#website for dark kitchens

[fredwkong]

Taking a Trip

Arne was more than excited to visit Vancouver for the first time. Everyone said that he could have easily seen beautiful mountains on a trip to Switzerland, but Arne wanted something a little bit extra inspiring on a continent he had never seen before. His life at home had become a little monotonous at his corporate job, and the dating pool was as unpromising as ever for a shy, reclusive man in his mid-20s.

With his frugal nature, Arne balked at the hotel prices in the city, and quickly found himself looking at short-term rental sites. The prices were, if possible, even worse. Finally, he followed a link to a retro-looking gay room-sharing website and saw an ad that read: “Shared room, accessible, perfect for tourists.” The price was well within Arne’s range, and it was within walking distance of transit. He booked it without a second thought.

It was only as the taxi drove away after dropping Arne and his suitcase on the curb that he had second thoughts. He followed the instructions the owner, Julian, had sent him and went around the small house to the back, where there was an external door to the basement. All around the door were skateboards, leaning on the concrete foundation, each with a unique design painted on its underside. As he knocked, Arne felt a tremor up his spine, like an anticipation of danger.

Before he could react in any way, he heard heavy feet and voices behind the door. With a clunk of the latch, the door swung open to reveal a young man with dark, curly hair and a thin moustache with no shirt on his tanned, muscular body. “What’s up, bro? You must be Arne,” he said in a deep, slow voice, holding out a big hand that engulfed Arne’s, even though they were the same size. “I’m Julian, your host.”

Arne opened his mouth to reply, but he lost his train of thought as an eye-watering stench poured off Julian’s bare, hairy muscles. He almost seemed to steam in the cold air. The smell was a mix of stale sweat, cooking spices, musky body odour, and, over all of it, the stench of weed.

After a moment, as Arne struggled to control the cough that threatened to burst out of him, Julian seemed to realise he was bare from the hips up. “Oh, sorry, bro,” he said, lazily backing away into the basement apartment. “I was, uh, busy.” He chuckled and moved away, grabbing a stained green shirt from an equally stained couch.

Reluctantly, Arne followed Julian through the doorway, and immediately realised that it was not only Julian who stank. The smell permeated the whole space, making Arne lightheaded. He wished that he had thought to bring air freshener in his luggage.

The basement suite was small, with low ceilings. Behind the couch was a counter to delineate the tiled kitchen, while in front of the couch was a low, beat-up table with a bong and other smoking paraphernalia scattered across it. To the side, a couple of doors led to what Arne hoped were the bedrooms and bathroom.

One door banged open, and another guy stumbled out into the living room. With a beanie over his dishevelled hair and his shirt on inside out, it was clear that he had dressed hurriedly. He looked over Arne with bloodshot eyes, his movements clumsy as he pulled on a thin jacket. “Hey man,” he grunted. As the man waved, another scent washed over Arne. This time, the skunk-smell was tempered with dried cum and a tangy, earthy flavour that hit the back of his throat.

“We lost track of time. Omar was just leaving.” At Julian’s gesture, Omar brushed past Arne and out the door. Arne turned to see him grab one of the skateboards leaning against the concrete stairs before the door shut behind him.

Arne was still shaking his head in an attempt to clear out Omar’s stench when Julian grabbed his bag. “In here, dude.”

Julian led Arne back through the door Omar had burst through into a room with two twin beds, exactly as small as Arne had feared. “Obvi, I won’t have guys over while you’re here, bro,” Julian said, handing Arne a spare key. “But if you like, we can always push the beds together for extra sleeping space.” He raised a lascivious eyebrow at Arne.

Blushing furiously, Arne made several aborted gestures. “Uh, no, no, no thank you,” he muttered, his accent thickening.

“Your loss, bro.” Julian raised both his arms to show his hairy armpits, posing as his musk assaulted Arne’s nostrils. “Just tell me if you change your mind, right? If you need me, I’ll prob-ly either be here smoking and painting, or over at the skate park, smoking and skating.”

Chuckling dumbly, Julian left the room. Moments later, while he sat on his bed and trying to work up the courage to leave, Arne’s nose was tickled by a waft of thick, numbing pot smoke.

It was just a few days, Arne reasoned. He’d be out all day anyway. He probably wouldn’t even see Julian that much, even if they did sleep in the same room. Plus, with a quick check of his bank balance, Arne knew that any alternative sleeping arrangements would be utterly impossible.

Arne forced himself to stay out late that night, exploring Davie Street, but his jet-lagged brain forced him back to the basement suite by midnight. Disheartened at the sight of a light on in the tiny ground-level window, he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Julian was painting a skateboard in the living room, a half-smoked blunt in one hand. Not even the acrid smell of the paints and lacquer could overpower the stench of weed and musk in the tiny space. “Evenin’, bro,” Julian slurred as Arne blinked his eyes and tried to adjust to the thick, musky atmosphere. “Hey, come sit with me.”

“I have to go to sleep,” Arne protested, even as he walked to the spare seat on the couch and lowered himself into it. He remembered that he had resolved earlier not to touch the couch, since it was covered in who knew what kind of stains, but it was already done.

“No worries, this’ll help you sleep, bro,” Julian said, waving away Arne’s excuse with his blunt and then taking a deep pull off of it. He blew a stream of smoke into Arne’s face.

Arne spluttered. “Wh-what the hell!” He’d smoked a few times, but he was hardly a stoner. He could already feel a contact high working its way through his system, loosening his muscles and overwhelming him with sleepiness. For some reason, it also left his body feeling strangely tight.

“What design should I put on this board?” As he spoke, Julian leaned back on the couch and laid his arm across the back. Through the haze in his mind, Arne realised Julian was shirtless again, with musky sweat dripping down his sides from the bushes in his armpits.

Julian was still talking, something about dragons and complementary colours, and Arne just nodded along, too fixated on Julian’s body to care. He had never liked smelly guys, but something about Julian had Arne’s cock flooding his boxers with precum.

As Julian took another hit off his blunt, Arne realised that he could smell the salty tang of his precum in the air. Looking down, he could see a slick, spreading stain on his jeans. How long had he been sitting here? He thought that he should be embarrassed, but working up shame seemed like so much effort. He was so relaxed, sitting here on the couch, breathing in Julian’s sexy musk and clouds of pot smoke.

The rest of the night was a blur. Arne was so tired. He vaguely remembered Julian’s face looming over his, dripping sweat into Arne’s mouth. At some point, Arne thought he must have taken his shirt off because he got so warm and sweaty sitting on the couch. Finally, they had moved to the bedroom, where Julian had kept talking while Arne tried to calm his dripping cock enough to fall asleep.

Arne woke up slowly the next morning, cocooned in the scent of musk and weed. He started to roll over, but realised suddenly that there was a pair of sweaty arms around his chest. One of Julian’s fingers brushed across Arne’s bare nipple, and he moaned uncontrollably as a spark of pleasure shot to his slick, precum-smelling crotch.

His face burning with embarrassment, Arne carefully extricated himself from Julian’s bed and stumbled to the bathroom. He wondered why his body felt strange and top-heavy until he switched on the light. In the mirror, he saw a pair of massive pecs on top of his slender torso, the big nipples erect and pink.

Despite his horror, Arne still found himself feeling oddly horny. Looking further down, he saw an unfamiliar, half-hard cock between his bare legs—he had slept naked!—still leaking thick, clear precum that gathered in big drops before falling to the floor.

There was something seriously wrong with this apartment, and with Julian. Arne struggled to think, but the scent of his precum was quickly filling the little bathroom, making his head foggy. He had to…He had to…He had to touch his fat man tits.

Arne watched in the mirror as he popped his sweaty pecs, and then grabbed them with one hand. Not only were they real, they bounced hypnotically as he kneaded at the muscle. A finger brushed over his pert nipple, and Arne moaned again. His voice sounded strange. A little bit too deep, and slower than he was used to.

Would he feel even better if he pinched his nipple? As Arne went to grab his opposite nip, he struggled to remember what he had been thinking about. It had been something way more important than his bouncing pecs…

The thoughts dissolved as Arne started to tug on his sensitive nipple. He moaned loudly, his legs buckling as jolts of pleasure engulfed his body. The trickle of precum from his cock grew into a continuous stream as he knelt on the bathroom floor, mindlessly tugging on his pecs.

Arne barely noticed the bathroom door open until a pair of strong arms grabbed him under his shoulders and started to haul him to his feet. “No cumming yet, bro,” said Julian’s relaxed drawl next to his ear. “You’re not nearly done yet.”

By the time Julian handed Arne a plate of poptarts, Arne’s horniness had mostly faded back to a low hum, which spiked at the scent of Julian’s unwashed armpits. Arne wondered if he should feel embarrassed to be sat, naked, on Julian’s couch, his insistent cock still slowly leaking tangy precum onto the seat.

“Yesterday was a lot for you, huh bro?” Julian said through a mouthful of poptart. “I bet you just wanna stay here and hang out with me all day.”

Arne frowned. He was supposed to go to the suspension bridge today…No, that sounded like a lot of work. He’d much rather hang out with Julian. He had no idea why he’d thought Julian was gross or uncool. His smell was utterly intoxicating.

“What were you planning to do today?” Arne asked, after he’d eaten a few bites.

Julian shrugged, shedding runnels of sweat from his pits. “I was gonna go to the skate park and hang with some bros, but you need me more, bro.”

“What do you mean?” Arne was independent! He didn’t need Julian around! But it did feel nice to have someone hot and manly like Julian looking out for him, he realised.

“You can’t be left alone right now, bro.” Julian had finished his breakfast, and started to set up the bong on the coffee table. “So we’re gonna hang out, I’m gonna smoke, and then you’re gonna help me with some boards.”

Before long, Arne was floating comfortably, a little stoned from how much smoke billowed out of Julian’s sexy mouth. Julian got to work painting a skateboard, but after a few minutes he turned to look at Arne, a strange smile on his face.

“Come over and help me, bro.”

When Arne slid down to the floor next to Julian, his host raised one tanned, muscular arm. “I’m so sweaty, bro,” Julian said. Arne agreed, watching a rivulet of sweat emerge from the dark hair in Julian’s armpit, adding to the heady musk in the room. “If you could just, like, lick it up for me, I’ll be able to focus so much better.”

Arne frowned. That didn’t seem like it would help at all. But before he could protest, he felt a strong hand on the back of his head, and Julian was pushing him into his musky armpit.

The smell overpowered any of his protests. Julian’s musk was baked into his skin, and taking it straight from the source was far more intense than smelling him at range. The smell of sweat filled Arne’s mind, and he started to lick and suck at Julian’s armpit hair without realising it. The rank taste filled his mouth and trickled down his throat, and Arne felt his leaky cock start to flow again. He couldn’t imagine anything hotter than this. As Julian kept painting, he moaned whenever Arne’s tongue pushed against an especially sensitive spot.

As he laved his tongue over Julian’s tight belly button a while later—time didn’t really matter—Arne started to feel itchy all over his body. As he ran a hand over his arms, he felt the resistance of thick hair. All over his body, Arne felt long hair growing. Before long, his precum didn’t even fall onto the skin of his hairy thighs, it just got lost in the hair.

With his new fur, Arne found himself sweating at least as much as Julian in the heat of the little room. When Julian took a break from painting to grab some lunch, Arne noticed a new smell filling the air. He was emitting his own flavour of musk now, like Julian’s, but with a bit more of a richness to it from the precum dripping between his legs. He couldn’t help but give his armpits a sniff, licking up what he could reach of his own taste.

Julian returned and grinned at Arne. “Damn, bro, you’re almost ready.”

“What?” Arne looked up at Julian. It felt like he was seeing through a thick haze. It was so hard to think. He had to get outside and get some fresh air. But where were his clothes?

Julian held out a brownie for Arne. “Here, bro, this’ll help that brain of yours along. It’s my special blend.” He winked a dark eye, and Arne obediently took a bite of the brownie from Julian’s hand.

While Julian got back to his painting, Arne felt himself feeling slowly, but insistently, hornier. From licking up the sweat at the top of Julian’s back, he moved lower and lower, until he was licking at the very top of Julian’s musky asscrack. His cock felt iron-hard and huge against his thigh, a continuous stream of precum trickling into his sweaty leg hair.

Julian groaned. “Oh, bro, if you’re gonna get in there, let’s do it for real.” Putting the freshly finished board aside, Julian rose to his feet and pulled Arne up as well.

Arne felt so tall. The floor was so far away. All he could see was his hairy belly and thick, drippy cock as he followed Julian through the door to the bedroom. Then, all he could see was Julian, lying on his back with his legs hooked over Arne’s hairy shoulders. At last, Arne was back in a place that made sense, looking into Julian’s asscrack, licking up the musky sweat on his firm cheeks.

As his tongue dove into Julian’s hole, Arne remembered the first time they had skateboarded together. With his natural musk, it was hard for Arne to make friends with other skaters, but Julian had skated right up to him and invited him back to his place.

As he lined his cock up with Julian and rubbed his copious precum over the shaft, Arne remembered growing up in Vancouver. Dealing weed had been fun before legalisation, but now his job at the dispensary was pretty easy. Arne spent most of his time perfecting his skating tricks or smoking up with Julian or their other musky skater friends.

As he thrust against Julian’s prostate and felt the smaller man begin to tighten around him and cum, Arne remembered how much he loved his buddies. He was the big guy of the group, with his big, hairy muscles and fat, leaky cock. He wasn’t much of a thinker, but he’d do anything for Julian and his bros.

With that thought, Arne felt his balls tighten against him as he unloaded a huge, creamy load in Julian’s ass. As he shuddered, collapsing on top of his bro, there was a knock at the door.

“Fuuuuuck, that’s my next guest,” Julian groaned, whining a little as Arne pulled out. In addition to selling custom skateboards, Julian made extra cash by renting part of his room to gay tourists. Arne loved Julian’s musky, pot-smelling basement, so he thought that sharing the space a bit more was a great idea.

Julian pulled a pair of relatively clean sweatpants up his legs and wiped the worst of his cum off his chest with one of the shirts on the floor. “Just grab some clothes, bro,” he said over his shoulder as he shut the door behind himself.

As he pulled on his XL sweatpants and grabbed his hoodie, Arne listened to Julian introducing himself to this new guy. “What’s up, bro? You must be Yadu. I’m Julian, your host.” The spiel sounded strangely familiar. Careful to leave the hoodie unzipped so he wouldn’t stimulate his oversensitive nipples, and careless of Julian's cum slowly drying in his chest hair, Arne crammed a beanie over his hair and stepped into the living room.

A shrimpy African guy was looking in horror at the room, a small suitcase hanging from his weedy arm. Arne waved at him, and the guy looked like he was about to gag as a wave of Arne’s thick, precummy musk washed over him.

“Sorry, bro, we lost track of time.” Julian was pulling on a shirt in the kitchen. “Arne was just leaving.”

Nodding to Julian, Arne brushed past Yadu and headed out the door, grabbing his skateboard from where it was leaning against the wall. He had to go meet up with Omar at the skate park anyway.

This story is a belated holiday gift for @rakurairagnarok! Here's to a very sexy, transformative new year, my friend ;)

#male transformation #mental change #muscle tf #male tf #reality change #dumber tf #musk tf #stoner tf #all fwkong

[bunnys-kisses]

virtual - toji fushiguro

pairing: toji fushiguro x fem!reader rating: 18+ summary: Toji Fushiguro had his vices. He was a man of many of them, drinking, gambling, the occasional smoke, and the womanizing. Oh, the womanizing. Toji loved his fresh meat of the week, the pretty thing with daddy issues that hung onto his strong arm. But he had another vice, the kind that was nobody’s business. tags: pwp, cam worker!reader, hair pulling, biting, dark(ish) themes, toji is your number one fan, 3.1k

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Toji Fushiguro had his vices. He was a man of many of them, drinking, gambling, the occasional smoke, and the womanizing. Oh, womanizing. Toji loved his fresh meat of the week, the pretty thing with daddy issues that hung onto his strong arm. But he had another vice, the kind that was nobody’s business.

He loved a cute cam girl on a sketchy website under the username ‘DeerlyDoe’. He had seen your face a few times, but he had always seen your body. And he liked what he saw. He loved a girl with a little meat on her bones who knew how to use those curves.

He wanted to do unsavory things to you, nothing illegal or heinous. He wanted to see what those glossed lips could do. He didn’t want to hurt you, but he did want to make you scream his name.

  “Shit,” He grunted to himself as he pleasured himself in front of his shitty computer. The internet in the hole he lived in was terrible, your perfect body was all pixels but he couldn’t deny the heat in his body from seeing you.

He relaxed in his chair and stroked his cock. he was a quiet tipper, he sent tips anonymously. He didn’t need to draw attention to himself, even though the tips were large. The excitement in your voice when you saw the number was enough for him.

Currently you are riding a dildo that you stuck to the tile floor of your kitchen. He watched your body shake with each movement. It made his cock tense in his hand, thick like a pipe and solid like a brick. He groaned through grit teeth as he continued to stroke himself.

His face felt hot and a bit of drool ran down his chin in his pursuit for pleasure. The pleasure was building up in his gut the closer he came to climax. And he could tell you were getting close as well. He began to edge himself so he could have the pleasure of finishing alongside you. There were many things he’d do in order to see it in real life. To watch your body move before his very eyes.

He heard your moans get higher and before he knew it you were finishing all over the dildo. You soaked the toy in your wetness. The sounds that followed your aching pussy around the dildo brought Toji over the edge.

He created a mess to the front of his sweatpants, but he felt relaxed. He dropped his arms over both sides of the chair and exhaled deeply. “Yeah.” He said breathlessly.

-

Toji never imagined that he’d ever meet you in real life. He knew you were located in Japan, but he ever expected to see you in Shibuya. It was late spring and the rain came down in sheets, but Toji was crawling the streets looking for a way to kill time.

At a crosswalk, he noticed someone beside him. He looked over and saw a familiar sight. Now of someone that he knew, but his little fixation on the internet. His eyes went wide at the sight of you. He was in disbelief at the sight but then he noticed that you were trying to protect yourself from the rain.

Without thinking he tilted his umbrella to cover your head. What he noticed next was how beautiful your eyes looked when you gazed up at him. He never expected to run into someone to beautiful. So how the hell did Toji end up back at your place with you digging through your belongings to find something big enough to change in. He thought it was impossible for you. You were so small, and he was so big. How was he even going to fit in anything you owned?

The DeerlyDoe was in front of him, digging through his expensive wardrobe to find something for him to wear. How endearing. He watched your ass as you were bent over. He even was a little wiggle as you dug further into the wardrobe.

He wondered how expensive your clothes were, and how much would you have lost if he tore the items off of you? The thought made him smirk but he dropped it when you turned around with a simple compression shirt and shorts in hand.

  “That's all I have, it’s from an ex-boyfriend. I’m glad I didn’t throw it out.” You giggled sheepishly.

The idea of you having a boyfriend made his chest freeze. But he composed himself with a cough and replied, “Well, I’m glad you had it. There was no need to do this much for me. Thank you.”

 “You gave up your umbrella and got all wet! How could I not repay you?”

He smiled as gently as he could, “Fair point. But I am still thankful.” He started to strip his clothes off and you observed his partially naked body.

You swallowed and felt heat rise in your cheeks. There was a strange man in your home. You tried to create a little room for him to change, but he kept getting closer. Like he enjoyed your closeness. You felt your heart stammer.

What were you thinking letting this strange man into your home? But those dark eyes and that scar. He was a bad boy, and you had your little fixation of bad boys. You swallowed once more then smiled at him. “I hope it fits.” You said, “You can take it home with you.“

He chuckled softly, ”Actually, I was wondering if I could take you home. I think you'd look good on my bed.“

The blush felt like it reached your scalp as you covered your mouth with your hands. You let out a small 'eep' noise from the embarrassment. Which only in turn made him laugh.

Once he was changed, he went over to you and took your hands away from your mouth. He looked down at you as he held your wrists probably a little tighter than for someone as delicate as you.

  “No one invites strange men into their homes unless they want their ducts clean or their pussy ate.” He grinned at you, enamored by your shyness. It was so much different than the woman in the live streams. But he still loved it.

  “Mister Fushiguro, sir.” You squeaked. He had told you his name when you walked back to your home. He held your wrists to your head to keep you steady, and he leaned in for a solid kiss. Your eyes closed and you felt the hammering in your chest.

By instinct you held onto him as you leaned up to meet his kiss more. The shirt felt familiar, but the muscles underneath did not. You gasped into the kiss as he cradled the back of your head.

When he pulled away you asked, “Is it too late to ask you to clean my ducts?” You giggled nervously.

He ran a thumb across your bottom lip to see if the lip gloss stayed on. He replied, “Interesting.“

  ”What do you mean?“ You asked curiously.

  ”Don't worry. As much as I love the clothes you've given to me. I think it's best if I take them off. How does that sound?“

You looked into those dark eyes and nodded, anything for him. You saw him smile, it almost looked terrifying, like you were the prey and he was the predator. He kissed your lips once more before he started to take off the clothes you lent him.

Your heart raced at the idea of being intimate with this man. It had been so long since you had actual sex with someone. Usually you did things alone in your tiny apartment. But here was a man, a very handsome man, taking off his clothes in front of you.

The sight of his muscles as he took off the already tight shirt made you gasp. He was perfection, he wa danger, he made your head spin. It wasn't until his hands were back on you that you realized that maybe you should get undressed as well.

You felt heat in your body as you removed your sundress and left you bare in a simple bra and underwear. Your breathing was growing rapid as the heat in the main room grew warmer. You whispered, “I'm sorry if I don't look very good.“ You crossed your arms self consciously.

He pulled your arms away from you and held both wrists in one hand. He leaned in and tucked hair behind your ear, “I don't want to hear you say that ever again. If I didn't want a taste of that pussy, then I wouldn't be here now. I want you to be a good girl for me.” His breath was hot and left tingles down your spine.

He told you to leave him in the bedroom and you did as you were told. Afterall you were a good girl.

You couldn't believe what was going on, but a curious part of you went along with it. You were used to performing in front of a camera, but to have the real thing sent excitement through you. You blushed as you opened the bedroom door and Toji pressed his front against your back.

  “You want me to touch you?” He asked seductively.

You nodded, “Please, sir.” Then moaned when he started to feel up your breasts. You held onto his strong forearms, you could barely get your hands around them. You could feel his erection against your back, which made you grow even more flustered.

He leaned down to whisper in your ear, “You know, I watch you perform almost every night. You help me relax, I always wondered what that pussy tasted like.”

  “You mean-”

  “Yeah, DeerlyDoe. I know that your pussy can take a beating.” He smirked into your ear before he bit your neck. He played with your nipples over your bra, “I've had my fantasies about you, what I'd do to you. Do you think tonight we can try some of them out?”

  “I've never had sex a fan before.“ You admitted.

He chuckled, ”Don't worry, I'll go easy. Maybe you'll like it so much that you'll never even think about having sex with a fan again.“ His voice was hot in your ear as he continued to touch you. His grip was rough as he played with your breasts.

You took off the underwear you wore and got onto the bed. You laid out for him to see every curve of your body. You watched him lick his lips as rain battered your window. Your nipples were hard from his teasing and between your legs was slick from the arousal.

He smirked once more, ”What a sight. A proper whore, ready to accept any cock she's given.“ He watched you grow flustered once more and he approached the bed. His hard cock bobbed with every step, ”I hope you know, I like it bare. I think you can tell, no condoms fit me.“

You swallowed and nodded. You watched him get into bed and you felt his length graze your thigh as he got closer. Your body felt electric and hot. Your heart was racing. You weren't too sure how it was all going to fit inside of you, but you had to try. Your core throbbed for the feeling of it inside of you.

  ”Dirty girl.” He remarked as he kissed your neck. His teeth dug into your skin, hard enough to leave an indent. You rubbed your thighs together in anticipation. He groaned against you, you felt amazing. He could feel the sweat on his back as he pinned you down to the bed.

  “Please, sir. Fushiguro, sir.“ You whimpered like a puppy which only aroused him further. His cock moved against your thigh once more and he caught a hint of how wet you were between your legs.

He groaned, the time for foreplay was over. He kept your arms pinned above your head with one large hand and your legs tightly locked around his waist. He gazed down at you with lust marking his face. With his free hand he guided his cock into your sweet pussy. He felt the stretch of your sex and he groaned.

You on the other hand were tense and it ached. You couldn't grip onto the bed for support. Your back arched but he kept you pinned down to the bed. Your heart raced as he sank himself inside of you. It was a tad painful, but it felt so good.

  ”Good girl.“ He groaned, he could've climaxed so easily but he edged himself not to. With one hand on your hip and the other holding you down, he began to thrust his hips. His cock pushed further inside of you and you moaned so loudly. Your noises made a shiver run up his spine to ecstasy.

  ”Please, sir.”

  “I know you can take it, I've seen you take more than this.” He growled. He recalled every dildo and toy you ever used on yourself. You once told the stream you liked the pain. He watched you moaning as you gasped loudly.

Your eyes squeezed shut as the two on you fucked on the bed. The bed creaked from the movements and eventually Toji sloppily made out with you to shut you up. You felt the pleasure and the pain mix together in a way that left you speechless. You tightened your legs around the other man and tried to meet his pace.

Your heart raced and when he parted the kiss you said, “Fushiguro, ah, please.”

He smirked down at you, and your eyes gazed upon the scar on his lip. Part of you wanted to lick it, but he kept you pinned to the bed. You whimpered loudly some more and Toji let go of your hands but found his large, calloused hand in your hair. He yanked on the  strands to pull you up towards him.

He held your hair in his hand as he bit your bottom lip and kissed you. You whined into the kiss from the subtle pain across your lips. Your heart hammered in your chest as he dropped you back on the bed and leaned back a little to get a better angle of his thrusts.

You saw stars as his cock hit every sweet spot inside of you. It felt like his cock was in the back of your throat the way he was moving inside of you. The sheer size took the wind out of you with each powerful thrust. You were becoming addicted to his feelings for him. It was arousing.

 “Good girl.” He said with a low growl to his voice.

You were sweaty all over as your body moved up and down on the bed. You gasped loudly as his cock bulled your cervix, it was so different when it was a real person rather than a toy. You managed to get  a hold of the covers under you and anchored yourself as his thrusts got more aggressive.

He groaned against you as he continued to move his body. His thrusts became erratic in a pursuit for climax. You gasped, moaned and whimpered which only encouraged him. His body throbbed with a need for release. This felt like nothing he had ever felt before, and he had his fair share of pussy.

He could tell why you were so good at what you did. His breathing was rapid as he held onto your hips with both hands and pushed his cock as deep as it would go. Sweat dripped from his hair down his back muscles.

There was so much he wanted to do to you, right now was just the taster. He licked his lips with want as he watched your heavy breathing. You were a total slut, you loved anything that would stuff those holes of yours.

He wanted to bite, bruise and mark you. To make you his. He'd let you do your shows but maybe his name tattooed on your thigh would be a reminder to your viewers that you were a taken woman. The thought made his cock throb. Maybe he could convince you of that. But first he'd have to break your brain while fucking it out of your skull.

He hunched over and dug his hands into the bed under you. He growled as he felt the pleasure race through his body. This felt good, you felt good. His muscles moved with each thrust of his hips. He knew he was getting close.

As were you.

The sex was rough, extreme to an extent. But you were both lost in the vastness of pleasure that you two kept going. You reached out for him and made out with him once more. He groaned into the kiss and put one hand in your hair again.

He pulled on it and you groaned into the kiss. Your pussy clenched around him and he made a noise that came from deep inside of him. That felt good.

The best continued to creak as the two of you fucked like two horny animals. The feeling was becoming overwhelming and you knew that you were both going to orgasm soon. You pulled away from the kiss and panted wildly.  

  “You're so good.' He grumbled, “Such a good hole to fuck. I might have to keep you to myself. See what else those hips can do. I'll need a good fuck after the work I do.” He grabbed your breasts so tightly that you knew they were going to put purple bruises come morning.

You whined and arched your pain from the pain, but yet it still made you core throb for him. With another heavy thrust you came all over his cock, you coated it in your wetness. You let out a high-pitched moan that was more erotic than anything that he ever saw online.

You went laxed on the bed but still held onto the sheets as you let Toji use your body to achieve his own orgasm. The bed continued to move, with it hitting the wall. Your breathing was heavy and your mind felt hazy.

With a few more thrusts into your tight cunt. he finished inside of you. He groaned as he did so before he leaned forward once more and gave you a searing kiss. You two made out with his softening cock still inside of you as the both of you came down from your orgasms.

  “Sir.”

  “Good girl, I hope you're ready for more because I'm not done with you. Now be a good girl and get on all fours for me. I want to see what ass.” He groaned against you before he pulled you in for another searing kiss.

You knew that you'd be seeing a lot of Toji Fushiguro after this, he may have been a fan but now he's making you feel really good and not from high donations.

#bunny writes #jujustu kaisen #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jjk x you #jujustu kaisen smut #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x reader #toji smut #jjk toji #toji x you

[lokischocolatefountain]

Secret || Mister Miller

Fandom: The Last of Us (HBO)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Rating: 18+ (Warnings: No outbreak, huge age gap, infidelity in later chapters, voyeurism, creepy Joel, masturbation (male and female), bfd!Joel)

Word count: 1.3k words

Summary: Your shameful secret you keep from your boyfriend is not such a secret after all. Your boyfriend’s dad Joel Miller knows what you do…very intimately.

A/N: I don’t know what’s with me writing all this hefty age gap Joel fics with dark themes… I need to be lobotomised. Or I should go back to writing more sweet husband!Javi fics… I’m planning on making this a three parter or maybe even five… Let me know where you’d like to see this go.

