a lazy grin.

“So, what’s the plan?” he asked, wiping his hands on a napkin. “You heading home now?”

She nodded, finishing the last of her fries. “Yeah. Gotta pack up my stuff and get ready for the big move.”

Dieter raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. “Right. Moving in with me. Never thought I’d reach this point in my life where a woman’s moving in with me... and I legally can’t fuck her.”

She snorted, shaking her head as she leaned back into her seat. “Welcome to adulthood, Bravo. Full of responsibilities and boundaries.”

Dieter’s grin widened, leaning a little closer. “So, about this moving in thing—are you planning on, like, wearing layers of clothing at all times? Because I don’t need to make this harder for myself than it already is.”

She shot him a look, deadpan. “Harder for yourself?”

He wiggled his eyebrows at her, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know what I mean.”

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the grin spreading across her face. “Listen, I promise to be fully covered in the ugliest, most unflattering pajamas you’ve ever seen. Think, like, thermal underwear, oversized sweaters, maybe a balaclava if I’m feeling extra considerate.”

Dieter threw his head back laughing, slapping the dashboard. “Jesus Christ, I don’t know if I should be grateful or terrified.”

“Both,” she said with a smirk, grabbing the last fry from the bag and popping it into her mouth.

Dieter leaned back, sighing contentedly. “I still can’t believe it though. I’m actually gonna live with a woman. And she’s not some wild fling, but an assistant I’m paying not to fuck. Talk about a plot twist.”

She laughed, wiping her hands on a napkin. “Well, you better get used to it. I’ll be back in the morning with all my crap.”

Dieter grinned, clearly amused by the whole situation. “Promise?”

“Promise,” she said, flashing him a smile. “Bright and early. So you better get your beauty sleep.”

He chuckled, looking at her fondly. “I’ll try.”

She reached for the door handle, pausing for a moment before looking back at him, her tone soft but teasing. “Try not to miss me too much tonight, alright?”

Dieter winked. “No promises.”

She stepped out of the car, waving as she walked toward her building. “See you tomorrow, Bravo.”

He watched her go, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah,” he muttered under his breath, leaning back into the seat. “See you tomorrow.”

[unhinged-summer-fun]

common grounds (oshamir) - chapter 1

Pairing: Osha Aniseya/Qimir "The Stranger" Themes of note: Modern AU, coffee shop AU, boxing/fighting AU, slow burn romance, personal identity exploration, sports injury & recovery, angst yada yada. First few chapters are rated T, but bumps to M eventually. Summary: One cold winter night, Osha meets a stranger while she's working late at the cafe. Like the spark that lights a very long fuse, there's no way this doesn't end in fire and upheaval.

A/N: Mehmehmehmeh I ain't back on tumblr this is just another horn of mine to toot lol it's also on my AO3 is why. This is also written for da bestie and is held hostage by them (affectionate). Dividers by @firefly-graphics

series masterlist

chapter 1: round one

Somehow, the mysterious problems with the espresso machine returned.

Not that anyone asked her, but Osha didn’t believe it was pure coincidence that this was the fifth time she’d been called in to fix the machine immediately after Yord was on the schedule. It couldn’t wait for her next shift because most people who needed espresso needed it in the mornings, and Mae worked the morning shift.

Regardless, it wasn’t a coincidence. Osha just wanted to get quietly pissed at a fixable problem so that by the time it was fixed, she’d forget what she was pissed about. With just the lights on behind the bar and the small flashlight in her mouth, she tried not to think about how eerie the cafe looked at night. The snow swirling in the windowsill outside served as an unhelpful reminder that her car was still in the shop, and the walk back to the apartments would be very, very cold.

But the hot water tap had priority over that. This was the most temperamental part of the whole unit, a half dozen little fastenings keeping it pinned to the machine wall to prevent it from lashing out all over the place every time anyone pressed a button. Each gentle click of her spanner sounded like a clap of thunder in the deserted shop, and a sensation of deep, deep dread she hadn’t felt in years rose in her chest. “Shit,” she whispered, forgetting about the flashlight in her teeth and spitting it out onto the floor. “Damnit.”

When she stood, a man was standing behind the machine.

“Fuck!”

The man was lucky; Osha might not have had the left hook her sister did, but that didn’t mean she didn’t still have one hell of a swing. She almost threw the flashlight at him but held on, wielding it like a four-inch baseball bat.

The man’s face went from neutral and stony to overly expressive in a heartbeat. “Oh! I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to startle you!” he said, laughing nervously and scratching the back of his head. Osha took him in, the baggy hoodie and jeans, the glasses, the toothy smile, the black bag slung over his shoulder. All in all, he didn’t look harmless, but he didn’t look like he meant her harm either.

“We’re closed.”

“The door was, uh, unlocked.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the door, giving her a shrug as if to say, what can you do?

“Even so, we’re still closed. You have to go.” For a moment, she considered grabbing the portafilter as a potential weapon. It’d certainly work better than the flashlight.

He put both his hands up. “Alright, alright. Can’t I just… step out of the cold for a minute or two? I’ll stay over here by the door.”

She shouldn’t. This man was undoubtedly a stranger, and a strange stranger, at that. But she knew the biting cold wasn’t pleasant, and her kind streak had never entirely been snuffed out.

“Fine. Sit there.” She pointed to a table where she could get a complete look at him while she continued working. He went willingly but faced her when he took his seat.

“Thank you,” he said, head tilting slightly to the side. “Not many people would be so kind.”

She didn’t look over at him, only answered him with a grunt as she tore into the hot water line with more ferocity than necessary. How in the hell did Yord mess this up? Nobody even touches this but me!

“I thought this place was open 24 hours,” the stranger said conversationally. When he realized Osha wouldn’t answer him, he continued. “Didn’t it used to be? It was always packed, classes at midnight and sunrise and sunset.”

That piqued her interest. Osha paused her crusade against the tap and frowned at him. “Are you a member at the gym?”

Even from here, she could see his jaw clench a little, one muscle feathering so quickly it might have been a trick of the light. “Oh, a long time ago. A lot must have changed if you’re the only one on staff right now.”

It sounded threatening. It should have been threatening. A strange man had come in, told her he had some measure of fight training, and pointed out she was alone. Yet, Osha couldn’t put her finger on why she saw it as bluster. The dread in her chest had entirely dissipated, and her heartbeat had returned to normal following the stranger’s sudden appearance.

“How long ago? I’ve been here a long time, too. Know everyone here.” She kept one eye on him as she worked, uncoupling the wall fastenings for the line to the group head. 

“It was a long, long time ago. But hey—there might be a few days of overlap if you’ll answer a question for me.”

She frowned and kept her focus on the machine. “Go ahead.”

“You’re Osha, right?”

Her hand slipped, and she dropped the spanner deep into the machine’s body. Biting back a curse, her attention warred between the stranger knowing her name and grabbing her tools.

“H-how do you know that?” C’mon, where is it?

In the seconds she’d been looking away, he had stood up to prop his hip against the table he’d been sitting at. “I remember two little girls coming in for one of the children’s sunrise classes I was in. Twins, and I swear they looked just like you and your sister.”

For an instant, she tried picturing this strange man as a child, but she hardly remembered anything from her first few weeks at the gym when their dad had taken them to train. Her imagination wouldn’t be of any help here.

“You know my sister?”

“Mae? Oh, I’ve met her a few times in passing. It’s a small city if you get out enough. I only knew your names as a child, though.” He gave a breathy, goofy laugh, pulling at something like interest in Osha’s belly.

She supposed he was near her age. He looked young, but some people’s genes aged more gracefully than others. “It—yeah. I’m Osha. What’s—what are you doing?”

Slowly, he walked toward the counter beside the machine. The conversation had thawed the ice of their meeting a little, which could have permitted a closer boundary, but it was still a little alarming. “My hearing isn’t the best. Get your bell rung enough times, and it never stops singing, does it?”

He tilted his head in the light to show her the slightly blue shell of his ear—it’d been likely drained from a hematoma to prevent cauliflower ear. You didn’t have ears like that without being in the ring for a while. She also saw a pair of charming little twists in his hair to keep it off his ears, which shouldn’t have been so… cute. This guy was a lot of things, but cute didn’t seem like one of them. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, leaning on the counter with his forearms. The hoodie covered his body shape well, but from where it dropped off at the shoulders, he must have been incredibly broad. “It’s incredible, actually.”

“What is?” She shook off her single-bed shoulder musings.

“You look… exactly like her.”

His voice had dropped, along with the convivial squint to his eyes. His voice sounded dark and rich as his near-black irises and every part of her perked up in response. “Um.” Osha racked her head for an intelligent comeback, settling on, “Well, that’s not uncommon for twins.”

The playful lilt to his voice returned. “Yeah,” he grinned. “But really, down to how you frown at me, you two look so alike. It’s impressive.”

Osha frowned at him, then tried not to and failed. The stranger only smiled, a flash of that darker look shining through. Now thoroughly flustered, Osha turned back to the machine. “How’d you know I wasn’t Mae when you walked in?”

“I just knew.” She saw him shrug again in her periphery and continued wrenching back the hot water tap. “What’s wrong with it?”

“What isn’t wrong with it, more like.” She grunted and released another fastening. Now that there was an open entrance for her to stick her hand in, she felt around for the spanner she’d dropped. “This thing has to be like 25,000 years old.”

“That may be truer than you think.”

She met the stranger’s eyes, charmed by his easy smile and laughter. She’d never been one to make fast friends; that was more Mae’s speed, but whatever this conversation was, she wanted more of it.

She found the spanner and made a slight noise of victory, carefully maneuvering her hand back through—

The tap line went taut quite suddenly, and without any fittings keeping it in place, the hot water line suddenly contracted, snagging a jagged edge into her wrist and pinning it to the inner wall of the machine. She could feel the water getting hotter around her wrist, and she tried letting go of the spanner to yank her hand out, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Shit!”

Suddenly, two huge hands were there, one wrapping around her forearm to still her and the other reaching into the machine without hesitation. The line loosened around her wrist, and she was pulled free immediately. After that, the stranger hit a sequence of buttons to shut down the machine but still didn’t let go of her forearm.

In the fading whine of the machine, Osha’s heartbeat sounded like a stampede in her ears. She could feel the body heat radiating off the man this close. The callouses on his palms spoke of hard work and discipline. His knuckles bore the permanent blush of a fighter’s hands. Carefully, he pulled back her sleeve and hissed softly, revealing the minor burn over the top of her wrist.

“Poor thing.”

Heat flared up Osha’s neck as if she’d swallowed the hot water line instead of basically wearing it. The stranger leads her to the sink and runs the cool tap before parking her wrist beneath the faucet.

Burns weren’t uncommon in the cafe, and little cuts and swollen bruises weren’t uncommon in the attached boxing gym. As such, the first aid kits for both were well-stocked for each common injury. The stranger moved with confident grace to the red box on the wall, leafing through the contents before finding what he wanted: an antiseptic wipe, burn cream, gauze, and medical tape.

