warnings: nsfw 18+, bf!mingi, f!reader, pwnp, backshots, dirty talk, nicknames (baby) size kink, tummy bulge, kinda mean dom!mg, filming, fingering, just dirty overall.
wc. 1k
an. this is just me being thirsty as fuck over this mingi video tbh.. hope you enjoy <3 not proofread! taglist: @yslj1n @joongnoodle @matznana @kisssan @fixonjade
something about having you like this was mingis favourite thing in the world.
your back facing him, knees and arms pressed deep into the mattress. his other heavy hand rested on the dip of your spine, bending your body to bend even more forward as his eyes tightened.
his other hand was dragging down the back of his neck, mouth slightly cracked as he watched your pussy twitch under his gaze. some of your juices were dripping down to the bed, the skin slick to the touch as his body inched closer.
his cock was tight in his grip now, leaning forward to trail down your slit, messing up his precum with yours, his lip now tightly between his pearly teeth.
”you need me don’t you? desperate girl”
his other palm made contact with your cheeks, slightly tearing them more open to get a better visual of your pussy sucking him in. he couldn’t get enough of it.
that slight stretch as he pushed in, the sound it made, the amount of liquids running down your thighs as his cockhead pushes its way inside properly.
mingi leaned forward a bit, trying to catch the best view of the situation. his gold chain swung on his neck as he pushed forward, making you squeal into the pillows.
he knew he was big, big enough to make you writhe yet beg for more. and he made sure you felt every inch, every vein, everything as he moved into you in a slow rhythm.
”you feel that? feel me tearing this pussy open, yeah? just the way you like it”
all you could do is mumble, the sensation overtaking you as mingis pelvis met your ass. he knew if he turned you around, he could see himself bulging out of your lower stomach, and it only made him more hungry.
snapping his hips back, the first thrust was enough to knock the bedframe harshly against the wall. he couldn’t hold back anymore, hands tight on your hips as he started to pick up his pace, making you an absolute mess.
his sounds were rough, sharp. groans and moan tore out his throat, his tongue hanging out his mouth as he watched the opening of your pussy taking him in just right.
your thighs were shaking as your hips made contact, your mouth spread wide open but unable to respond as you felt yourself drawing awfully close so quickly.
mingi knew he wouldn’t last long like this either, but he didn’t care. he would love this view even if it’s for two minutes, or two hours. still, worth every second.
some spit trickled down from his tongue to your ass, running down your inner thighs. the sensation made your pussy clench tight around his cock, making his breath hitch in his throat. his fingers digging into your flesh, he basically hissed:
”do that again.”
and so you did, clamping down against him as his tight and precise thrusts continued, and you knew it would end very soon. mingis entire body twitched, one slightly higher moan leaving his throat as he leaned forward towards you.
”min-” you tried to speak, your voice a faint whisper. his hand tucked around your chest, pulling you up to meet his thrusts, his face near yours now.
”yeah? what is it baby?” his voice was out of breath, yet still seeping that same need. you gulped between moans, trying again.
”d-don’t stop-please” your voice was tiny, barely leaving your mouth. mingis fingers tightened around your torso as his pace picked up again, his other hand trailing down to your pussy.
”oh trust me, i won’t.”
you were so out of it by now, maybe almost as much as mingi. his body was like moving on its own, his thrusts sloppy but rough, tongue running up the side of your neck, other hand twisting and turning around on your clit.
”wish you could see this, too fucking good. have to film you next time, let you see, fuck”
your nails dig into his arm around you, body shaking back and forth as he fucked you full. his fingers on his other hand were spinning consistent circles on your bud, making sparks run all over as you gripped him tighter.
”wanna cum on your ass, please baby” mingi growled into your ear, kissing into after like a soothing sensation. you nodded swiftly, feeling your body dropping back to the bed.
his hips thrusted forward a few more times before pulling back, and then you felt it. thick hot ropes of cum splashed onto the skin of your asscheeks, marking you like mingi intended. he was so loud, mouth hung wide open as he jerked himself through his orgasm, his tip occassionally touching your pussy as he leaned forward.
”shitttt baby.. you’re unbelievable.” his voice spoke breathless, his chest heaving as you looked back. you saw him lean over to his pants on the floor, digging for his camera.