Checking once again if he was asleep, you slipped out of his bed. Laptop, phone and headphones in hand, you made your way out of his room, making sure to be very quiet when shutting the door. It had become something of a routine since you started dating. He was good, better than some boyfriends you had in the past who wouldn’t even last five minutes. He treated you well, asked you what you liked in bed and took your advice. Which was why you felt guilty each time you escaped his room in the night to take care of yourself in the living room.

Your parents were on a summer vacation of their own, a long road trip to visit distant cousin you knew fuck all about. You would’ve gone even though you didn’t want to. But Matt begged you to come with him to stay in Texas for the summer. It was an attractive idea— you’d never been to his part of Texas before and you knew you’d miss him a lot. But you didn’t want to inconvenience him or his dad. Thankfully, Mr. Miller was kind and opened his doors to you and his son for the summer.

In return, you helped around the house. He never asked. But he was a busy man. A single dad to Matt and his sister Sarah since their mother left, being busy was his normal state of being. He was the owner of a small construction company he ran with the help of his brother.

Before getting up to your secret nightly activity, you headed to the kitchen and began doing the dishes. Matt cooked well, but he was atrocious with cleaning up. So you did that. It was also to somewhat reduce the guilt that built up in you for hiding things from him. When finished with the dishes, you settled on the floor with your laptop on the coffee table.

Your hand played with your necklace out of habit. Tracing the M of the pendant attached to the necklace Matt gave you for your anniversary. You dropped it, guilt searing your thumb in the M shape of the pendant for doing this without his knowledge.

Shame hit you right as the website loaded, images appeared of naked women posed amidst naked men for video thumbnails. Each provided you a glimpse into the kind of degrading activity each actress engaged in for you to get off in shame. Your eyes caught a thumbnail of a man— older, broad, muscular with a girl your age. You hovered the cursor over the image and it provided you a short peek into what was inside- the man, his hand gripping her hair and pounding into her hard and fast as her face contorted in pleasure. You didn’t care that it was all fake, that the actress probably didn’t even feel good.

You clicked on the video and skipped the poorly acted introduction to get to the good part. Headphones in and volume on high, hand inside your shorts as you touched yourself, you didn’t know you weren’t the only voyeur in the room.

Having come downstairs to fetch himself some water, Joel had noticed you crouching in between his couch and coffee table with your laptop playing something downright filthy. He should’ve walked away, given you your privacy. But goddamn it, you let out a sweet little whine, barely audible and his feet glued themselves to the ground.

It was also because of how uncharacteristic it was of you to do something like this. He’d known you for a while now and you’d always been sweet. Too sweet for his son, if you asked him to be honest. You were slightly older than Matt, having begun your Masters with a little bit of a break after your Bachelors. You were a good influence on him, he’d say. But clearly his son hadn’t been good to you, if he had to go by how you were touching yourself to porn in his living room.

Now, he knew it was wrong. No decent man would be aroused at the sight of his son’s girl getting herself off. But you were on his living room floor, using his wifi and you sounded gorgeous making those little whines and whimpers. If he had to guess the sort of thing you liked—and he never thought of such a thing before—it would be one of those erotic novels with shirtless men on the cover. Not this. Not videos of a man who fucked a girl like she was nothin’, picked her up and threw her around and brought his hand down on her to make her stay put and take whatever he gave her.

He put his hand down his sweatpants, just as you had yours down those little shorts you wore around his house. He couldn’t see anything of you. Just the back of your head. For Joel, that was enough. Just knowing that this innocent little thing was getting off on watching a man use a girl like that was enough.

Eyes fixed on you, he stroked his cock, imagining he had a nice wet cunt around it instead of his hand. The man on your screen had the girl pushed against a wall as he pounded into her, her eyes rolled back into her skull and she had her lips parted, presumably moaning in false enthusiasm for the man.

He’d been starved for too long. There was no other explanation for why he felt good watching that fake shit, especially so far away from the screen and with no audio.

He screwed his eyes shut as he got close, imagining himself as the man in the screen, getting to fuck a pretty thing like that. A girl on his bed, against his wall, on her knees with his cock drilling into her holes. He imagined that his hand, large and callused from decades of hard labor, around a pretty throat. Holding it along with a necklace with a gold M pendant dangling off of it. Her eyes rolled back and her lips— your lips — parted as you struggled to breathe. He leaned against the wall as his knees weakened, the image of you in his head strong as he stroked himself. You on his bed, you against his wall, you on your knees for him— and with a whimper he hid by biting down on his lip, he came. White hot cum coated his hand and fuck, what a waste when it’d look so pretty on you.

Fuck!

Fuck, fuck, fuck—

He took one last look at you before rushing back upstairs to his room. On the way, he checked if Matt’s door was still closed. It was.

He’d been starved too long. That was all. Nothing else. He’d done too long without a girl and you were the nearest one, cleaning up after his son and wishing him a “Good Morning, Mister Miller” every morning and asking “How was your day, Mister Miller?” when they sat together to eat whatever Matt cooked. It was just proximity.

There was no other explanation.

He’d been…active in his youth. That’s how he had two kids at an age where he was supposed to be a kid himself. But things died down later. Perils of parenting and a contracting business. There were women. Fleeting relationships and even more fleeting fuck buddies who’d all gone off to be with someone else. Now, there was just work. Hell, the last time he picked up a pretty thing at a bar was Tess.

Tess. That was it.

He decided he would give her a call, see if she still had the habit of cheatin’ on that useless husband of hers. Get rid of the images of you in his head with images of Tess.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #joel miller x you #bfd!joel #joel miller x ofc #joel miller x oc #joel miller age gap #joel miller smut #tlou x reader #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller au #all that i've inflicted on the world

[writethrough]

How to Mistakenly Summon An Ancient Being & Keep Him

(Morpheus x Female Reader)

Synopsis: You're an insomniac and have exhausted all other avenues to help you sleep except one. What happens when that one brings you the King of Dreams?

Warnings: Language (only one f*** was given), mutual pining, inability to sleep

Word Count: 3299

A/N: I'm super pumped to share this one! Though, I do think I could've upped the pining a bit more. Let me know what you think!

Nothing you tried worked. No amount of meditation, sleepy time tea, or melatonin kept you asleep. Your doctor had prescribed you sleeping pills, which worked for a few weeks, but the drowsiness and headaches made you stop taking them.

You had been scrolling through your social media when an ad for some spirituality website popped up. All the words were a blur except “help” and “sleep.” You clicked on it before you could think about viruses. That led you through site after site. Some hawked overpriced sleeping potions that sent up all of your red flags, and others touted crystals for pleasant dreams and to ward off nightmares, but it was a ritual that caught your attention.

It was simple enough. A few herbs you already had in your kitchen, a candle, and some sigils that took you much longer to draw than they should have. All you had to do was say the words at midnight and hope your prayer would be answered. The worst that could happen was already happening to you. It's not like you could get less sleep.

When the clock ticked to 12 AM, you lit the candle and recited the spell three times.

You waited. You weren’t sure what you were waiting for—heavy eyelids, relaxation, the inability to keep your head up. However, you never expected to hear a deep voice behind you.

“You humans never change," he growled. It was more than a glare he pinned you with; it was that of a beast, ready to devour.

—

It happened so quickly.

He and Lucienne were in the library, combing through books when he felt a tugging from the top of his spine. It brought him back to that day over a century ago. He couldn’t let that happen again.

“Lucienne!” he called as sand swirled around him.

“My lord?” Lucienne could only watch in horror.

Before either could do anything more, he had been transported into a bedroom. A woman sat facing away from him, and all of his anger honed in on her.

He would commit atrocities sooner than sit in another cage. And you were about to discover just how far he would go.

—

The man before you blended into the shadows cast by the moon. He seemed to encompass everything within the darkness, but you knew he couldn’t; he was just a man—one that appeared without explanation.

You steeled yourself. Slowly rising, never taking your eyes away.

“Who the hell are you, and how did you get in here?” you asked, impressed that your voice came out relatively steady.

The man’s jaw clenched, but he stayed silent. If anything, this angered you more than frightened you.

“You need to leave before I call the police,” you said. You would call the cops regardless, but he didn’t need to know.

This made his eyes narrow.

“You wish me to leave?” he asked as if he were trying to decipher the words.

“Yeah, people typically don’t like it when strange men just pop up in their bedroom,” you snapped. Why was he looking at you like you were the crazy one?

“You summoned me, human,” he said.

You straightened, taken off guard. “I summoned you? You're out of your mind. I did not summ—” Then it clicked. The ritual. Could that be what he was talking about? You pointed to the candle. “Is this what you mean?”

He nodded slowly. His posture seemed to relax a little.

You glanced between him and your tools.

“I don’t understand,” you said. “It was just supposed to help me fall asleep. Not bring me a…what exactly are you?”

He ignored your question for one of his own. “May I see the incantation?”

You grabbed your laptop from the floor and showed him the lines. After a moment of contemplation, he exhaled a deep, exhausted breath.

“Truly, did you not know this was to summon me?”

You shook your head. “I promise. I…I just wanted to sleep.”

How were you going to do that now? And what were you going to do about the man you supposedly summoned from who knows where?

“I can help with that,” he said. “This ritual may not be what you thought, but it will do as you wished.” He leveled you with his gaze. “My name is Morpheus. I am the King of Dreams.”

—

You were…different, he had decided. Neither good nor bad, just something other.

You said this was an accident and that you hadn’t expected the ritual to work. Morpheus saw the desperation in your eyes—the need for a solution to a problem out of your control. Perhaps it was that familiarity that made him want to help you.

And no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, there was an instinct that told him he could trust you.

—

You had just summoned the fucking Sandman. You weren’t sure if you wanted to praise or curse the off-the-wall website you found the ritual on. No, you wanted to finally have a continuous eight hours of rest.

“Okay, so how does this work?” you asked, maybe a tad too excited.

“Lie on the bed and close your eyes. This will only take a moment,” he said.

In any other situation, you would react very differently, but now that Morpheus seemed to have relaxed, you felt you could trust him. At the least, you could trust him to do as he claimed. 

After taking your position, Morpheus stood over you, a small pouch in one hand as he poured it over into the other.

“Morpheus,” you said before he could continue.

He only glanced at you in response.

“I’m sorry,” you paused. “For making you come here against your will.” He was borderline hostile when he arrived, but when you explained everything, he calmed. There had to be a story there. “And thank you for this.”

His lips twitched in a blink-and-miss-it moment.

“Sweet dreams,” he said and sprinkled the sand into your eyes.

—

The next night, Morpheus waited for you in the Dreaming. After helping you fall asleep, he grew more curious about you. What caused your insomnia? How could a human be so honest? And what made him believe you in the first place?

Though time passed differently in the Dreaming, he knew when you should’ve been sleeping. When you didn’t come, he brushed it off as having missed you. Though that wasn’t possible.

The night after, you still had not shown. By the third night, he had a strange sense of concern. Were you alright? Have you not slept at all since you met? He was determined to find out.

It was nearly 7 PM when he knocked on your door. He thought it best not to repeat his initial arrival. His eyes narrowed when you answered, dark circles gracing your under eyes. 

“Morpheus? What are you doing here?”

He slipped past you. “You have not been sleeping.”

“Not true. I slept for a few hours,” you said, sitting on your couch and indicating the space beside you.

“Not well,” he said, following. “You haven’t visited my realm.”

You stayed quiet, pulling your cardigan tighter around you.

“Why did you not call for me?” You had the means to; if you had not been sleeping, there was no reason for you not to summon him.

“That’s not fair to you,” you said. “And I wasn’t about to bother you again, especially because it seemed to affect you.”

He was silent. You took his feelings into account even though it was to your detriment.

You were not as selfish as other humans. It made him want to help you all the more.

“Think nothing of it.” He pulled out his pouch. “You must rest. Now, lie back for me.”

You nodded, evidently not having the energy to argue.

—

You waited to feel the gentle taps to your eyelids the sand made. When they didn’t come, you opened your eyes only to find yourself on a cobblestone path in a village. Stands were set up with various foods, craftsmanship, and jewelry. Some merchants were human, but others were humanoid with animal features. A few had skin swirled like galaxies or solid green or even wings. It was all so vibrant, so alive.

“Welcome to the Dreaming.” Morpheus stood next to you, carefully watching your reaction.

His realm. So, he had put you to sleep.

You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face as you spotted baby dragons, of all things, playing with young children.

You laughed in disbelief. “I’d tell you to pinch me, but I know I’m dreaming.”

A hand was placed on your back as he led you forward.

“There’s much to see,” he said.

A few creatures bowed to him as you passed. And it reminded you that he was indeed a king.

“How long have you been the King of Dreams,” you asked, slipping your hands into your pockets.

“Since the beginning of time,” he said.

You stopped, as did he, and you looked him over. You shook your head slightly before moving again.

“I’m not sure if I can even fathom that,” you said, a wave of naivety washing over you.

“Do not dwell on it. It’s best not to.” He paused. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course.” You looked at him expectantly.

“How long have you had difficulty sleeping?”

You shrugged. “Feels longer than it actually is. It's like one day, my brain decided it would never turn off, not fully. I get some rest here and there, but the best sleep I’ve ever had was the night we met.”

He took a moment to think this over. What he said next shocked you.

“Then I shall put you to sleep every night."

Your eyes widened as your cheeks heated up. Did Morpheus not realize how that sounded? A being as old as time itself surely knew every way that could be taken.

“That’s-That’s really not necessary, Morpheus. I’m sure you have more important things to do than make sure I sleep.”

You thought he was going to ignore you. He seemed to do that whenever he believed it suited him. Instead, his eyes held a certain glint to them.

“You should not question the Lord of Nightmares. And in his own kingdom no less.”

Was he…teasing you? The flutter in your stomach made you believe it.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” you mumbled. “I don’t want you to waste your time on me.”

You were so focused on your shoes that you missed the passing look on his face.

“Then it is fortunate I offered,” he said softly.

You met his gaze, ready to argue, but he stopped you.

“And only I may decide what is wasteful of my own time. You, (Y/N), can never be.”

—

Since that night, Morpheus had given you peaceful slumbers. Weeks passed, and his visits grew longer. He arrived when you prepared dinner. Though he didn’t often eat, he was keen to assist you in preparing it. You caught him taking a dish out of the oven once without mits. He was holding the pan before you could stop him, but his features showed no sign of pain. In domestic times like these, you forgot that he wasn’t human.

He stood chopping an onion while you combined ingredients in a bowl discussing your favorite films.

“I can’t believe you haven’t seen it,” you said.

He tried to hide his smile as he slid the onions into the bowl.

“I do have a realm to oversee,” he said pointedly.

“Evidently.” You gestured to where he was, in your kitchen, clearly not in the Dreaming.

His eyes turned bright.

“Perhaps tonight you will finally meet one of my nightmares,” he said, voice dipping as if he was serious.

You tilted your head and pursed your lips in thought.

“No, I don’t think I will,” you said, setting the bowl aside.

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re too nice.” You had to lift your chin to meet his eyes.

He had always been kind to you. It wasn’t just him putting you to sleep. It was his thoughtfulness and how deeply he cared for his people.

Morpheus hadn’t told you everything that happened to him prior to your meeting, but you gathered enough to know it had nearly broken him. The fact that he let you in at all spoke volumes. You hoped he knew how much he meant to you.

You may only be human, but you’d protect him with your entire being.

He had captured your heart quickly, and you wished you weren’t obvious enough for him to see it.

—

Morpheus reread the page for the fourth time, and its contents still failed to penetrate. Last night he had been with you making dinner. Now, all he could think about was your smile, the way your eyes lit up, and how he wanted to hold you and keep you from every wretched thing you had encountered yesterday and since you’d met.

He closed the book and stood. You were working today, which meant you wouldn’t be home, which meant he couldn’t see you until dinner tonight.

It frustrated him. He would provide you with whatever you desired—you need only ask. It was old-fashioned, but he didn’t want to be away from you. The moment you told him he could leave, it was as if something pulled him toward you. You were special. You guided him through obstacles he thought he had overcome long ago.

You became his comfort, and he hoped he had become yours. And tonight, he would tell you as much, and hopefully, you would accept him.

—

You had just gotten home from possibly the longest day of your life. Every minor inconvenience had culminated in the pounding in your head. But it was finally over, and soon enough, you and Morpheus would be relaxing on the couch watching a show he should’ve seen by now.

Changing into something comfortable, you entered the kitchen to pull the dinner ingredients out when there was a tapping at your window.

Matthew waited, tilting his head in that raven way.

“Hey, Matthew,” you said, letting him in.

He flew to the back of your armchair after swooping to scoop a mouthful of gummy worms you kept in a bowl just for him. The perks of being a magical raven.

“Hey (Y/N),” he said around his food. He continued after swallowing. “The boss is running late, but he’ll be here soon.”

You nodded. Sometimes this happened. Though Morpheus’ definition of late usually meant twenty minutes or so.

“His work is much more important than cutting vegetables,” you said, taking a seat.

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you saw the look on his face,” he said. “He looked ready to cry or smite someone.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Those seem like two very opposite ends of the spectrum.”

“Not when he does it. I’m talking this full constipated gloss over his face,” Matthew said.

You let out a laugh. “Still, I can believe the smiting, but the crying? Never. Especially not over something as silly as helping me with dinner.”

“Are you kidding? He doesn’t say it, but that’s the highlight of his day! There’s always this pep in his step when he’s about to come here.” He paused. “Well, about as much pep as you can imagine him giving.”

You blushed. Was Morpheus really that excited about something so small?

Matthew had gone down a bit of a ramble, but the last thing he said snatched your attention.

“...I mean, he’s basically in love with you, so it’s no surprise.”

“Who’s in love with me?”

“Dream,” Matthew said as if you hadn’t been listening.

“No, he’s not.” You shook your head.

“Yeah, he is.”

“On what planet would an Endless love me of all people?” He was lying. He had to be. There was no way Morpheus returned your feelings.

“This one!” Matthew said, exasperated.

You weren’t sure if you could breathe or not. It felt like you were, but why couldn’t you inhale completely?

“Are you being serious?” you asked, trying to hide the hope in your voice.

“I wouldn’t lie to you about something like this,” he said softly.

You nodded. “Okay, so what do I do now?”

There was a familiar knock on your door. You both looked toward it.

“Do what’s gonna make you happy,” he said, then left out from where he came.

—

Okay, you could do this. It was just Morpheus. Standing outside your place, waiting for you to let him in after you found out he apparently loved you. Do you pretend not to know? Should you come out with it? You loved Matthew, but shit, you wished he didn’t talk so much.

First things first, you had to open the door.

“Morpheus.” You smiled, hopefully not too big.

“Hello (Y/N),” he said, pulling a bouquet of flowers from behind him. “For you.”

You gave him a soft smile. “What’s the occasion?”

He seemed to hesitate a moment. “I simply wanted to.”

“They’re beautiful. Thank you.” You turned to the kitchen to search for a vase, hiding your widening smile.

“I sent Matthew earlier. Is he not here?” Morpheus asked, having followed you.

“Just left.” Do what’s gonna make you happy. “He actually told me something he probably shouldn’t have.”

“And that is?” He waited patiently but sensed your reluctance. “Unless I should be kept in the dark as well.”

“No,” you breathed. “No, it was kind of about you.”

He regarded you carefully. “...Has whatever he told you made you uncomfortable in my presence?”

Your eyes widened. “No! Never.” You supposed the only way to say this was to just come out with it. “He told me that you…well, he told me that you love me.”

“Oh.”

He had clearly not expected that response. And you wondered if he had ever told Matthew about his feelings or if the bird was only guessing.

“It’s true,” he said. “That’s the occasion.”

“Occasion?”

“The flowers. I was going to tell you tonight,” he said.

A thought occurred to you, and the corner of your mouth turned up.

“Then tell me,” you said, taking a step closer.

Morpheus seemed to be taken aback but recovered just as quickly. His jaw clenched, and he met your eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered. “It grows with each passing day.”

You found one of his hands with yours. His touch kept you grounded. You needed that with how it felt like you’d float away any second.

“I love you, too.” You beamed, happier than you had ever been.

His eyes were soft, and they became the slightest bit hooded.

“May I kiss you?”

Your response was to lift your chin and capture his lips with yours.

It was like you were on fire. And yet your heart somehow calmed.

This was right—his hands on your waist, yours resting on his chest. Each press of his lips reinforced everything since you met. Trust, safety, comfort, and now love.

You had to be the one to pull away for breath.

His thumb grazed your cheek as he examined your features.

How was it possible for someone to be so captivating?

You wrapped your arms around his waist and buried your head in the crook of his neck.

“Not even in my wildest dreams did I think you would love me,” you said, ecstatic that you were wrong.

He hummed. “It’s fortunate that I create dreams then.”

You pulled away enough to look at him. “Very fortunate.”

He leaned down for another kiss, a slow, deep peck. It burned all the way to your toes.

“I love you,” you mumbled against his lips.

He pulled you closer, intent on showing you.

#the sandman #the sandman fluff #the sandman fanfic #morpheus x reader #morpheus fluff #morpheus x y/n #Morpheus x you #dream of the endless #dream x y/n #dream x reader #dream x you #dream fluff #mutual pining

[morallyinept]

BROADCASTING LIVE TONIGHT - A Dieter Bravo One Shot

Summary: Dieter Bravo hosts SNL and you're assigned as his personal make-up artist, which means you'll be getting up very close and very personal to him...

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

Word Count: 7.9k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️ “It's the emergence, of.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Explicit - Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering/oral M & F receiving/substance abuse/Dieter being an absolute menace.

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

Author’s Note: With all the SNL hype recently, how could I not? This man is a menace. Inspired by THAT blazer.

@wildemaven has created a fantastic mood board of Dieter hosting SNL, which has inspired some of this fic. Shoutout to @pedroshotwifey for drawing my attention to this mood board, which has resulted in me getting absolutely no sleep due to writing this. 🥴🖤

MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

The commotion outside Studio 8H, at NBC's headquarters in the Comcast Building, has reached a fever pitch.

Crowds have gathered, for most of the day, some rocking up early to get in line, to catch a glimpse of notorious, bad boy-turned-Emmy nominee, Dieter Bravo, who is tonight hosting Saturday Night Live.

A move, which most critics speculate, is to start laying the foundations in the re-cementing of his fragile career. 

There have been sightings of him all over the Big Apple for the last two days, walking down Broadway sipping on green juice, hanging outside the dispensary on East 30th Street like a shifty pervert, and spotted rollicking in a café in Hell's Kitchen with, what is reported, as his current on-off partner, Ricky Santos.

Although, sources are yet to be confirmed from the turbulent press pictures and fan theories. Dieter himself snorts at this each time he reads that they're "getting serious." They mostly just hang, and suck each other off when high. Serious? Pffft.

Dieter's PR team have his personal life heavily locked up ever since he checked out of Wonderland, clean and fresh faced, some eight months ago. Dieter has mostly stayed out of the headlines and off of pap scoop websites for bawdy, offensive behaviour.

And he finds this new squeaky clean image he's been threatened with, boring, if not suffocating. His fingers are constantly itchy, both figuratively and literally. There's an unyielding yearning for some anarchy left swilling in his veins.

So he takes a crowbar to that lock and flips the birdie when it breaks open.

He's been confirmed staying at The Bowery on the Lower East Side, and paparazzi and the odd cluster of hardcore fans and autograph floggers, have accosted him each time he comes and goes.

He simply ignores them and doesn't sign their merch with his face plastered on, or takes selfies, no matter how much they try to invade his personal space like malignant cancer.

He makes no attempt to remain incognito either, simply appearing out in public in lazily dressed attire of stained grey sweatpants and crocs, or a floral kimono teamed with sliders and shorts. It's usually what he finds strewn over the floor in the aftermath of his hotel room. He's pretty sure this kimono isn't even his. But it fits nice.

Eyes hidden behind giant, dark sunglasses and hair an untamed mess, Dieter roams New York unperturbed and off leash. His dishevelled appearance sparks rumours that he may be back to his partying ways on the sly after he's papped coming out of a strip-club at 4AM.

And they would be right about that.

He masks the shakes well, the bloodshot eyes he keeps hidden behind the Ray Bans. He's only had about four hours sleep since he touched down in this feculent city.

God he loathes New York. The stench of hotdog vendors and trash piles uncollected for days, turns his stomach.

He throws up on the sidewalk as he stumbles back to The Bowery and sleeps until his agent is hammering on the door and dragging him off in a covert car towards the NBC building.

He wishes his head was thunking around under the wheels; his skull feels like it is already, as he slumps down on the leather upholstery and questions what the fuck he is doing here.

Tonight, his styling team have lined up a single breasted blazer from Homme Plissé Issey Miyake, with clashing pants from the same designer. The same soft corduroy ribs pleasantly against the pads of his fingers as he runs them back and forth over this thigh during the final fitting.

He looks in the mirror, turning this way and that. Sucks in his stomach and hacks loudly when he breathes out, startling everyone.

He runs his ringed fingers around his grey scruff and scratches under his chin as he takes himself in. Yeah, he can work with it. Dieter doesn't care much for blending in anyway.

It's a look that only Dieter Bravo can pull off with such style and garish aplomb. Even if the lurid yellow gives him a headache to look at its neon hue for too long. It physically makes him squint.

The sunglasses stay firmly on as Dieter wishes more than anything he could have a tab right now as he glances himself in the mirror.

Jesus fucking Christ.

You’ve prepared the dressing room as usual; the lights switched on around the mirror and the chair positioned in front of it ready.

An array of cosmetics and creams line the vanity and your make-up belt is loaded up with an arsenal of spare brushes, wipes and cotton pads ready to attach on set.

Spritzing mists, anti-shine sprays and all manners of skin-coloured bottles are on hand and ready to make Dieter Bravo look his best self.

You're mixing foundations together on the back of your hand, and chatting idly with the hair stylist you're tag-teamed with, when the door swings open, and an animated foofaraw can be heard barraging through it.

You look up to see two crew members stride in, flanked by another two burlier guys, all herding into the small dressing room and practically filling it to the brim with braying masculinity.

You notice how hot it's suddenly gotten in the room; the warm prickles felt at the back of your neck as you take him in.

Wardrobe has done a number on him; a weird, mis-matched ensemble with clashing colours, which strangely works. But the deep V on his chest revealing caramel tanned skin, that looks as though it's been waxed, is an intimidating thought that slowly swamps your brain in quicksand the longer you stare at it.

You've never really rated his work. You'd attempted to watch the Cliff Beasts saga, just like anyone without a functioning or sane mind, but gave up after enduring the first thirty minutes of the first film in the franchise, and then promptly cancelled your Netflix subscription in dire protest. They'll fucking make anything these days.

You'd heard through friends, and through working here on the show, that Dieter has been recently nominated for something, an Emmy, maybe even a Golden Globe, but for what exactly, you're not sure and don't really care either. You're just not that invested in Dieter Bravo.

Sure, he's a little attractive in a scummy sort of way the more you observe him right now; he has that cocaine chic about him as the tabloids confirm, but his reputation precedes him.

You don't need to be an avid fan of his to have heard about the debauchery of it. The guy is probably riddled with Hepatitis A through Z.

You notice his fingers tightly clutching onto his phone inside them, almost frantically. He taps his wily digits against the back of it, clacking those silver rings against the plastic. His face is swamped in a massive pair of sunglasses.

A lively melange of voices fills the dressing room. Various outfits are hung up for the live skits and monologues as other people pass in and out.

A busy hive of instructions are passed back and forth between the crew members and the men who accompany him - his security entourage you assume - about timings and cues.

They speak as though he isn't there at all sometimes, you note. Dieter this and Dieter that, as he stands gauchely in between the fracas engulfing him; glancing back and forth between them all before he turns away and taps listlessly on his iPhone.

You try in earnest not to stare, but it's a futile task. Drawn to him like driving slowly past a wreck on the interstate to get a better look at the carnage and dead bodies thrown through the windshield. You know you shouldn't, but you do; pulled to it like a magpie, ooh shiny.

He stares back at you; an unreadable face partially hidden, that seems as disinterested as he looks about being here.

You mentally chastise yourself for being a little starstruck. Eh, it happens. In this line of work you’re around them constantly, “stars.”

Dieter Bravo isn’t an exception, except his star is a little scuffed around the edges and has lost some of its polish through years of tarnishing.

The stylist sets him down in the chair and goes to work on taming the chocolatey grey fluff that sits on his crown like he’s had an abundance of dandelion seeds blown at him.

You’re introduced to him officially by one of the crew members after a few minutes of them talking shop. And this is Dieter Bravo reaches out for your hand, which seems tiny when engulfed inside of his own.

You’re mindful not to offer him the one covered in concealer swatches - it’s a bitch to wash out.

His hand is warm, almost abnormally; his palm seemingly just as clammy as yours as you shake it politely.

"Wow. How are you?" He greets, face unchanging and you can see your own features mirrored in his shades, as the room begins to quieten down and shrink in its size around you.

His brows raise over his Ray Bans at you. You smile as you regale him with the tantalising tale of how you're simply just fine, thanks.

After more talk is passed between the bodies, scripts waved under his nose which he tosses on the floor at his feet almost immediately, and cues and timings rehashed, the two crew members exit the room, flanked by the brutes in tow.

The door closes and seals the three of you inside with an awkward silence, which seems to birth and grow its full life cycle before eventually dying slowly with a choked gurgle as you step over it and crack on.

"May I?" You ask, handing out your palm for his sunglasses. He reluctantly takes them off, almost shoving them into your hand like a petulant child. He rubs manically at his face for a second or two.

The first thing you notice about Dieter’s face is those deep, purple trenches under his eyes, and you auto-reach for the concealers. The second thing is how puffy and tired his eyes are.

You can work with it, you have some cooling orbs that you hand to him from the small fridge in the dressing room, and instruct him to run them around his eyes gently.

You try not to look directly at him. It feels forbidden somehow. As though you’re in a museum gawking at a rare exhibit in wonderment and realise that's exactly how you must look to him because he smirks crookedly at you; rousing you from your thought process, which pretty much consists of a lone, dribbling chimp scratching its own butt idly.