“Let me see.”

He took her wrist back in his hands, gentle but firm, just as he’d held her before. On the spots where his skin touched hers, it burned differently.

He kept his head down as he dressed her wound, using his teeth to tear off pieces of tape. He had a serious aura; the goofy guy he’d been now shifted into an intensely focused man. When satisfied with his work, he didn’t let go, using the last few seconds of soft quietude to draw his thumb across the top of the bandage.

“How’s that?” he said, bouncing back to the playful person he wanted her to see.

But Osha had seen that other side, the rock-steady intensity that had come over him the moment she’d been in danger. That version of himself hadn’t left until he knew she was out of harm.

Osha had hardly been able to blink, let alone breathe, during his treatment of her. Something about his light touch made her wonder how he fought. No soft-handed, theatrical fighter would have been capable of aching gentleness like this.

“It’s—good.” She cleared her throat and fought to look him in the eye. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me. It was the right thing to do. Anyway, it should be less dangerous when it’s off.”

“I don’t know why I didn’t do that,” she muttered, embarrassment taking over from flustered.

“It’s late, and we’re all prone to mistakes in the dark.”

Her eyes snapped to his at the statement. It sounded so familiar that she could have sworn she had heard it before, but the stranger was already moving, pushing his sleeve past his elbow. Time stood still for a fraction of a second, and Osha could see his forearm, all corded muscle, and scars. And then he reached into the espresso machine, carefully pulling out the spanner.

“There. That what you were looking for?”

Osha blinked owlishly before taking the tool from him. It was impossible to avoid brushing her fingers against his, and the spark of his touch ignited something deeper inside her than skin could reach.

“Thank you, uh…”

“Of course!” Dutifully, the stranger returned to his post, and the counter was put back between them as it should have been. But Osha couldn’t understand why she’d been so adamant about it before. Maybe he was right; it’s late, after all. 

The rest of the work was fast, ticking away minutes as she found the culprit: an overenthusiastic portafilter had shifted the group head an inch out of place, which made every piece of fussy machinery within the casing rebel. “Yord, I swear to god…” Osha grumbled, taking a second to write a warning on scrap paper once everything was packed up.

“Ah, a consistent problem, then?” The Stranger had stayed quiet the whole time Osha worked, and only when he spoke up again did she notice he hadn’t pushed his sleeve down. Her eyes snagged on the sight the way her wrist had snagged on the jagged metal inside the machine.

“You could say that. Hey, um, I have to run it a few times to make sure it’s operational. And… thank you for helping me out. Can I make you something?”

His head tilted in such a way that she could finally see the look on his face was a smile. It felt like looking into one of those dichroic prisms, finding a flash of blue here, a flash of red there, but only at one specific angle inside the glass. “Whatever you want to give me, I’d be happy with.”

Ignoring that, she fell into another set of muscle memory. Even tired and irritated from the burn on her wrist, her hands never faltered as she made up a shot on each group. When the machine shouted itself awake, she watched as two twin porcelain espresso cups filled with darkness, noting the flow, the steam output, and the lack of grit in the pour. “Perfect,” she murmured to herself, satisfied with her work.

Osha assembled a drink to-go for him, sliding it over the bar. Unfortunately, muscle memory took over again, and she shouted, “I have a two-shot Americano at the bar for—oh my god, I’m so sorry, that was so loud.”

He threw his head back and laughed almost as loud as her barista voice had been. That toothy grin was back, and his hair fell into his eyes when he sat back again. “Thank you, I’m oh my god I’m sorry that was so loud, yes.” Their hands brushed again when she realized she hadn’t let go of the cup yet.

“I know it’s pretty late for caffeine, but it’s the least I could do,” she said, a little bashful. His laugh was nice. His smile was nice. He was nice.

He didn’t hesitate to bring the drink to his lips and take a sip, eyes locked with hers. All at once, her mouth went dry, and her blood sang. The smile evolved into a smirk when he set the coffee down again. “Never too late for me. I hardly sleep.”

“I know what that’s like,” Osha sighed, cleaning and shutting the machine down for the night. “I hope that drink’s okay.”

“It’s my usual.”

“No wonder you can’t sleep if your usual is twice the amount of caffeine normal people have.”

“The power of two is a potent high.” He shrugged.

“That’s a slippery slope to tread, stranger. It took me a while to quit.”

“Are you saying I’m an addict?”

Osha almost blanched at his words until she saw the playful tilt of his head. “I’m saying indulgence is a dangerous path.”

He shrugged. “Semantics.”

With the machine shut down for the night, she started flicking off the lights. The stranger took the hint, edging toward the front door.

When the main lights were off, he stood silhouetted against the storefront, snow swirling darkly around him like a smoky aura. He’d pulled up his hood; it gave him a more menacing outline than she’d thought him capable of. Like this, she couldn’t see the goofy smile or the glasses, the glittering dark eyes. He’d shed all of the attributes that made him approachable and safe.

And still, she was not afraid.

She walked to him, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder by the time he turned. “Thank you, Osha,” he said. The soft light from outside cast his features in sharp planes of shadow, concealing most of his features save his nose, lips, and chin.

“Don’t mention it,” she said softly, feeling trapped in a bubbled moment she didn’t want to leave. She’d reflect on this later; she wouldn’t scorn herself for doing what felt right in the moment.

His lips quirked in a half-smile she couldn’t resist returning. “I’ll see you around.”

And then he left in a blast of swirling snow and cold.

CHAPTER 2

[vase-of-lilies]

Bubbles Baths and Babbles

❀ Mommy!Natasha x Little!Reader (F)

❀ Age Regression, sick reader, flu like symptoms (lol not covid), puke (sorry), fluff and more fluff ^-^ 

❀ Request: Little!reader becomes really sick and regresses to a baby headspace and needs mommy!nat to take care of her. Little!reader is very whiny and babbles to communicate with Nat :)

❀ A/N: This was requested by a sweet anon when my blog didn't shit itself a while ago. I hadn't backed it up to my AO3 account yet so it unfortunately got deleted along with the rest of my stories that didn't get saved:( I hope that it was ok that I changed a couple things, and I hope this turned out ok! Thank you for understanding!! <3

Nats ears perked as she heard a soft sneeze come from the nursery. Nat had just gotten back from a mission, only to come home to find her baby sick and needing her mommy. She set her book down and entered your room, sighing as she sees you on your bed covered in a mountain of blankets. Sitting beside you, a pile of used tissues as well. Knowing what to do, her mommy instincts take over immediately.

"Oh my little spider, are you not feeling very good?" You shake your head with a small whimper to accompany it. With a small frown on her lips, she rubs your back as she helps you grab the bowl beside your bed. "It's ok my маленький паук (Little spider), let it all out, then we can get you in a nice warm bath, ok?"

Nodding weakly you continue to let out the remains of your small breakfast, whimpering when you finish. "Here, love drink some water." Nat puts a fresh glass of water to your lips, and you graciously take a few gulps, sighing as you lean against her.

"Oh baby, I know. Im so sorry that I wasn't here when you started feeling icky. Did Aunty Wanda take good care of you while I was gone?" With a small smile, you nod at the thought of your "aunt" coming over to help you with some soup and getting you to bed for your nap.

"Alllll-righty, let's get you in that bath, how does that sound?" All you let out are a few whines here and there, making Nat fall for you all over again. As she picks you up, you cling to her like a sloth to her mother, making her smile and hold you even tighter.

"Mama, baba? Pees?" It took her a minute to process what you had said, but she knows 'baba' when she hears it. "Do you want your bottle, little one? Aw, my baby wants some milk? Alright, let's get you nice and warm in the tub first, ok?" You nod and happily watch your mommy as she fills the tub with warm water. Nat made sure to pour your favorite [add scent here] scented bubble bath to the running water, absolutely loving your reaction to all of the bubbles floating around.

You nod in excitement at her next sentence; "I know you love the bubbles, рыбочка (little fish)."

Once the bath was filled to a good hight, she gently got you undressed and sat you in the warm water. "How does that feel, little one? Nice and warm? Not too hot?" She asks, but you don't listen as your baby brain takes over. She chuckles and ruffles your hair, smiling as your giggles fill the bathroom.

Nat watches you from the small kitchen, just in eye line of the tub as she makes your bottle. The sight of you playing with the bubbles and your toy duck made Nat melt. She took a sweet picture with the bubbles around your body and saved it to her "little spider" album on her phone. Quickly coming back to you, she smiles as your face lights up when she comes into the bathroom. "Mama! Mama! Duggy, duggy!" You hold up your duck with a bright smile and Nat gently boops your nose.

"Yes, ducky! Your very cute ducky." She says, starting to undress as well. Sitting in the bath with you has been a joy to Nat ever since you first started becoming comfortable in your little space around her. She loves how you lay on her chest and lift the bubbles along her skin. She absolutely loves being with you and so close to you.

She reaches for your warm bottle on the soft rug by the tub and gently moves your hair from your face as you lay on her chest. "Here you go baby, open up." You open your mouth willingly, happily sucking on the nipple of the bottle in Nats hands. "There you go дорогая (Sweetheart). Mama's got you." She whispers, her nails tickling your back softly as you doze off on her chest.

A small cough escaped your mouth every few minutes, but the steam from the bathroom has helped with your congestion. "You'll be just fine, my love, I'll take good care of you."

[chuuyascumsock]

Hot Cocket || Minors DNI

I just realized I never posted my Dazai fucking a hot pocket fic on here. If the Ao3 babes had to suffer, y’all do too LMAO.

Summary: Ah, yes, welcome to the bullshit that I call “art”. Today’s episode: Dazai fucks a Hot Pocket. Don’t ask me what gave me this idea, my friend came up with it so thank him for this utter monstrosity. I suppose I’ll take the smallest bit of credit for wanting to write a crackfic of Dazai sticking his dick in something he shouldn’t— because it’s called having a sense of humor.

Tags: Dazai Osamu/Hot Pocket, I talk about how dazai would definitely be a ham and cheese hot pocket kind of a guy, I make kind of weird metaphorical jokes, If Asagiri gets to blow children up then I can throw them into traffic, descriptions of fucking a hot pocket, descriptions of burning the dick (because he’s fucking a HOT pocket), um… creampie in a hot pocket..?, oh— and then Fyodor eats the hot cum pocket lol.

Dazai had been feeling particularly lonely on a Saturday night.

Without any women around to woo with his unhinged rizz, Dazai sought after a cheap comfort food he often turned to in his crippling depressive times. The freezer flings open with a creak to reveal the godly image of a box of hot pockets. As expected— nothing else resided in the freezer other than said hot pockets because Dazai was as broke as a medical college student in debt.