”min- what-”
”told you i’ll show you, now, stay there just like that” he adviced you, and so you did. back arched, ass up in the air for him to capture onto his film camera.
the flash light shone over your body, and then you finally slumped down properly. you were worn out. mingi threw his camera back onto the floor before rolling next to you, pulling you up to meet his gaze. he had that special grin on his face, leaving a sloppy kiss on your cheek before pulling you back up to him.
”got more energy?” he asked simply, his hand snaking back down to your leaking pussy. you nodded, albeit not as energetic as you wanted to. he nodded, biting onto his plump lip.
”mhm, then let me clean up after myself, yeah?”
his fingers curled up into your pussy, making you shriek into his shoulder, only causing him to chuckle.
”relax baby, just cleaning you up, everywhere.”
his fingers fucked into your pussy, meeting that spongy spot inside you deep inside. you gripped tight into his bicep, holding on as you felt yourself falling apart so soon.
”there you go baby, let me have it, take it all out of you” his mouth eager against your neck, you let yourself fall apart on his lengthy, thick fingers.
you gushed everywhere, the squirt drenching both you and mingi, as well as the bedsheets, making him smirk agaisnt your skin.
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@kitab00m101 opened my eyes to the wonderful world of Trustbites, and I just had to say thank you in the only way that I really know how to. (definitely not an excuse to write them together)
Not only him, there have been many, many people who have shown me the way of the polycule, but his blog and writings were the push I needed, apparently.
Inspired by this post, I just had to write it.
Go follow his trustbites blog where he talks about the blorbos a lot better than I. @trust-bites-journaling
Read under the cut! (if there is a need for it, and if I can find a title, I can upload this to AO3 as well)
Legundo doesn’t hear the door open.
He’s hunched over his desk, glasses low on his nose, pen moving steadily across a half-finished report. The late-afternoon light slants through the window, catching dust in the air, warming the wood of the shelves behind him. He’s so focused that the world has narrowed to ink and paper.
So, when a cool hand suddenly brushes the back of his head, he startles hard enough to jerk in his chair.
“Owen—!”
The word breaks off into a breath.
Owen’s fingers slip through the short fuzz of Legundo’s buzzed hair, slow and deliberate. He makes a pleased little sound at the way Legundo shivers under the touch.
“There you are,” Owen murmurs softly. “I was afraid you’d worked yourself into another near-death experience without me.”
Legundo exhales, trying and failing not to smile. “You can’t just sneak up on people like that.”
“I absolutely can,” Owen says, leaning down just enough for his breath to ghost warm against Legundo’s ear. “And you love it.”
Before Legundo can reply, Owen hooks a finger into the edge of his collar and gently but firmly turns the chair. The motion sends Legundo swiveling toward him, and then Owen is settling into his lap with the easy familiarity of someone who belongs there.
The chair creaks softly under the added weight.
Legundo’s hands hover for a second, uncertain. Then they land at Owen’s waist on instinct.
“You’re impossible,” Legundo murmurs.
“And yet,” Owen says lightly, tilting his head, “you keep letting me in.”
They pause there, breathing each other in. Owen studies Legundo’s face, the faint crease between his brows, the tired softness around his eyes. So human. So warm.
“I was good today,” Owen says quietly.
The words are light, almost offhand, but the way his fingers twitch where they rest against Legundo’s sleeve betrays him.
Legundo’s thumb stills where it rests at Owen’s hip.
“Did that cost you?”
For a moment, Owen doesn’t answer.
His gaze slips sideways, unfocusing on the edge of the desk, on the faint scratch in the wood, on anything that isn’t Legundo’s careful, seeing eyes. The playfulness drains just enough for the truth to ripple underneath.
“A little,” he admits.
His mouth twists in something like a smile, something like a flinch.
“There were options,” he continues softly. “Plenty. Loud ones. Easy ones.” He lets out a thin breath through his teeth. “I walked past all of them.”
Legundo’s chest tightens.
Owen finally looks back at him then, really looks, and the familiar mischief returns, but it’s fragile now, held together with effort rather than ease.
“So,” he says lightly, tapping Legundo’s chest with one finger, “I feel like I deserve at least a medal. Or a cookie. Or, ideally…” His eyes flick meaningfully to Legundo’s neck.