You turn your back to Dieter as he makes himself comfy in the chair as his locks are tamed; pink hair slides are fixed into his hair in sections as he runs the orbs around his sockets.

He tosses his phone onto the sofa, and you glance at him in the mirror making no attempt to hide the fact that he is staring quite intently at your ass.

His head slowly cocks as his thought process drains out of his ear onto his shoulder in a wet schollop.

Bemused, you smirk as his eyes flash up to yours and he holds your gaze darkly in the mirror.

You wipe off the make-up from the back of your hand and turn to face him, throwing him your best, yet less than enthused, smile.

He’s staring straight back at you expectantly.

"Look this way for me, Dieter." You instruct, your voice cracking like a teenage boy who has just started to grow pubes. And a stark warning for him to stop gawking at your behind.

“Sure. Sure, honey.” He says, looking fully at your face.

You clear your throat, as you step towards him, treating him no differently to how you would any other celebrity sitting in front of you.

There had been bigger names sat in that chair - legends, those with long renowned titles of Hollywood royalty. The same spiel, the same routine; inspect their skin, ask about allergies, do their make-up and send them on their way on stage.

Touch them up during commercial break and/or if they were sweating under the stage lights. Take home a paycheck. Repeat the process, chronically exhausted, until you die. They say that the Hollywood industry is glamorous. You must've missed that fucking memo.

But yet, you’re sweating; feeling it simmer up under your armpits and down the middle of your cleavage inside your t-shirt. Your body betrays you as you get closer to him and you feel it zap in between your legs.

"Do you mind?" You ask as you raise your hands towards his face and he shakes his head, plopping the orbs in his lap.

“Go ahead. You have my consent to touch me,” he says.

You can see the stylist pinning sections of his hair as she gets to grips with trying to tame those unruly curls with knitted eyebrows and hands sticky of styling putty.

Placing your fingers lightly on the side of his face, you inspect his complexion over in the light and are forced to inhale the tonka bean and neroli wafts of his aftershave that attacks your nostrils with delicious, sinful notes.

There's an underlying tone of something else that bites on the back of your tongue, something metallic in it's flirty chemistry.

Dieter has an almost perfect canvas of unspoiled skin, despite his years and the crinkles nesting around his eyes. Some large, open pores are dotted over his aquiline nose with black roots and flaky, dried out nostrils. A few broken capillaries snake around in his sockets like tiny parasites.

His beard is patchy, smattered with grey whiskers that's groomed neatly, despite it's chaos. You start there, taming it with oil and a soft brush. Preparing the canvas before you paint life back into it.

"We're not going to need much, your skin is pretty good," you compliment.

“Must be the years of sobriety.” Dieter clucks, monotone.

The stylist snorts behind him and he smirks. At least someone got the joke.

"I like your scent," he says to you, inhaling and it’s like you’re back in gym class in high school and someone has thrown the ball and it's leather slap bounces right off your face. “Your perfume. Smells like oranges. I like oranges. Do you want an orange?”

“Urm-”

“Hey, sweetheart? Can you get them to get me an orange?” Dieter says, tilting his head back to the stylist. “Maybe four… and some water, please. Oh, and a Don Julio. No, fuck it. Just bring the bottle. Thank you. Your eyes are incredible.” He compliments her and you watch, amazed, as she instantly melts into a pile of goo on the floor.

He could have asked her for a blow job and you're pretty convinced she'd be on her knees right now giving it to him if he had.

“Sure,” the stylist heads towards the door and opens it as she turns every shade of pink.

You step back from him shaking your head with derision, taking the orbs, and turn to the dresser. Your fingers are still burning from touching his face.

"I'll do some concealer, some powder, maybe a little colour correction under your eyes." You reply all business-like.

"Whatever you think." Dieter replies casually; his voice grizzly, yet airy.

You pick out a few bottles of skin coloured liquids and mix a few together, matching his skin tone. He has a slight tan to his already golden face; a subtle shimmer that dances across his forehead and nose.

"You don't like me. I can sense it." He announces as few seconds later.

"I'm sorry?" You baulk.

"Like animals. Pheromones or some shit, they can smell it. I don't know. Predator. Prey. But you don't like me." Dieter rambles.

You shake your head again smirking into the palette, stunned, but equally impressed by his arrogant gall. "I don't know you."

"So get to know me." He challenges.

"If it's all the same, I'd rather just do your make-up." You reply a little more sour.

He rests his chin on his fist, crossing one leg over the other and studying you carefully.

"You're a professional." He yawns around his words. On purpose, you're not sure. You can see dark fillings in the back of his molars.

"I am." You assure, teeth clenching. It offends you that he thinks you'll cave so easily. Who does he think he is?

Your pussy tries to convince you that actually, you probably would as it pulses at his smirk. You clench that smack talk away and concentrate on the task at hand.

"That's cool. I like a challenge." Dieter retorts and you roll your eyes.

You offer him a few wipes to cleanse with. Once he’s done and his face glows a little pink from running them all over his skin, you wheel your stool forward and perch on it in front of him.

He reaches forward and pulls it closer with a yank under the lip between your legs.

He opens up his own legs so you can slot in between, and you try to look anywhere else aside from the obvious package nestled between them in banana slug yellow. Jesus.

"I like the way you smell." Dieter explains as your eyes question his gumption.

"Is this you flirting with me?" You query, your professionalism hanging on by a single finger as you bite back.

It's not the first time some sleazy actor or hack has tried their luck with you. Why is it always the sleazy ones?

"Is it working?" Dieter questions. He genuinely looks interested in your reply.

"No."

"Liar."

You scoff at his defined, roguish face and begin prepping it with a silky primer. His eyelids drop towards your lap, your centre, and his long eyelashes flutter as he blinks.

It’s hushed between you as you dab at the skin under his eyes delicately with the pad of your third finger; a tiny little bouncing notion as he looks upwards towards the ceiling at your instruction.

But those damned brown peepers keep wandering back to yours to pull you into sedition.

You run your fingers with the product over his cheeks and forehead. Smoothing your thumbs under his fuzzy chin; feeling the soft, silken scratch of his facial scruff under them. You glide across the bridge of his large, wide nose up to his T-zone and between his eyebrows.

You can feel the heat of his breath on your wrist as it passes directly across his face.

Dieter then throws a grenade over your fence as your brain conjures up despicable images of that breath felt on your cunt as he licks it.

You reach for some tissues and hand them to him, remembering to breathe. He tucks them inside the flaps over the lapels of his blazer at your suggestion as you reach for the concealer.

"Want me to just take it off? This blazer is over a thousand dollars." He offers, mixing innocence with practicality into a shaker and pouring you out a glass of beguilement, topped with extra cherries and a sugary rim. Delicious.

You lick your lips.

He follows your eyes down his clavicle, to the sun-kissed, smooth skin that the jacket exposes. To the nipple, that if you just twist your head, you're certain you'll see waving at you under the dark confines of the blue corduroy where it's lifted ever so as he sits.

Skin that you want to taste. You want to know what Dieter Bravo fucking tastes like, and the echo of that thought prods at your wanting with menace.

"I don't make a mess." You assure, feeling your mouth run dry. You lick around your teeth.

"I bet you do." He simmers.

"Just stop." You warn firmly. "This, what you're doing. It's not appropriate, and I'm not interested, okay?" Yeah. Best shut that shit down.

He lets out a small slip of a chuckle. Kind of like a subtle huh in restrained astonishment.

"What?" You question, as he continues to stare at you whilst you paint his skin. You're serious. Your mouth is pulled tight into a scowl.

“Sorry, sorry.” He says, dropping his eyes. He gets it; he overstepped the mark and retreats hastily back to safe territory, dick between his legs.

The stylist returns with a crew member who has a handful of fresh oranges, Fiji water and a bottle of tequila. Dieter necks back a mouthful of the tequila directly from the bottle in a deep gulp, much to your surprise, and reaches out for the fruit, peeling the waxy skin.

You hand him another tissue to collect the peel in. The zesty scent fills your nose and you feel the subtle mist of it on your face, tasting it when you lick your lips.

He offers out a segment that drips sticky over his fingers to you. You're Eve, he's the Serpent. It's a fucking orange instead of an apple, but it slaps all the same.

“I’m fine, thank you.” You deny it.

“Sweet enough, aren’t you, babe?” Dieter mutters, chewing as the juice bursts around his teeth and watches you keenly.

You catch the glance of the stylist who rolls her eyes at you smiling with some webbed pity.

You have to stand to reach him without your arms aching after some time, and as you stand up from the stool, you topple forward as the wheel throws you off balance.

He steadies you inside his large hands, either side of your waist and squeezes tightly to support your body weight before you head butt him. The orange is smooshed into your hip before it plops onto the floor.

"Don't fall for me" Dieter smirks, smiling as wide as his eyes are now.

You decide to heed his advice and squeeze away all those macabre thoughts of illicit wanting starting to brew.

You’re kinda on pause for a few, clumsy moments; him holding onto you and your face inches away from smacking into his.

"I'm so sorry." You stand upright and still feel the searing brand of his hands on your hips as he lets you go, orange now completely discarded on the floor in it's wet, pithy death in exchange for needless heroism.

"It's alright." He muses, smiling as you become more and more flustered. Oh, real smooth.

Dieter asks for another orange, and you give it to him, almost throwing it at him, and continue to prep his face without further incident.

The steam continues to billow out of your ears, however. Alongside the steady dripping, like a leaky faucet, of your cunt into your panties.

A while later, when you’re both finished up with him, and he's as preened and prepped as he's going to get without staying still, he asks to be left alone for some privacy to re-run through his lines.

You both leave the room, feeling grateful for the reprieve. The cool air in the corridor smacks you in the face and you welcome it.

His arrogance does amuse you, admittedly. And the flattery boosts you in equal measure. But to know you'd just be another notch on his seedy bedpost doesn't appeal, even if your pussy is trying to counter-argue otherwise right now.

You try to ignore the damp, throbbing bitch.

You head onto set for a short gathering with the team to talk logistics, scene movements and outfit combos.

You realise you need to stock the make-up caddy with a few essentials as you inspect it carefully, and head back down to the dressing room around twenty minutes later.

You knock on the dressing room door, but don’t hear anything. You knock again and when you don’t hear Dieter welcome you in, or tell you to fuck off, you push open the door gently.

The scent of oranges fills the air and there doesn’t appear to be any sign of him. You set to work on filling your make-up belt with some supplies, and reach for some bottles, when you hear it.

It’s indistinct at first, but you turn your head towards the bathroom where the door is slightly ajar.

“Fuck!” You hear a growl and freeze, heart thrumming in your ears.

You hear a deep, long sniff, some metallic tapping, or scraping, you can't be sure. Another sniff and then a heavy loaded cough that sounds like hacking up.

Your limbs are rendered useless as Dieter comes out of the bathroom wiping at his nose, and stops when he catches sight of you staring back at him.

There's some white powder dusted on his lapel, obviously stark in the blue at what it is, and his face is a little shinier now, despite the job you've done.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think you were in here-” you begin, but he shrugs.

You clutch at the bottles and your belt, and make your way towards the door. You shouldn't be here, you shouldn't have seen this. You shouldn't be tempted.

But why is it kinda hot that you are?

"I don’t have to be on set for half an hour yet, right?” Dieter's eyes look you up and down.

“Yeah, I think so,” you confirm.

"I want to have sex with you." He states.

"Dieter," you sigh. You swallow. Your thighs clench and you feel it pulse in your panties.

"I know you want to have sex with me too. So shall we just cut the shit and skip the part where you act all indignant and offended by it, babe? Because I'd really like to get to the part where you're coming all over my cock." He slips the blazer off of his shoulders and tosses it on the stool brazenly.

Your eyes run the length of his thick neck, over the mountains of his broad shoulders that you want to mark and claw into as you cling onto him. Down the matching, inverted triad tattoos inked on each of his inner arms.

Wandering over the small, pink studs of his nipples and down to the smattering of dark curls beneath his belly button that disappear into that jaunty yellow waistband.

His tummy is a little paunchy; a small spread of middle age catching up with him, but it's actually doing something for you, despite yourself.

Clearly, you've underestimated this cocky fucker.

“Does that door lock?” He enquires, although his current state of undress clearly gives no fucks if it doesn't.

Your gaze drops to his cock and it's apparent in it's hardness, tenting almost. You notice a small wet patch that has appeared staining the yellow darker. Evidence of his obvious arousal for you, and you can only imagine the state of your own panties by how sodden they feel.

You nod, salivating. Fuck, this is really going to happen. Shit.

“Lock it." Dieter juts his chin towards you.

You swallow at his gall. And at your instant reaction to lock it quickly.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” Dieter repeats. You watch as his hand grips his cock over his pants and he hisses, revealing his teeth.

You nod, feeling it flare all over your body as you reach for the lock behind you and twist it round. The click sounds like a shotgun being fired.

"Need to hear it." He coaxes. "Can't have you saying shit after..."

"I want to have sex with you, Dieter." You can already hear your cunt goading you. I told you so...

You confirm to him clearly your consent, which makes you respect him that bit more that he's asking for it, and like you've never wanted anything more in your life.

He nods. "Good.”

You both careen into the dresser; brushes rolling off the top and scattering onto the floor with little plinks and plonks.

He pushes his body weight onto yours, and you reach for him over those terrible yellow pants, feeling how unabashedly hard he is against you.

Feeling that he's not wearing any fucking underwear underneath them either.

The material is thinner than it looks and you can feel all the hard, swollen ridges of him; the fat bulb of his swollen head as you grope and squeeze lavishly.

His kisses become hungry, desperate and gasping as his tongue massages yours and you kiss him back harder. You can taste a faint descry of sweetly saccharine citrus around his teeth as you lick into his mouth.

It's a little sloppy, frantic. You nibble on his bottom lip as his hands claw at your ass prodding bruises into it, and he presses his cock into the middle of your legs and winds his hips upwards.

Dieter's hands are squeezing and kneading; feeling its curves and shape through your jeans. He shoves you up against the wall; running his hands up either side of your body.

It's almost as if he's afraid to let go of you, scared you'll fall out of his grip and you cling onto him just as feverishly.

You pepper kisses over his bare, toned chest as his fingers lift your top off over your head and he pulls down your bra straps, kissing along your shoulders. Trailing his hot, wet tongue down your collarbone and towards your cleavage. He occasionally bites at the skin and it makes you feral.

You gasp out as he pulls down the cup of your bra and takes your nipple inside his mouth. Your hands are running through his hair, twisting and mussing and looking down at him as he suckles on that hard, bud; those full lips of his suctioned around it tightly and pulling wildly.

"Fuck! Your hair," you gasp, giggling at the state of it.

He simply rubs his head all in your chest and tits, messing it up further and snickering as he does it. Dieter Bravo's jar of fucks is definetly empty.

You reach down to his pants, pushing them down his hips and dropping them to the floor where he steps out of the ghastly things, and his shoes; standing there completely naked.

You cup around his balls, plump and firm; squeezing and massaging gently as he pulls your jeans and panties down.

Feeling how thick and heavy he is inside your hands, he gasps around your nipple; moving up to your face to kiss you as your palm runs over the sticky tip of his head that makes him shudder and flinch.

His cock feels amazing, weighty and warm. Thick in it's continual swelling and with a lush, rosy head that matches the hue his lips have become from you chewing and sucking on them.

Dieter's big hands are on the side of your face as he nips at your lips hungrily. Slipping his tongue inside of your mouth so you can taste him some more.

He squeezes both your breasts together inside his giant hands as he kisses you, whining as you jerk him off. Little strained whimpers and shudders flow into your mouth.

"You like that, huh?" You tease watching him melt, pupils blown wide at you.

"Yeah." He places his hand over yours and jerks with you.

He smirks as he runs his other fingers down the underside of your arm lightly; causing you to squirm where it tickles and your skin erupts in goose pimples.

He mouths hungrily over your face. He can taste your hair strands flossing his teeth.

"Fuck, babe," he gasps looking at you both pumping his cock. His hips thrust into your mutual grip. Your wrist is wet from his sticky leakage.

He runs his lips down your chin and chest, stopping over your hard nipples again and sucking them; biting them and making you gasp out. He trails his tongue around your belly button, his cock slipping out of your grip as he settles on his knees.

"I want this pussy coming on my face." He murmurs up to you; his voice possessed by brazen lust. Dieter sinks his face, without hesitation, into your pussy lips and begins licking around your drenched folds voraciously.

Your hands are tugging tighter on his hair now, twisting around the roots as he licks all over your clit making your thighs spasm and jerk around his face.

"Mmm... yes," you moan out, throwing your head back into the hard wall. You see stars for a moment, but they don't dissipate; instead they flood under your eyelids in gold and fluorescent pinks.

He holds onto your hips as he licks and sucks. Arching your back and pulling your pelvis further into his face as he feasts on that buzzing nub sending zaps of electricity through your legs.

"Shit!" You mewl as he begins to intensify the movements of his tongue; looking up at you with those dark, beguiling eyes that could charm even Lucifer himself to walk off a cliff. The Devil? Pah!

He leads you up that hill, tugging you enthusiastically by the arm as you climb higher and higher. Your body tightening, curling inwardly as you feel it build and gather on the end of your clit.

And then it snaps back, flooding your legs with warmth and fanning that fire that has been simmering in your belly since he got all up and personal in your grill.

"Oh fuck, I'm coming!" You writhe on him and squeeze your fists together in his scalp. Closing your eyes and seeing multi-coloured glitter and sparkles behind them as those stars now implode.

After Dieter makes you come on his face, he picks you up, lifting you onto the dresser with an audibly strained groan.

"I'm just an actor and my back is fucking killing me," he whines as he plops you down and you smirk.

He streches, it clicks and your own back is pressed against the mirror. The products that you had previously arranged in neat lines are now tossed aside by the crush of your ass.

Dieter spreads your legs and grabs the back of your neck and presses his mouth against yours; his tongue finding its way around your gums again, and you can taste the tang of your pussy. A sticky, sweet syrup that coats his lips like gloss.

A heinous thought tempts you to send him out on stage like that.

His fingers from his other hand slide all over your slit; finding their way inside the moist, fleshy lips. You let out a deep gasp as he curls two of them inside you, making room for an eventual third, as you buck against them.

They swim deeper, until you can feel the warmth building deep in your core where he's found the magic spot and is stroking it, making you pant under him.

"That feel good, baby?" Dieter croons to you, smirking.

"Uh-huh." You breathe, nodding in wonderment at him.

It really does and you're kinda shocked, because from the moment he walked in, you couldn't imagine that almost an hour or so later, he'd have you foaming at the mouth like this.

You can say a lot about Dieter Bravo - and many do, singing like canaries for the right price - but Dieter is not a selfish lover as he pulls another orgasm out of you within minutes of your first.

And it won't be your last.

"I knew you'd make a mess..." he grins, as your cunt soaks over his digits buried to the hilt in you and stretching you wide.

His lips find your nipple; gently teasing it between his teeth and nipping on it gently until it's fully puckered once more. He sucks on it greedily whilst he drills his digits faster and faster inside your dripping hole.

Squelchy noises can be heard fapping all round the dressing room in their shrill lewdness.

"Oh fuck!"

"Make a mess all over my fingers again," he cajoles.

You whine and reach for his dick, resting on the edge of the vanity you're spread eagle on, and it's dripping onto it. A loud grunt escapes from his mouth as you rub him up and down tightly inside your grip whilst his fingers whorl deeper inside you.

"I wanna suck your cock," you moan to him desperately, as his fingers are making you shudder once more.

"After you come again, baby." He pants.

You grip onto his wrist, pulling his fingers into you as he fingerbangs you faster. He mouths on you, swallowing down those moans and shrieks as they rise in their tempo.

You explode for the third time, creaming all over them. Dieter immediately shoves them into his mouth to suck them clean.

You drop to your knees in front of him; taking his hard length inside your mouth willingly as you open wide for it. You savor his salt, swallow it down as it floods across your taste buds deliciously.

The view inside the mirror is his torso with your head bobbing up and down slowly, and it makes him go nuts to see it.

"Better than porn." He growls, looking down at you with his dick sliding into your mouth.

He tastes meaty, and his cock is smooth, fat with blood; filling your mouth as you suck and tease the head before taking him all the way in deep.

His hand is felt on the back of your head gently and it makes you tingle to feel him fuck your mouth. Controlling the depth and watching you in the mirror as you swallow him down.

Dieter cups and pulls on his balls whilst you take him to the back of your throat. He curses, sending ragged profanities into the air around you as he closes his eyes and licks his lips, enjoying the deep, hypnotic pull on his dick.

"You know, I never do this." You assure him with a drool as he pops out. You still can't believe this is happening, or how exactly it is that this has escalated between you both so fast.

You lather him up with your saliva, shiny, almost crinoline, and suck him back in.

"You look gorgeous when you do this," he smirks.

Dieter can't abnegate himself away from you anymore. He pulls you up on your feet and bends you over the vanity.

Your face is close to the mirror and he arches an eyebrow at you - seeking more consent. You nod at him, staring back at him, as he sinks his cock into your pussy from behind.

Spreading your ass cheeks so he can view that damned fine cunt that he's tasted and now craves more than the coke.

As you become connected, you stare at each other through the looking glass; your breath fogging against it, as though you can't believe he's inside you for a second or two, and neither can he, until he begins pumping in and out of you at a pace that intensifies as he goes with each stroke.

His cock barrages in, packing you out and filling you full of him. You push back, meeting every move as your fuck begins to mutate into relentless drilling.

His thighs slap against the meat of your ass, his breath pelts onto your back. His hands pull on your shoulders wrenching you onto him.

"Fuck Dieter!" You wail.

A knock at the door startles you both to instant stillness. Shit.

"Mr Bravo? Uhh, Dieter?" A voice calls from the other side of the door.

His hand clamps around your mouth as he continues to thrust.

"Yeah?" He calls, smirking down at you.

"Fifteen minutes until live. Are you ready?" The door handle rattles but it remains locked.

"I'll be there!" Dieter yells back as you bite on the thick skin of his thick middle finger as he fucks you harder, quicker.

"Fuck!" You cry out as you contract and spasm around him. "Oh God!"

"You like that? I feel good inside you?" Dieter asks around wheezed pants.

"Ah, fuck yes!" You groan, your breasts jiggling in the mirror as he ploughs into you.

He looks down at the sight of his dick slamming into your pussy; it becoming shiny with your slick soaking all over it as he pulls back each time. Your pert ass cheeks rippling and pressed up against his groin.

He manoeuvres your hips and rams into your harder, making you cry out loudly.

"Your pussy is so fucking tight." He groans out as he fucks you deep and hard; barraging into you and the vanity shaking and creaking with each thrust.

He grunts behind you like an animal possessed.

More products topple onto the floor. You notice one of your more expensive Mehron eyeshadow palettes broken with colorful dust flaked over the carpet.

Shit.

Reality pulls you back as you realise you're both cutting it fine. You glance him in the mirror behind you and Dieter is a sweaty mess - and he's due on set in literal minutes!

''Dieter..."

"Yeah. Say my name, baby." He puffs.

"No, Dieter. We have to stop. You need to be on set." You say pushing yourself up.

"They can wait." He kisses your shoulder as you rise flat against his chest. His arms slip around your waist, his fingers skimming your clit.

"It's live. It can't wait. Stop, come on." You coax. Although you really don't want to stop.

He grunts and pulls out, not before giving you two deep shunts. "Fuck," he whines. "How long we got?"

"Minutes. Get dressed, we need to fix you up."

The next few minutes are spent frantically trying to dress yourself whilst you simultaneously fix his face. Multi-tasking at it's clumsy finest.

He doesn't help of course, slipping his fingers into the front of your jeans and kissing at your face as you try to blot the shine from his.

"You're impossible!" You squirm away, giggling.

"You're delicious." Dieter croons. "What is that perfume?"

He tussles his hair; fluffy, sweat laden curls and you spritz it with some hairspray hoping it will hold, but he looks incredibly windswept.

Fully dressed, Dieter opens the door just as a crew member is about to knock and strides out.

You follow behind him, hoping they don't peek their head in the dressing room and witness the carnage in there. But the thought makes your buzz in all the right places.

Scurrying beside him to powder his face as he walks quickly following the crew member towards the screens and wires that are taped to the floor, you also wipe down his lapel, freeing him of the evidence of the coke as he grins crookedly at you.

"Break a leg." You say. He leaves you with a wink.

The familiar music theme rises up and the crowd roars into applause.

You watch as that fiend, Dieter Bravo, steps through and disappears from your sight. The screams and frantic clapping rises in its tempo, and you hear him begin to start his opening monologue.

You watch him on a monitor. He's confident, brash, breezy. He delivers his lines, steals his cues and has the audience laughing and eating out of the palm of his hand.

A far cry form the dishevelled, tried man he was when he slumped into the make-up chair earlier.

He weaves some kind of voodoo over them all; hot liquid charm and you're pretty certain you've fallen under that spell too.

The stylist finds you a few minutes later as the monitor illuminates your face and whispers to you. "What the hell happened to his hair?"

You simply shrug, feeling the heat burning your face.

They stop filming for commercial break and you reach into your make-up belt, stepping up towards the stage with the stylist in tow and approach him gingerly.

You dab at his face with a tissue blotting natural oils away that have formed on his forehead, and apply another light dusting of powder as he sips from the Fiji water thrust into his hand.

He doesn't look at you, pretends that what happened in the dressing room hasn’t happened, despite carrying a semi in his pants throughout most of the monologue.

That'll do the rounds tomorrow, no doubt. Fans cropping pictures of his crotch to post on their socials with the eggplant emoji.

Before he gives you a chance to lament in any disappointment, you feel his fingers brush the side of your hip ever so gently, every so clandestinely.

The set is full of bodies, the audience twittering away and hot lights are almost blinding you.

But that small slip of affection, of wanting, doesn't go unnoticed, and has you sold that Dieter Bravo hasn't had his fill of you yet.

The feeling is mutual as you smile dipping your brush in for more powder and tapping off the excess.

The stylist is called away and Dieter runs a hand through his hair ruining her handiwork once again in just one second. He sends you a heated smirk and stares you down as you dust his face.

"What are you smirking at?" You mutter covertly.

He leans forward discreetly, his lips barely moving. "I'm thinking about the fact that my fingers smell of your pussy right now...”

You clear your throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure. It's hard, because those words just fucking killed you.

"I'm in the city for a few more days." He breathes out. "I'm staying at The Bowery. The Penthouse Terrace Suite. Fourteenth floor. Ask for Gio at the desk. We can hang out, finish what we started?" He raises his eyebrows in query.

"Maybe we will." You confirm.

"Good. Yes." Dieter smirks darkly, working you up all over again. "Amazing," he says, smiling with relief.

You grin back at him as you practically skip off the set; your face feeling heated and sweaty. Legs feeling like they could give way at any moment.

The music for the show starts up again and you watch as Dieter speaks into the camera like a natural once more.

You don't see Dieter Bravo again that night.

He’s whisked away to the after party as soon as the show wraps and you’re not important enough to be invited along.

You pack up your make-up case after tidying up the dressing room, and wheel it out to the trunk of your car in the lot, waving to the security guard as he lifts the barrier up.

You go home and ride your dildo to excess as you relive the encounter that stays with you all night.

The following day you make good on your word about visiting Dieter at The Bowery. You don’t leave his hotel suite for three days in total. Only coming up for air to snack and smoke blunts with him.

The sex is criminal; you should both be locked up it's so depraved what you do to one another. You lose count of the number of times he makes you come, and how many times you find your fingers slipping inside his ass.

Your friends message you incessantly about your whereabouts, some speculating you've been kidnapped. You dutifully inform them that you've actually been dicknapped instead, but can't say much about said dick in question. Your inner sadist revels in leaving them hanging.

No, Dieter Bravo is your filthy, little secret to keep. Like anyone would believe you anyway...

When you do eventually walk out of The Bowery, squinting into the sunlight with knots in your hair and bruises on your hips, you finally understand what it must feel like to have an addiction.

You know you'll be burned. That this tryst will shrink into the rear view and he’ll not give you a second thought when he's back in LA.

You don’t have expectations, least of all from Dieter Bravo, and he didn’t make you any promises.

He sent you on your way, inherently satisfied and pumped full of his come. Your life is waiting for you and so is his. You chalk it up to a wild experience, one you'll never forget, and one you'll relive on those horny nights alone.

You think that perhaps you'll acquaint yourself with his career after all, it'll come in handy whilst you get off. Some Dieter porn paused on your TV. Yeah.

But for now you leave The Bowery, remaining invisible, past the paparazzi, past the fans that wait for a glimpse of him when he’ll emerge later and revelling in the power of their ignorance. It's fucking bliss.

You carry on into your life accompanied with an aching hunger you won't be able to shake; it weighs heavy in your core, for a little while.

It leaves you lightheaded, giddy.

And you experience that same feeling again later, a month later in fact; the lightheadedness, the giddiness.

You experience it as you stare, eyes fixed like a laser - the heat and panic clouding your senses. The rising bile swimming up the back of your throat at the audacity of that prominent, blue line on the pregnancy test, staring you back in the face, taunting you.

Blue, just like that damned blazer.

Fuck.

Thank you so much for reading this lil' Dieter story of mine. Re-blogs & comments are greatly appreciated.🖤

MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST

Tagging the Dickin' Around With Dieter On Discord Lovelies: @secretelephanttattoo @rhoorl @maggiemayhemnj @trulybetty @for-a-longlongtime @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @goodwithcheese @musings-of-a-rose @avastrasposts @undercoverpena @gemmahale @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @linzels-blog @sin-djarin @beboldbebravethings @legendary-pink-dot @laurfilijames @ladybess-a03

(If you wanna be removed, it's cool.)