Dazai reaches a bandaged hand inside before grasping the box and pulling it close to his chest. He could already feel saliva pooling in his mouth as he re-lived his previous encounters and tastes of his hot pockets. But this one was different. This one was pepperoni. Normally, Dazai was a ham and cheese kind of guy, but they had been barren of any ham and cheese hot pockets. It made him sad to think about, but it also brought rejoice as he could finally try another flavor of hot pocket.

Dazai is quick to tear the box’s top off and reach a hand inside to grab the frozen snack pocket out. Even in a plastic wrapping, he could still smell the permeating waft of garlic and herbs. He fumbled around the kitchen as he ripped the plastic off and put the snack into the small cardboard pocket, basically throwing the hot pocket into the microwave like you would throw a small child into oncoming traffic.

Not really giving a fuck, Dazai punches the microwave which some how starts a two minute timer and the hot pocket starts spinning in small, grueling long circles. His eyes stare into the microwave’s glass window, taking in the way the hot pocket slowly warms up.

Deep down, Dazai wished to be a hot pocket. Because he, too, wished to be cooked in a microwave. What a way to go out.

It feels like eternity until the microwave beeps loudly to signify that the slutty— I mean tasty treat is done cooking. His eyes light up and Dazai takes the hot pocket out of the microwave. “It’s… It’s beautiful…” He whispers tearfully as the hot pocket steams from the packet. Realizing how hot it was the next few seconds after, he tosses it between his hands and onto the counter gently, “Ow— hot, hot— ahhhh.”

Staring at the hot pocket, Dazai begins to drool excessively— oh, and he was hard. Dude got a raging boner from looking at this hot pocket too long. Just like me fr.

“Aw man, now I’m super horny…” He whines as he looks down at his tightened slacks. He thinks for a moment before he looks back to the hot pocket and gets an idea.

The hot pocket steamed in need of his ACHING COCK (I can see you cringing behind that screen, Guac <3). Or at least that’s how Dazai took it because of how horny he was. “You want me, don’t you?” He grins at the hot pocket with desire— only getting a soft puff of steam in return and a whiff of garlic that made him twice as hard.

Eager to get off now, Dazai unzips his slacks and pushes them down enough to have access to the hot pocket. His accurate sized dick of three inches— I mean— his monster cock slapped against his stomach as he wasn’t wearing underwear because it’s canon that he goes commando. Dazai then took the hot pocket and brought it to his lips before taking a slow bite. And in typical Dazai fashion— he moaned loud enough for the entire apartment complex to hear and got several noise complaints which all went to Kunikida’s answering machine.

“My god, you’re such a slutty tease,” Dazai groans, swallowing the cold ass bite that’s always at the end of the hot pocket. Pushing at the sides with his fingers, the hot pocket opens to reveal its gooey melted cheese and sloppy pizza sauce insides with the occasional chunks of pepperoni. Dazai stroked his cock until he had spread enough precum along his length, though it’s questionable as to why he would as he’s fucking a hot pocket pussy and not actual pussy because he gets none.

Wasting no more time, Dazai slid his dick into the scalding hot pocket and screamed from the pain of literal lava burning the skin of his dick. But he kept trekking through the feeling, because he’ll be damned having his dick blistered by some hot pizza sauce and melting mozzarella chunks ruin him from being horny enough to fuck a microwaveable snack. “Yeah, you like that you dirty, saucy whore?” He grunted, uncaring of the melted cheese and pizza sauce sticking to his now blistering cock.

As this poor hot pocket was being violated like no one’s business, Kunikida was sobbing himself to sleep after getting multiple detailed complaints about how loud Dazai was being while he was aggressively fucking a hot pocket like I did to your mom last night.

“I’m gonna turn you into a toaster strudel, baby,” Dazai moaned loudly, thrusting harder into the hot pocket before filling it to the brim with his cum. “That’s it, take my seed you cheesy whore…” He panted, pulling his dick out of the cum stuffed hot pocket. It took a few moments until he realized the damage that the hot pocket had done to his dick as he looked down to see the various red burn spots and blistering skin covered in pizza sauce, cheese, and pepperoni. “Now I’m going to need bandages for my dick…” He sighed, tossing the hot pocket aside like they didn’t have a special bond. “Well, I’m not hungry anymore, my dick hurts… Time to stick it in some ice cream~” Dazai trailed off to get Kunikida’s credit card to go buy and defile yet another item of food.

As the hot pocket sat on the ground oozing with cum, a rat squeaked and scampered by before sniffing the hot pocket. Deemed worthy enough to take it back to its master, the rat dragged the hot pocket into a mouse hole and scrambled through the walls of the apartments until it made its way outside and into a manhole. Making its way through the sewers, the rat finally arrives at its master.

“What is this?” A Russian accent echoes through the sewers. Slender hands pick up the rat and the hot pocket, Fyodor looking at both with a questionable gaze. The rat squeaks to communicate with the Russian joker and squirms out of his grasp to scatter off to its family.

“A toaster strudel, you say? I’ve never seen such a thing, incredible…” Fyodor doesn’t even bother to take a good look at the hot pocket to see the fluids dripping out of it before he takes a large bite and chews. His face scrunches up— but he keeps eating because man is anemic and refuses to eat anymore of his belly button lint to survive.

“What a strange tasting toaster strudel…”

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

Alright my dudes, it’s time for another episode of Bedtime Stories With PCE,

•Comeback Of The Year•

For those unfamiliar, the Bedtime Stories series has been continuations of fics I published on ao3, within the OrangeJuiceVerse, that I don’t feel necessary have a place within the official lineup. This one is a little different.

This story isn’t a continuation or something that happened when we were in another character’s perspective; rather it’s a what we didn’t see. Chronologically, this takes place after the main 5’s first year of college, during the time Cartman’s leaving Colorado and Kenjorine and Style are moving into their campus apartments, set between Extremely Stupid And Incredibly Avoidable and It’s Not The Frat Flu. (As usual you don’t need to be familiar with those or the OJV in general to read this lmao)

ALSO!!! This idea is inspired by a suggestion from my dearest sickfic queen Ana @alwaysinstyle and I’ll explain under the cut before we get into the story!

(Tw for Kyle’s eating disorder thoughts, mention of behavior and mentality surrounding)

So I’ve talked before about OrangeJuiceVerse Kyle being a recovered anorexic, and said I probably wouldn’t write something with him actively struggling with his ed, BUT, my fine friends, last week in the R.A.N.T. Park chat the girlies and I were discussing my impending move and the factors surrounding it (including your local Whumpshot Wizard trying to kick her own relapse’s ass before my husband and I move rip lol), and Ana slid into my messages like “I have an idea that could work for OJV Kyle” and I RAN WITH IT!!!

Thus, this was born. A tale of everyone’s favorite ginger coming face to face with an eating disorder relapse in the middle of moving apartments in the summer heat. There is a fair amount of angst, but a lot of wholesome moments too, a lot of hope and healthy communication in typical PastorCraigEnjoyer fashion! And plenty of Stan being the sweetest boy on planet Earth lmfao I’m obsessed with OJV Stan it’s fine

If y’all read this, PLEASE let me know what you thought, and I hope it pleases and sparkles!!!

Without further ado, here y’all go:

——————————————————————————

Mid July was excruciating, to put it mildly, even in Colorado. Kyle couldn’t imagine how rough summers must be for someone in, like, Texas or something.

Maybe the weather would be tolerable if he was lying in the shade somewhere with an ice cold drink in his hand, listening to Stan play the guitar, maybe watching lazy clouds float through the endless blue. That idyllic mental picture was a lot more pleasant than his current reality.

“Ay! Get your lazy ass over here and help Kinny with this chair!”

Moving.

The weird little house they’d spent the last year living in no longer suited the group’s needs, with Cartman declaring his gap year done and announcing that the online matchmaking and wedding planning service he’d been building up had taken off, that he’d be moving to Nevada. It was a fitting career for him, Kyle thought, but even if he and a certain abrasive fuckwad butted heads from time to time, that big of a change to the group dynamic made him anxious. They’d collectively decided to disband the SP Survivors Safehouse, all knowing that it wouldn’t be the same from here on out, but none of them giving voice to that.

It wasn’t that he was completely sad about leaving that place behind; it was kind of a shitbox, and these campus apartments were nice and well maintained. He and Stan would only be a few doors down from Kenny and Marj, and the units were decently spacious for what the rent was. Just… the adjustment of it all. The change in routine and life in general. That’s what had him stressed.

With a groan, Kyle pushed himself off the wall where he’d been taking a breather. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”

Out of the minute shade the shadow of the building had cast, his vision went spotty with the shift in temperature. Seriously, it was too goddamn hot for this shit.

Kenny unclipped the ratchet strap holding his favorite recliner (a well loved sidewalk find) to the bed of the truck, turning to look at him with a quizzical expression.

“You good, firefox?”

“I’ll be better when we’re done getting everything inside,” Kyle complained, and immediately regretted his tone. All of them were out in the sun, not just him. “It’s just hot,” he amended.

Hopping out of Resurrection, Kenny gestured for him to climb into the bed. “I hear that, brother. Even Fatboy’s helpin’ speed shit up.”

From the staircase, arms laden with boxes, Cartman called down a “I heard that, broke ass bitch!”

“I’m commending your work ethic!” Kenny argued back, wide grin on his face. He braced himself to catch one side of the chair. “Gonna miss that fucker.”

Kyle shook his head and slowly walked the furniture to the edge of the tailgate. “He’ll be blowing up our phones with stupid shit even more than he already does.” Though, it’d take more getting used to than he wanted to think about. He didn’t have the energy to stress over it more than he already had been. He sighed. “We’ll get used to it. Ready?”

“When you are.”

“Yep, careful, Ken.”

“When am I ever not careful?” The blond replied with a smirk.

“I’m not answering that.”

Kenny chuckled, enviously buoyant and upbeat in a way Kyle couldn’t seem to match. The guy had always been a little more go with the flow, cryptic and weird sometimes, yeah, but overall good for a smile when you needed one, and Kyle very much did right now. He’d been driving everyone up the wall the past few weeks with his neuroticism; maybe he should take a page out of Kenny’s book.

“Alright, dude,” he said, “it’s coming down.”

Step one and done, chair on the grass, Kyle hopped out of the bed to begin the arduous task of helping his friend haul the damn thing up the stairs. Not particularly heavy, but awkward, and Kyle wasn’t feeling very strong today. Past month or so, come to think of it.

He knew why, of course, and it was his own damn fault.

Stress had always effected his appetite, and with everything going on, he’d fallen into some… old habits. And the worst part was, he was good at hiding it, even from his boyfriend. For nearly five years, Stan had been diligent (on his ass) about his eating habits, his health in general. Stan didn’t find Cartman’s ed jokes funny even when Kyle himself did. None of it was funny now.

He didn’t realize what was happening until he was already in it, an involuntary deficit awakening long dormant thoughts and behaviors, secrecy and avoidance. The lying came naturally, and that made him feel worse.