The joke lands, but it doesn’t quite hide the tremor underneath.
Legundo shifts closer without even thinking about it, his hand firming at Owen’s waist.
“You don’t have to fight alone,” he says quietly.
Owen’s smile softens. Just a fraction.
“I know,” he murmurs. “That’s why I came here instead of anywhere else.”
Owen’s fingers curl lightly in the fabric of Legundo’s shirt, bunching it between his knuckles. He looks down at his hands like he’s surprised to find them shaking, then forces a small laugh and tilts his head.
“Guess that makes you my reward, huh?”
His eyes lift again, hopeful and careful at once.
“May I have my… medal?” he asks. “Just a little. I promise I’ll behave.”
Legundo doesn’t answer right away. He simply reaches up and loosens his collar.
The invitation is soft. Wordless.
Owen’s expression shifts instantly, gentler, reverent. He leans in slowly, giving Legundo every chance to pull back. When Legundo doesn’t, Owen’s lips brush his neck instead.
Not a bite.
Just a soft, testing lick.
Legundo inhales sharply despite himself.
Owen smiles against his skin. He does it again, slow, deliberate, watching with quiet satisfaction as heat creeps up Legundo’s throat, a blush blooming over his neck and into his chest.
“There it is,” Owen whispers. “Every time.”
He begins to kiss him then, small, unhurried presses of his mouth along the curve of Legundo’s neck. Each one warmer than the last. Each one leaving Legundo just a little more unsteady.
“Owen,” Legundo breathes.
“That’s not a no,” Owen murmurs.
When he finally bites, it’s careful.
Controlled.
Legundo stiffens for half a second and then relaxes completely into him.
The taste hits Owen like sunlight through stained glass.
Sweet. Bright. Achingly familiar.
It is everything he is trying not to need too much.
His hands tighten slightly at Legundo’s shoulders as he drinks just enough, only what’s offered. When he pulls back, his breath trembles, and he presses his forehead to Legundo’s.
“Still sweet,” he murmurs.
Legundo exhales softly, fingers threading into Owen’s hair. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.”
For a moment, neither of them moves. The room settles around them again, the quiet, the dust, the ticking clock pretending nothing extraordinary just happened.
Owen eventually shifts, resting his head against Legundo’s shoulder.
“…Thank you,” he says, softer than usual.
Legundo tightens his arms just a little in response.
The door clicks shut behind Owen with a soft, final sound.
For a moment, he just stands there in the hallway, back against the wall, head tipped forward. The world feels too sharp at the edges, every sound too clear, every color too bright. Legundo’s blood still hums warmly through him, sweet and steady and too much in all the ways Owen can’t afford to think about.
He swallows.
Once.
Then twice.
When he finally pushes off the door and starts walking, his steps are a little unsteady, not from weakness, but from restraint. From stopping when every instinct screamed to take more.
Louis is waiting exactly where Owen expects him to be.
Leaning against the far wall. Pretending he hasn’t been counting heartbeats through the door.
The second Owen steps out, Louis straightens. His eyes scan Owen’s face first, too quickly, too carefully, tracking every detail: the faint flush still warming his cheeks, the way his breath is a little uneven, the way his shoulders sit just slightly too tense.
“Well?” Louis asks, quiet but tight.
Owen lets out a slow breath through his nose. “He’s alive,” he murmurs. “Still annoying. Still altruistic. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Louis exhales like he’s been holding it for miles. He steps forward without thinking, hands coming up to Owen’s coat, gripping fabric as if Owen might vanish if he doesn’t anchor him there.
“You scared me,” Louis admits. “You always do.”
Owen huffs softly. “You married me.”
“I married a disaster,” Louis says faintly. “This is worse.”
Their foreheads touch. Just for a second.
Then Louis tilts in and kisses him.
At first, it’s gentle. Careful. A press of lips meant purely for reassurance. The kind of kiss you give to confirm that someone is still real.
Owen melts into it with a quiet sound in his throat.
But the kiss doesn’t stay simple.
Louis’s hands slide from Owen’s collar to his jaw, cupping his face as if he needs to feel every inch of him. His mouth deepens the kiss slowly, testing, searching. There’s hunger there, but it isn’t violent. It’s aching. Wanting.