🖤

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo the bubble #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal snl #jett's writing #jett's pedro boys

[1d1195]

Traditional II

Read the first part here

This part got a bit away from me. But I kinda like it. Hope you enjoy!

“Do men hold doors open for you, love?” He asked.

She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“I will take that as a no, then,” he chuckled. “I would like t’hold doors open for y’whenever I can,” he explained.

“Oh,” she said in surprise. “Well, thank you.”

“M’pleasure.”

Niall was very accommodating when she arrived. “Hey darlin’,” he smiled holding his hand out. “Nice t’see you again. Did you find everything okay?” He asked.

At the same time, she was trying to take in the beautiful, shiny floors that clicked with heels and others shoes all the way down the long hall. There were glass rooms spaced out at regular intervals between the beautiful wooden doors that looked like they belonged to a vintage castle.

“Yes, thank you. So far so good,” she smiled nervously. In the back of her head, she was thinking about that introductory message Harry sent her. Harry Styles. Styles. Certainly, Styles Incorporated was not the same Harry. The world wasn’t that cruel. Right? Harry would have said something. Even some low-on-the-totem-pole intern would have sparked something in the boss of a successful company like this while perusing a website for a girl to spoil.

“Great,” he smiled. “Follow me, I’ll show you around.” Her phone vibrated in her bag’s front pocket. As Niall showed her the breakroom with a half kitchen and spacious table, she put her lunch in the fridge and checked the message. Have a great day, love. You’ll do great. Excited to meet you later and hear all about it. No, he didn’t know. She decided. He would have said ‘See you around’ or something like that.Sliding her phone back into its space she turned her attention back to Niall. “Nervous?” He asked with a grin.

She nodded then shrugged with a nervous chuckle escaping her lips. “Kind of,” she admitted. “You’re very nice. I’m worried I’ll mess up.”

“Then you’re going to do great,” he chuckled and tilted his head toward the hallway. “This whole floor is ours; your office is small—sorry about that. A makeshift attempt and you deserve better. If it’s any consolation, most days m’not even in the office so you can lounge around and do your work in my space. I tried convincing Harry that you’ll need more but—”

She blinked and felt her heart rate take off before she could stop. No. “Harry?” She questioned, interrupting quickly.

Niall smirked. “My best friend...and the boss. Don’t worry, he’s a softie at heart. Just don’t lie to him. He loves authenticity. M’sure you’ve heard rumors about past interns and—"

Her tongue felt dry; she wished she had taken her water bottle from her lunch bag. Her boss’s boss was...it couldn’t be that coincidental, right? If he knew there was a conflict of interest, she would either have lost her...outside position or this internship. Right? Niall was explaining the reputation of the rapid rotation of interns. She assumed one wrong look would leave Harry mad and Niall would have no choice but to let them go. “I have a good feeling about you though,” he smirked at her as he continued walking back toward his office...their office.

“Niall.”

“Speak of the devil,” Niall smirked as he muttered under his breath to her. Turning toward his name she spun on her heel at the same time to see Harry approaching. He was tall and beautiful. But she already knew that from his profile picture. He wore a collared button down and the collar was pressed firmly and stiffly against the dark green sweater he wore over it. With sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he displayed a multitude of tattoos and veiny forearms that she had to look away from quickly before she drooled. Adorned in a pair of slacks and dress shoes she thought that he knew exactly what he was doing: torturing any poor girl that looked at him as beautiful. She tried looking at his perfectly styled brown curls and his green eyes attached to eyelashes that seemed downright sinful with every blink. His face seemed a bit scruffy, like he forgot to shave this morning.

His gaze didn’t falter even a nanometer. It was perfectly normal to see the girl he had just paid a substantial sum of money to live in a beautiful, highly expensive apartment. She was going to see him tonight for a first date. And yet, here he was, at his company without so much as a flinch of surprise by the fact that she was interning here. “Harry, this is our new intern,” Niall explained introducing her to his best friend.

Harry held his hand out. “Pleasure t’meet you, beautiful. M’name’s Harry, Harry Styles. Make sure t’tell me if Niall is treating y’poorly.”

Her brain wasn’t processing the words. Maybe Harry hadn’t put two and two together yet. It would make sense to separate his personal life with his business. Or maybe she just wasn’t recognizable; she spent a good chunk of time getting ready this morning in hopes of looking pretty but felt she fell short.

Mostly, she couldn’t imagine Niall treating her anything less than perfectly and that quite baffled her. “Oh, thank you,” she managed to say taking his hand and noticing his grip was firm and warm just like a good handshake was supposed to be. Would they do this all again later when they met for dinner? “I’m excited to be here,” she said—that was the truth. She scoured for internships long before she thought of being a companion for someone with Harry’s kind of money.

Harry smiled and turned his attention back to Niall. “Tricked another one, I see,” he mumbled. “I wanted t’know if y’have the report for our first meeting this morning.”

Niall nodded and jerked his head toward the office. “I was just about to show her m’office,” he said opening the door to his home away from home. He held the door for her to follow him and she held the door for Harry, but he shook his head as Niall was already looking at the piles of messy paperwork on his desk. Her first order of business would be to organize that chaos.

“After you, love,” he said holding the door open for her to enter. She mumbled a quiet thank you and passed through the threshold. As she did, she heard him speak, just for her to hear, not Niall, “guess I should’ve asked where y’were interning, hmm?” He hummed quietly.

Her face warmed and she swallowed the lump in her throat as she did her best to maintain her composure. Fortunately, Niall was looking through his messy piles, so he didn’t notice her blushing face or her awkwardness.

“I can organize all this for you,” she decided to say to avoid the way her legs felt numb and shaky.

“I know where everything is,” Niall smirked at her with a grin that said the exact opposite of his words.

“I think you should let her,” Harry agreed. He rolled his eyes and produced a blue file folder with the document inside.

“Right where I left it,” he said passing it to Harry. She giggled quietly and Niall winked at her. As Harry and Niall discussed the file, she glanced around his spacious office with the pretty view. When they entered, she hadn’t noticed the tiny little room that seemed to attach inward through the door they entered. It seemed they went right through her little office. It wasn’t much, a space for a desk, a chair for a guest and a plant in the corner if she was lucky. There was a small window that looked like it belonged in a house, not an office that allowed her a view of the city that faced the nearby ocean.

It was perfect.

“Sorry we were interrupted,” Niall smirked at her. Harry was gone again, and she was slightly grateful, so she didn’t have to think about her strange predicament. “This is yours. I hope it’s not too cramped.”

“It’s perfect,” she promised. “Thank you.”

He logged into her computer. “You’ll have to reset your password, but this is my calendar,” he said clicking through several buttons. “I recommend having it open and whatnot, but it’s really up to you. I tend to need frequent reminders.”

“Like that you’re gonna be late to your 9:30?” She asked, pointing at the screen.

Niall checked his watch. “Yeah, exactly,” he chuckled. “I shouldn’t need anything during the meeting, but if I do, you just knock and enter to announce your presence, don’t be shy, people do it all the time. Just keep an eye on your phone for messages. Do you have any questions at the moment?”

“Do you drink tea or coffee?” She asked.

“Coffee, hot. Cream two sugars,” he said grabbing his laptop off his desk and throwing it haphazardly in his bag. She made a mental note of that.

“I’m going to organize this while you’re gone,” she said looking at the haphazard piles.

He ignored her comment with an eye roll and a shake of his head. “If Harry gets his way, meetings tend to run over the time they’re supposed to be—"

“I heard that,” Harry called fleetingly from outside the office. She giggled.

“—so please come get me if I’m being held against my will and late for another meeting,” he said ignoring his friend.

She nodded. “Will do.”

“Do you need anything at the moment? Otherwise, I’ll let you get settled.”

“No, I’ll be fine.”

He smiled. “Course you will. Welcome to Styles Incorporated.”

*

After organizing Niall’s messy desk, she sat at her own desk and worked her way through the different tabs and things. She was excited to work beside Niall and learn the ropes of his jobs.

She was thinking that if he had two jobs rolled into one, she would be able to take one of them at the end of her internship. But if Harry was her boss, she was thinking that wouldn’t happen. At least now she could learn both and apply to different companies, knowing the ins and outs of two jobs. Her phone vibrated and she hurried to open it, anticipating an SOS message from Niall. She received one halfway through his meeting to which she smirked and informed her he had no need to leave just yet, but asked if she would come get him solely because he was bored. (She did not, but she did ask if he was completely serious because she would have come up with some elaborate scheme if needed.)

Instead, this message was from Harry.

Enjoying your first day?

:)

She felt extremely nervous to be interning at Harry’s company knowing that outside these walls her life was still entangled with his. It seemed like a bad idea. But she was regrettably a bit desperate for money and for the internship. So, if Harry didn’t find fault in the predicament, she wasn’t going to say anything.

Niall was in and out for most of the morning. She sent him messages frequently updating him of his changing schedule.When her office phone rang, she bit her lip thinking of what she should say for a moment before answering. “Styles Incorporated, Niall Horan’s office. How can I help you?”

“That’s adorable,” Harry’s voice said softly. She nearly dropped the phone. Part of her wanted to hang up.

“Oh,” she replied. “Er...Niall’s not back yet.”

“I called to talk to you,” his voice was so deep she could feel it in her toes. “Are you okay?” He asked.

“Huh? I’m fine. Do...do you need something?”

“Jus’ wanted t’make sure you’re having a good day, love,” he chuckled.

She blinked and nodded silently. “Haven’t done much. I was going to go get Niall coffee just to feel useful.”

She obviously couldn’t see him, but she could almost hear him smiling. “He’d like that.”

“Can I get you anything, Mr. Styles?” She asked.

“Hmm?”

She pulled a sticky note off the pad from the corner of her desk. “Coffee? Tea? Anything?”

Harry was quiet for a long moment. “Black tea would be nice, thank you, kitten.” She didn’t really need to write it down, but she did anyway. Black tea would be ingrained in her mind forever. She tried not to think about how he called her kitten either. “Jus’ Harry is fine, love,” he murmured, “...in and out of the office.” She was glad she was alone in her office so no one could see her blush.

*

At the end of the day Niall said he had a good feeling about her. “Mondays are typically craziest. The week will get easier as it goes along. Tomorrow I’ll have more time to show you what I do. Do you have any questions?”

“Er...no, thank you. It was a pretty easy day. I feel like I didn’t do much.”

“Oh, you did great love! The catastrophe of my desk alone warrants a full-time bonus. Even Harry complimented your phone response, and it was nice you asked him for his coffee order. I’ve had several interns put through the ringer by him, and I think you’re the first to make a positive first-day impression. I think most people are scared of him, which I think is hilarious of course. As I said, he’s a big softie. But none of them ever asked for his coffee order, and he noticed that.”

She smiled nervously knowing there was an ulterior motive to his kindness. “I’d get the whole office coffee if it was feasible,” she smirked. “If I’m here long enough, I’ll suggest they build a shop in one of these offices.”

Niall laughed. “I’ve got a really good feeling about you, darlin’. I hope you enjoyed your first day.”

“I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow,” she promised.

“Sounds good, love. Thank you.”

*

Her new apartment was hardly unpacked. She wouldn’t have time until the weekend to get it remotely live-in ready either. But here she was, standing among unpacked clothing boxes, clothes strewn about her bed (mattress still wrapped in plastic) as she picked out a dress to wear to her second first meeting with Harry.

It still felt surreal and honestly, she felt a bit stupid for even agreeing. But what was she supposed to do now that there were thousands of dollars in her account that weren’t there the day before? Louis video chatted with her. “How was your first day?” He asked. Eleanor was peering into the camera at the same time as well.

“Oh, I love that dress on you,” she smiled. “You look stunning,” she promised.

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis rolled his eyes. “Tell us about the internship.”

She sat on the mattress, the plastic crinkling loudly and sticking to her thighs. “I’m interning at his company.”

“Whose?” Eleanor asked her eyebrows pinching together.

“Harry’s,” she mumbled quietly.

“No way.”

She sighed, putting a hand over her face. “This is so dumb.”

Louis was laughing. “That’s hysterical. What are the chances? What did you say?!”

So, she explained the whole day. Overall, the experience was positive. But again, it was about to feel awkward again since she was supposed to meet Harry in half an hour. “Aren’t sugar daddies supposed to be old?” Eleanor asked.

“I think they just have money,” Louis shrugged.

“He is not old,” she confirmed. “He’s like...29 I think.”

“Well good, maybe you’ll fall in love with a normal, functioning member of society,” Louis rolled his eyes.

She sighed. “Do you think this looks alright?” She asked Eleanor, ignoring Louis’ comment. She wasn’t going to fall in love with someone that was paying her both for her internship and simply for existing.

“Beautiful, love,” Eleanor promised.

She sure hoped it was.

*

The restaurant wasn’t far from her apartment. Half a mile. She walked there in ten minutes. Harry was waiting outside as she approached. She was much more nervous now than she was this morning for her first day. The internship she was prepared for, she knew how to do the math and marketing aspects entailed in the description when she applied. She was totally out of her element walking up to the same person who was willing to pay her massive amounts of money just to have dinner with him.

“Did you walk?” He asked in greeting.

“Yes,” she said softly.

He frowned and turned to the car parked next to the sidewalk. He gently hit the top of the car frame twice to gather the attention of the driver. “She doesn’t walk anymore,” he told him. The man saluted from his seat and winked in her direction.

“I don’t mind walking,” she said hurriedly. She didn’t want to be driven everywhere. Certainly, everyone would know. “I walk all the time,” she explained.

“You don’t walk late at night, anymore,” she didn’t love the way he was demanding it, but again, didn’t want to argue with someone that was paying her substantial amounts of money. So, she quietly observed that it wasn’t that late and said as much in a whisper of the air.

“It’s hardly late.”

He turned his gaze to her and stared for a moment. Taking a deep breath in, he exhaled slowly. She noticed the way his jawline flexed, and his eyes were bright despite the evening darkening before her eyes. She noticed he shaved since she last saw him. He replaced the sweater with a suitcoat and to sum up he looked utterly handsome and equally terrifying in that moment. His eyes burned with something a bit angry, and it was odd that the man she worried about while she was at Styles Inc. was much more amenable than what she thought her date was about to be like. “I understand,” he said flatly. “M’jus’ worried about your safety,” he murmured, and she saw the anger dissipate by the second and again was surprised by how different she expected him to be versus the horror stories she heard through the grapevine of the interns that didn’t last.

Obviously, Harry was a businessman, and she was an investment. She could be agreeable, too, though. She nodded in response. “I will keep an eye on the time in the future, but I like walking.”

Harry pursed his lips and looked at his driver for a moment. The man shrugged and Harry sighed. “Noted. Not late,” he amended.

“Not late,” she conceded.

Harry tapped the top of the car once more and headed toward the door of the restaurant. He held the door open and tilted his head in silent command. “Ladies first,” he said much softer now that he was done arguing.

*

“Do y’want t’order, or would y’like me to?” He asked. The restaurant was obviously gorgeous. Dimly lit and quietly busy. The tables were spread out far enough that she couldn’t hear anyone’s conversation nearby. Gentle instrumental music played in the background. It smelled delicious and she was sure if she wasn’t with Harry, she wouldn’t dream of setting foot in this place as long as she lived.

Harry looked at ease perusing the small, printed menu in his hands. He probably already knew what he wanted—he probably already told the chef when he walked in by merely glancing at the hostess with some secret signal that only someone making seven figures a week could make. While he was at home in this fine establishment, she wished she wore a sweater over her dress. There was a nearby vent causing a draft to chill her skin. Doing her best to ignore it, she desperately thought about asking for some soup. She glanced up from the menu situated on top of her place setting. Nearly terrified by the millisecond: it was too expensive and too fancy. Keeping her cool she nodded, grateful for Harry for intervening on her unfortunate behalf. There was no way he would like her after this catastrophe. “Please.”

He smirked. “What do y’like t’eat?”

“Um, anything really,” she bit her lip. “I had pasta for lunch.”

“So no pasta,” he said easily scanning over the menu.

She laughed lightly. “Actually, I don’t think there’s a limit to pasta for me,” she admitted.

His smile grew, she could see it dancing in his eyes, but he didn’t lift his eyes from the menu. “I see.”

“Mr. Styles. Always a pleasure,” the waiter greeted. “Merlot or Pinot tonight?” He asked.

“Merlot, please,” he said glancing briefly at the waiter before returning to the menu. “Thank you.”

“Would you like to see a wine list, miss?” The waiter asked, looking at the sweet girl across from Harry.

“I’m okay with water,” she said simply.

Harry’s eyebrows pinched together, and he finally lifted his head from the menu for longer than a second. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. Maybe it was the wrong thing to say. She really didn’t understand the etiquette of what she was supposed to do or say here. “I...I have to get to work...early tomorrow,” she said awkwardly. Of course, Harry knew that. A little glass of wine wouldn’t hurt anyone. He wouldn’t bat an eyelash at anyone working for him for merely having a glass at dinner. Especially at a place like this.

He nodded slowly, taking her answer in as the waiter watched to see if she’d change her mind. Clearly, he was used to Harry, but this was obviously a first and he waited almost expectantly for her to change her answer. “Can I convince you t’have a glass of pinot?”

“Um...”

“It’s very light, miss,” the poor waiter promised. Maybe he was more aware that she gave the wrong answer than she was. Harry was ogling her curiously. Like she was a true mystery.

“No thank you, I really like water,” she assured him. She wasn’t lying. She did like water. “Do you have lemon water, by chance?”

He glanced at Harry again. “Yes, of course, miss. I’ll bring it right out,” he nodded.

Harry was still staring at her curiously. She was nervous to look up, but she did. His eyes were gentle again. His lips quirked in a smirk that was making her insides melt and warm her up—thank God because she swore the vent was aimed purposefully at her. “I don’t breathalyze anyone on the way in, love. Y’could get a glass of wine if you’d like,” he told her.

She nodded. “I know...I...I just don’t really like t’drink during the week all that much. Especially with work and stuff. Wine...usually gives me a headache too. Thank you, though. I’m sorry if that was awkward or wrong.”

He nearly snorted. Quietly of course. This place was near silent. She wondered what they put in the air to make it so quiet. “Wrong?” He repeated.

“I don’t know. I’m...I’m really nervous,” she admitted. “I’m sorry.”

“Kitten, what are y’apologizing for?” He asked shaking his head. “You’ve got no reason t’be nervous. I invited you, remember? I want you here,” he reminded her.

Swallowing, she nodded. “Okay.”

“Really, love. It’s supposed t’be easy and light. Don’t be nervous,” he repeated.

She took a deep breath and looked at him head on. He looked...soft. Like this wasn’t some weird first date that would help figure out the rules of their...companionship. Objectively, he looked like he was her boyfriend...and why wouldn’t he look like her boyfriend? As Eleanor pointed out, he was young. So was she, even younger than Harry. It was obvious Harry was brilliant, but Louis would tell her to stop selling herself short because she was exceedingly intelligent (and on the days when she was willing to compliment herself, she kind of believed that too). The only reason it was unfathomable was the fact that he was twenty times handsomer than she was beautiful and he looked about twenty times as rich.

But still, he seemed to look at her as if she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. It made her warm. Which, of course, reminded her of how cold she was. “Do they have a soup you could recommend?”

A pause before a slight chuckle. “You are...full of surprises, love.” Of course. No one orders soup at a place like this. Ladies were supposed to order salad. “It’s...warm outside,” it almost sounded like a question. She thought he might even ask if she was feeling okay.

“Um...” she swallowed and gestured in front of herself to point discreetly toward the vent. “The vent is blowing directly at me, it’s...kinda cold.”

Harry’s eyes immediately followed the path of her finger as she pointed and muttered a quiet, “Oh, for God’s sake,” under his breath while she finished speaking. As he stood up from the table, she thought she really messed up now. Harry quickly found the hostess and muttered something before he hurried back to her side of the table. “They’re going to move us,” he told her.

“Oh, God. Harry, that’s not necessary. I just—”

“Love, it’s fine,” he promised, putting a hand on her upper back as he stood by her chair. “M’not gonna have y’freeze before the appetizers.”

“But—”

“Love, it’s fine,” he repeated.

Biting her lip. “I didn’t mean to make a fuss,” she murmured standing up as Harry guided her to a nearby table.

“Not at all, love,” he promised. “I jus’ don’t want you t’be cold. I wish y’said something sooner,” he gestured to the table nearby away from the vents Harry draped his suitcoat over her shoulders before pulling her seat out.

“I’m really okay, Harry. I don’t—”

Gently grabbing her chin between his thumb and finger, he turned her eyes to his. Her breath hitched in her throat. Without his suitcoat he was left in his button down, tie, and vest ensemble and she thought she might lose her mind. It was worse than the rolled-up sweater sleeves. “Kitten, jus’ relax,” he hummed gently. “S’okay. I’ll get y’some soup and a lovely pasta dish,” he promised. He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “Okay, love?”

She nodded mutely and Harry smiled kindly at her. Coaxing her into her new seat and she waited for Harry to sit. “Sorry about the draft, miss,” the waiter returned settling her lemon water in front of her. “Here is your water. Can I get y’some hot tea?”

“She was wondering about the soup,” Harry interrupted. “Don’t usually get it myself here,” he told the waiter.

He nodded. “Of course,” Harry winked at her as he listed the different varieties they had for the evening, and she quietly chose the mixed vegetable. “Do you want to start with the prosciutto wrapped mango, Mr. Styles?” He asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she interrupted her face warming as she did. “I’m very allergic to mangoes. I know that’s odd.”

“Oh, well then never mind,” the waiter smiled easily. “I will bring the soup in the meantime.”

She bit her lip. “I’m sorry about—”

“You’re really going t’apologize for having an allergy?” He wondered.

Swallowing, she nodded. “Umm...”

He chuckled quietly shaking his head. “I think m’really going t’like having you around, love.”

*

After she apologized at least seventeen more times and thanked Harry profusely, they were finally in the car driving her back to her apartment. She was warm, full, and very happy with how the remainder of dinner went. Harry didn’t look at his phone once while they talked but was now scrolling through his missed messages while the driver was paused at a red light.

She kept her hands in her lap, folded neatly. “Did you miss a lot of calls during dinner?” She asked softly.

He shook his head. “Nothing important,” he smiled gently as he scanned. “Sorry, s’rude of me t’look when you’re beside me,” he slipped his phone back in his pocket.

“No, no. M’sure you have a lot more important messages than just asking me about my favorite color and stuff.”

That smirk of his graced his face again, melting her insides. He shook his head briefly and then tilted his head at her curiously. “What is your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

“Hmm...y’struck me as a red kind of girl.”

“I did like pink when I was younger but these boys in school made fun of girls that liked pink because it was so girly, so I decided to like blue instead. And I really do like blue. It’s much better for walls and decorations than pink,” he smiled brightly during her explanation, chuckling at her little feminist outcry.

They were parked outside her apartment. “Do you want me t’walk you in?” He asked as she unclipped her seatbelt.

“Oh...um...” the blood flooded her face thinking about Harry seeing the mess of the beautiful apartment Harry bought her and how she would die if he saw it. “I...I’m okay.”

“Hey love,” he said gently, stilling her hand by the wrist as she tried to gather her purse from the floor. “I had a lovely time tonight,” he promised. “I want t’do it again. If you’d like.”

Again, her breath caught in her throat. “Really?”

Chuckling, Harry nodded. “Yes. You’re very funny and sweet.”

“Can I ask you something, Harry?”

“Of course.”

“Am...do I need to worry about this internship? Because I really need it to get my degree and I don’t want to—”

Smiling, he shook his head. “You have nothing t’worry about, on that front, love. I don’t trust nearly anyone but Niall. He read your application and chose you because y’have the best qualifications and had glowing recommendations. I read them today after I realized I’d be seeing y’much more frequently,” he told her. “I think you’ll do really well,” he promised.

“Oh...good...it’s just...” she took a deep breath. “This is really hard for me to say, but I know interns don’t...typically last very long at Styles Inc. But I really want to...but I also have a very different...predicament,” she landed on after a moment.

He nodded. “You do. But you’re also the only one who shook m’hand, took m’coffee order, and seemed t’know what Niall needed before he did. All on the first day.”

“Tea,” she mumbled. Harry tilted his head in silent question toward her. “Black tea. Not coffee,” like she was reminding him of what he drank.

Harry nodded. “Exactly.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Are you sure y’don’t want me t’walk you up? See y’in safely?” He asked. She hesitated. She wondered if this was part of the...deal. But she really didn’t want him to see how bad it looked right now. Again, especially because he was paying for it.

“Can I be honest with you?” She said quickly.

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise and nodded. “Of course, love.”

“I haven’t had time to unpack and it’s horrible in there right now and I don’t want to embarrass myself or you because I haven’t...unpacked. Especially when you’re paying for—”

He started to laugh a bit and it made the most beautiful face she had seen to date. His cheeks had a matching pair of indents with two beautiful dimples on either of his cheeks. Her body warmed at the beautiful sound of his laughter filling the car. “Kitten,” he shook his head. “I don’t care about any of that,” he rolled his eyes unclipping his belt and getting out of the car. She grabbed her purse and then tried to get out of the car except the handle was locked. She frowned. Harry opened it in the next instant before she had time to worry that she was trapped inside the back seat.

Smiling beautifully still, he shook his head at her. “Do men hold doors open for you, love?” He asked.

She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“I will take that as a no, then,” he chuckled. “I would like t’hold doors open for y’whenever I can,” he explained.

“Oh,” she said in surprise. “Well, thank you.”

“M’pleasure.”

She got out carefully, worried she would trip and fall. Harry held his arm out for support, and they strolled up to her new apartment. She held her phone to the key reader and heard the lock click. On instinct, she reached for the door handle, touching Harry’s hand as of course he was ready to open it for her. “Thank you,” she said quietly hurrying through the door.

Harry followed behind her as they walked up one flight of stairs to the next floor. Turning to the left and then found themselves in front of the third door.

“It’s really a disaster,” she told him.

“Y’jus’ moved your stuff over a few days ago, love,” he reminded her. “S’okay.”

“I’m not a messy person. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about my habits and stuff—”

“Kitten, please open the door,” he rolled his eyes with a chuckle.

Shutting herself up, she took a deep breath and pushed the door open, flicked the light on, and gestured for Harry to enter.

“It’s not furnished?” He asked looking at the empty living room area. Just a TV, a few boxes, and a painting strewn on the floor. He moved toward the window, enjoying the view of the city night.

“Uh...no,” she kicked her shoes off and set her purse on the adjoining kitchen counter. “I...lived with my ex before. We rented from his aunt...she had all the furniture.”

“Oh. M’sorry. I didn’t realize, I would have made sure to furnish it for you—”

“Oh no, it’s okay. I just...ordered some yesterday. It’s supposed to be in by the end of next week.”

He turned from the window and stared at her. “You ordered some?” He asked.

Her blood felt cold and she was grateful she still had Harry’s suitcoat still wrapped around her because she was worried her teeth would start chattering. “Uh...yes. I figured you...you gave me a lot of money and of course I had some savings and stuff. And I needed a lot of furniture. I got a lot of tables, bookshelves, and my dressers from IKEA. That should actually be here sooner...and then I needed a couch and a TV stand, and I thought it might be worth having a desk. And I’ve always wanted a nice bed...one that had like a canopy option?” She started but then she realized she was over explaining. “I’m sorry...that was way more information than you needed. So—”

He raised his eyebrows at her in surprise. “You bought it yourself?”

“Uh...yes?”

“And you’re going t’put it all together...from IKEA...by yourself?”

“Well...my friends Eleanor and Louis will probably come over and help. Louis isn’t all that helpful—he’s usually too busy making jokes...but Eleanor and I can hold our own.”

He shook his head. “I’ve never met anyone like you, kitten,” she blushed and looked at her feet nervously. “I’ll...put more money in your account tonight, beautiful. Order as much furniture you want...but please don’t order stuff from IKEA.”

Biting her lip she nodded. “I don’t need you to put more—”

“Love,” he said gently and came across the room once more. Gently, he cupped his hands around her face. “S’what m’here for,” he reminded her. Carefully, he glanced at her eyes and then quickly pressed a kiss to her forehead. She thought she really might melt. She no longer needed his jacket. It was much too hot in the room, all from a little kiss on the forehead. “See you tomorrow?” He asked pulling away and heading toward the door.

“Um...Harry?” She asked.

“Yeah, kitten?”

“Can you just...text me when you’re home. So I know?”

She saw the way Harry’s eyes danced at her question. “Of course, love.”

--

taglist: @tpwkstiles

#harry #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #ceo!harry #sugardaddy!harry #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #one direction #one direction writing #traditional

[beyondthesefourwalls]

This Love Came Back to Me (10)

Summary: You and Bradley hadn’t ended on bad terms; really, you stopped before the two of you could even truly begin. Still, in the last seven months, you had never completely left his mind. So when you suddenly appeared in front of him at the bar, asking for a favor and pulling him into a kiss, he thought maybe it was the perfect opportunity to see if this time, things could be different. But what neither of you realized was that there’s more going on than just rekindling a lost romance, and it might not be as easy as simply just wanting it. 

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: second chance romance, language, allusions of smut and potential full smut, stalking, breaking and entering, unhealthy obsessions, delusions of feelings, unwanted attention.

Part Ten Word Count: 3.9K

Part Nine :: Series Masterlist

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-----

Bradley told you to pack enough for the week. After dropping off all the appropriate forms at the courthouse on Monday morning, the two of you headed off. The further you got from San Diego, the more relaxed you seemed to become. He had managed to find a cabin a few hours away up in San Bernardino. It was secluded, tucked away in the mountains and amongst the trees, but it’s picturesque, quiet, something he knew you would love. He paid more than a little extra to have it ready at such short notice, but it was worth it ten times over to see the smile on your face when you climbed out of the Bronco and breathed in the crisp and invigorating mountain area. He couldn’t help but just to watch you for a minute, your head tilted back and your eyes closed. 