But it wasn’t a problem, Kyle told himself. He’d get back on track and no one would have to know, once they got this new chapter of their lives up and running. Just a momentary slip up, nothing to start an upset over. He was fine.

To prove it, Kyle let Kenny lead in front, taking most of the weight as they climbed the stairs. His friend whistled something he couldn’t quite place while he walked backwards, like he didn’t have a care in the world. A sickening trickle of sweat ran down Kyle’s back, an annoying ringing in his ears.

His arms were shaking when they at long last made it to the open door of number 207, and he spared a glance across the hall and down a ways to unit 210, his new home with Stan, who was currently inside with Marj getting the couch set up.

“Kyle? Hey, man, you hear me?”

Snapping back to attention, Kyle pulled his focus back to Kenny. “Sorry, what’d you say?”

Kenny raised his eyebrows and started backing up into the apartment again. “Dude, I was saying we could put the chair in the corner for now. You alright?”

“Like I said, just the heat,” Kyle assured him. Though now that he was inside, out of the open concrete hallway with its hot wind, he was suddenly freezing. Freezing, but still dripping sweat from what felt like every pore. Maybe coffee wasn’t enough to get him through the morning after all, but he hadn’t been able to stomach the thought of anything else.

Cartman rounded the corner, wiping his hands on his jeans and scowling on his way to the front door to grab some more stuff from the truck.

“This is why I told you guys to hire movers like I did,” he started condescendingly. “By the time I get to my sweet new house tomorrow, all I’ll have to bring in is my backpack.”

“And yet you’re still helping us out of the goodness of your big fat heart,” Kenny pointed out. “You do love us.”

“Nah, fuck you guys.” Cartman flipped them a middle finger on his way out.

Kenny laughed as he set his side of the chair down, Kyle following suit on that, but not the laughter.

His head felt like it was being squeezed on all sides, blood fervently racing through his veins, clouds at the edges of his sight. He hadn’t even straightened yet, but the room was spinning. Kyle slowly pulled himself up, undeniable dread flooding his gut when the vertigo worsened.

“I’m-“ he started thickly, swallowing hard with a throat that felt like a stale desert. His own voice sounded like he was hearing it underwater. “Ken, I don’t feel so good-“

Kenny’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit, you look like a ghost! Okay, get down, get down, you’re good, dude, sit down…”

Even with Kenny’s secure grip on his arms, Kyle felt his legs turn to jelly right as his vision turned white.

He couldn’t decipher what his friend was saying, only that his tone was calm, reassuring and steady. How was Kenny so calm? Kyle was abruptly made aware of his own panicked breathing, eyes burning with tears while they struggled to focus again. He was on the floor, and didn’t remember getting there. Why was it so cold?

“-re you are.” Kenny’s voice still sounded distant, but a little clearer now. “Just keep your eyes open, dude, we know how to handle this, you’re fine.” The blond turned his head to the open door. “STAN!”

Kyle felt wrong. He hadn’t gotten snappy and irritable like he usually did when his blood sugar dropped, so even if he was low (definitely on the table here), it wasn’t just that. There was something else up too, and he was scared, and embarrassed, and whyisitsohardtohearanything-

“Ky?! Shit, baby, I’m here, I’ve got you.”

He could blearily make out the shape of his boyfriend kneeling beside him, feel the hand that burned like fire on his cheek. “Can you hear me, dude?”

“‘S hard to,” he managed.

“That’s okay, we’ll fix it, I’m here,” Stan repeated, and looked up at Kenny. “What happened? Did he fall? Pass out or just get really close?”

Kyle was vaguely aware of his tears being wiped away by someone who smelled like green apples. Oh, fuck, he was probably scaring Marj. He had to calm down; panicking never helped in a situation like this.

Kenny stood up, beelining to turn the ceiling fan on. “Said he wasn’t feelin’ good, and then he went all white, and then his eyes rolled back so I got ‘im on the floor. A low, right?”

His hands were tingling. Stan was shaking his head.

“He doesn’t freak out like this over it normally, you know that. Kyle, dude, what else is going on? You get too hot?”

Marjorine sounded worried. “Oh, geez, should we call 911? I’ve heard heat exhaustion can be real bad.”

Kyle’s heart felt like it was working overtime to get blood to his brain, stomach twisting with nausea and mouth drier than the wrinkled up orange peel he’d found in one of Stan’s drawers when they were packing.

Oh.

“Hypotension,” he whispered. “Gotta… legs above my head. Drink something.”

Stan nodded, already sliding a box under his sneakers. “Ken, there’s Gatorade in my bag at our place. Can you grab the full sugar one?”

“On it, bossman.”

Marj softly ran her fingers through his hair, rubbing his temples in an almost motherly gesture. “You just lie still and catch your breath,” she advised. “You’re probably just dehydrated with how hot it is and all. You’ll be feelin’ better in no time.”

Oh, no doubt, but if only it was just that. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“Dude.” Stan took his hand and kissed the back of it. “Shit happens, okay? You’re just gonna need to take it easy for the rest of the day, right?”

“Right.” Kyle sighed, uneasy and hating how much his body was still shaking, but at least his senses were starting to come back after a few minutes horizontal. “‘M just not built for summer.”

His partner snorted. “I know, baby. I’ve heard you complain about how sunburned you get every summer for our whole lives. Full on lobster the second the sun comes out. I don’t think I’ve seen you faint from low blood pressure, though, not since-“ Stan’s face fell at the realization. “…oh, Ky, no…”

The mix of shock and concern and guilt and sympathy and fear on Stan’s handsome face felt like a punch in the gut. Kyle couldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s not what you-“

“You were up before me,” Stan cut in. “Did you eat breakfast?”

His head hurt. “I told you I did.”

“And you were lying,” Stan inferred, his voice cracking.

His sweet, sensitive Stan. The regret of hiding his recent bullshit from the man who worried so much about him threatened to, ironically, eat Kyle alive.

Before he could think of something to say to save face, Kenny returned from his side quest, Cartman close behind and carrying a box labeled ‘Another Man’s Treasure’, also known as Kenny’s assortment of random junk to hypothetically be used in a project at some point.

Their no-longer-resident asshole set the box down on the kitchen counter. “You just had to have a dramatic little moment today, didn’t you, Jew?”

“Cartman,” Stan warned, ripping the the nutrition information off of the Gatorade bottle Kenny passed him with far more force than necessary, “I’m telling you right now to lay the fuck off him.”

Naturally, Cartman didn’t lay off. “Hell no! Using his sneaky little ways to get out of physical labor? I must say, Bone Broth, I’m impressed.”

Kyle managed something resembling a weak laugh at that; “Bone Broth” was a new one, so stupid it was almost funny. That is, until the other three shouted “JAR!”.

How were they going to keep up Fuckwad Jar records if the five of them no longer lived together? What even was the point of it anyway? It was too much, all too much. Too much change, too much going on, he felt like microwaved garbage and Stan still had an unreadable look in his eyes. Maybe that was just still Kyle’s brain catching up to full consciousness, though. He could always read Stan, eventually.

He’d have to explain himself later, because his boyfriend had shifted into full caretaking mode.

“Ignore him, dude,” Stan said, taking Marjorine’s spot at his head. “I’m gonna sit you up, really slow, okay?”

Kyle nodded, blinking away the dark spots in his eyes at the movement and letting Stan hold him against his chest, one arm around him for stability, the other guiding him to drink. The cloying taste of lemon lime flooded his tongue, but the thickness in the back of his throat from unshed tears lingered.

Kenny squatted down beside them, extending a fist. “Aight, grandma, dap me up. C’mon, I’m checkin’ your motor functions and shit.”

He obliged, slowly completing the handshake with an eyeroll. Leave it to Kenny McCormick.

Unfortunately, ignoring Cartman was easier said than done, especially when he let out an exaggerated groan.

“I’m so seriously, you guys. I could already be relaxing by the pool at my hotel instead of watching the rest of you coddle the damsel in distress, but nooooo, we have to pause the whole move just because one bird boned bitch can’t pull his weight.”

Kyle was willing to let that one slide; it was true, wasn’t it? Even if Cartman could have phrased it a little less cruelly. Marj stood up on his behalf.

“Eric!” All four boys stilled at her rarely used stern voice. “You know darn well you’re only actin’ out because you don’t do well with change either, mister! Now, apologize right now!”

“Damn, Buttercup,” Kenny whistled, audibly impressed. “Called Fatboy out.”

Cartman grumbled, rolling his eyes, but sighed with genuine defeat. “I’m sorry for being an asshole, now will you guys hop off my dick?”

“None of us want to be on your dick, fatass,” Kyle pointed out.

“Keep it that way, you anemic twink.”

“Okay, I’ve had enough of this,” Stan groaned. “Ky, the bed in our place isn’t made, but it’s put together. Let’s get you somewhere quiet to lie down, okay?”

That sounded nice, but Kyle really wasn’t looking forward to the third degree he was about to get. He didn’t want to get defensive like he knew he would, didn’t want to act like a dick. Still, he resigned himself to be swept up into a safety that didn’t feel deserved.

“Sorry I freaked you guys out,” he muttered, arms draped around Stan’s neck, Gatorade bottle dangling loosely from one hand. “I’ll help finish up in a little bit, promise.”

“No the fuck you won’t.” Stan tightened his grip, pulling Kyle closer to his chest.

As his boyfriend carried him to their apartment, he could hear Cartman taking over command of getting the rest of Kenny and Marj’s stuff in. Dread pooled in his empty stomach, dread that he wanted out. Kyle felt exposed. He’d been seen right through, and scrutinized, all over again.

———

The summer before and into his ninth grade year had been one of the lowest points of Kyle’s life.

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it had all started, but by the time he started to notice the changes to his body, to his pattern of thinking especially, he was spiraling down a dangerous path.

There was comfort in controlling what he could in the here and now, Kyle had realized, especially with the future seeming so uncertain. He wasn’t fucking stupid; he had known right off the bat that obsessively counting, competing with himself to see how little he could get away with eating, even shoving his fingers down his throat on a few occasions just to prove to himself that he had control, all of that was dangerous and would only make him feel worse in the long run. And yet, he’d spent months getting extremely efficient at running on nothing but his own stubbornness.

Kyle hadn’t been the one in control, though, not after a certain point. No, his eating disorder had controlled him.

His mother had seen it, because of course she had. But Sheila Broflovski, loving and caring as she was, hadn’t a clue as to how to approach the matter. One of her “solutions” had been to organize a dinner party with all his friends and their parents, a subtle way, he’d find out years later, to try and get her eldest son to associate food with celebration and love again; good things, not something to be avoided. But the well meaning idea had only sent Kyle into an anxious frenzy.

“Ma, you have got to be fucking joking! You didn’t think, oh, I don’t know, maybe you should ASK ME?”