There was still a heaviness around you that he knew wouldn’t go right away. But for the first time in days, you looked something close to at peace. 

The inside of the cabin was just as impressive as the outside. It had a large open concept space that contained the living room and the kitchen, and it was all wood tones and dark, oversized furniture. Faux fur rugs decorated the hardwood floors, and the windows were tall and wide, letting in whatever natural light peaked in through the trees facing that side of the house. You spun in a slow circle, looking up at the high tilted ceilings with the exposed beams. 

“Wow,” you breathed. It was all you needed to say for Bradley to know he had made the right call in bringing you here. 

You left him to take your bags to the bedroom as he put away the groceries you had stopped for on the way. You hadn’t come back by the time he was done so he set off to find you, going down the short hallway to the only other room in the cabin. He couldn’t help but whistle in appreciation as he looked around the space. The king size bed that looked like the most comfortable thing he had ever seen sat in the middle of the room. There was a rocking chair tucked into the corner, and the dresser looked like it was made of the same type of sturdy wood as the bedframe. There was an en suite bathroom that he was sure was just as beautiful, but the real draw of this room, perhaps this place in general, was the view he was currently looking at. 

He hadn’t spent too much time looking at the pictures on the rental website, but he suddenly understood the price tag on it. 

There was a large deck off of the bedroom, and through the open french doors, he could see nothing but the mountain landscape. Rugged peaks and luscious trees of greens and browns and oranges; nature in its purest form. It was only early afternoon and the open blue sky was breathtaking; he couldn’t imagine what it would look like at sunset. More than that though, was the view he had brought with him. You were leaning against the railing, taking in the stunning panorama that the deck overlooked. He joined you outside, careful to make his presence known so that when he wrapped his arms around you from behind, you didn’t jump. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” 

You spoke quietly as you leant back against him, almost like you were afraid to disrupt the calmness surrounding you from all sides. 

“It is,” he agreed. And he was looking at the view, yes, but he was mostly looking at you. 

You turned to face him, winding your arms around his neck. “Thank you,” you said, “for bringing me here. I think-I think I-” you closed your eyes and shook your head, and the deep breath you took came out a little shaky. Bradley waited for you as you collected your thoughts, his thumbs rubbing circles into the small of your back. “I think I needed this,” you finally settled on. He knew there was so much more behind your words. 

Bradley considered his response carefully. He knew what he wanted to say. But he knew it wasn’t the time yet. 

“I’d do anything for you,” he said instead. He pulled you a little bit closer. He didn’t want you to thank him for bringing you here, because taking care of you wasn’t something he ever wanted to be thanked for like it was a chore. Your eyes brightened just a bit at his words and you raised on your toes to kiss him. 

You passed the next few hours doing not much of anything, and Bradley thought it was exactly what the both of you needed. He could tell that you were still exhausted after the weekend, and if he was being honest, he was too. It was nearing 5pm and he was about to ask you what you wanted to make for dinner when your phone rang. You looked up from the book you were reading to where your phone was sitting on the coffee table. Seeing the hesitation in your eyes, Bradley cleared his throat of his own anxiety and leant forward to pick it up. When he saw that the suggested name for the number was the San Diego Courthouse, he handed it to you with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. 

“It’ll be okay,” he whispered, squeezing your ankle from where your feet were resting in his lap. You nodded and answered the phone with a deep breath. 

“Hello?” 

Bradley kept his eyes trained on you and it wasn’t long into the call that your eyes squeezed shut and you bit down on your lip so hard he worried about drawing blood. That same defeated look that had been on your face the last few days reappeared. 

He knew, without you even needing to say anything, that you hadn’t been granted the emergency temporary restraining order. 

His heart fell and he reached out and grasped your free hand in his. He could feel the bandages still covering your palm against his skin and your nails dug into his hand as you squeezed. A tear slid down your cheek and he brought your hand up to press a kiss onto your fingers. He scooted closer on the couch, drawing you into his chest. You tucked your face into his neck and he listened as you asked about a court date and thanked them for calling before letting the phone fall to the couch. Immediately, both of your arms were wrapped around his neck, and he was pulling you fully into his lap. 

“What did they say?” he asked gently into your hair. He felt you take a shuddering breath. 

“Not enough concrete evidence as of right now,” you told him. “I’ll get a phone call about a court date. God, this is such bullshit.” 

Bradley let out a long sigh, pressing a kiss to your head as he held you close. He couldn’t say part of him didn’t see this coming after the conversation he’d had with Sadie, even if he had hoped with everything in him it would go the other way. 

He pulled back, cupping your face in his hands and making you look at him. He wiped away the wetness on your cheek with his thumb. “We can call Sadie later. Figure something out. Okay?” 

You nodded, but he could tell you were beating yourself up, and that all the worst scenarios were running through your head again. “What can I do?” he asked, feeling somewhat desperate. He’d do anything for you, just like he said. 

It took you a moment to respond, playing with a button on his open flannel shirt. “I think I just want you to hold me right now,” you answered back quietly. 

He wondered if you had any idea he’d do that forever if you let him, no matter the circumstances. 

——

When Bradley blinked awake the next morning, you weren’t beside him. He felt a flare of panic for a brief moment at the cold sheets, his sleep-fogged brain having a hard time coming out of the nightmares he had had, but then he heard the soft hum of music and movement coming from the main area of the cabin. He let his face fall back into the pillow and took a deep breath as his heart rate slowed. 

He laid there for a moment just listening before dragging himself out of bed, popping into the bathroom quickly before heading out of the bedroom. 

He found you quickly enough, his suspicions confirmed that you were in the kitchen. A smile tugged at his lips as he watched you pop back and forth between the stove and the fridge, wearing his shirt from the day before and a pair of fuzzy socks on your feet. A smudge of what looked like pancake batter was on your cheek, and there were specks of flour in the messy bun on top of your head. You smiled brightly when you caught sight of him standing there. 

“Morning, sleepyhead.” 

He couldn’t help but feel a bit of surprise at your tone. You sounded at ease and energetic, which was the complete opposite of how you had fallen asleep last night. He responded back with his own greeting as he walked over to you. You were manning pancakes, just like he had thought, and bacon sizzled on the other burner. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, pressing his lips to your cheek. He could taste a hint of vanilla from the batter he kissed off. 

“How long have you been awake?” he wondered, voice still thick and rough with sleep. You leaned back into his chest as you flipped a pancake. He noted that it was a little after 9:00 from the clock on the microwave, and was surprised he himself had slept so long. 

“A few hours,” you shrugged, and you turned the temperature down on the bacon before turning in his arms to kiss him properly. 

He raised an eyebrow in question when you pulled away. “A few hours?” 

“Yeah,” you told him, and you took a deep breath before offering him another, softer smile. “I emailed my resume to that contact that Anna gave me, about a potential job. And then I put in a few more applications. And then I emailed Sadie all that she had asked about, and my landlord about not renewing my lease. And then I realized the time, so I thought I’d make us breakfast.” 

“Wow,” he murmured, “productive morning, huh?” 

You shrugged, glancing down almost shyly before meeting his eyes again. “You went through a lot of trouble getting us this place for the week. And you…you’ve gone through a lot of trouble for me.” 

“Bug, I-” 

“No, let me finish,” you told him, putting your finger against his lips to stop him from speaking. “I really appreciate it, Bradley. I appreciate you. And I want to be here, be present with you. Everything else can wait until we get back to San Diego. It’s certainly not going away anytime soon. But for this week…I want to just be. Here. With you. Happy. Because that’s what you make me. And I think we both deserve the time away, no matter what got us here. Right?”  

His heart beat a little faster in his chest as you spoke, and he felt something that he thought was pride bubble up in him. You said the words almost reverently, like you craved nothing more. Bradley could see it in your eyes how desperately you meant it.

“Okay,” he murmured, nodding his agreement. He pressed a kiss to your nose, delighting in the way you giggled in response. “So, what are we doing first?”

“Breakfast,” you told him with a grin, “And then we can figure it out from there.” 

He squeezed your hips with a nod. “That sounds perfect.” 

After an unhurried breakfast, you ended up spending the day hiking on some of the trails down the mountainside. He knew how much you loved being outside and that the last few months, between how busy you were and how uneasy you felt, you hadn’t really had the opportunity. So he didn’t hesitate to indulge you as you kept a leisurely pace, simply enjoying being outdoors and taking in all of the scenery that Mother Nature offered you. You packed a small lunch of sandwiches and fruit that you took with you, eating together amongst the grass and rocks.

The sun was setting by the time you got back to the cabin, sweaty with sore muscles but both of you smiling. You were still giggling at the story he was telling you about a prank Payback had played on Nat last week - and the payback she had gotten in return - when you walked through the door and toed your shoes off. 

Bradley pulled you to him with a gentle hand on your hip, leaning down to place a kiss on your lips as your laughter died down. 

“Why don’t you go shower, and I can start on dinner?” he suggested. 

“I can cook tonight,” you insisted, but he shook his head. 

“I got it.”

“B…”

He silenced your protest with another soft kiss, squeezing your hip over your spandex leggings. “Shower,” he whispered against your lips. He pressed his own to your nose and forehead before winking and stepping back. He watched you walk back to the bedroom, pausing when you got to the doorway. You looked back at him over your shoulder, your bottom lip drawn between your teeth. You looked like you were contemplating something, and Bradley clocked the flash of heat that pops up in your eyes. His heart beat a little faster in his chest. You looked like you were contemplating saying something, but after a moment, you gave him a quick smile before disappearing into the room. 

He let out a long huff of air and ran a hand through his hair. 

He hadn’t even thought about touching you since Saturday morning before you had left for brunch. It was only Tuesday night now, but it felt like so much time had passed since he took you in the bed of that goddamn house of yours. You had both been upset the last few days, and he’d never dream of using those emotions to his advantage. He knew today had been better, but you hadn’t invited him in the shower with you - he’d wait until you told him you were ready. 

But damn if the happiness you were exuding today and the look you just gave him didn’t make resisting difficult.

He kept things simple, and an easy meal was done by the time you were finished. Your hair was piled in a wet knot on top of your head and you wore one of his oversized sweatshirts that was so long on you, he could barely see the hem of the athletic shorts you had on, too. Still, when you walked back into the main area of the cabin, his breath caught. He stared at you for a moment, and when you furrowed an eyebrow, softly asking him what was wrong, he cleared his throat and shook his head. 

“Nothing,” he said, and then held out one of the bowls of pasta in his hand. The two of you sat at the small kitchen table as you ate your dinner. He was happy to see that your appetite seemed to have come back after not eating much of anything the last three days. You did the dishes together when you were done, your side flush with his as he washed and you dried. He excused himself after that to go take his own shower, and he didn’t miss the way you bit your lip again as the same look crossed your eyes. But you gave him another one of those gentle smiles when he caught your eye, turning away before he could say anything. 

He made it a quick one, in and out in enough time to scrub off and run some of your shampoo and conditioner through his hair. He was worried spending anymore time in there with his thoughts would be cause for something significantly colder in temperature. 

A buzzing drew his attention as he was toweling off. His brows furrowed together and he was quick to slip his black briefs on and step back into the bedroom. Your phone was on top of the dresser, vibrating against the wood. It stopped before he could reach it, only to start again in short, quick bursts that indicated you were getting multiple texts in a row.

He picked it up with the intention of taking it to you, but then he caught a look at the screen. His blood ran cold in his veins and his muscles locked up. 

Underneath the notifications of the missed calls, you had a slew of messages, all from an unsaved number.  

Unknown: You haven’t been at work in two days. Are you okay?

Unknown: I miss seeing you 

Unknown: Why won’t you answer the phone? 

Unknown: I still have your necklace. Don’t you want it back? 

Unknown: I can’t see where you are anymore. Why did you do that? I need to check on you. 

They continued to come in, each one more concerning and unhinged than the one before. 

He could feel the corners of your phone case pressing into his palms from how hard he was gripping the device, as well as the heat that crept up his neck in anger. It was obvious who was sending these messages. Paul must have gone out of his way to get another phone number, and Bradley's not sure why he was surprised by this. He was foolish to not have thought of it before. 

You may have blocked his number, but that doesn’t mean your number was blocked from his. 

God damnit. 

The phone rang again, the same unknown number flashing on the screen. Every single fiber of Bradley’s being wanted to answer it and demand that he leave you the fuck alone and get everything that he had kept in off of his chest. His finger hovered over the answer button as he intended to do just that. 

But the cops you had spoken with as well as Sadie had said that neither of you should engage with him, and that it would turn in his favor if you did. He knew that it would only make things worse for you. So he fought himself and let it ring. He was nearly trembling by the time it stopped, and he watched as more texts came through. Red tinted his vision at the last one. 

Unknown: He took you from me. You should have told him that you were already mine.  

Bradley nearly broke the screen with how hard he pressed on it as he went in and blocked the number. He was set on deleting everything, but paused before he did. He glanced up at the open bedroom door. He could hear the TV playing softly, some sitcom you liked to rewatch over and over again. You had made the conscious decision this morning that you weren’t going to worry or think about Paul this week. You had laughed and smiled and seemed truly relaxed and happy all day.  He didn’t want to ruin that. 

But he wondered if this could help you in the long run, and be some sort of evidence of just how unhinged this guy was when it came to you.

Making a split second decision, he took screenshots of all your missed calls and texts and sent them to himself before deleting them from your phone and turning it off.

You didn’t need to know right now. He could shoulder this for you until it was necessary.  

He sunk down onto the edge of the bed, putting his face in his hands and trying to take deep breaths. He knew he needed to calm down before he went back out to you. He was so angry his hands were shaking, but after a few minutes, that rage transformed into something sadder. 

He couldn’t understand why this was happening to you. You, who was inherently good. You worked so hard and were kind to everyone you met, even when they didn’t deserve it. And this asshole had taken advantage of and construed that kindness into something that it wasn’t and tried to manipulate you into thinking you were at fault. 

That last text played in his mind again, and for the first time, he wondered if his presence in your life was what made all of this what it was. Paul had been following you for months, yes. But as far as you both knew, he hadn’t escalated to what he had until that night in the bar when Bradley had announced himself as your boyfriend. 

It left a terrible feeling in his stomach and a bad taste in his mouth. 

He took one more deep breath and stood from the bed, slipping on a pair of sweatpants and a tshirt. You were curled up on the couch under a thick maroon afghan that had been draped over the back and you smiled at him when he came into view, sipping on a mug of what he assumed was tea based on the string hanging out of it. 

“Hi there,” you murmured. 

He leaned over the couch to press a kiss to your waiting lips. “Hey.” 

“How was your shower?” you asked. 

“Good. I don’t smell like dirt and sweat anymore,” he joked, and he felt himself calm down further when you laughed, just like he had hoped you would. A playful look came over your face and you set your drink down, crooking a finger for him to come closer. You kissed him again when he did. 

“I’ll be the judge of that. Come sit with me. We can watch a movie.” 

You shifted so he could settle onto the couch behind you, your back against his chest as you laid between his legs. He wrapped his arms around you and you pulled the blanket over the two of you as you grabbed the remote again to flip to a different streaming service on the tv above the fireplace. You scrolled through the extensive movie collection, and Bradley thought about what things would look like if he had declined your request for help that night and didn’t kiss you, if you never would have reconnected. Would they have gone so far? Or would things be the same, only you would be dealing with them on your own? 

But he was selfish enough where he couldn’t handle the thought of losing you again, either. He had to believe you were safer with him there, because he could protect you. He wasn’t going anywhere - he couldn’t. 

He loved you way too much to let you go.  At this point, you controlled and owned nearly every part of him, and he didn’t think you even knew it. He wanted to tell you.

“What do you want to watch?” you asked. 

Bradley cleared his throat that was suddenly thick with emotion. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, nuzzling his face into your neck and breathing in the sweet smell of your hair. 

“Whatever you want,” he rasped out, tightening his grip on you. You hummed in pleasure as you snuggled back into him. “You’re in control here, Bug.” 

-------

Part Eleven :: Series Masterlist :: Main Masterlist

Notes: Tell her, B! Likes/comments/reblogs are the best encouragement for posting more🖤

Thank you to Mak and Em for all of your help making this story come to life. And thanks to Mak for the AMAZING banner!

Tag List: @roosterforme @mak-32 @wildxwidow @gretagerwigsmuse @lilyevanswhore @too-fangirl-to-fuction @fav-fanficssss @notroosterbradshaw @teacupsandtopgun @sometimesanalice @sunflowersteves @littlezee80 @je-suis-prest-rachel @khaylin27 @infamous-reindeer @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @yanna-banana @avengersfan25 @wkndwlff @sylviebell @lt-spork @indynerdgirl @greatszu

@mssleepy876b @kassieesworld @mizzzpink @a-serene-place-to-be @sexualparkour @sadpetalsstuff @almostgenerallyalways @alilstressyandlotdepressy @ccbb2222 @taytaylala12 @shelbycillian @mavrellover91 @vici111 @lunamooncole @blackwidownat2814 @pisupsala @bellaireland1981 @jynxmirage @shanimallina87 @na-ta-sh-aa @callsign-magnolia @chaoticassidy

#alli writes #this love came back to me #bug and b #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster x reader #bradley rooster x y/n #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw #top gun rooster #tgm fic #tgm fanfiction #tgm #Bradley Bradshaw fanfiction #rooster x reader #rooster imagine #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw angst #bradley bradshaw x you #tw: stalking

[artemish]

Sous chef | opla!Sanji x fem!Reader

word count: 2.1k

genre/tags: Sanji x reader; first-person pov; fluff; pining (but is it mutual??); angst; hurt/comfort; friends to lovers

warnings: mild ptsd; mild trauma

summary: A restless night at sea turns into one of revelations, as the reader finds that the depths of the ocean are much like a certain chef’s heart…

a/n: Hello opla girlies! First time fanfic writer here!!

I am ever the lurker on this website, but something inside me changed when I started watching One Piece, and now I’m down bad for this crew (specifically for the hot cook)

So I thought I’d give it a shot, write a bit of fanfic and see where it goes! I’ve finished the live action and currently watching the anime, so my interpretation of Sanji is quite mixed, however I tried to stay closer to opla!Sanji. I’ve also left this open ended cos I might write more (who knows hehehe)

Shoutout to @honnelander for inspiring me to write again ☺️ (please read her go fish! series if you haven’t!! It’s great!!)

𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰!

(。･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

Sanji often stayed up late during those long nights at sea, prepping for the next day's meals, making notes of what had been used and taking stock of the ingredients that were left.

It was almost obsessive at times, desperate even.

He ignored everyone’s concern for him to just take it easy and go to sleep, even Nami’s, and refused to give us an explanation.

He would count every last bean, every last grain of rice or drop of water that he could, and he had tried many times but failed to make an accurate record (mostly because Luffy would lessen the supplies significantly).

I hadn’t really understood his habit, until one night, when the waves were particularly rough and I was disturbed from my sleep.

Usually, rough waters didn’t bother me too much, but I was already quite restless that night and had only truly been half asleep.

My mind was a blazing mess from all the thoughts that had been looping endlessly through it.

Thoughts of him.

I sat up on the futon. My hair draped in a tangled mess around my face and over my shoulders.

I looked across at Nami, her back facing towards me, breathing deeply as she slept.

I envied her ease.

I hauled myself out of the bed and straightened the silk nightgown I was wearing. I slipped on the woven shawl I had laid out over my blanket and made my way down the corridor, towards the kitchen.

The waves had picked up their brutality and began to batter the ship quite hard, so that it swayed violently from side to side.

Gripping the sides of the walls and trying to match the sway, I wondered how everyone could sleep so peacefully.

The ship moaned and croaked as it continued to sway.

I stumbled into the kitchen just as it crashed against the starboard side hard, pushing the ship port.

The force took me by surprise, causing me to lose my grip of the wall and my footing.

I tumbled through the doorway, and slammed hard against the stack of barrels in the corner.

The momentum of the ship turned once more. Lurching towards the right again, I slid off the barrel and slammed face first onto the ground.

“Ah shit!” I yelped. All traces of sleep had officially left me.

“Luffy, that better not be you,” came a brash voice from the darkness, “and if it is, you best be walking out that door right now.”

“Ack, Sanji?”

In the dull light, I saw the concerned face of the cook instantly pop around the counter.

“Y/n! Gods, are you alright?”

He moved swiftly to where I was laying and gently lifted me up.

“You're alright now, love. C’mon up. That’s it, easy”

He swung my arm around his neck and held my waist tightly as he led me to the bench seating on the other side of the kitchen counter.

Despite the daze I was in, I still felt my heart quicken, at his firm grip on my waist and at the ease with which he picked me up.

“Sanji, what are you doing up?” I whispered, not because I was trying to be quiet, but because the knock had left me completely winded.

He sat me down and wrapped my shawl around me tightly, rubbing my shoulders as he did, and kneeled down in front of me.

“Are you okay? Look at my fingers, how many do you see? Are you cut anywhere, y/n? Do you have a concussion? Do you want some water, tea? What do you need, I’ll get it for you, anything you nee-”

“Sanji,” I said, holding my hand firmly on his mouth to keep him quiet, “I’m alright.”

I squeezed his shoulder, as I saw a sigh of relief wash over his face. “You really got to stop treating me like some princess you know.”

“Madam, you are the loveliest person to ever grace this ship. I would hate it if I couldn’t bask in your beauty everyday.”

“You’re laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?” But I could feel my stomach fluttering at his words.

He grinned, “madam, someone as lovely as you deserves to hear it said often.”

I shoved his shoulder. “Shut up!”

He laughed. He looked so soft in the light of the lantern.

“You didn’t answer my question by the way.”

“What question?” he asked, as he got up to sit next to me.

“Why are you awake?”

He turned his face away from me and shifted uneasily on the bench. “Why does it matter?”

“Sanji, why are you awake, really? What is it that you’re not telling us? You know I’ve lost track of how many times Luffy’s found you asleep in here because you’ve been up doing… well, whatever you do. What’s going on?”

He let out a deep sigh as he turned back around to face me, looking at me through the flop of blonde hair that covered half his face. He bit his lip hard and dropped his head, defeated it would seem.

The ship continued to sway and croak and groan, as the silence between us grew.

He looked small, afraid. I reached out to hold his hands and he took them eagerly, squeezing them tightly as he did.

“You all know about what happened to me and Zeff,” he said finally, “and I appreciate the kind words and empathy you’ve all given me, but you could never really understand what that was like, being out there. Waiting to die. The scorching, unrelenting sun in the day that made my skin flake off. The icy air of night that felt like daggers, prodding at my burnt flesh. Being hollowed out from the inside, from the hunger, until the numbness set in and I thought I’d melt into that shitty rock. Even being as careful as I was, as precise, I still didn’t have nearly enough food to survive, and it really was only by fate or luck, a real miracle actually, that we were rescued.

I guess I haven’t shook that feeling yet, that fear. It was easier to distract myself in the restaurant, you know, being surrounded by food and all, but here it’s different here. I-I just want be sure, I want to know that we’re good, at all times, because I don’t want any of you to go through what I did. It’s shit, yeah I know, but I’d rather not sleep then let any of you go through that.”

Again, the silence between us was palpable.

I felt like I’d been punched.

He breathed heavily, as if trying to catch his breath and I knew then that this was something he had kept buried deep within himself because the true nature of his fear was so horrific, so raw, who could ever understand it?

None of us had been out there with him, even though we would all do the same for each other.

But our sentiments were just words.

He had lived it.

The silence grew stifling.

I knew he would do anything to protect us from that fate.

“Sanji”

“You-you can’t tell the others. They don’t need to know, yeah? I’m happy as long as they’re fed with no complaints.”

“But Sanji-”

“Y/n, please don’t tell them.”

“Then why are you telling me?”

The mess of thoughts in my mind was growing.

He held my hands tighter and used them to pull himself towards me. His thumbs made circular motions on my palms.

I heard my heart pounding in my ears and I stupidly hoped he couldn’t hear it.

“Darling, I am a ball of dough in your hands. You can knead me and form me any way you’d like, and I’ll give you no resistance.”

“Pfft” I giggled and so did he.

At this, I felt like we were both at ease again.

I always admired his way of keeping things light.

“No, but, if you’d allow me, madam, to be serious,” he straightened up a bit then, “I suppose I was hoping that you’d find me in here. I was hoping that I could tell just you. You’ve got a way about you that everyone just finds trustworthy. I don’t know but there’s, there’s something about you...” He trailed off and laughed before he could finish, and I could see a faint blush of pink on his cheeks. “Sorry I-I ugh, I’m a bit sleep deprived. I’m just glad you’re here.”

I had never seen this side of him (or any side of him for that matter) though I knew it existed. Somewhere under the flirtatious, playboy persona he put out, I knew there was a genuine sweetness. I just wished I was more awake to really enjoy it.

Once the pain I was in wore off, my whole body felt heavy, like it was being pulled down with the full force of gravity, and the sway of the ship was less violent and more like the gentle rock of a cradle.

“You know, you don’t have to pretend with me.” I swept his bangs out of his eyes and kept my hand cupped around the side of his face. I hadn’t realised how blue his eyes were until now.

Even in the dull light, I could see every shade of blue there was swirling in them, like the ocean’s raging swell on a moonlit night. I saw the sleep in his eyes weighing him down too.

“You know this is the most words I’ve heard out of your mouth since I got here.”

He grinned sleepily, “well I’ve just been trying to find the right time to talk to you, my swan.”

I could feel my cheeks burn and I hoped he didn’t see the blush come over them.

“I didn’t think the right time would be 3am, me face planted and bruised in the kitchen, but here we are.”

“You are alright now, yeah?”

“Of course,” I scoffed, “I’m just sleepy. You look sleepy too.”

As if on cue, he yawned and leaned back on the bench.

“Yeah,” he said, “it’s super late. And Luffy wanted everyone to have a big breakfast tomorrow, you know with eggs, bacon, croissants, etc. Breakfast service is always the most important. But I just…” his voice trailed off again, but there was a hint of frustration this time.

“You just can’t sleep, like you cannot.”

“Yeah.”

“I get it,” I said, and I did, “the memories, they come back; more vividly, more real at night. It’s like it’s better to be awake than asleep. Like sleep causes you to relive the pain. Every moment, everything.”

“Y/n,” he said with concern in his voice, “what caused you pain, my love?”

My love.

Those words rang in my ears for some time, even now. Did he mean it?, I thought, maybe he feels the same?

Was all that flirting genuine or was he just being nice?

Was he just being Sanji?

It had been such a long, revealing night, but that stuck out to me and I couldn’t shake it.

He had been so open about his fears, not even the captain knew what he was telling me, I was sure of it.

So then, I kept thinking, why me?

If I didn’t mean something more, then why me?

While I was mulling all this over, I hadn’t noticed that I was leaning on his shoulder until he pulled me into a hug, wrapping his arms around me and holding me tightly, so that my face rested on his chest.

The slit in his poet shirt revealed his tanned skin underneath.

I boldly moved my hand up his chest and traced his freckles with my fingers.

He played with my hair.

Friends definitely didn’t do this.

“Let’s not talk about that now,” I whispered, “just close your eyes, okay? And Sanji?”

“Yes?”

“If you need a sous chef tomorrow morning, I’ll be there.”

I felt his soft laugh hum in his chest.

“Thank you, y/n. I’ll take you up on that.”

He buried his face in my hair as he continued to hug me and I felt his whole body relax.

In one night, the chef had shown me that there were more layers to this cake of a personality he had than I had fully anticipated, and all of them were deliciously sweet.

Delectable even.

And confusing.

As we slipped further into sleep, we had also unknowingly laid ourselves out on the bench, still tangled in each other's embrace, and sharing my shawl for warmth.

An embrace that was a little too close for friends.

— — — — —

“We’re just friends, Nami,” I hissed, trying to restrain myself from yelling in her ear, “there’s nothing there! He-we- we’re just friends! There are no feelings, we are JUST friends.”

She found us in the morning and woke me up, leaving Sanji still asleep.

I flapped around our room, growling out my protests as I did, but it was no use.

She just sat there.

Just sat there.

Arms folded and tapping her toes.

With a huge smirk plastered across her face.

“Yeah, I bet you are.”

#opla sanji #opla sanji x fem!reader #opla sanji x reader #opla sanji x y/n #sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #opla x reader #first person pov #vinsmoke sanji #sanji vinsmoke #sanji fanfic #sanji fanfiction #opla #one piece sanji #one piece #one piece fanfiction #one piece fanfic #actually down on my knees for this man 🙈🙇🏽‍♀️

[venusfun]

⚜️🌷Finding lost things with astrology help🌷⚜️

Did you know that astrology can help to find lost things? If your ring, keys, or even phone are missing, you better keep reading because I will tell you how to find them🤍

The moment when you realize that you have lost something is the most important because the question is “born”. Check your time and place when you acknowledge that you lost something. Then go to Astro.com or your other preferred website, and create a new chart with the information about your lost item.

When the chart is created, you can now start the investigation haha.

1. You need to find a planet that represents your lost item.

Sun - gold items, things in yellow, orange color. Something that belongs to the father or husband. Batteries. Sunglasses.

Moon - silver items. Something that belongs to the wife or mother. Feminine products. Food, cooking utensils (except sharp things).

Mercury - documents, paper, journals, pens/pencils, notes, books, letters, homework, library card. Things that are related to education/studies. Bicycle, car. Keys.

Venus - cosmetics, jewelry, clothes (except shoes and belts). Money. Fluffy and soft things. Sweets.

Mars - sharp items (knife, scissors, knitting needles, etc). Things in red color. Warming and metal items. Sport inventory. Things related to the military.

Jupiter - big items. Something very expensive and valuable. Items in purple color. Encyclopedia, thick books. Notes from lectures. Souveniers, things that have been brought from a foreign land. Glasses/lenses.