“Now listen here, young man-“

Oh shit. Kyle knew that tone, and had dreaded hearing it his entire life. Worried and angry at the same time was easily the most frightening version of Sheila Broflovski. He’d seen a good amount of that side of her around that time, come to think of it.

And Kyle could out-argue anyone; he could diffuse high tempers or match them, whatever the situation called for. At fourteen, he counted that as the best tool in his arsenal.

But he had been tired, for months. So fucking tired.

Plus, the only people he’d never won a screaming match against were God and his mother. His voice had, for once, faltered.

He would find a way to make a damn dinner party work.

“S-sorry, ma,” he’d managed. “That sounds like a good idea. Just, uh, just remember that Stan doesn’t eat meat, when you’re cooking. Like, leave the bacon out of the green beans.”

She had looked like there was something on the tip of her tongue that she wanted to ask. Kyle felt the weight of her stare settle on his shoulders like the shirt that had been hanging off of them; incidentally what had caught the attention of the captain of overbearing mothers in the first place.

But she’d softened, apparently having agreed to his unspoken truce and switching tactics. “Alright, sweetie. Now, you’re doing homework in your room again, I’m assuming? Oy, you’ve just been working so hard since high school started! I’m so proud! I’ll bring you some snacks later so you can keep that focus up, bubbeh.”

Kyle had fought to keep his face even. He couldn’t tell her. Not even Stan knew he couldn’t focus if he ate, which was why he… kind of hadn’t been. But he’d nodded and said,

“Okay. Thanks, Ma.”

He hated to think back to that party. The whole night had been spent dodging pointed looks, staying talking as if on autopilot to act okay, to distract the people he loved. To hide. It was his problem, not theirs.

But everything that passed his lips that day did so twice.

———

Now here he was, and it was a problem again.

Kyle’s anxiety only spiked entering the apartment that was, in theory, his home for the next few years. It didn’t feel like home yet, just an impersonal cookie cutter one bedroom, its beige walls and vertical blinds taunting him. New chapter, they seemed to say. New chapter, but there’s a misprint; we’ve read these words before.

Stan softly kissed his forehead and set him down on the bare mattress. “You’ve got some color back,” he noted. “How do you feel?”

Looking anywhere that wasn’t into worried blue eyes, Kyle shrugged. “Okay, I guess. Hands are cold.”

“Baby, look at me.” Stan took his hands in his own warm ones and drew a deep breath. “Dude, are you relapsing?”

“That’s not-“ Kyle forced himself to pause and take the hostility from his voice. He needed to communicate clearly and honestly; immediately acting like he was being attacked would help no one here, and Stan only got overreactive when he had cause to freak out.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted quietly. “It just kind of… happened, I guess. I didn’t realize, dude, I swear. Not really.”

“…okay.” Stan was chewing his bottom lip, and Kyle’s heart lurched, feeling his boyfriend’s fingers twitching but not letting go of his hands even though he obviously wanted to chew at his own like when he got nervous. “How long?”

“Past month or so?” Kyle guessed. “Seriously, I was gonna go back to normal after we got settled in; it wasn’t on purpose-“

“That’s not you talking,” Stan interrupted. “Honey, you know that’s not you. That’s the anorexia. Trying to justify it.”

Stan was never this blunt. He hated using that word, always had. He said it felt too big, too scary. Kyle didn’t want him to be scared.

“Dude, it’s under control,” he insisted. I just needed one less thing to think about for a little bit.”

“Do you even hear what you’re saying?!?” Stan asked incredulously. “Ky, you know better! You know that’s not how this works!”

“Don’t fucking yell at me!” Kyle sobbed out, overwhelmed and hating that he was crying again. He was the least prone to tears of the group; another thing that was apparently crumbling.

Stan slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, hands up in surrender and eyes like saucers.

“Baby, baby, shh, I’m not yelling, okay? I’m not mad at you. I’d never be, no matter what.”

“I… I know,” Kyle whispered. He didn’t protest Stan’s hand moving up to cup his cheek tenderly.

“Kyle, you remember what you told me your therapist said when we were in high school? That it’s a slippery slope, dude. You give it an inch, it takes a mile, right?”

She had used a metaphor that stuck with him. say you’re climbing a mountain, sticking to the path that you know you’re supposed to be on. A few feet to the side, there’s what looks like a shortcut, something easier than the path. But what you don’t see until it’s too late, and you’ve already strayed, is that the shortcut gives way to slippery gravel, and eventually you slide back down to where you started.

“Fuck, dude,” Kyle groaned. “Can we just pretend this never happened? It’s out in the fucking open now, not like you’re gonna let me get away with more bullshit.”

Stan shook his head. “I’m not gonna let it keep trying to get you, dude. It made you sick.” He looked down, shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry I didn’t know. I knew you were stressed, I just-“

“Sweetheart, c’mon.” Kyle wasn’t about to let Stan blame himself for missing the signs. “Don’t do that. I’m just really good at hiding it.”

“Making your ancestors proud with your deceptive ways,” Cartman quipped from the doorway. He turned his attention to Stan. “Hey, Big ‘n Tall. Marj needs help with a bookshelf.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “So why aren’t you helping her? I’m busy.”

“Because.” Cartman crossed his beefy arms over his chest. “I need to have a little talk with Kahl.”

Clearly suspicious, Stan stood up and squared to their friend. Kyle knew the two of them didn’t usually have real beef, but Stan was obviously on edge and feeling overprotective.

“He’s not feeling well, assclown. I don’t want you to work him up.”

Cartman raised one eyebrow, unfazed by Stan’s intimidation tactics. All five of them knew that while he could certainly look scary, he wouldn’t hurt a fly unless completely unavoidable.

“Relax, Lancelot, I can babysit your languishing fleshlight without starting a fight.”

Annoyed, Kyle raised his hand. “You two realize I can hear you.”

Stan glanced back and forth between them for a pregnant moment, then sighed. He knew Kyle could handle himself, especially when it came to Cartman being an asshole, which was much appreciated. Finally, he sighed, relenting.

“Alright. Ky, just take it easy, okay? I’ll be right back. Cartman-“

“-Don’t piss off the Jew, got it.”

Stan bent down to kiss Kyle gently while Cartman pretended to gag. “We’ll beat it together, baby.”

“Together,” Kyle agreed, feeling like there was a fist clenching his heart when his partner left the room. Cartman sat on the edge of the bed and glared at him.

“You’re a fucking dumbass.”

Classy. “Thank you, Cartman, is that all?”

“No, that’s not all, bitch. Listen up.”

And Kyle was, picking up on the seriousness in his friend’s voice. He sipped at his Gatorade and gestured for him to go on.

“I need you to be okay, you idiot.”

That made Kyle pause. Cartman anxiously ran his hands through his messy brown hair.

“Look, dickhole, it’s no secret that your body hates you. Sucks to suck, and all that. But you’re stupid for thinking you can outsmart it. That shit-“ he gestured vaguely in the direction of Kenny and Marj’s place. “-That shit can’t happen. You can’t get sick like when we were in high school.”

Kyle opened his mouth to insist that he was never planning on letting it get that far, but Cartman held up a hand.

“We all know you love to talk, but let me finish.” He shot Kyle a look that meant business until he was sure he wasn’t going to be interrupted. “Good. Okay. Fuck, this is hard to say, alright. Okay. You can’t get sick,” he repeated. “It would fucking break Stan. The stupid hippie would cease to exist if anything happened to you, and you know I’m not fucking around. He needs you. We… all need your annoying ass.”

Against his will, Kyle started to smile. “Is this you admitting you’re gonna miss me, Eric? Kenny was right, you do love us.”

“Fuck off, I hate you guys,” Cartman muttered. “And Christ, just call me “fatass”, it’s gross when you use my name. Save the faggotry for that misguided simp of yours.”

Kyle laughed. His face was tingling, but he really was feeling a little more human. “Just trying to annoy you, fatass.”

“Good. Keep doing that. Don’t make it weird. Listen…”

Cartman took a deep breath, like he was about to dive into the unexplored. Well, he kind of was, starting his career away from the safety net of the rest of them, Kyle supposed.

“This doesn’t leave this room, am I clear, Starving In Suburbia?”

“You know, it concerns me every time you reference one of those movies.”

“Damnit, Jew, am I clear?”

“Jesus, yes. What?”

“If you, uh, if you want, I can ask my therapist for some recommendations. You know, colleagues of his that do remote sessions and specialize in your bullshit.”

Kyle knew Cartman hated talking about therapy, about his fucked up brain and cocktail of medications, so the fact that he was offering was wild. Probably not necessary, but wild.

“Dude,” Kyle started, “I appreciate that, seriously. But I don’t think it’s at that point, you know?”

“I have a call with him day after tomorrow, I’ll at least get some names.” The way he said it made it clear that he needed to feel like he was helping. Not for Kyle’s sake, but for his own peace of mind.

Kyle sighed. “Thank you. Seriously, that’s really nice of you, dude.”

Cartman scoffed. “Please. I just need you to have your shit together so I can torture you without, like, karmic consequences.”

Typical. “Karmic consequences, huh?”

“Uh, duh, dumbass. You can’t rip on an anorexic if they’re actively in it. Everyone knows that.” He rolled his eyes. “For real, though. Get your shit together. I’m not having this conversation again.”

Movement caught Kyle’s eye in the doorway. Stan, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, but his face was relaxed, like he’d heard that last part.

Cartman turned. “Oh good, the guard dog’s back.” He sprang up like he hadn’t just hit Kyle with the tough love he didn’t know he needed. “Later, cocksuckers.”

“Thanks again, fatass,” Kyle repeated.

“Thank me by not being a delicate little bitch next time.”

Stan took his spot on the mattress, eyebrow raised. “Dare I ask?”

Kyle sat up against the headboard, curling his arms around his legs and resting his chin on his knees. “Just wanted to tell me to get it together. Apparently kicking me when I’m down would cause cosmic chaos.”

“Can’t have that,” Stan chuckled. “But really, dude. What do we need to do here? I’m not letting this thing fuck with you anymore than it already has.”

Thinking back to the first time around, Kyle remembered how strict his rules had been in early recovery. Meal plan, online school, limited physical activity, outpatient therapy multiple times a week. Granted, he’d been pretty fucked physically and mentally back then. This hardly even compared, in his eyes.

“I… think I just need accountability,” he said carefully. “For a little while, it’s not like…” Kyle sighed again. “Believe me when I say it’s not like it was the first time, Stan. It’s just… call it a sophomore slump, I guess.”

Stan cracked a half smile, still visibly worried, but like he trusted him. “Little slip up? You’re feeling like you can get yourself healthy pretty quickly?”

Kyle reached a hand out to take Stan’s. “Promise. The mentality behind it isn’t the same, you know? The body dysmorphia and the compulsions aren’t there, I just fell into some of the habits. Call me on it if you see it, okay?”

“I will, dude,” Stan swore. “I’ve always got your back.