Saturn - solid, heavy, or cold items. Things in black color. Leather items. Something old. Shoes, belts. Measuring devices, crystals. Watch.

Uranus - Technology, phone, camera, chargers. Parachute. High/long items. Things related to science, electricity.

Neptune - music, photography, headphones. Liquids (perfumes, alcohol, chemicals). Medicine. Harmful substances like cigarettes and drugs.

Pluto (used rarely) - very specific things, video-making technology.

If you have no idea which planet can represent your lost item, use 2nd house. It's universal because it rules over our belongings.

Now that you know which planet represents your item, check the house placement.

If you are sure that the item is lost in your house then use this interpretation:

1st house -> near the entrance door, in outwear pockets, corridor.

2nd house -> near personal belongings (ex. Jewelry box, etc.), kitchen.

3rd house -> on the table, in drawers, near documents. In a place where the most communication happens.

4th house -> on the floor, in the basement, under the bed or carpet, in the dining room, in parents/grandparents room.

5th house -> children’s room, living room, entertainment area, near children’s toys.

6th house -> working area, utility room.

7th house -> bedroom, near partners belongings.

8th house -> in a trash can, in a dirty place, in sewerage.

9th house -> studying area, on a bookshelf, balcony, terrace, next to souvenirs.

10th house -> in a high place, attic, on closet.

11th house -> guests room, next to the window, on the windowsill.

12th house -> in a dark place, behind something, furthest room, bathroom, pool.

If you are sure that the lost item isn't at your house, then use this interpretation:

1st house -> somewhere near your home, near the entrance door.

2nd house -> place where was the payment made, atm.

3rd house -> car, in public transport, kindergarten, street, at your neighbor or siblings' place.

4th house -> in your parents/grandparents' place, your other property.

5th house -> in the entertainment place, restaurant, nightclub, at the exhibition.

6th house -> in the workplace, hospital, salon.

7th house -> the item is with another person. Possibly stolen.

8th house -> garbage that isn't in your house, in the cemetery, in the toilets, in the forest/woods.

9th house -> in an educational institution, in another country, airport, airplane, hotel.

10th house -> at the workplace with authorities/bosses, in state authority.

11th house -> in a friend's house, in a place where collective events occur.

12th house (saddest placement lol) -> the item is hopelessly lost, fallen into the crowd of people, and probably will not be found.

Stelliums with the item’s rulership planet are important!! It tells what else is next to the lost thing.

If the rulership planet is next to:

Sun - item is covered, hard to see. Hidden.

Moon - next to the item is something “alive”, a pet’s sleeping spot, flowers/plants, toddlers playing area.

Mercury - next to the item is something related to communication, letters, documents, papers, small electric devices.

Venus - next to the item is something beautiful, clothes, jewelry, painting. Next to something fluffy and soft.

Mars - next to the item is something red, metallic, sports inventory, working tools.

Jupiter - next to the item is something big, expensive.

Saturn - next to the item is something old, cold (fridge), a clock.

Uranus - next to the item is electric devices, a camera, computer, and laptop.

Neptune - item is next to the medicaments, liquids, chemical elements.

Pluto - item is next to something dangerous.

Hope this helped and you enjoyed reading!

#astrology #zodiac #venusfun #astrology notes #astro observations

[lokislittlemidgardian]

Hi friend :) can please write Bucky x little reader where our therapist recommends we try age regression and how we are very hesitant at first but he just makes us feel loved and comfortable?

Let’s try it

Content - age regression, cg!bucky, psychologists, anxiety, apprehensive!reader, light swearing, soft toys, dummy use, bottles, slight angst, fluff cuddles, not proofread, don’t like don’t read.

Summary - when your psychologist gives you a new coping mechanism to try bucky helps makes you feel comfortable with trying it.

Authors note - thank you for the request my love sorry it took so long I hope you enjoy it!, reblogs are greatly appreciated<3

Translation - honey love = med lyubov'

“Age what?” You questioned your psychologist curiosity, you never got over how many things you’d never heard of before in terms of the mind.

“Age regression dear, I think it might benefit you” dr irin said plainly with a reassuring smile plastered across her lips “what does that entail?” “Well age regression therapy is when you revert to a childlike mindset in order to heal your inner child so to speak.”

You sat there for a minute trying to process the information given to you. “So how old would I go back too?” “It’s hard to say dear, it depends on what your mind does” she smiled reaching into her desk to pull out a pamphlet and some recommended websites.

“Now I was also thinking that some people who experience age regression find it easier when they have someone to take care of them, so maybe your partner James-“ “Bucky, yeah no I’m not bothering him with this” you said butterfly’s making their way into your chest.

“Okay hon” dr irin said softly “just know it’s nothing to be ashamed of, it’s perfectly healthy” “okay” you sighed looking down at the pamphlet.

───── ⋆⋅◇⋅⋆ ─────

“Hi baby” Bucky smiled putting down the spatula and turning down the heat on the stove before walking over too you.

“Hi Bub, what’re you making?” You asked curiously walking over to the frying pan “pancakes, figured you might like some after your session” he smiled kissing your temple.

“Aww thank you, you bloody softy come here” you smiled pulling him in and kissing his soft lips “your welcome, so how’d you go?” He asked returning to the stove and flipping a pancake over on the other side.

“Yeah it was okay” you sighed sitting down on one of the kitchen chairs “what did you talk about?” “Not much she just gave me some strategies” you sighed smiling as you watched Bucky place the pancakes on a plate “what do you want on ‘em bub?” He said walking over to the fridge.

“Can I have one with maple syrup and fruit and another with lemon and sugar please?” “Of course you can my love.”

───── ⋆⋅◇⋅⋆ ─────

A few hours went by eventually turning the sky dark.

You were currently sitting on the sofa your favourite show playing on the telly while scrolling through your unanswered messages of the day.

Suddenly you realised your phone was about to run out of charge “buck can you get me my portable charger please?” You called out to Bucky who was sitting in the kitchen reading a newspaper.

“Sure where is it?” “In my bag I think” “okay”

In retrospect you probably should of remembered that you took your bag to your appointment. A few minutes later bucky came out with your portable charger in one hand and the pamphlet in his vibranium one.

“Here you go doll, hey what’s this?” He asked as he scanned the contents “what’s what?” You asked plugging in your phone and looking up at him “oh shit.”

“It’s nothing” you said quickly attempting to snatch it off him only to have him hold it up higher still accessing the words “it’s just something dr irin gave me give it here” “sounds interesting” he said gently giving it to you.

“Don’t judge it please I don’t even wanna do it it’s stupid” you whispered “hey hey no it’s not stupid if your doctor said it might help you should give it a go” he said kindly sitting next to you gently making you look at him.

“But I don’t know how and what if it doesn’t work it’s gonna be weird I just don’t-“ “hey dolly look at me yeah deep breaths in for 5 hold for 4 out for 5, that’s the way” he said softly guiding you through your breathing.

Once you calmed down you talked Bucky through what your psychologist had told you and he was completely on board.

During the next few days things went back to normal, that was until bucky received a large package “Bucky” you said suspiciously watching him sign for it seeing his cheeky smile.

“What have you done now” you said accusingly “ahh it’s actually for you sweetheart” he said kindly placing the box on the kitchen bench and ripping it open.

Inside there was a selection of soft toys, colouring in books, some bottles and a teal dummy. “Oh buck” you said breathlessly moving to embrace him.

“I told you angel I’m on board with this 100 percent”

───── ⋆⋅◇⋅⋆ ─────

A few days later you finally slipped after lots of research and trying out different approaches. You were currently sat on the sofa with your dummy in your mouth and alpine laying down beside you her soft breathing and snores alerting you to the fact she had fallen asleep.

“Daddy” you whispered to Bucky watching his face light up when you called him that “yes little one?” “Look at pine pine” you giggled pointing at her “aww she’s asleep, what do you think cats dream about baby bunny?”

“I dunno, mice?” “Mice” he chuckled heartily “yes” you said definitively “dada” “hmm?” “Can I have a cuddle?” “Of course you can my little angel” he said softly.

Repositioning yourself to lie between his legs your back of resting against his chest you felt his vibranium arm gently come to play with your hair “do you feel better med lyubov'?”

“Mhm” you hummed feeling yourself grow sleepy in the embrace of your caregiver.

───── ⋆⋅◇⋅⋆ ─────

Taglist - @bootlegmothman420 @littlephia @whippedforhongjoong @youngstarfishdinosaur @patchesofwork @buggyateabug @autisticbeauty @friendlyneighborhoodkillerbunny @sparklybuck @2-gay-possums-in-a-trench-coat @hopelesswritergall @stuckysgirl27 @sleepyprinc3ss @chaotic-little-witch @looksthatkilledd

#daddy!bucky #daddy!bucky barnes #little!reader #cg!bucky #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader #sfw age regression #caregiver #age regression reader #sfw littlespace #little reader #agere sfw #ria answers

[wol-fica]

-𝔹𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕤: ℙ𝕋 𝟡-

pairings - wednesdayaddams x fem!reader

summary - lazy day between our favorite couple; nessy poo poo and big doofus reader

warnings - none

an - i missed writing for these two, had to bring them back :)

————————

You yawned, stretching your arms up towards the ceiling with a few pops from your back.

It was a rainy day, thunder booming outside from the raging storm. You’ve been stuck at your desk for hours because of it, and the work your boss had emailed you so happened to be very long and very boring.

On the bright side, you’ve been able to stay home and relax while you worked, taking breaks whenever you pleased and curling up in your favorite blanket while you corrected billing problems on your work places website.

Currently, you were buried under two fluffy blankets and your most comfortable hoodie while typing away at your laptop. Rain pattered against the windows, flashes of lightening filling the room every now and then with the occasional crash of thunder overhead.

Music played softly in the background, the silky voice of Muni Long echoing throughout the space. Your tongue was between your teeth, your concentration zoned in on replying to an unhappy customer who payed for the wrong item. They were exceedingly upset, blaming you and the company for their own mistake, and now you were trying to explain the issue to them in the nicest way.

A sigh passed your lips, your head shaking in frustration. You soon gave up, shutting the laptop angrily and putting your head in your hands. You felt exhausted, from working all day, having it storm outside, and from just not being productive. Staring at a screen for hours had taken a toll on your body, and all you wanted to do was take a nap.

You stood up, cracking your neck before tossing the blankets onto the couch and heading upstairs. You went towards your bedroom, yearning for a certain someone to help you relax a little bit.

In all honesty, you have barely seen Wednesday at all today, only getting a short greeting and a kiss on the cheek when you passed her in the kitchen for breakfast. She had her own things to catch up on, with writing her novel and having a very in-depth-personal-talk with her mother over some family issues with Pugsley.

You respected her privacy, as she did yours, but that meant that the whole day you would be apart. It’s not liked you needed to be glued to her side, but you did feel a pang of sadness with not being around her.

Once you reached the large black door, you gently pushed it open, revealing a heartwarming sight. There was your wife, a book in her hands as she laid on your bed. Her shoulders and head were propped up with a few pillows, while her waist down was covered by a thin blanket. Her attention snapped to you, her dark eyes twinkling slightly at the sight of her significant other.

“Hello Y/N.” Wednesday said, turning back to her book, “Are you done with work?”

You groaned, moving towards her at a sluggish pace before falling to your knees and resting your head against the edge of the bed. A gentle touch hit your shoulder, fingers dancing along your skin to comfort you.

“Are you okay?” She asked, caressing your shoulder.

“Mhm.” You mumbled, standing and pulling the blanket aside so you could lay on her.

You snuggled up to her, letting the blanket fall on the two of you while your head rested against her chest. She marked her page and set the book aside on her nightstand, her hands finding solace in rubbing your spine and scratching at your scalp.

You purred, melting into her arms as she worked the tension out of your body. Her fingers massaged your stiff spine, rubbing and pressing away the knots that plagued you under your skin. Your eyes fluttered, and soon Wednesday felt your body go limp in her hold.

She pressed a kiss to the top of your head, murmuring a quiet ‘i love you’ before reaching over and grabbing her book to continue reading. You slept soundly atop her, your breathing soft and deep while your brain drifted off into dream land. Every now and then, you would murmur in your sleep or shift slightly, but other than that you stayed perfectly still in your wife’s arms.

After about an hour and a half of reading, Wednesday finally finished the book she was on, so she closed it yet again and set it back down on her bedside table. Your face had now tucked in her neck, your legs tangled with hers while your arms locked around her body.

She felt safe, content with your weight and warmth on top of her. She could feel your heartbeat, thumping quietly and slowly in time with hers. Your breath fanned out from your parted lips and onto her skin, causing goosebumps to rise all over her body.

“Duerme bien, mi vida.” Wednesday whispered into your ear, leaning her cheek on yours and letting her eyes fall shut.

The storm thunder outside, loud an ravaging, but the two souls that were intertwined felt no disturbance.

————————

taglist: @cartierdreamx@tundra1029@red1culous@vorsdany@andsoigotabutterfly@theafterofnevermore@yomomisgay@house-of-lovin@slvt4lanadelrey@thenextdawn@nepobaby08@dunohilly@somekindofpoet@alexkolax@cinffy23@pedrosprincess@amberfreemansburntface@myfturn

#wednesday addams imagine #wednesday fanfic #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday imagine #wednesday series #incorrect wednesday quotes #netflix wednesday #wednesday #wlw #wednesday 2022 #wednesday adams x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday addams fluff #wednesday fic #wednesday fluff #wednesday headcanons #wednesday netflix #wednesday tv show #wednesday x reader #wednesday x y/n #wednesday x you #wednesdayedit #wednesdaynetflix #wednsday addams #wednesday addams smut #addams #the addams family #morticia addams #gomez addams #pugsley addams

[jaemmphilia]

I'm so sorry but, CHAN like OHMYGHADDD!! HES SO FUCKING FINE!?!? SHITT LIKE HOLYY!? I KEPT IMAGINING HIM BEING A PLUMBER AND GOING TO 'FIX' Your PIPES?!? It may be weird but, I kept imaginin that, Can you help me to reimagine my imagination, top!dom!plumber!chan x bot!femboy!malereader smut were like the reader seduces his plumber to 'fix' his pipes by wearing a very revealing lingerie, then things get spicier and hotter 😱🥵

SOOOO SORRY IF MY IMAGINATION WAS STRAIGHT UP WILDDD 😭

this made me laugh i’m ngl 😭😭 I CHANGED MY MIND AND IM WRITING IT HERE

alright, so you're like pissed off bc your sink is draining slow, and you would ask your dad to help, but he's all the way in another part of your town

you're just chilling on your couch, scrolling through your socials when you see an ad for some guy looking for plumbing work, and you think this is the golden opportunity

you quickly go to the website and skim the information, and you book an appointment with them all excited bc you'll finally be able to do some dishes

a few days later, you're just chilling at home, comfortable in your baby blue lingerie set, and you totally forgot about the plumber that was coming to your house to fix your sink

when a knock scares the shit out of you, you don't have time to run and go change, so you have to answer the door half naked, your entire body warm with embarrassment

chan's eyes literally bulge out of his head when he looks at you- your skin is smooth and he can smell the lotion you're wearing, it makes him a little dizzy

he clears his throat, trying to hide the fact that he was 100% checking you out

you let him into your house, and you lead him to the kitchen, and you can just FEEL his eyes on your ass as you walk

you have to admit it though, he's pretty hot,,, you don't mind the way he looks like he wants to eat you alive

which brings you to now, you're seated on your counter, legs crossed as you watch chan work

he's on his back, his muscles rippling as he takes apart your sink, and you can see a half-chub in his loose pants

you bite your lip and grab your open water bottle that sits beside you and you tip it over, causing it to spill on chan's crotch

"oops" you giggle innocently when chan lets out a surprised yelp at the cold water hitting his dick

"looks like you'll have to take those off so they can dry" you give him a pout with a cute tilt of your head

chan just chuckles in disbelief, he didn't expect you to play dirty like that, you need to be taught a lesson

chan thinks the sink can wait for a bit, and he stands up, towering over you with a dark look in his eyes

you gulp and try to look confident, but you know chan can see right through you, and he forces you to look up at him, his hand gripping your jaw roughly

you look up at him through your mascara-clad lashes, a cute little pout on your face

"you're gonna pay for that, cutie"

you find yourself bent over the counter, chan's thick cock hitting deep inside you, you're crying out as he grips your hips tightly

his thighs are smacking against yours, echoing in the kitchen as your hips stutter

you know chan is close bc he's stsrting to whine and his hips grip onto you tighter

you feel him pull out of you and you whine at him, he flips you over so you're facing him

he pushes you down on your knees, and you look up at him confused

chan starts jerking his cock in front of your face, and you open your mouth, looking up at him

chan thinks he could cum from the sight of you alone- you have black tears on your cheeks, your soft lipstick is smeared, and your hair is mussed- you look irresistable

white ropes of cum splatter on your face, some of it falling into your open mouth

your tongue comes out to lick some of it that landed near the corner of your mouth

chan leans over, his hands on the counter behind you as he catches his breath

you look up at him while he looks down at you

"would now be a bad time to ask you to continue fixing my pipes?" you ask and chan can't help but laugh at you and your cuteness

#💫-asks #kpop x male reader #bang chan x reader #stray kids smut #stray kids x male reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios

[foxgloveprincess]

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Female Reader [Second Person Narrator]

Summary: You didn’t mean to catch Ransom’s attention, and you’ll do whatever it takes to lose it. 

Word Count: 8.1k

Attic Wives Anonymous Masterlist

Warnings: UnBeta’d, Dark, Dubious Consent (Kissing, Blow Job, Vaginal Sex, Overstimulation, Mild Degradation/Humiliation, Praise Kink), Coercion (Payment for Sex), Stalking, Fear/Paranoia, Yandere Vibes, BDSM (Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Rope Bondage, Suspension, Aftercare, Leather Cuffs), Pet Names (dear, birdie, pidge). Minors do not interact (18+).

A/N: Hope you enjoy it. Let me know if I should continue it! Up next is A.W.A. Meeting (#2), then hopefully Lloyd. 

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. However, I give no permission to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work on any third party website or app. Seeing my work posted anywhere beside my blog, my library blog, or my AO3 account (FoxglovePrincess) means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.

I don’t do tag lists, so follow @foxglovefics to sign up for notifications on my fics. 

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!

The song has been stuck in your head all day. Soft and sweet and romantic, it buzzes past your lips in a quiet hum while you end your work day by tidying your space.

“You know,” Harlan says as he leans back in his chair, contemplation narrowing his stare, “my offer still stands to make you my full-time personal assistant.”

You sigh and continue to clean up your papers, clipping them in neat packets for easy access when the research becomes relevant. “And you know I have other commitments.” You glance over your shoulder with a grin and shrug. “I can’t leave Chase hanging.” You snort at the unintended pun and continue working. Your hand brushes a spec of fuzz from the corner of your table, leaving it immaculate.

Harlan makes a noise of agreement and sits up before standing. “Well, if things ever change.”

“You’ll be the first to know,” you agree. The final clip snaps onto your last packet. “Now,” you address your boss with a playfully stern finger pointed in his direction, “don’t mess this up.” You nod toward the space set aside as your desk. Pens, post-its, and papers neat in a row.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” There’s a mischievous twinkle in the man’s eye, and you know you’ll be reorganizing on Monday morning, but you don’t mind. Not when Harlan’s done so much for you, and you know he’ll inevitably make your job easier somehow.

The dogs start barking outside. The front door slams and heavy steps thud toward the kitchen. No greeting, no real indication of who it might be. But you’ve worked in the Thrombey house long enough to make an educated guess.

“Looks like your grandson’s paying you a visit,” you muse while packing away the last of your belongings. “Don’t tear each other to pieces, alright? I still need this job at the end of the weekend.”

Harlan chuckles and shakes his head. He’s a good man, kind but indomitable. You admire him a moment longer. Fond warmth reflects back at you in his gaze. You’ll never forget how lucky you were he decided to take a chance on you.

“Goodnight,” you bid with a smile.

Harlan sends the same after you as you turn to the stairs, waiting for his grandson to make his surely dramatic entrance. The Go board already in hand. You wonder if he will take his grandfather up on the challenge.

Passing Marta and Fran on your way out the door, you say your farewells. And you almost make it out before coming face to face with the notorious ass—Hugh Ransom Drysdale. To think you’d been able to avoid him for so long. You should have taken the back exit through the patio.

“Who’re you?” he asks, inspecting you like a blot of dirt on his Beemer.

“Hello, Mr. Drysdale,“ you greet softly, short and professional. His head tilts and his gaze narrows at the address. “I’m expected elsewhere. If you’ll excuse me.” But you don’t wait for him to move, skirting around his broad frame before making it out the front door. His stare burning into your back the whole way. Constant, uncomfortable.

Safe and locked in your car, you’re able to shake it off. At least for a moment. When it starts to creep back up your spine while pulling out of the driveway, your hand reaches over to flick on your stereo, blasting the feeling away. You sing along, belting out any lingering unease. Getting yourself ready and letting the week’s stress seep from you.

The drive back into the city winds long, but passes quickly. Only forty minutes. But part of that convenience is negated by the absolute bear it is to find parking downtown. Another ten minutes of struggle before you get out—the urban parking gods not on your side tonight. Your car beeps with the lock and you sigh. It’ll be a longer walk.

The sun sinks behind the buildings and the orange glow of the streetlights paint the sidewalks. You bundle yourself in your jacket, shift your duffle higher on your shoulder, and start marching. One foot in front of the other. Glancing at familiar storefronts and navigating around the few passersby finding their Friday night adventure.

By the second block, you pause. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle. Eyes bore into you from behind. Heated, focused. You spin on your heel, but find no culprit. You swallow and breathe deep. Just your imagination, surely. Maybe.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath and turn to begin walking again. Quicker.

Your steps beat light on the pavement, though you don’t want to seem rushed. Trying to find a steady, rapid pace that doesn’t signal your distress. Still, the sensation doesn’t cease.

The evening gets darker and you see Chase’s studio in the distance. The industrial building looming and dark, intimidating. But your safe haven. The back door stands just within reach. You knock a rapid shave-and-a-haircut on the wood and wait for it to open. Phantom fingers dance along the back of your neck and you whip around. The alley stands empty save for a grimy dumpster and a few trash bags. Yet your heartbeat continues to thunder in your ears.

“There you are,” a gruff yet relieved voice exclaims. Long fingers wrap around your bicep and pull you in, the door closing behind you and cutting you off from your paranoia.

“Sorry,” you reply automatically, distracted before you shake away the adrenaline and turn to your friend. He beams brightly and lets his hand slip down to yours. With a turn on his heel, he guides you through the hallways to the back room. “Minor delay and had to find parking a few blocks away.”

“Don’t worry about it, li’l bird,” he shrugs and opens the door. “The room’s still filling out and Caleb is doing his sensation thing.”

You hum and enter behind your friend, setting your bag down in its usual place by the futon and shrugging off your coat. Your neck rolls on your shoulders, releasing any residual tension. Warm hands wrap over them and knead the muscles.

“You okay?” Chase asks, genuine concern in his voice. “You’re looking a little rattled.”

You lean into his gentle but firm touch, letting your eyes drift shut. Sinking into the feeling and focusing on it. Keeping yourself out of the instinctive loop of fright that lingers at the fringes of your mind. Chase’s hands travel down your back and over your sides—comforting, but objective in their precision.

“I’m fine,” you reply, breathy and calm. You pause, feeling his hands do the same. “Just,” you bite your lip, “maybe have the others keep a watch on the crowd tonight? I’ve had this strange feeling.”

Chase’s warm hands move back up to grasp your shoulders, reassuring in their press. “Of course.” He steps back and releases you. You spin to meet his eyes. “You know I always look out for my girl.” His lips lift in a soothing grin. “Now, let’s get you ready.”

You nod and begin to strip. Your blouse unbuttons and falls from your shoulders. Chase helps you step out of your skirt and grabs your outfit from your duffle. You change quickly from your everyday bra into the elaborate sports bra saved for these occasions. Chase helps straighten the straps, keeping them from turning on themselves and arranging them as they’re supposed to be. The bike shorts slide up your legs and sit at your waist. A quick peek in the mirror ensures you’re presentable—effortless yet alluring.

“You ready?” Chase asks softly.

You catch his eye in the mirror and nod with a small grin. “Ready.”

He offers his hand and you turn to accept it. Fingers squeeze around yours and draw you out. The crowd gathers around the elevated stage. The rig is all set up, the mats on the ground, the spotters standing on the fringes, everything waiting for you both.

Chase stops right by the steps up. He turns to you and takes your other hand in his. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you reply immediately. A deep breath calms your spiking heart and the butterflies in your tummy. Displaying yourself in such a vulnerable position never stops being terrifying—or exhilarating.

“Then come along, birdie.”

The lights blare bright on the stage. Hot and revealing. You cannot look to the crowd waiting out past your line of sight. You’d freeze if you did. Instead you keep your focus on Chase—your constant, your rock, your Dom.

He brings you to the center of the stage and releases your hands. His chin dips in a bid for you to kneel. You sink the onto the floor, hands resting on your thighs, waiting. Your eyes locked still on him.

“Good evening.” He addresses the crowd with all the charisma you expect from him. “I hope you’ve been enjoying yourselves.”

As he continues, you let your mind center on your body. Keeping yourself present, but counting your breaths and feeling the steady pulse of your heartbeat. Rope uncoils. Instructions and explanations fall to a rapt audience.

Chase walks over, turning his back to the crowd to face you. He smiles. “There’s my good girl,” he says just for you. Your lips stretch, preening at the compliment.

He cups your cheeks, tilting your face up. His lips descend to press a kiss to your forehead before he finds the bite of his rope and begins.

The rope slides over your exposed skin. Each caress precise, purposeful. Chase works quickly, but pauses every so often to address the audience again or check in with you. Your arms lift. You bend and submit to the way he moves your body. The rope cinches too tight. You wince. Immediately, Chase corrects it.

Around and around, you’re bound. Your thoughts quiet, steady and calm. The last knot ties everything together and Chase steps away.

Another speech before he positions you and the hooks pull taut. You breathe deep, preparing yourself. Your body rises from the stage, suspended. Like you’re flying. It takes a moment to adjust. Chase places his hand on your side, grounding you in the way you need. Your eyes fall shut. Blissful in the darkness behind your eyelids.

Chase stays nearby. He watches. The spotters watch. The people watch. You’re used to the appreciation. Admiring the way you hang from the ceiling, the way your body contorts to the shape of Chase’s vision.

Music begins to play through the studio. You hang like a piece of art. Whispers and conversations pick up until it’s the drone of a crowd filling the high ceilings. Talk about your dedication and grace. Discussion of Chase’s skill. Various mingling. But all the buzz of the background mellows in your head. Your blood flowing through your veins and the tension of the rope on your frame.

Chase brings you down earlier than usual. He lowers the rig and starts to untie you, except for the final ring that keeps you hooked. You stay there for a few minutes until he’s certain of your stability.

All the while, he begins your favorite part. His hands pet over your limbs. The blood already pooling under your skin, creating tender contusions. He whispers words of affirmation and praise. You savor the bliss of his aftercare and feel exhaustion’s tug.

The spotters dissemble the rest of the rig and release you from the final tether. Chase’s arm wraps about your shoulders and the two of you exit off the stage to wind your way back to your room.

It’s quick, habitual work for Chase to prepare the futon for your nap. And you sink onto the bed with a sigh. The mattress dips beside you. Your Dom strokes his hand over you head. As always, he insists you drink electrolyte water and eat a little snack, each presented to your lips by his own hand.

“You did so good for me, li’l bird,” he whispers, coaxing you toward rest. “Just close your eyes for me and I’ll let you sleep for a while.”

You hum in response, knowing he’ll stay beside you until you’re under. A thought drifts toward the surface before it escapes your grasp, floating away from you until it’s gone and you’re asleep.

By Monday morning, you’ve forgotten the encounter with Ransom Drysdale, too distracted by your weekend to remember an insignificant meeting. Pleasantly fuzzy feelings and bright spirits follow you in your drive to the Thrombey estate. But it all evaporates when you turn toward the house and see Ransom standing there, leaning against one of the porch columns. A grimace twists his lips and his arms fold across his chest.

“So, you’re grandad’s research assistant,” he says with a derisive edge to his tone.

“Morning, Mr. Drysdale,” you return on a whisper, waking past him and into the house. Ignoring the derogatory sting of his remark.

His brow furrows and he follows. You take off your coat and scarf, hanging each with care in the entryway. The whole time, Ransom’s stormy presence grows increasingly agitated behind you. When your feet turn toward the kitchen for a calming cup of tea, you take only one step before finding yourself flailing and dragged backward by a strong arm clutching at your waist.

The hard wall of Harlan’s office digs into your back. But you would take that discomfort if not for the fire flashing in Ransom’s eyes.

“Your grandfather is waiting for me,” you say without inflection, staring at him and waiting for his tantrum to cease—for him to get bored and release you. “Please let me go.”

His lips screw up in disdain before he responds with an decisive, “No.”

You keep your breath even, refusing to let him get under your skin. Hoping you haven’t unintentionally gotten under his.

“Tell me how you came to be Harlan’s assistant.”

You don’t reply. The hallway clock ticks. Your nerves spike as it continues, knowing Harlan expects promptness.

“You’re being quite rude, pigeon,” he says after a tense minute, stretching his arms to brace against the wall, keeping you cornered but elongating his body in a spectacle of power. He leans close, invading your space until his breath brushes your cheek. “Why don’t you coo for me? I would hate to have to contact my Uncle Walt at the publishing company and get your position filled by someone more…friendly.”

A swallow clicks in your throat. “Mr. Drysdale, your grandfather hired me himself, and I’m not directly associated with Blood Like Wine Publishing,” you explain in clipped syllables, clinging to your calm while he looms closer.

His brow quirks in intrigue and his lips press into another smirk. Words form on his tongue. But as the stairs creak at someone’s approach, they remain unspoken.