Stan used their intertwined hands to pull Kyle into his lap, softly rubbing his back. “I need something from you too though.”

“Mhm?”

“I need you to tell me when you need support, baby. With words. I don’t want to miss the signs again, dude.”

Kyle looked up into his impossibly soft gaze, both vulnerable and open. “Oh, sweetheart, hey. That’s not on you, at all.”

“It is, though.” Stan cupped around the back of Kyle’s neck, bringing his head back into his chest protectively. “We’re a team, Ky. How many times have you told me that? Whatever the game is, we’re on the same side.”

“Dude, don’t quote me at me,” Kyle laughed. It had the intended effect, though, for sure. “But I hear you.”

“Yep, and we’ll be all good in no time,” Stan promised. “We’ll get used to this new place, start our second year of school, all that shit. It always works out, right?”

“We figure it out,” Kyle confirmed.

Stan’s grin was audible, brilliant and soul stirring, even if Kyle couldn’t see it. “Turn that sophomore slump into the comeback of the year.”

Then Kyle did pull away enough to see his face, trying to feign annoyance on his part. “How’d I know you were gonna quote Fall Out Boy at me?”

“Hey, you started it, I just finished it.”

“Proud of yourself, Stanathan?”

“Very much so.” Stan lightly ran his thumb over Kyle’s bottom lip before kissing him softly.

And Kyle believed him when he said, “but more proud of you.”

[caeli0306]

Chapter 4 of Violet Sorrengail's Guide to Spinning a Scandal is now up on AO3!

Chapter 4: Offer No Apologies is now posted on AO3: READ HERE

LMAO remember when I said yesterday that I deleted 2k of the fic? Well, lol, I deleted a whole lot more than that after. I completely changed how I thought this was going to go. So for those of you that want this fic to be longer, rejoice! We're going to have a chapter 5. In other news, please read the chapter notes for trigger warnings. We're getting EXTREMELY angsty in this one folks. For those unfamiliar, this is my @rq-gift-exchange fic for the wonderful @witch-and-her-witcher.

Summary:

Violet Sorrengail is a highly effectively political crisis consultant. Xaden Riorson is poised to win his late father's old senate seat. The hatred between the two runs deep, but its been years since their fiery classroom debates in college, and Violet was certain she'd never cross paths with him again, until her expertise is required to keep doctored stories that could sink Xaden's campaign from gaining traction just before the general election.

The chemistry is off-the-charts, the tension has every other staffer fleeing when the two end up in the same room, and the fire that existed between them is as hot as ever. But as time goes on, Violet begins to realize exactly how true the saying, "There's a thin line between love and hate," really is.

===

Xaden freezes as soon as he notices me, and I have to fight not to roll my eyes. With how surprised he acts every time he runs into me, you’d think I wasn’t the person he hired to run his entire fucking senatorial office.

“Sorrengail,” he greets, tone stilted.

“Mr. Riorson.” I nod, and I feel a bit bad when he winces ever so slightly.

We stand there awkwardly, just staring at each other, until one of the workers taps me on the shoulder, requiring direction for where to put the contents of a box. One last glance at Xaden, and I see a stormy expression that wasn’t there before.

I ignore him and get back to work.

Rhiannon meanders in 30 minutes later, her arms laden with boxes filled with files. I relieve her of one, direct her to put them in my newly assigned office. We dump them in a corner, and she wipes the back of her hand across her forehead.

“I saw Xaden stomping out of here a few minutes ago,” she hedges slowly, looking at me for my reaction. I turn away. “What the hell is going on with you two?”

I still haven’t told her the full extent of what happened that night, or the morning after. I didn’t tell her about the quiet intimacy, the hand-holding, the kisses on my head. I didn’t tell her about the moment I was no longer in denial, or how I pretty much tore my own heart out and stomped on it a few minutes later. I didn’t tell her about how I did it for Xaden’s sake, and how I’ve managed to make both of us miserable as a result.

[icycoldninja]

OKAY-!

So I've been wanting to request something for a hot minute from y’all; Vergil (or Nero..? Idk if you do stuff for him tbh) having to warm-up with a Male reader during a blizzard???

(👉👈 Never done a request before so idk how much to put. I love your work and can't wait to read more from you (/p)!)

AAAAAA I KNOW U, U ALWAYS REBLOG MY WORKS WITH THOSE HILARIOUS TAGS! I've also read your stuff on ao3! I love your works too! I'm so glad you requested! I chose to do Vergil cause I like writing for him more than Nero lol; hope you enjoy!💜💜💜

Warm-Up (Vergil x Male!Reader)

Bonus pic I pulled off Pinterest for ya cuz y'all deserve it 💜

You shivered in your seat, goosebumps breaking out across your skin. A blizzard raged on outside, rattling the walls of your house and, via several drafts in said walls, lowered the overall temperature to lows your poor human body couldn't handle. You continued shuddering, wrapping your arms around yourself in an attempt to keep warm, futile as it was. You were just so cold, for an indescribable reason, no matter how many layers of clothes you threw on or how many blankets you piled on, you were freezing. It was like you were cursed, cursed to be eternally chilly.

The front door clicked, then swung open; Vergil stomped in, covered in snow. "Y/N?" He called, peeking around the corner and finding you curled up on the couch, swaddled in blankets and thick clothes. "What is going on?" He demanded, raising a thin white eyebrow at you. "I'm cold." You grumbled, tugging the blankets tighter around you as another strong wind shook the house and chilled the room even further. "Cold?" Vergil repeated, confused. He had never felt cold in his life, being an ice demon and whatnot. Nonchalantly, he stalked away to remove the snow from his person and change into dry clothes. A few moments later, he rejoined you in the living room, only to find a pile of blankets where you once had been seated. "Y/N? Where did you go?" A hand--your hand--shot up from within the mountain of bedclothes. "Right here, Verg. Right here, freezing my ass off." Vergil sighed, then began shifting the blankets aside to get to your trembling, nearly numb-with-cold form. "You lack motivation," He stated, shoving the blankets aside, then taking a seat on the couch and rearranging them in his lap. "A mere bit of cold is nothing; such a trivial inconvenience should mean nothing to you." While those words may have sounded harsh and derogatory, they were in fact, meant to be motivating--and they were.

"I...I guess you're right," You admitted, sighing and sitting up. "it shouldn't bother me, but it does." Vergil scoffed, then dragged you by the arm over into his lap. With a grumpy huff that was probably caused by embarrassment for his uncharacteristically soft behavior today, he began to wrap you up like a burrito. Once he was done, he scooped you up and cradled you in his arms like a mother with her baby.

You were confused at first, but soon relaxed into your new blanket cocoon. "Are you warm now?" Vergil asked, after a few moments of silence. Believe it or not, you were. The cocoon, combined with Vergil's furnace-like body heat, did wonders for your own body temperature, warming you up much more efficiently compared to all the other methods you previously tried. "Yes, I am," You murmured, rather enjoying this treatment. "Good. I suppose I can unwrap you now, correct?" You shrugged, not really wanting to leave Vergil's lap. "If you don't mind....a little longer?" Vergil gave you a side-eye that could have withered flowers, but said nothing and made no attempt to move you. You yawned, now that you'd been warmed up, you were starting to feel a little sleepy. "Tired?" He inquired, bouncing his leg so as to rock you easier. "Yeah, a little," You sighed, yawning again. "I'm gonna take a nap...wake me in a few hours, ok?" Vergĺil nodded, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. "Very well." As you closed your eyes and began to drift off to sleep, you could have sworn you heard him mumble "Sweet dreams, my little lump of coverlets."

[ttipsyy]

Hi!

I would just like to ask if you've given permission to repost your fic drabble "Look At Me" (https://ttipsyy.tumblr.com/post/691057892835704832/look-at-me-madara-uchiha) in Wattpad? Because someone did. 

They go by the username "Bowlcut_idiot".

They titled your fic "Illusion". The link is https://www.wattpad.com/1329792284-%E2%98%86hashimada-oneshots%E2%98%86-illusion. 

I don't know if you've posted your drabble on AO3 because this Wattpad user usually takes AO3 oneshots and puts it on their own WP oneshot collection under their name, but I would still like to double check since they've already reposted several fics without permission.

You've probably moved on to other fandoms, but I would still like to give you a heads up of your drabble being plagiarized. 

Thank you, and sorry for the bother.

okay. Where to start?

I haven’t been on here for a hot fucking minute. Almost two years now. I know, I know, I disappeared off the face of the earth without an explanation. I was eighteen and I’m now twenty (!!!) and finishing up my junior year in college. I’ve stayed away from all social media because my anxiety had gotten so bad, I really couldn’t handle it. But yeah.

this shit hurt.

I’ve never been a particularly popular writer, so this has never happened to me before. To make it clear, no. I did NOT give my permission for Look At Me to be reposted. It’s a work I am immensely proud of, no matter how few notes it’s gotten. I wrote it when I was in a pretty dark place. It was solace. It’s my baby.

honestly, seeing people commenting and thanking this “author” for writing it, has bile rising in my throat.

so yeah. I don’t know what to do. Am I overreacting? Maybe, I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t think my tiny voice will reach them and, for my peace of mind, I really need them to take it down. Like, kinda desperately.

so, though ngl, I’m kinda anxious to do it, I’m tagging the people I used to be close with on this app. Hey guys. Guess who’s back from the dead. lol? I dunno if you’re still even on here but I hope you’re all well and thriving and healthy. I’m sorry for disappearing.

please help?

@tired-biscuit

@delirious-donna

@eyesofsilver404

[slut4thebroken]

Accident

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Dark!Jason Todd × innocent Wayne!reader

Summary | You’ll only let Jason fuck you if he wears a condom… Spoiler alert: it accidentally came off…

Warnings | Sexual content, 18+, stealthing, non consensual recording, emotional manipulation, unprotected sex, breeding, first time, corruption kink, slightly painful first time, no female orgasms, lowkey misogynistic!Jason lol, adopted siblings, but like... he doesn't think of her that way and neither does she.

Words | 2.8k

Notes | Yeah… I don’t even have an excuse for this one lmao. Except maybe that someone else gave me the idea💀 (also… THE PIERCING?????)

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Other innocent!reader fics

Jason’s thoughts about you weren’t always like this. They started out innocent— just a crush on his adoptive father’s daughter. He never liked to think of you as his sister, more just as a girl he lived with. 

But dying fucked him up in more ways than one. He realized life was too short to beat around the bush and honestly, the longer he was away from you, the worse his thoughts became. That’s why the exact second he made his identity known, he found you. He was tired of watching you from a distance or through the cameras he placed throughout your apartment. He wanted you and he was finally going to have you. 

When he knocked on your door, the second you opened it, he could see all the different emotions you felt. Shock, confusion, relief, happiness. He gave you a sheepish smile and you threw yourself at his body, wrapping your arms tight around him. As he chuckled and returned the hug, his cock fattened up in his pants just from your scent. 