“There you are,” Harlan calls from the stair landing, peering into his office. “Come along, dear, time to get to work.”

His eyes flash to his grandson, a sharp look challenging his obstructive position. Ransom meets it and they lock gazes for a charged moment. You take your window of opportunity for what it is, surging forward under Ransom’s left arm. In the space between his frame and the wall paneling, you squeeze through. Though your body drags against his and your balance falters, you get past. Ransom grunts in displeasure and protests, but you march your way upstairs following your boss.

“Be careful of him,” Harlan warns in a whisper as you pass him along the stairs.

You nod and continue on. A final glance over your shoulder confirms your suspicions. Ransom remains planted in place, jaw ticking and arms crossed. His attention focuses on your retreating figure, brow furrowed in thought—a glint in his eye you instinctively fear.

In. Out. You focus on breathing. A steady cadence, a calming exercise. Your safety and escape with the ropes biting into your flesh.

This week pushed your limits. Every day affected by unease—following like a burning gaze. You’ve seen little of Harlan’s grandson. Yet every time you feel yourself tipping into that unsettled state, you find your thoughts turning toward him.

In. Out. Now is not the time to think about it. Not when you don’t have to. Not in this state. Suspended above the mats. On display. In. Out. Focus. It works, mind drifting on the softy syllables of Chase’s conversation with a curious patron. Grounding you, guiding you toward peace.  

Until it returns. That burning prickle at the back of your neck. The paranoia. It sets your teeth on edge. Despite your head being supported above your heart in tonight’s position, it becomes light, dizzy. Your eyes snap open, darting from face to face. Searching for his sinister features.

A flash—brown hair, sharp blue eyes, a regal sloping nose, a tan coat. It’s just a glimpse, but you meet their eye and see the beginnings of a smirk. Your vision swims. The studio blurs. Your heart pounds in your ears. You swallow, throat dry.

A croak escapes your lips. Chase’s concern meets your panic immediately. The spotters step forward, but his form eclipses your view of the rest of the studio—the crowd, the figure hidden amongst them—first. Your Dom reaches out to you and steadies the unconscious flail of your limbs. His fingers stroke across your skin. Slowly, it calms you. Your fear receding in the surety of his presence.

“Do you need to come down?” he asks, ready at a moment’s notice to lower you back to the ground—cut you out of the rope, if need be—and sweep you away to the safety of your room.

“No,” you say after a minute and a few deep breaths. “I thought…” Your words trail off in a mumble as you shake the silliness of your concerns away. It couldn’t have been Ransom. How would he know about this? It’s your mind playing tricks on you.

Chase examines you a moment longer before conceding with a wary nod. He steps back, letting the flood of the room rush back. Your eyes close again to force your way back down to comforting darkness. In. Out. In. Out.

Yet the evening becomes soured by that one moment. Chase’s distance expands like a chasm between you as he unwinds the rope from your body and steadies your walk back to your room. His methodical aftercare lacks in a way that sears a hole deep in your belly. Though you can’t name why. You wait for his tenderness to make it all feel better, but it doesn’t.

He settles you down on your futon and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. His eyes flicker with that same concern, but he says nothing more of it. Simply feeds you your snack and tilts your water past your lips. They slosh uneasy in your stomach, but you follow your routine, praying for some solace.

His muttered praises do little to coax you toward rest. Fidgeting and turning over and over, you body thrums even as you feel the weight of exhaustion. You close your eyes, forcing yourself to give in. Chase stays a moment longer before leaving you to the sticky blackness of sleep.

Though it’s not long until you’re disturbed. Like pulling you up through tar, you find the surface. Your reluctance to awaken keeps your eyes stubbornly shut, but the figure beside you strokes their hand over your head. You sigh and a small smile twitches at your lips. The touch soothes your soul.

“Chase,” you mumble on a sleepy murmur. He makes no response, but lets his fingers trail over your cheek. Your hand reaches out, grasping his and tucking it close to your chest. “Stay with me til I’m back asleep?” A yawn punctuates your request. He says nothing but stays beside you. His legs stretch alongside your body. And he makes no protest when you half-consciously scoot closer, letting you cling to him for the first time as you sink once again.

Harlan’s warning rings constant in your mind, “Be careful of him.” But there is no careful—there’s no more safety, no escape. Because you weren’t wrong. That figure in the crowd, watching you and sending you spiraling toward panic—that was Ransom. Following you again and again to the studio. Each week struggling to find a way to bring it up with Harlan, and failing. Each weekend spent suspended with Ransom’s eyes piercing through you.

You’ve tracked his approach, stalking closer and closer to the stage with each passing week. His eyes never leaving you. Not concerned with whatever Chase says. He has his focus. And it never wavers.

He doesn’t glare or glower—his observation far from menacing. Though foreboding still blares at the back of your mind each time your gaze meets. And you cannot stop yourself. Hanging from the rigging, you always find him. Your heart always lurches before you cut away the room by closing your eyes.

You drift awake, rested from your nap. Your phone proclaims the time and you groan at the early hour before sitting up on your futon and stretching. Muscles protest in the most delicious way and your lips tilt toward a grin. With a roll of your neck, you stand to gather your belongings into your duffle so you can return home.

The door to your small room clicks behind you. A step, two, and you catch a dark figure in you periphery. Your bones jump and you gasp. Turning toward the intruder, you clutch at your heart. Your diaphragm starts spasming, hiccups bobbing up your throat.

“Who,” you hiccup, “Who’s there?”

They step forward, their head bent and hands hanging by their sides. The glint of the ring on his pinky catches the light. You lick your lips and hiccup again. A hand presses to your abdomen hoping to calm the convulsions of the muscle.

“Oh, pigeon, did I scare you?” His mirth grates on your thin tolerance. He doesn’t do anything technically inappropriate during the demonstrations, but this confrontation is.

“Mr. Drysdale,” you say with a heavy breath, trying to swallow around the hiccups. “Why are you here?

Amusement continues to dance bright in his eyes. You’re just waiting for him to start laughing at you. Like there’s a cosmic joke to which you aren’t privy. But you’re willing to wait while he explains himself. All the while starting to feel sick from the incessant hiccups—and maybe something more.

“Let’s just say I have an itch I need you to scratch,” he replies with a teasing shrug.

“That doesn’t explain much, Mr. Drysdale.”

His jaw ticks and the amused light in his eyes dims a fraction. He shifts on his feet and stands straighter. The glint of a gold watch shines in the light. You swallow at the reminder of his status and your precarious position in the hallway with him—the ways this could spiral unpleasantly numerous and beginning to swarm in your head. A thought of Chase materializes in your mind. His bedroom nearby but too far all at the same time.

“Call me Ransom,” he suggests, though even the way his head ticks to the side reads more as a command than counsel.

“Right,” you mumble with a hint of disregard—too focused on yourself, your position. Your eyes dart around the cramped hallway, looking for an escape. “What do you want?”

He hums, deep and threatening in his throat. “You.” The statement simple. Yet it rocks your world—sends you reeling and off-kilter. But he continues, “You see, I can admit you intrigued me on our first meeting. Especially after Harlan refused to tell me much about you other than your job title.” He sighs and takes a step closer. In retreat, you press yourself to the wood of the door. “Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since. And I need to fix that.” His arm cages you in, resting beside your head as he leans forward, crowding into you. “So,” he says, drawing out the word. His chin dips and his voice lowers to a whisper. “Name you price.”

Your chest jumps in another hiccup, voice jumping with it when you yelp, “What are you talking about?”

A smirk twitches on his lips. “I’m a very wealthy man. I need one night to get you out of my system.” His breath brushes your cheek. “Name. Your. Price.”

You sputter, mind whirring. You’re not naïve. You know for what he’s asking. You used to consider it, when the rent wasn’t adding up—before Chase, before Harlan. But not with someone like him. Your tongue swipes over your lips. His gaze continues to wander over you, examining you like a slab of meat.

“Five hundred thousand dollars?” The number, plucked from the air, grits past your clenched teeth in hopes it will deter him.

He grins and gives you a sliver more space to breathe. “Done.”

You gape in shock. Such an easy agreement. “Wait—”

“Do you want more?” His fingers tickle along your throat while his brow quirks in curiosity.

Your head shakes, vehemently against it. “No. I don’t—”

“Then, what’s the problem, pidge?” His voice husks, a moment away from descending upon you. The glimmer in his eyes hungry.

“I don’t want you,” you reply. The force of your statement knocks him back. His head tilts and his jaw ticks in irritation. His gaze narrows. “I wouldn’t want you for a million.” You push at him, but he doesn’t budge. Too strong, too firm.

His nostrils flare with his ire. A deep breath expands his lungs, pressing his chest to yours. He closes his eyes and calms himself. When he captures you again with his sapphire blue eyes, they’re softer. The sharpness dulled for his plea.

“Look, pidge,” Ransom croons. Sweet as pie but far too deadly. “It’s one night. That’s all.” He backs away, though he keeps his touch close by, ready to swoop back in and strangle you. “You’ll get one million dollars, alright? I never bother you again—never show up to this dump, never meet you at granddad’s. You’re done with me and I’m finally done with you. Got better things to do anyway.”

He lets you think. The moment stretches taut between you. Your hiccups the only disturbance.

“I’ll never have to see you again?” you ask, wary of his answer.

He grins, triumphant. As if he’s already won—which he has. A million dollars can do a lot for you. Clear most of your debt. Make your paycheck stretch further for a little while. Maybe give you a little cushion for a rainy day.

“When?”

“Oh, I knew you’d say yes.” He smirks and trails his fingertips over your cheeks. You turn your head away but he follows, ducking to catch your eye. “You made the right choice. I’m gonna give you the night of your life.”

Air expands your lungs and escapes in a steady hiss. Another hiccup interrupts the stream and you close your eyes in frustration. Lips press to your cheek. You jerk away, startled.

“I’ll text you the details, pidge.”

He leaves, his business concluded by sneaking a pat to your ass. The hallway expands around you once more and fills with your precarious relief.

The door looms too tall before you. You eye the keycard slot. Check the time on your phone. Another minute passed. You wonder if he knows you’re here. Your hand rests on your abdomen for a moment, calming your nerves. Your other reaches out and swipes the card. The light blinks green. You breathe deep, open the door, and stop right in your tracks.

There in the center of this great, grand hotel room sits Ransom cushioned by a big black leather chair. You swallow hard and glance over your shoulder. Your heartbeat flutters anxiously in your throat. You take a step back. Fingers cling tight to the doorknob. You clear your throat.

“Well,” he hums with a twisted grin, “there you are. I guess it’s true—amazing what some people will do for a chunk of change.” He eyes your position, still straddling the threshold and clutching at the doorknob. “You gonna try to run?” His brow quirks and he stands, relaxed and unconcerned. His hands shove deep in his pockets, but his sweater sleeves sit folded up near his elbows. “I thought you were braver than that, pidge.”

With a defiant tilt of your chin, you step forward and let the door close behind you—accepting his challenge. It brings a smug grin to Ransom’s face, but you ignore it by setting aside your bag and toeing off your shoes.

“How are we going to do this?” you ask without looking at him. “Do you have some kind of contract? Or will oral negotiations suffice?” You grab a small notebook from your purse and the attached pen, releasing it from its holder and clicking the cam down.

The scoff and eye roll you receive in reply sets your teeth on edge. Ransom shakes his head and says, “we’re not going to do that, no matter how fun oral negotiations sound.”

You blink. “But—” you begin in your shock before closing your lips and clearing your throat to gather your thoughts. “I realize this is for one night only, but it’s important—”

“You’re right,” he interrupts with a wave of his hand, turning his back on you and meandering around the back of the chair. “This is only for one night. We don’t need all that boring shit. I want to fuck you, not exchange friendship bracelets.” As he comes around to settle on the cushion, he tucks something beside him you can’t catch. “Now.” He leans forward. You stare, entranced by the confidence of his movements. The way his fingers clench on the arms of the chair and his chin tilts. “Get on your knees.”

They threaten to buckle at the command, but you stand firm. Still uncomfortable with this little exchange, you’re not yet ready to start. Not like this. Your tongue lashes out to lick your lips, eyes darting about for something to prolong the conversation. Another question to ask, another point to make.

“Will you listen if I safeword at least?” you ask as your toes tap on the floor in a nervous rhythm. The notebook in your hand crinkles with your grip until you place it and the pen back in your bag.

“You have my word,” Ransom promises, hand pressed—sincere or mocking—to his chest. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Not exactly.”

He chuckles and shrugs. Whether his word means anything, you don’t know. All you know is that he’s not getting any more patient. He nods toward his feet, the open place between his knees.

You take a moment to gather yourself and find that safe space in your head, taking slow steps to approach him. Watching him—wary of any sudden shift. The fluffy carpet meets your knees when you sink down. Closing your eyes, you concentrate on steadying your breath.

Ransom waits—for what, you couldn’t guess. Until he rasps, “Open your eyes. Look at me like you look at him.”

Your eyes snap open and meet his. “Like him?”

But he simply holds up a pair of padded cuffs, dangling from his index finger. “You want me to stop, you say ‘Hugh’. Understand?”

Your head bobs in a nod, keeping eye contact. “Yes, Mr. Drysdale.”

In a flash, he grips your chin with his free hand. His fingers dig into your cheeks, anger flaring in his gaze. “You. Call me. Ransom.”

You swallow hard at the abrasive grit in his tone. “Yes, Ransom,” you respond with a stilted nod.

“Good,” he hums in satisfaction, “I prefer good girls.”

The tension drips away as he releases your face. Fingers scratch at his jaw and he stretches, relaxing back into the cushion of the chair. The cuff chain clinks, drawing your attention. His follows, lips twitching toward a smirk.

“Now, can we begin?” he asks with a raise of his brow.

“Yes, Ransom,” you reply, resisting the urge to drop your gaze. Unsure of what reaction might await at such a disregard for his request, but unwilling to risk a punishment—not from him.

“Give me your hands.”

You offer them up, blood vibrating in your veins. He holds them gently despite his prickish nature. The cuffs wrap around your wrists, latching snug to your skin. Perfect—not too tight or too loose. You stare at them. The detailed leather work. The minky lining. The safety buckle ready to release at a moment’s notice. They’re quality, expensive—an indication of forethought, research, commitment.

A weight lifts from your shoulders. The nerves buzzing inside you start to disperse. With a final pat to the leather, his hands stray to explore your body. He traces the curve of your lips. He feels your pulse throbbing at your throat. He cups your breasts and kneads the flesh until your breath hitches.

“Just like that,” he purrs while toying with you. “You’re gonna sing for me, aren’t you?” He plucks at your nipples through your shirt, staring you down to drink in your reaction.

You swallow a whimper—needy and plaintive. Thoughts flurry in your head tinged by heat. Submission tempts, at odds with an insistence on remaining in control. He catches the hesitance when your teeth worry your lower lip. He clicks his tongue in disappointment, and your heart lurches.

He lets the silence settle around you both, reclining back and taking his touch with him. A minute ticks by. His attentions drift over you, searching. Only he knows for what. Your lungs draw in a steady flow of air, each calmer than the last. Your hands itch in impatience, craving contact. Your fingers flex toward him. The chain rattles.

Ransom reads something in that sound and tilts his head, lowering his lips to yours. You blink, unsure of your boundaries with such intimacy, but he swallows any protest with a kiss.

You expect it to be harsh and demanding. Clacking teeth and a suffocating intrusion. That’s not what you get. The way he kisses you like a lover locked in a forbidden embrace between the stacks of an old library—sensual, passionate, and all-consuming. Letting you taste a hint of his hunger, his desperation.

Your bound hands raise to cup his jaw. Drawn to him like a magnet. Because this is the best you’ve ever been kissed. Sure, you’ve been kissed by amateurs, by creeps, by lovers, but nothing like this. It’s addictive.

Without meaning to, you sigh your delight against his lips. His twitch toward a smirk, even as he licks into your mouth and drinks you in. His hands cradle your throat and tilt your head back. The dance between you a delicious exercise of control.

With one last brush of his lips to yours, he draws away. Your head floats, hazy with the sparks of lust ignited by his kiss. Unconsciously, you follow his retreat, leaning up to him like a flower seeking the sun.

He stands, a slow movement that breaks your hold until your falling hands rest upon his thighs. He stares down at you, a conceited pleasure glinting in his appraisal. But you’re past the point of caring or becoming peeved by his superior attitude. You just want him to kiss you like that again. It’s only for one night anyway, what does it matter if he’s proud of himself for making you his plaything—or that you think you’ll enjoy every minute of it.

“Up,” he beckons with an outstretched hand.

You place your hands in his and rise. He squeezes and saunters toward the bed. A noise of approval rolling in his throat, observing your body.

“We’ll need to fix this,” he says with a gesture. You glance down—the plain tee, the jean shorts, your socks. He steps forward, pressing his lips to your ear. “You wear something special for me, pidge?”

You swallow, but can’t answer. Voice stuck in your throat.

“That’s okay,” he coos, playing with the collar of your shirt. “I’ll see soon enough.”

Fabric falls from your body. It pools on the floor at your feet. Your gaze falls with each article of clothing. Exposed to his scrutiny, you stand in your best lingerie set. Thinking he should get what he paid for, you’d donned it but now find a seed of apprehension blooming in your belly. Another thing he’ll nitpick or tease.

“Look at that,” he rasps, hand smoothing across your waist and gripping you close. Your feet stumble over each other and you brace yourself against his chest. “So pretty and just for me.” His fingers pluck at a bow on the front of your bra.

A shock of arousal hits you at his praise, leaving your knees weak. Gripping at his shoulders, you try to support yourself, and his eyes shine with amusement.

“You like when I talk sweet to you, pidge?”

He spins on his heels and takes you with him. With another stumble and a toss, your back bounces on the mattress. You gaze up at him, eyes wide as he chuckles and undoes his belt. With a snick of his zipper, he releases himself and strokes his cock. And, god you hate to admit it, it’s a thing of beauty. You meet his eye and feel the heat crawling up your cheeks.

He quirks his eyebrow and dips his chin. You push yourself clumsily to kneel before him on the soft mattress. His fingers trace your lips until your tongue licks over them. He smirks and leads you down with a firm hand.

The first tentative taste of his flesh sends a shiver up his spine and a breath puffing from his lips. You kiss his tip, eyes locked with his. His cock twitches. He growls and urges you forward until he enters your mouth and rests on your tongue. You purr around him and begin in earnest.

A few bobs of your head work him back as far as you can manage. Eyes close as you focus on your task. Head drifting on greedy waves of sensation and muscle memory, you swallow him further and further. Listening, yearning to hear how you affect him. Drool pools on your tongue, stimulating every part of him it can reach. Part of you wishes you might have your hands free, if only to feel him. Urge him further toward release.

His hips buck against your face and you gag. But he keeps you steady, a guiding hand pressed to the back of your head, gripping and massaging your scalp.

“So cute,” he muses with a brush of his fingers over your forehead. “Look up at me, li’l birdie.” Your eyes flutter open, waterline wet with the start of tears. Ransom smiles down at you and winks. You hum around him. His head falls back on his neck with a groan, abdominals flexing as he pulls you off and up. A weak noise of protest escapes your lips, plump with blood from the stretch of his cock. He pants, tongue darting out to lick over your swollen flesh. “Not bad,” he comments with a tilt of his head. “But I think I’m ready for a bit more, aren’t you?”

With a hand smoothing across your throat, his other lowers to find the apex of your thighs. A twist and pinch, a rip and your panties fall away. His fingers free to explore the most intimate part of you. You whine at the squelch of your arousal. The slickness shamefully copious as he plays with your pussy and grins. He hums in delight, but doesn’t say anything. That sound enough of a gloat to humiliate you.

“I can’t help it,” you protest, brow tilting pathetically.

“Oh,” he croons, smearing his lips across your cheek, “I know.” The gentle mocking of his words pierce through you. You huff in pitiful indignation.

His fingers pinch at your lower lips and your hips jolt. He barks a laugh, but his touch turns nicer. Stroking over your folds and swirling around your clit. Your breath hitches. The sensation curling in your belly, building your pleasure. Teeth nip at your pulse point, startling you. Ransom chuckles against your skin and begins to suck.

You’re weak with him. The prick of his teeth and the soothing swipe of his tongue mingling with the skill of his fingers. Filling your head until you can hardly think. Moans and gasps build in your chest, too persistent to ignore. Just as you reach the precipice of your climax, though, Ransom stops.

He grips your chin with sticky fingers, pecks a kiss to your gaping lips, and smirks. “Not yet.”

Once again your back finds the mattress. You stretch out, bones jelly and blood thrumming. You crave release now. More than you can say, leaving you only able to reach out as he strips off his sweater and jeans.

A chiseled Adonis he is not. Muscles flex beneath skin supple with just the slightest layer of cushion borne from a life of luxury and indulgence. So when he descends and pins you to the bed, you feel it against you—his strength and softness.

He slots himself between your thighs, pulling them up to his hips. His cock finds its place, slicking itself against your sex. You sigh and loop your bound hands around his neck.

You bite back a “please,” but he sees it shining in your eyes and denies you. Content to roll his hips. Each thrust knocking the head of his cock against your clit until you whine and wriggle beneath him.

“Don’t be like that, pidge,” he says with a mocking pout, swiping a thumb over you cheek where unbidden tears fall from your eyes. “I’ll let you have what you want.”

With the slightest shift, he prods at your entrance. Bare. You breath hitches. Hands grip at his hair.

“Protection!” you protest at the last minute, surfacing from the lusty daze with fear in your eyes.

Ransom takes it in stride, continuing his persistence. “What for?” he asks with another roll of his hips. A delicious, sparkling sensation skitters up your spine. “I’m clean, you’re clean, you’re on birth control. Right?” The drawl of his voice accompanies his descent toward your neck. Another nip and suck of your skin as you reluctantly nod. He reaches a hand down between your bodies, gripping his dick. “Then there’s no problem here, pidge.”

You whimper, “I—”

He thrusts into you. The stretch divine. His gorgeous cock filling you inch by inch until you ache. A moan rips from the depths of you, a wounded sound of pleasure. Your eyes squeeze shut, sweat dotting your brow. How can a douche like Ransom Drysdale feel so right when he’s inside you?

He pauses, eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving. “Fuck,” he hisses beneath his breath. Your own hips roll in an attempt to adjust, but his hand lashes out to stop you. His grip tight. “Squeezing me like a vice, pidge.” The husk of his voice, the strain, the need dripping from each word, it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Ransom,” you plead with a gentler tug at the roots of his hair, “please move.”

His eyes open, the blue tinged dark with desire. His lips part around a shuddering breath. Finding his composure, he tilts his hips, filling you just that little bit more until you gasp. “I’m gonna fill you up just right. Don’t you worry your pretty little head.”

There’s not a moment more to prepare yourself before he begins fucking you. The drag of his cock against your walls enough to make an endless stream of sounds dribble from your lips. You grip him for dear life. The clap of your bodies filling the room with your moans and heavy breaths.

Ransom takes and takes, filling you and grinding against you until your vision blurs. You cum on his cock, screaming your release. Your knees squeeze his sides. You cling to him. Yet no matter how he ruins you, he keeps going. To sate his own pleasure, to see you crumble just a little more, to chase some ineffable desire.

It takes him longer. The stutter of his hips, the warmth of his cum flooding you. You mewl, hips shifting at the sensation.

“Hold still,” he commands, gripping your face with one hand.

His other travels down your body. Pausing to play with the sensitive beads of your nipples. You squeak. But his true destination lay between your thighs where he keeps himself nestled. Your clit throbs with your pulse, overstimulated and tender. You tense, bracing for whatever his plans.

He plucks at the aching bundle of nerves despite your every twitter of protest. Smirk plastered on his face. His intentions clear as he rips another orgasm from you and another. Letting you milk his swelling cock with your sex.

Your tongue swipes across your dry lips. Knowing by the wiggle of his hips he prepares himself for another round—one that will surely be a delicious torment. Your head shakes, arms tightening around him. Hoping your silent pleas will be understood. Already overwhelmed by the night’s exertion.

But he starts again, pleasure gleaming in his eyes every time he knocks your aching clit with his pelvis. You reel with the sensations scourging your body. The way the pain washes over you with the sweetest hint of pleasure. That hint just enough to keep your mind searching for more. Clinging closer and rolling your hips in tandem with his.

Your head lolls on your shoulders, sure to keep your eyes locked with his. Knowing he might stop if you let them wander just a moment—both needing and dreading that brief reprieve.

“There we go, that’s what I’m looking for,” he purrs staring deep into your glassy eyes.

Sweat dampens his chest, pressed against you as he cages you in with his weight. His fingers lift, two of them prodding your lips and delving into your mouth. Your tongue tangles with them, teeth nipping his knuckles. You swallow around them and they withdraw, trailing a cool line of saliva down your throat. His wet fingers trail beneath the cups of your bra, pinching at the tender buds. A raw moan rises out of you at a particularly wicked thrust of his cock. And another. You shudder, an unstoppable wave of pleasure ripping through you and leaving you in a fit of pained euphoria.

But Ransom says nothing more. A look shining in his eyes, thoughtful and indecipherable. If you could contemplate the dawning of such a look, you might. Though, with the rush of your own orgasm flooding your head, the stutter of his hips and the spill of his cum, you’re lost. He falls off you with a grunt, sprawling across the open area of the bed.

“Shit,” he mutters to the room. Sweat glistens along his skin and musses his hair. His chest rises and falls with deep breaths. A hand wipes over his face. You might have taken offense to the utter disbelief radiating from him, if so inclined.

Instead, you rise, prising through the quick release of the cuffs. Emptiness and pain halts your movement. An ache between your thighs that plucks its sweet agony. No choice but to push through it.

As Ransom recovers, you gather your things. Aftercare far from your thoughts. Willing to face any possible repercussions yourself and in your own space. You dress hastily, intuition begging for retreat. Knowing that another moment with him might cement something inside you. Something you know will only end in pain and disappointment.

Each step, each movement he follows with his eyes. They burn into you. Whether in anger or some other resentment, you don’t know—don’t need to know. Slipping your shoes on at the door and gathering your bag, he says nothing to stop you. You pause with your hand on the doorknob and glance over your shoulder. He continues to rest on the bed, body gloriously lax, and stares. Quiet and contemplative. You leave him there.

All thought of the money forgotten. No. All you want now is to escape that seductive lure he offers. You pray he’ll keep his word. That you’ll receive what he feels he owes. You’ll manage with what you’ve got until he does and start forgetting this night ever happened. Move on, work with Harlan, perform with Chase—lead your normal life.

You rush from the hotel, cool morning air slapping you in the face. You stop and tilt your head back. Your regret washes over you. Your lips press together, holding it back. Keeping it at bay.

The trek home stretches before you. Tenuous hope growing that you’ll never see Ransom Drysdale again, even as you feel the fierce burn of a gaze at your back.

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale fanfic #dark #dark fic #dub con #tw dub con #yandere vibes #attic wives anonymous #18+ #minors dni

[welldonebeca]

The Pump (II)

Summary: When you start producing milk too early into your pregnancy, you and Dean are introduced to a special piece of equipment. And a new kink. WC: 2.7k words Warnings: A/B/O dynamics. Fluff. Smut. Lactation kink. Masturbation. Smut. Dirty talk. People watching porn. Vaginal sex. Praising kink. Knotting.

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Masterlist

You flipped the pages of your baby book, trying not to move too much as you reached for a marker, underlining a cute girl's name.

Cassiopeia.

It was the name of a constellation!

"Dean, wouldn't the name Cassiopeia be good for a girl?" you asked from across the room, seeing your husband in the kitchen.

"Cassucopia?" he asked out loud, moving the milk into more secure packaging.

Your milk.

"Cassiopeia," you corrected him. "You know, like the star? And the constellation?"

"Well, you know our deal, I name the boy and you name the girl," he said playfully.

You huffed. The goal was to pick a name you both liked!

Before you could say it, though, your pump was done.

"Dean, I'm finished," you called out.

You always needed his help with this part.

Your husband walked over and sat by your side, ready to remove the suction, but stopped himself.

"Huh, what's up with this one?" he asked, squeezing your left breast a little. "Not much milk out of her?"

You squirmed, feeling your cunt warm.

"Dean," you whined.

He knew talking to you like that made you needy.

"It's normal, isn't it?" you pouted.

He clicked his rogue.

"But I know my Omega," he cooed, massaging your tits, and the suction got a little stronger.

You squirmed, trying not to moan as his grip became firmer.

It didn't hurt. Actually, it was the exact opposite.

"Just a little more," he hummed. "We don't want to underfill, baby."

It didn't take long for your tit to start leaking again.

"There we go," he praised you, kissing your cheek, continuing to milk you, to keep the supply going.

He kept going until both containers were full and equal, and you panted as Dean unlatched the equipment, squirming.

"Alpha," you whimpered, horny now.

Dean looked at your face sweetly

"Yes, my princess?" he cooed.

You whined, embarrassed, and he booped the tip of your nose.

"I'll go drop off our milk," he told you. "Doctor Gabriel said it is one of the best milk they had ever received in the hospital bank, you know?"

Your face flushed at the idea, and you almost wanted to present yourself to him right now.

"Thank you Alpha, but..."

"Don't worry," he kissed your forehead. "I'll fuck you when I'm back."

You watched him leave, pouting, but tried your best to calm down.

You could be fine on your own. Your body was still very sensitive, and you didn’t want to walk all the way upstairs, so you laid back on the couch, and checked social media on your phone.

As you did, you couldn’t help but have your eyes drift to the logo on your pump machine.

Shurley Equipments.

They had to have social media, right?

You googled the name, and they were there!

It wasn't much, just ads for their pumps and social work. They were involved with a lot of charities, for orphan babies and lonely Omegas.

Very nice.

Digging deeper, though, you found their career page, and a job listing for Omegas in their company.