“Hi, princess.” He said quietly, savoring the feeling of your body pressed to his. 

“Jay, I- I don’t understand.” You pulled back, staring up at him through your lashes with wide eyes- your face almost made him come right then and there. 

“It’s a long story.” He said through a quiet laugh. “Can I come in? I’ll make you some hot coco like I used to and I’ll tell you about it.” You immediately agreed, pulling him inside and leading him to the kitchen. 

Only a few minutes later, you sat down, a giddy smile on your face as you smelled the drink. He doesn’t get why you like it so much, it tastes like any other hot chocolate. As you took a sip and let out a long, vulgar moan, he had to stop himself from ripping the mug away and replacing it with his cock. He wanted to take this slow, build up your trust again. It looked like that wouldn’t take long though. 

Only two weeks later, your relationship was practically back to the way it was before he died. Which he was thankful for because he’s not sure how much longer he can wait. 

He invited you over for a movie night, promising lots of pizza, hot chocolate, and cuddles. When you arrived in jeans and a tight shirt, he immediately brought you to his room and gave you some of his clothes, saying, “You won’t be comfy wearing that.” You agreed and he had to force himself to leave and close the door. When you walked back out, his eyes widened at your bare legs. 

“The pants didn’t fit.” You looked at him with a blush, pulling his shirt down to cover more of your thighs. It dwarfed you. The collar was also loose enough that it almost fell off your shoulder. He assured you it was okay and patted the seat next to him, telling you to sit down. 

The second you were sitting, he pulled you into his body, wrapping one arm around your shoulders and using the other one to lift your legs up and bend your knees, then lean them on his thighs. His hand remained on the bare skin of your thigh and he rubbed soothing circles with his thumb, trying to hide a smirk at the way you blushed and squirmed in his hold. The shirt rode up your thighs and you grabbed a blanket to put over you, but he stopped you, saying he was too hot for a blanket. 

As you ate and watched the movie, he was slowly losing patience. Honestly, he’s been hard since you walked out of his room, but he’s doing his best to wait. He wanted you to overthink, to get all nervous and stammer out your words. He wanted to wind you up because the tighter you are, the easier it’ll be to get what he wants. 

So he let you watch the movie, slowly moving his hand up and down your thigh, each time moving it closer to the bottom of his shirt. He could practically hear your heart beating because of how hard and fast it was pounding in your chest. 

“I missed you.” He murmured against your ear, making you shiver and turn to face him. 

“I missed you too, Jay. So much.” You frowned. “Thought about you everyday.” That made him perk up. 

“Yeah?” You hummed in agreement and he gave you a small smile. “What’d you think about?” He purred, smile turning into a smirk. Your blush returned and you playfully hit his chest to reprimand him. 

“Do you always have to make everything dirty?” Despite your scolding tone, you were smiling. 

“Only with you, princess.” He shot back and you stammered for a response before finally just huffing and averting your gaze. “I always loved how easy it was to leave you speechless.” His voice dripped like honey, all the way down to between your legs and you squirmed, pressing your thighs together subconsciously. 

“I- I’m not… ‘m not speechless.” You muttered, embarrassed. 

“No?” You shook your head, making him chuckle. He was quiet for a moment, so you looked back at him, finding him already staring at you.  

“What?” You asked quietly, when he just kept staring at you. 

“Nothin, just… thinking about all the time I missed with you.” 

“Well from now on, we have a lifetime because I’m never letting you go- not again.” You said, giving him a quick hug, trying to comfort him. He gave you a small smile and let his eyes drift to your lips. You swallowed thickly as his eyes darkened and let out a quiet gasp when he slowly started moving closer. 

“Can I kiss you?” He rasped. You nodded breathlessly and closed your eyes, waiting. The kiss was slow, almost tentative, and you tried to just do what he did or let him take the lead. When he pulled back, you whimpered quietly and moved forward, trying to chase his lips. 

“Was that your first kiss?” He asked softly, making you flush and look away from him. 

“I- I’m sorry if it was bad,”

“Hey, no. It was perfect, baby. I like that you’ve only ever kissed me.” He gave you a comforting smile and your anxiety slowly evaporated. 

“You do?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart. Makes me feel so special.” Makes me so fuckin excited to feel your untouched, virgin cunt. Is what he wanted to say. 

“Will you kiss me again?” You bit your lip, waiting for a response that never came. This time when he kissed you, he brought his hand from around your shoulder up to cup your cheek. You tightened your grip on his shirt as you leaned up more, trying to get a better angle. Eventually though, he just lifted your body and placed you on his lap, hands snaking up your thighs, then back down, teasing you. When you gasped and accidentally pushed your hips forward, he let out a choked sound, making you pull back. 

“I’m sorry, I- I didn’t,” He cut you off with another kiss and grabbed your hips under the shirt, guiding you to grind on his cock. Eventually your hips started moving on their own as you got needier. He slipped his tongue in your mouth, making you release a startled moan at the new sensation. 

“I need you so bad, princess.” He muttered against your lips, moving to trail kisses down your neck before sucking the sensitive skin into his mouth. He wanted you completely marked, so that there was no question as to who you belong to. He wanted to fucking carve his name into your skin so that everyone would know you’re his. “It hurts, baby, I need you.” He whined, biting the mark, then kissing his way to a new spot. 

“It hurts?” You squeaked, making him pull away to look at you as you kept up the motions of your hips. 

“Yeah, sweetheart. It hurts so fucking bad.” He frowned, bringing a hand up to brush your hair behind your ear, then cup your cheek. 

“Oh… Can I help?” 

“There is one thing you can do that’ll help.” He started, only continuing after you nodded. “You could let me fuck you.”

“What?” You choked out, staring at him with wide eyes. 

“That’s the only thing that'll help. You don’t wanna leave me hurting, do you?” Your brows furrowed at the pained look on his face. 

“N-no, but I- I’m not on birth control.” 

“So?” He grumbled, leaning into your neck again. 

“I wanna help but you gotta use protection.” He bit down hard on the crook of your neck, making you cry out, then muttered a “fine” before standing and effortlessly lifting you. He carried you to his room and gently laid you down, crawling over you and kissing you again. Blindly reaching for his nightstand drawer, he felt around until he finally found a condom, then grabbed his phone from the top of the nightstand and tossed both items on the bed. He pulled back then practically ripped his shirt off you, letting out a low groan at the sight of your tits and lacy underwear. 

“Look at you.” He cooed, trailing his hands up and down your sides before grabbing your breasts. “It’s almost like you were expecting this to happen.” He chuckled and your face heated up from his teasing. Leaning down, he sucked your nipple in his mouth and swirled his tongue around it, making you gasp. He released it with a wet pop, then gave the other one the same treatment before leaning up to quickly take his shirt off, then easily rip your underwear off your body. 

“Jay! Those were expensive.” You pouted as he discarded the torn fabric on the bed. He ignored you and swiped his fingers through your folds, groaning when your arousal coated his fingers. 

“You ever put anything up here?” He asked, circling and teasing your hole. You whined and shook your head. “Good.” He growled, ripping his hand away. As he took off his pants and underwear, he tried to think about how much knowledge you’d have about sex. Do you know about foreplay? He was all but praying the answer was no. 

Reluctantly picking up the condom, he opened it and slid it on, trying not to grimace at the feeling. He can’t even remember the last time he’s used one and honestly it’s a miracle this condom hasn't expired. 

“It’s gonna hurt a little at first, okay? But you just gotta trust me, baby, it’s gonna get better.” You nodded, anxiety knotting in your stomach. “Don’t tell me to stop either, I know how much you can take and I’ll know when you need to stop. Okay?” You let out a meek “okay” and he dragged his length through your folds, making you stiffen. 

“Ready, princess?” You stared up at him with wide eyes and swallowed thickly as you nodded. He didn't hesitate before pushing the blunt head of his cock against your hole. It took a bit of pressure before he was finally able to get his cock in, but once he did- he almost fucking came right then and there. 

You cried out, instinctively trying to push his hips away, so he grabbed your wrists and held them against the bed. In his new position leaning over you, he could see now that your eyes were watering. He kept pushing in, even after he met the resistance of your cervix, until his hips were flush with yours. 

“Jay, it hurts- I don’t think I can,” You cut yourself off with a whimper, your face twisted in pain, making his cock throb. 

“No, baby, don’t talk like that. You’re doing so good. It’s supposed to hurt, remember? You just gotta relax and it’ll feel better.” He slowly dragged his cock out, leaving just the tip inside, then slammed back in, making you cry out again as tears started falling down your temples into your hair. He kept up that rhythm, making sure to really thrust in hard so you’d keep crying. 

When you started babbling out pleas for him to stop, he growled and pulled out, then flipped you over onto your stomach. You whined loudly in displeasure when he entered you and gripped the sheets so hard that your knuckles turned white. 

As you started begging him to stop again, he grabbed the back of your head and pushed your face into the pillow, muffling your sounds. Obviously it wasn’t ideal that your moans were muffled too, but he was fucking sick of your bitching and whining already. He fucked you like that for a while, relishing in the pleasure of your tight cunt and your pained whimpers. 

After your begging and crying started to slow, he leaned back up and grabbed your torn underwear, putting them in your mouth the second you raised your head to speak. He lifted you up onto your knees, then picked up his phone and opened the camera to record. His free hand held your hip as he fucked you, keeping you from moving away. After a while, once your whimpers turned into small moans, he pulled out, grabbing his cock and teasingly dragging it through your folds. He slipped the condom off, letting out a quiet chuckle when you whined and squirmed beneath him, then pushed back in.

“See? It feels better now, doesn’t it?” You whined in response, letting out a muffled sob. He slowly dragged his length back out until only the tip was inside, making sure the video caught the way it was slick with your arousal. Letting out a low moan, he stilled and let go of your hip, then waited. 

“Fuck yourself on my cock. C’mon, princess, show me how much you want it.” You let out an embarrassed sound and buried your face in the pillow, but moved your hips back into his anyway. You fucked yourself on his length only a few times before letting out an impatient whine. He roughly squeezed your ass in response, then slapped it hard, making you release a choked moan. 

“Fuck.” He said through a moan, drawing the word out. He slapped you once more, just to watch the way your ass moved, and when he took his cock out again, this time he sat back on his heels and brought the camera down to show your gaping hole. To further your humiliation, he grabbed your ass cheek and spread you open, getting a good shot of both your holes fluttering around nothing as he spat on your cunt, making you let out an embarrassed whine. 

He pushed back in, grabbing your ass with his free hand and guiding your hips to meet each thrust. Part of him wanted to grab you with both hands so he could hold you completely still as he fucked you. But a larger part wanted to keep recording, knowing this would be spank material for probably the rest of his life. The thought had him nearing his orgasm much sooner than he would’ve liked, but he didn’t bother dragging it out any longer. 