And that brought you to a rabbit hole.

The listing was very generous, and you finally saw a video link explaining everything on their website.

A tall man with dark hair and blue eyes was standing in front of the camera, looking all charming.

"The Shurley Family works hard to benefit families, be it the traditional ones and modern families, who need special care with the most important things in life: giving your pups the best in the world."

You tilted your head.

Well, that was nice.

"Omega breastmilk has been proven to be substantially beneficial to a pup's health and even more so after their weaning age, but it is hard for Omegas to keep up with production, especially in the modern world, with things moving so fast," he explained. "Families without Omegas sometimes also struggle to feed their young, and don't like the idea of giving their little ones something artificial as a store-bought formula."

You gasped. Oh, never!

Pups deserved milk, good milk.

"We provide real milk, working with charities to give Omegas who donate their milk a safe space to be a part of it. Still, sometimes that is not enough to meet demand, which is why we've decided to use our resources to give Omegas a better option."

He gestured to someone to come over, and your eyes widened at the beautiful woman by his side and- oh, Lord, you thought your D-cups were big?

Her tits were enormous!

"Here at Shurley farm you can make a difference!" he smiled at the camera. "Milk is very important to us, and the Omegas who provide them for us are our best-valued workers."

You squeezed your legs around your couch pillow.

"If you are over the age of 18 and would like to be a part of this, and want to see a demonstration of what your work life could be if you join our family, click on this link," he pointed at the top of the screen.

You shouldn't click on it, right?

You shouldn't…

Before you knew it, your thumb pressed on the option and you were taken to another video segment.

It began with a warning that there was nudity and should not be watched by those younger than 18 however this was for purely educational purposes, and your heart rushed a little bit in your chest.

The same man as before - Castiel, you could see the subtitle - was back with the Omega, her large breasts looking even larger and more tender.

They were full.

"Now, breast growth for lactation is common, but it is also a known fact that Omegas' chests tend to grow more than average," he explained. "And some Omegas are even more special, because their breasts fill up with even more milk. So much, indeed, that normal pumps won't work for them."

Your face burned. That would explain what Doctor Gabriel said before.

"Now, we do not hire Omegas who are pregnant or breastfeeding children under the age of five. They should be home, caring for their families and nursing them naturally. However, our Omegas are treated with a hormonal drug to induce natural milk production. It's exactly the same hormone Omegas naturally produce when they are nursing."

He pulled a pill bottle and the Omega explained the contents, but you couldn't focus on it, instead watching Castiel assembling the equipment. It was like the one you had at home, but bigger and maybe better.

Castiel smiled at the camera.

"We here at Shurley Equipments care for the safety and comfort of our Omegas. You can even call us a big pack!" he chuckled. "It is very common for Omegas to feel aroused during the milking process, and we give them the privacy and meanings to make themselves as comfortable as possible."

You humped your pillow a little bit, seeking comfort.

"This afternoon, our lovely worker here has allowed us to monitor and document her process."

He moved the Omega on her back and pulled a machine with a large knot toy, shiny with lube and temptation, and you gasped.

"We give all our Omegas privacy during this very private moment. They have very comfortable offices with everything they might need," he affirmed. "Of course, a few of them enjoy being in the company of their friends, because of their sense of community."

The Omega squirmed, and you watched as he positioned the toy near her very wet cunt.

"As a good company, we give them the freedom of choice every day," he assured you, holding her hand, and she took it very quickly. "And compensate them appropriately, of course. But if you are watching this video, you've seen the details of our job offers already."

The machine activated, ready to fuck her, and they suddenly cut to her breasts being milked.

In voice-over, Castiel's voice continued.

"As you can see, our machines require very little intervention, and more experienced workers can handle them on their own," he explained. "They are cleaned and disinfected after every use, to assure that the milk being collected isn't contaminated with anything before it is taken to our pasteurisation centre."

You could only hear Castiel's voice but by the moving and panting of the Omega's chest, you could tell she was probably having a really good time.

“Pleasure is a good drive, especially for beginner workers. As you can see, the milk drips out faster and in large quantities for longer," he told you. "70% of our daily production is donated to hospitals and families in need all over the country. As you can see, it's a lot of milk, and we feed pups from all across our beloved nation, so they will grow big and strong no matter their social-economic circumstance."

You were so moved and maybe too horny to question what happened to the other 30%.

"As we work expanding our business, we plan to have at least three new farms on the East Coast before the end of 2025, so if you are not from our state, you can also look forward to being a part of our family."

You couldn't help thinking of it. You didn't need the money but the thought of being laid down and fucked as your tits gushed and gushed with healthy milk, filling tanks as you were knotted over and over again...

It was a surprise when you came on your pillow, not even realising you were about to do it before your body was shaking, and you were moaning wantonly.

Under you, the couch dripped with your milk.

You were too dazed for a minute before realising the mess you were making.

"Oh, God," you gasped, reaching for the pumps, but struggling.

Dean always did it so smoothly.

You yelped when it pinched you wrong, your phone forgotten, and gasped when you heard Dean's voice.

"Hey, careful there, baby," your husband rushed to you. "God, look at you. You made a mess!"

You squirmed, embarrassed.

"Were you so horny for my knot that you fucked the couch?" he spread your legs, reaching for your underwear. "Fuck, your panties are covered in slick, baby."

Your cheeks burned. Oh, you had to tell him. You couldn't lie.

"I... I was watching something," you confessed. "And I didn't mean to get horny, Dean. I promise."

He pulled your panties off, and spread your legs over his, pulling your dress up as the cool air brushed against your skin.

"Show me, baby," he whispered.

You picked up your phone and showed it to him, and Dean laughed behind you.

"Well, look at that. We have a job for you if things go sour."

"Dean!" you hit his arm, but he held you close.

"What, you don't like being a little Omega Cow for the family?"

You squirmed, whining.

"Dean!" you protested. "It's not funny!"

"No," he slapped your cunt. "It's hot.'

You panted.

"And I know you like it too, baby," he hummed. "Look at yourself."

You did, and blushed all over when you realised you were dripping slick on his jeans.

"And look at all that milk," he pinched your clit. "You are a messy milk slut, aren't you?"

You arched your hips.

"Please, Dean."

He pulled you back, adjusting his pants, and pressed his cock onto your cunt.

"Let me give you something to squirm on."

You moaned loudly as Dean pushed his cock into you, not even waiting for you to adjust to him.

Not that you needed to. He fit perfectly.

He then typed something on phone, holding you down in place and slapping your clit over and over again, making you moan at the sting.

"Gotta keep you on edge," he breathed hard. "Gonna show you something you'll really like, milk slut."

You panted, but willed yourself to relax. You couldn't cum unless Alpha told you that you could.

Dean then showed you your phone, playing a video with Castiel and an Omega you couldn't see.

She was being milked and fucked, with cameras on the two actions and a split screen.

"Some of their Omegas do a little side hustle," he chuckled. "You gotta be in the business to find it."

It wasn't their website anymore, though, but more like an illicit site. Like a porn site. But... with their name?

"There you go," he hummed. "I bought a few shares of their company just for you, milk slut. And apparently, this is a treat that comes with that."

You were shocked, but your stunned nature was conflicted when Dean started to bounce you on his cock as the video started playing, and Castiel pulled the toy out of the Omega.

"You want a real knot, don't you?" he cooed. "My needy little Omega. Let me give it to you."

The woman whined.

"Please," she squirmed. "No condom. Please, Alpha, I need it raw."

Castiel slapped her pussy.

"Can't get you pregnant, little Omega, remember? You're too good of a cow for us to have you out of the line."

She cried as Castiel pushed his cock inside and her milk poured faster.

"Oh, such a good Omega, aren't you? All horny for your Alpha... Can't even think properly, no thoughts, just cock."

You squirmed on Dean's lap, and he pinched your clit, chuckling amusingly.

"He sure knows how to make Omegas all dazed and loopy," he hummed. "Imagine Sammy seeing this? He would pop a blood vessel."

Sam, Dean's very progressive brother, was also an Alpha.

He was a lawyer, too, very smart. Well, he was studying to be one. But you didn't understand half of what he said.

He was always very concerned about you before going to college. Stuff about Dean not treating you right, whatever it meant. He was the one who got you in contact with your lawyer.

"Should I send you to him?" Dean bit your earlobe. "Get him to fuck you, maybe he will make you into their best producer over there."

You moaned, already way gone into pleasure.

"I'll sure keep your milky when our baby is here," he promised, cock merciless as he fucked into you. "Got all that milk... Can't waste it."

You moaned, closing your eyes. Fuck, you were going to cum.

"You are a special Omega, I knew it since the day I laid eyes on you," he thrust faster. "If I only knew... would have married and bred you earlier."

"Dean," you cried. "Please. Wanna cum, please."

"You do, uh?" he cooed.

"Cum around my cock," Castiel commanded the Omega in the video. "Squeeze me in that stupid cunt. Overflow with milk for your Alpha."

You tried hard not to obey the command of the Alpha in the video.

"Well," Dean whispered into your ear. "You heard the man, sweetie."

"There you go," Castiel growled. "Cum around your Alpha's cock-"

You finally let yourself fall over the edge, moaning and crying, and the farm man moaned with you.

"Good girl, good Omega, that's it."

Dean held his arm around your waist, pinning him against his chest, and fucked you faster.

"Good girl," he huffed. "Such a fucking good girl."

You cried when his knot filled you up, driven into a second orgasm before the first was even fully done.

He kissed your face softly as you came down, holding you gently and cooing at you sweetly.

"So good, my Omega," he brushed your hair back. "So good for your Alpha."

You rode your high and suddenly felt the suction pop off.

Your milk was finished already?

"Wow, almost halfway," Dean pulled it.

He worked on it with you still on his knot, just grabbing you with a hand to lift you up and walk to the counter, laying you chest first on it.

"Oh," you gasped. "Cold!"

"Well, you are burning up, baby," he chuckled, moving to place the milk into the fridge. "Do you want ice cream while we wait for the knot to go down?"

"Well... it would be nice," you hummed.

"Alright," he petted your hair. "We got chocolate fudge, salted caramel drizzle and-"

"Salted Caramel!" you answered quickly.

You loved salted caramel, it was your favourite.

Your husband chuckled.

"Your wish is my command."

He put some into bowls and picked you up again, chuckling when you yelp, and you let him carry you into the couch again, cuddling you as he turned the TV on.

"There we go,' he kissed your cheek. "What do you want to watch?"

. . .

"The Pump" is the first part of "The Milk series". To read its sequels "The Pack" - a Sam x Reader x Dean x Jess foursome - "The Pack" - a Castiel x Reader x Dean - and "The Family" - a Jess x Reader & Sam x Reader - subscribe to my page! It's just $2 a month and helps me a lot through these hard times.

. . .

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#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader smut #dean winchester x reader fanfiction #dean winchester x reader fanfic #dean winchester x reader fic #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x you fanfiction #dean winchester x you fanfic #dean winchester x you smut #dean winchester x you fic #Welldonebeca's The Milk Series #alpha dean winchester fic #alpha dean winchester smut #alpha dean winchester #alpha dean x omega reader

[stevesjockstrap]

Cold Beginnings

@steddiemas day 12: Hallmark movie tropes

Rated: M to be safe | cw: alcohol | tags: modern au

Swinging his guitar case onto his shoulder, he grabbed the last of his belongings from the car and prepared himself to walk up the steep hill to the cabin again. This part hadn’t been on the fucking website. But it was beautiful, he had to begrudgingly admit. This writing retreat was desperately needed. The record agency wouldn’t wait any longer for a new album.

Hours later as the sun was starting to set, he looked up from his notebook when he heard the distinctive beep beep of a car locking. Eddie frowned. One of the selling points of this cabin was that there were no other houses around for miles. No way should there be anyone close enough to hear.

He went to the front window but he couldn't even see where his car was parked, let alone anyone else’s. It had been snowing steadily since before he arrived and now there was a thick coat on everything in the woods around him. All of his earlier footprints had been covered over quickly.

After a few more moments of looking outside, he shrugged and went back to working. Maybe he was imagining things. His brain was probably playing tricks on him since he’d never been somewhere so eerily quiet before.

A couple strings of lines jotted down later, he went to the kitchen to throw something together for dinner. He screamed as the back door opened and a blast of snowy wind circled him. Then an echoing scream made him scream again. Big brown eyes stared at him. He took in the red cheeks dotted with freckles and the long eyelashes with snowflakes sticking to them.

“What the fuck?”

“Who are you?”

Eddie stormed over to the stranger, who put his hands up in front of him placatingly, but Eddie scoffed and instead pushed the door shut behind him.

“What, were you born in a barn? And you’re dripping all over the floor,” he admonished.

The stranger blinked at him. “I’m… sorry?” He shook his head quickly before frowning at him. “Why are you here?”

“I’m staying here. Why are you here?” Eddie leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms, sizing up this intruder. He knew he looked intimidating with the tattoos and long hair and dark clothes. This guy didn’t seem very rugged. He was wearing a puffer coat for Christ’s sake.

He pulled in a long breath before excitedly saying, “I’m renting this place this week! Get away from the big city, right?”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. That had been one of the bullet points on the website. “Uh huh,” he deadpanned. “Well you must have your weeks confused, buddy. Because I’m renting this place this week.”

“No, I don’t think I do. I’ve had this scheduled for months. Maybe you have your dates wrong.”

Eddie smirked at him, sizing him up again. Maybe he did have some fight in him after all. “I talked to the owner yesterday, man. So maybe you’re at the wrong place or something.”

He grumbled as the man set down his duffle bag and pulled his cell phone from his back pocket. “There’s no service here, dickbag. Or WiFi. So that’s not going to help. Why don’t you just-“

“I took a screenshot, dickbag. And yeah, I know that. It was why I picked it, actually. No contact. Here,” he held the phone up for him to see. “Confirmed. One week, December third through the ninth. See the little picture of the cabin?”

Eddie almost took the phone from him in shock, but growled instead and threw his hands up. “Well that’s just great. Let me find all my shit and I’ll get out of here.”

“You can’t!” The man nearly shrieked.

“Now you’re telling me what I can and can’t do?” He said through clenched teeth. This idiot was already grating on his frayed nerves.

“Um. No. But, look, okay?” He pointed out the big window over the sink. Outside it was now basically blizzarding and the sun had fully set. “I barely made it here. Thankfully the girl at the car rental place convinced me I needed four wheel drive. The road up here hasn’t been touched and it’s- it’s like, really really bad. That’s why I’m so late. It took me hours to get here from the city. Now that it’s dark it’d be even worse. We’ll just have to-“

“I’m not staying here with you,” he hissed.

The man took a step back but looked at him determinedly. “It’ll be fine. I’ll take the couch. I’ll stay out of your hair. Maybe the weather will get better and tomorrow we can take my truck somewhere we can get service,” he shrugged when Eddie just continued glaring at him.

“That’s very noble of you…?” He raised an eyebrow at him.

“Steve.” He straightened up and actually pulled the glove off his right hand to stick it out for a handshake.

Eddie chuckled and shook it, squeezing hard enough that he watched with satisfaction as Steve’s jaw clenched. “Eddie.” He dropped his hand and sighed, the bag on the floor catching his attention. “This is all you brought?”

Steve looked down at the duffle and nodded. He only had that and a book bag on his back. “Yeah, didn’t figure I needed much.”

“Alright.” He scrubbed his hands over his face with another sigh. This was actually happening. Fuck his life. “What’s your stance on frozen pizza?”

Steve had stayed out of his way and had slept on the couch. But Eddie was still distracted by him. He had a pile of papers at the dining room table that he was reading over and would make little concerned noises or huff a laugh or sigh.

Rereading the words in the notebook in front of him, he was surprised that they were about big brown eyes and full lips (a helpful ‘dat ass’ scribbled in the margin). He closed it with his own sigh, throwing it on the coffee table and walking over to look out the front window.

Outside, it was still snowing. They’d found a radio in the kitchen last night and the weather report for the next few days wasn’t hopeful. It made the hair stand up on the back of his neck, staying here intentionally alone to get work done was a different vibe than being trapped here with a stranger, even an annoyingly attractive stranger. He wanted to get in his car and take off. Grumbling to himself, he yanked his hair off his neck and up into a bun. All this anxious oppressive energy was making him even grumpier than usual.

Grabbing his notebook and guitar, he stomped up the stairs. Ignoring the head tilt Steve sent him from the table.

Hours later, he had some pieces of a melody and a chorus. Only a million more pieces to go. But he had neglected eating and drinking and he was feeling rough.

He couldn’t hear Steve but he obviously knew he was still around. A part of him wanted to hide out upstairs for the next five days. But his stomach squeezed again and he sighed. He was not the type who could survive a hunger strike.

“Hey, I like your hair like that. And the guitar sounded good.”

Eddie bristled. He looked at the clock on the wall, wondering if it was an acceptable time to drink yet. Fuck it.

“You want a beer?” He grunted as he ducked into the fridge.

“So there’s you, Gareth and Jeff? What’s the other guy’s name again?”

“No one knows,” he said mysteriously. He found himself trying not to smile, actually enjoying messing with Steve after a handful of beers and some swigs of the bottle of Jack he’d miraculously found in a cupboard.

Steve blinked. “You’ve been in a band with this guy since high school and you don’t know his name?”

He shrugged, chuckling darkly and took another swig from the bottle. Steve shook his head. “You’re insufferable.”

“That, Steve, everyone does know,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper, before throwing his head back and laughing. He settled himself further into the couch.

“Somehow it works for you, though,” he shot a sideways grin at him while taking a sip from his beer. He’d only had two, and waved Eddie away when he’d offered the bottle. But it appeared that he was a lightweight. His cheeks had turned red instantly and his eyes seemed glazed. Eddie had insisted he eat more of the pasta and garlic bread he’d thrown together.

“Oh? Because I’ve been so very pleasant to you during this hostage situation, huh?”

“Could be worse,” he shrugged. “It’s been kind of fun. And you’re not as grouchy as you try to be, you know? I like you better when you’re being the real you.”

Eddie choked on the alcohol he had been about to swallow. As he tried not to throw up everywhere, a hand on his chest was pushing him back, straightening him up and he found he could breathe better.

“Fuck. Thanks,” he gasped as he leaned back and took some deep breaths.

Steve watched him intently like he was making sure he was going to keep breathing. He found himself liking this different attention, not having to put on the show or theatrics he always felt like he had to pull around everyone else.

He also realized Steve had moved closer and stayed, his hand hovering even closer between them in case he needed help again. It almost made him want to start choking again. They just sat there for some time, looking at each other until Eddie’s breaths evened out and then it seemed awkward for him to say anything. He memorized the moles and freckles dotted across his face and neck.

When he traced the shape of Steve’s lips with his eyes, he watched them part in a gasp. When he looked up into his eyes again, the full bottom lip was pulled in and bit into and a small noise escaped Eddie. Steve’s eyes dropped down to his lips and something snapped in him.

“Get over here,” Eddie growled, unable to wait another second.

They met in a heated collision of lips and teeth. He cupped his jaw with both hands and held on, keeping him where he wanted as he deepened the kiss. Steve pushed against it a bit, which Eddie found he liked. He allowed him to angle their heads and he gasped as teeth found his bottom lip. He was surprised when a warm tongue caressed over the bitten lip, taking away the sting. Sassy then sweet. Heat pooled in his belly and he wrapped an arm around Steve’s lower back, pulling him closer.

He groaned as suddenly his lap was full of Steve. He brought his hands to his hips to slide him even closer then gave into his desperate desire to grab handfuls of his ass.

Steve pulled away to breathe and he slid his lips across the pair of infuriatingly attractive moles on his neck. Scraping his teeth across his skin and reveling in the little needy noses Steve was making, his own embarrassing noise punched out of him when he was pushed back, not very gently.

“Ed- Eddie,” Steve panted from above him. His eyes were even more glazed over and his lips were red and wet and Eddie started leaning in again. He hadn’t even gotten to bite them. Steve pushed on his chest again, pulling him out of his stupor.

“Yeah? You okay?” He moved his hands off his backside and cupped his face again.

“Yeah,” he huffed a laugh. “Definitely okay. But I’m realizing I’m more drunk than I thought. Uh, more drunk than I’d like to be, to continue this.”

Eddie nodded quickly. “Sure. Of course. Got a little carried away, I think.”

“I definitely did,” Steve laughed. Looking down, maybe just realizing he was still in his lap, he blushed and Eddie helped him maneuver to sit next to him. “But I don’t want you to run away. I dunno, can we just keep talking?”

He pulled him close again, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “Not going anywhere. Even if I could.” They stared into each other's eyes for a moment. “Hey, you wanna hear the song I’m writing about you?”

“Oh,” Steve covered his shocked face quickly with a shy smile. “Y-yeah. That’d be amazing.”

Eddie grinned at him, running to go grab his stuff.

He decided on the stairs that this week was going to be a good one.

#jumped into writing this for the grumpy sunshine prompt then realized none of it was Christmas cheer lmao #but here we are #steddiemas #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #rockstar!eddie munson #and idk teacher/editor/writer/etc Steve I couldn’t decide #hallmark movies trope #stranger things #mine #stranger things fic

[kekaki-cupcakes]

Hii, can i request a Leo valdez x reader where reader is like 10 cm taller then Leo?

thank you for the request <3

It got a bit random but baking is so domestic and fluffy I love it. And also the story is assuming the reader can pic Leo up, which some of y'all might not be able to do but to be fair Leo can't weight that much [he's like holding a bunch of grapes]. Enjoy!

Carrot cake---Leo V x Reader

  »»————-　★　————-««

You weren’t tall. You also weren’t short, just somewhere in the middle that meant in a crowd, you didn’t tend to stand out at a glance. Height wasn’t your biggest problem, you had other things to think about. As long as you could fit through the doorways easily and still get to the highest cupboard, that was okay. 

That was until you realized when Leo bounded up as usual, a smirk on his lips and grease on his cheeks, and then hugged you [an expected greeting by now], his head fit snugly and only just beneath your chin.   

Dark curls tickled your chin, but it was worth it to feel him humming like a ball of energy, pressed against you before he bounced away to the next thing. Though he never seemed to stray too far from your vicinity, always able to glance around and wink at you, or come back and trace his fingers along the dips off your palm subtly. 

Sometimes he’d stand just close enough that you could step forward and tuck him back under your chin, where he’d stay.                                    

                                                 »»————-　★　————-««

“How the Hades are we supposed to bake a cake?” 

“Well, mi amor, there’s these things called ingredients, and sometimes if you put the right amount-”

You leaned back on the kitchen counter, and glance up from Annabeth’s Olympus rebuilding Ipad, the one you’d borrowed to find a recipe. You raised an eyebrow. “Your humor isn’t going to grate that carrot.” 

You also pretended not to see his obviously fake mocking of your words, as he waved a carrot around in what could only be described as a sassy way. Then went back to grating, finally, moving his hips to the tune of the song playing over the radio. It sat in the corner of the room, which was filled with poker chips, ancient tribal masks, and half filled bowls of flour and sugar. 

A website was describing the chef’s niece's eighth birthday party, which had a connection to the recipe you couldn’t quite find, and you propped the Ipad up on the soda stream. Leo skipped over and peered over your shoulder, his hot breath on your neck. “How do we even know Racheal likes carrot cake? Did anyone ask?”

“Leo, sweetie, it’s a surprise party.”

“So?”

You blink at him for a moment, and then just give up. Apparently the braincells used in taking SAT’s for fun didn’t carry over to general common sense. At least not in Leo’s case. “She���s a rich, indie, art hoe. Of course she likes carrot cake.”

“Point taken,” Leo said, and humming to the song, began to measure milk out into a nemo themed cup, then tipped it into one of the many bowls lined up in preparation. 

The eggs were cracked afterwards, and butter melted through, until you had all of the wet ingredients ready. You glanced down at the Ipad, ignoring a notification from Percy telling Annabeth that the spider had been killed. “Flour, sugar, and…baking soda.”

With a thud, Leo dropped a bag of flour onto the counter, only it sent up a billowing cloud of the fine white powder, which smudged on his face as he pitifully tried to wipe it off. 

You shook your head in dismay, and reached over to help. ‘How do you create a mess out of the simplest tasks?”

“Because you're always there to help clean up?”

“Ha ha,” you mutter, using the less egg-y parts of your hands to wipe off the flour that seemed to stick like glue. His skin was soft and warm and slowly turning a dark shade of red. 

You noticed that there were little pale scattered scars across his brown skin, probably from accidents in bunker nine. You blinked a few times, pulling your eyes away and remembering to breathe. 

“There you go,” you told him, and patted his cheek twice, “it only looks like you’ve done a few lines of cocaine.”

“Just the look I was going for,” he grinned back, nose wrinkling a little as he did so. You rolled your eyes at him, and started to measure out the flour. He tipped the sugar, spilling some over his sleeves, and licked it off. “Yum.”

One more scroll through the recipe, and, “two teaspoons of baking soda, then we mix it all together.”

A clattering of cupboard doors and an ‘oof’, showed that there was no baking sugar down there. You check the pantry, and Leo changed the station on the radio to some song about a rock for lovers. He then proceeded to climb onto the counter, his tongue between his teeth as he concentrated on not slipping on the spilt sugar and cracking his head open.

“What on gaea are you doing, Leo?”

He blinked once, like an owl caught doing something naughty. Then he pointed at the cupboard above the fridge, crouched as if he was spiderman next to the sodastream with a grin, “getting the baking soda?”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” you muttered, and strode over, picking him up clumsily in your arms. He wriggled around with a yelp, arms wrapped around your neck quiet dramatically, in your opinion. “Why are you made of elbows?”

He stared up at you with wide eyes and a red face, which was for some reason really close to your own. You weren’t complaining. 

“I only have two,” he croaked, and looked away, swinging his legs absentmindedly. You debated holding him in your arms forever, he was so warm and snuggly [even if he was incredibly boney]. Still, Jason would be nearly finished putting streamers up, and the cake had to be ready by then. 

You put him down as gently as you could on the table and turned back to the messy and flour covered kitchen, reaching up easily to the cupboard above the fridge, and grabbed the baking soda. 

You turned, “see, you could’ve just asked.”

“Well, I didn’t know I’m not allowed to climb the kitchen!”

                                          »»————-　★　————-««

“The carrot cakes a win.”

You bump your cup of raspberry lemonade against Leo’s in cheers. The lighting was the color of your drink, but everything felt a lot more hazy and sentimental for such a non alcoholic beverage. “Told you, rich indie art hoes like carrot cake.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” Leo said with a chuckle, the fairy lights hung along the walls of Rachel's cave reflected in his eyes. They looked like stars in the sky. Or flour on a countertop. You shook your head a little. 

The atmosphere must’ve been getting to you. 

Maybe it was the softly churning smoke machine in the corner or the speakers pumping out TV Girl, but it was bringing up everything. Not physically, it was bringing up all the thoughts. Soft hair and sparkling eyes. Sugary hands and bitten down nails. Bouncing steps and quirked lips that looked so very delicious, like the drinks staining his very lips a shiny red. 

You realized you were doing it again, and averted your gaze, setting your sloshing cup down on the closed lid of a record player balanced upon a bucket of minty green paint. The entrance to the cave was hidden by wooden beaded curtains and they clattered when you moved them apart and stepped through.

“Woah,” you breathed, looking up.

The dewy grass crunched beneath your shoes as you walked out of the soft red lighting, to where the stars would look even brighter. It was as if someone had grabbed a handful of glitter and threw it across the night sky, flicking little pieces along to make the shooting stars you watched dance about. 

There was a shuffling of feet and someone swore, then Leo trotted up spilling some of his drink onto the ground without realizing. “What are you looking at? More gorgons?”

“Nah, the stars.” You answer, not drawing your eyes away from them.

You felt Leo stumble to a standstill in front of you, and you’d already reached out, tucking his curls under your chin. “Such a poet, you could be a philosopher.”

“Shut up.”

“Philosophize something for me,” he egged, his hands joining yours where they sat on his narrow shoulders. You were giddy with something soft and warm and a little bit fluttery in your stomach, like honey through your veins. “Go on.”

You grin, “me? You’re the brainiac, you philololophize something.”

“Okay,” he murmured, squinting. “Uh…”

You hummed to the faint music you could still hear from where the two of you were wrapped up together on the cliff top, surrounded by pine trees and scattered cups of red sweetness. 

“You’re so tall.” Leo murmured, and you could see the little gears whirring and clicking in his head. “How would we kiss?”

It was a good question, one that melted your insides and turned your brain to cake batter. You buried your face in his mess of curls. He smelt like smoke and sugar. Hopefully he tasted like that too. 

“Maybe if we sat down,” you murmured, feeling your chest heavy with feelings you couldn’t begin to explain with the lump of fear clogging your throat. 

Leo turned, twisting in your arms with a quiet ‘good idea’, and you were already kneeling in the grass, his hands still tightly curled around your own. His eyes were far off and distant, but so very, very beautiful. Like the stars. 

“I’m gonna…” You started, but the thought trails off into fog as you’re distracted by the tint of red and tinge of a smile on Leo’s lips. 

He just nods in return to your unfinished statement, and you rock forwards, slotting your own mouth against his. You were right. He tasted like sugar and raspberry flavored sugar, tinny music and soft hands. 

Soft hands that traced along your jaw, light as a feather. Your own were clumsy and looped through his soft hair, tugging a little and pulling him as close as you could get. Your knees cold with dew and frost were ignored, Leo’s tongue and teeth and lips favored. 

“I think…” Leo started, whispering against your mouth with breathy chuckles, and looking up with lidded gooey eyes. “There might have been somethin’ in that lemonade.”

You just murmur an agreement into another kiss.

#pjo fandom #pjo #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #leovaldez #Leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x oc #leo valdez x you #leo valdez x y/n #listend to TV Girl while writing this in like an hour so its that kind of vibe