Picking up the pace, he fucked you so hard that his balls almost started to ache from how hard they were smacking against your clit. He tried to keep his sounds to a minimum so that his phone could pick up your muffled cries and moans. 

Wanting you to tighten around him, he smacked your ass again, groaning when you jolted and clenched down on his throbbing cock. He hit you a few more times as he chased his orgasm until your skin was pink and you were sobbing out moans. 

Pushing his length all the way in, he let out a low moan as you milked his cock, whimpering into the pillow. When you started squirming, he gripped your hip hard enough to make you let out a pained whine, then pushed deeper, limiting your movement a little. He panted as he came down from his orgasm, then slowly dragged his cock out and sat back on his heels. Moving his hand from your hip to your ass, he spread you open, holding the camera in front of your abused cunt, waiting for his come to trickle out. 

“Jay?” You said quietly, once you felt it. “You used a condom right?” He bit back a smirk, watching it drip down your clit onto his sheets. 

“Oh shit… It must’ve come off and I didn’t notice.” He did his best to sound sincere, but it was more emotionless than anything else. “I’m sorry, baby.” 

“Oh, it- it’s okay. It was an accident.” You responded meekly. 

“Yeah. Just an accident.” 

Taglist

@god-imdelulu @xoxoyourdoll @hizzielover @igotanidea @iabookworm @mrknightt @baebeepeach

[toxicanonymity]

Michael in Ambrose

2k words | Michael Myers x f!Reader | NSFW

It's International Fan Works Day Feb 15 with the theme of crossovers. This puts Michael Myers in a House of Wax AU where Bo Sinclair wears a one-piece mechanic suit and Michael needs a new one.

18+ Noncon, manhandling

If you already read this unabridged & unbetaed on AO3 I'm sorry it was so bad lol.

If you're wondering about the logic of Michael being there, originally the bf was John Tate from H20 and y'all were on a road trip and Michael followed but it was a hot mess.

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

"Ya need a fan belt. . . Is that so?" Bo smiles broadly and looks down, bemused. His sleeves are rolled up and his bronze forearms flex as he crosses his arms.  "Where'd your boyfriend go?"  

"He went for help. He thought he saw someone in the wax museum, so he followed them in." 

Bo looks at you like that's the most interesting thing he's ever heard.  "And he left you all alone here,  huh?"  He turns his head and spits out his toothpick, then steps even closer, closing the gap between you.  He smells like sweat and oil and man.  He cradles your chin with a grimy hand.  Your lips are only a few inches from his. "How bad do you need it?"

The blood drains from your face, then shamefully pools somewhere lower.  You say nothing.  You  look over your shoulder like your boyfriend is going to come back any minute.  On the back of the pick-up truck, a sticker catches your eye, the silhouette of a pin-up with her knees spread. 

 "He ain't coming back, darlin," Bo says, grinning.  His pearly teeth are quite the contrast to his dirty face.  "I'll help you out though, I will," he says softly.  He brings his lips to your ear, pressing his cheek against yours.  "Just be a good girl for me."  That sends a tingling rush to your core and you're frozen. Your heart races. 

Bo pulls back to see your facial expression.  He laughs to himself then looks you up and down again, letting the silence linger. "Okay, I can get you a fan belt.  I was just fixin’ to close up, though,"  he says. He goes to the rolling door and starts to close it, but it gets stuck.  His uniform hugs his shapely ass as he bends down with it and tries with all his weight. The door won't close, though.   

A large, rough hand stops the door at the bottom.  Then, the hand begins to push it back up.   At first, you assume it's your boyfriend, until you see the huge work boots.  Bo struggles against the hand and you can only see little by little.  You can tell from the legs it's an imposing man.  Bo grunts as he pushes it down.  The door creeps up a little more and you can't help but notice whoever he is is packing.  He also seems to be another mechanic, but something is strange.  One side of his suit is tattered and covered in something. 

The door keeps lifting, revealing more of this huge man - his broad chest, a thick arm.  One side of his collar is popped and the other is glued down by a mess of wax.  Bo gives up and  watches the man in awe, hands on his hips, waiting to see what he wants.  The door finishes rolling up, and instead of a face, you see the mask of Michael Myers. He should be dead, but the sinister air about this man leaves no doubt in your mind that it's really him.    

Michael stands patiently with his hands to his sides and subtly wiggles the fingers of one hand.  Bo looks confused.   Maybe the folks out here in Ambrose hadn't even heard of Michael. Michael turns toward you.  

Bo says, "Hey man, who-" but Michael cuts him off with a huge hand around his throat, then forces him against a wall of tools.  Bo reaches out and grabs a huge wrench off the wall and his  forearm flexes desperately as he thumps Michael in the head with it.  Michael staggers back, disoriented.    

Bo lunges for you and to your surprise says,  "come on, Darlin" as his large, dirty hand grabs yours.  He covers your body and tries to get you to the office door.  

Michael grabs Bo by the fabric of his suit and throws him against the truck. They struggle, but Michael puts Bo in a sleeper hold until his body goes limp. He's unconscious.  

Michael seems to have forgotten about you.  You stand there frozen, afraid to make any sudden moves.

Michael pins Bo against the truck with his hips and starts undressing him, exposing Bo's tan, muscular biceps.  Michael has the jumpsuit half off him when he lets the dead weight slump to the ground.  He takes off Bo's shoes and removes the jumpsuit completely.  As the jumpsuit slides over Bo's boxers it briefly hitches on what appears to be a massive erection.  Michael had to have felt it against him when he pinned him to the truck.     

Bo is left with only a navy undershirt and engorged boxer briefs.  With his arms and legs bare, you're struck by how strong he is. If Michael was able to overpower Bo with relative ease, he could surely snap you in half like a twig. 

Michael hangs Bo's jumpsuit over the bed of the truck, then unlaces his own boots and steps out of them.  When Michael stands back up, he unzips his own jumpsuit.  You're captivated.  His big arms emerge and you can see his pecs under a navy undershirt similar to Bo's. They both look slutty with their muscles stretching their too-small shirts. 

When Michael lowers the zipper below belt-level your eyes are drawn back to his crotch.  You feel a pang of anticipation in your throat.  He pulls down the jumpsuit and, oh my.  His underwear is tight enough to leave no doubt that he's very aroused. Something flutters in your core. He lets the jumpsuit fall to the floor.  

Michael lazily takes Bo's uniform off the truck and starts putting it on.  He has to push down on the hardness of his briefs with one hand to be able to zip up.  God, that makes you so wet. He's left with an obnoxious bulge.  The arms are a little tight on him, too.  Your unwelcomed arousal intensifies.  Finally, both his hands come to the collar and pop it up so it frames the mask.  He looks so imposing and striking that you audibly gasp.  

Michael abruptly looks in your direction.  You think about running, but you don't move.  He  walks toward you slowly.  You can't take your eyes off his bulge.  He seems to notice, because when he stops within arm's reach of you, he looks down at himself before he looks back up and grabs you by the throat and jaw.  

Michael lifts you several inches off the ground.  You try to scream, but you're choking.  He pivots toward the back of the pick-up truck.  Your limbs flail as he holds you with one hand and uses the other to unlatch the tailgate in one swift motion and put it flat.  He slams you face down onto the bed of the truck. You get up on your knees enough to start  crawling away, toward the cab of the truck, but you don't get far before he jerks you back down toward him.  His hands wrap around your hips and pull you to the edge.

Your shirt rides up and cool metal chills your abdomen as Michael slides your thighs off the tailgate and your feet kick for the ground.  He unbuttons your jean shorts then sends them to the floor.  You try to move, but a massive hand on your back slams you back down as his other hand gropes you and the pressure of his middle finger wedges your thong into your ass. He pries your legs open from behind. 

Your drenched thong barely covers anything.  Michael easily pushes it aside.  You feel his digits slide against your folds and you're humiliated by how wet you are.  A thick finger plunges inside you and you grunt.  He fucks you with two fingers for a few seconds then withdraws his hand and begins to unzip himself.  At the sound of his zipper, your cunt thirstily replaces whatever moisture he took with him.  You silently curse yourself, then accept you're going to need it. 

You're face down on the bed of this truck, ready for the taking, and you can feel Michael Myers looking at your exposed ass like a piece of meat.   You glance back and see his jumpsuit fall down and hang around his ass.  Then, within seconds you feel his shaft pressing hot and hard against your crack. I mean, rock-hard.  His jumpsuit presses against the back of your legs.   He spreads your  thighs with his knee and lays a massive hand on the small of your back, holding you steady on the flatbed of the truck.  You tilt your hips to give him better access to your cunt, telling yourself it's that or your ass. 

A few seconds later, you feel the tip of his cock at your entrance.  It's big.  You feel it against your inner thighs, too.  He huffs as he pushes the head inside and you wince as it stretches you. .  The stretch initially hurts, but you're so wet that it starts to feels good.  You can't deny part of you wants to be filled even more. He puts both hands on your hips for leverage,  then shoves more of himself inside.   He pauses for only a second then jerks you back on his shaft and sheaths himself entirely in your poor little cunt.  He retreats a little, then thrusts again, hitting that spot deep in your core.  Your shirt rides up more and your belly button ring scrapes against the metal of the flat-bed.  

He reaches down and grips your thighs.   He holds you face-down like a wheelbarrow at the end of the truck, using your thighs to pull you back deeper, harder.  You slide against the cold metal, your belly button clinking.  Each thrust seems deeper than the last until he can't possibly fit any more of himself.   He fucks you slowly, and you feel a knot forming in your core.  You find yourself actively meeting his thrusts.  He speeds up and you feel hotter, weaker, more desperate, ready to unravel.  You're on the edge of climax when his hands tighten around your thighs and you're jolted back into him, harder than ever. 

The tension in your core explodes all at once.  As you see stars, you clench tight around him, your whole body tensing every few seconds.  Then, as you're still riding guilty waves of pleasure, you feel him pulse violently into you, and you're pumped full of his hot cum.  Michael breathes heavily in his mask.  You lie there weak and deflated, catching your breath.  

He shoves you almost all the way back onto the bed of the truck for safe keeping while he zips up. Your feet still dangle off and you're still face down.   You hear a series of loud thuds as the truck dips under his weight.  Michael stands still, feet straddling you. You finally flip over on your back and watch him loom over you.  He crouches down between you and the cab of the truck.   You lift your chest and head up and he grabs you  under the armpits and drags you, leaving a snail trail of cum, until you’re up against the cab.  He gently positions your legs so you’re in the same pose as the pin-up silhouette on the sticker.  

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Michael leaves the garage wearing Bo’s uniform. Your face is hot and your eyes well up, but you stay posed like that for some reason. After a few minutes, you hear rustling from the ground and finally leave the artful pose to get on your knees and peer over the side of the truck

Bo is alive.  He squints up at you and brings his hand to the back of his head.  "What happened, Darlin'?" You feel the strangest urge to take care of him.  

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