When his tongue brushes Owen’s lower lip, tentative at first, Owen freezes for the briefest moment.
Louis feels it instantly.
“Too much?” he murmurs against his mouth.
“No,” Owen whispers back. “Just—be gentle.”
Louis nods and kisses him again.
This time slower.
Softer.
His tongue slips in with care, tasting only what Owen offers. The faintest echo of warmth still lingers there, sweet and copper and human in a way neither of them is supposed to crave anymore.
Louis makes a quiet, broken sound in his throat.
Owen feels it in his chest.
He lets the kiss linger. Let's Louis chase that ghost of a taste with small, unsteady movements of his mouth. Let's him linger there like it’s a blessing instead of a reminder of what they’re both missing.
They part only when breath finally becomes necessary.
Louis’s hands are trembling.
“Still sweet,” he whispers, like a confession. Like an accusation. Like reverence.
Owen smiles faintly. “I told you.”
Louis searches his face again. “Did he give you enough?”
Owen’s expression dims just a little. “He gave what he always gives,” he says quietly. “Too much.”
Louis’s jaw tightens. “You took too much.”
“Only what he offered,” Owen replies, softer now. “And only because I couldn’t take it from anywhere else.”
That lands heavily between them.
They stand there in the quiet hallway, the echo of Legundo’s heartbeat still lingering in Owen’s veins and on Louis’s lips.
Finally, Owen glances back at the closed office door.
“You’re up,” Owen says quietly.
Louis studies him for a second. Not startled, just thoughtful. “You look steadier,” he observes.
“Don’t let that fool you.”
A faint smile curves Louis’s mouth at that. His hands slide down Owen’s arms, slow and reluctant, like he’s memorizing the weight of him before letting go.
“You’ve had enough, then,” Louis says.
Owen’s gaze flicks briefly toward the closed office door. “For today,” he answers honestly.
Louis hums softly. “Good.”
He leans in and kisses Owen again, slow, unhurried, steady. There’s no searching in it now, no hunger. Just reassurance. Just us.
When they part, Louis rests their foreheads together for a quiet second.
“I’ll be gentle,” he promises.
Owen exhales a soft laugh. “Statistically unlikely.”
Louis gives him a look of serene warning. “I am perfectly capable of restraint.”
“That’s what everyone who absolutely is not says.”
Louis actually snorts at that, just a small, undignified sound that makes Owen’s chest loosen.
“I will be calm,” Louis says evenly. “I will be polite. I will not drain the doctor.”
Owen raises a brow. “You practiced that.”
Louis shrugs one shoulder. “I rehearse for important meetings.”
Owen’s smile turns soft around the edges. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet,” Louis murmurs, stepping back, “you’re sending me in anyway.”
Owen nods once. “The only person I trust with him.”
That sobers Louis just slightly.
He reaches out, straightens Owen’s collar with careful fingers. “Wait here,” he says gently.
“As if I could go anywhere.”
Louis closes the door behind him with a quiet, careful click.
Louis turns toward the door and knocks.
Legundo is still seated at his desk, posture straight in the way that only means he’s forcing himself to stay that way. The papers in front of him are perfectly aligned. His hands, however, are not.
He looks up when Louis approaches.
“Hey,” Legundo says softly, like this is just another ordinary visit.
Louis doesn’t answer right away.
He walks closer at an unhurried pace, gaze steady, unreadable in its calm. When he reaches the desk, he places both hands on its surface and leans in just enough to gently, but unmistakably, invade Legundo’s space.
“You gave too much,” Louis says quietly.
Legundo blinks. “Owen needed—”
“He always does,” Louis interrupts, still gentle. “And you always forget that you also need to remain conscious afterward.”
Legundo exhales through a faint, guilty smile. “I’m fine.”
Louis tilts his head slightly. “Sit back.”
It isn’t a demand.
But it also isn’t a suggestion.
Legundo hesitates, just a second, then allows his chair to roll back a few inches under the light pressure of Louis’s hand at his shoulder.
“Good,” Louis murmurs.
He moves around the desk, then, unhurried, and comes to stand between Legundo’s knees. His hands lift and settle at the sides of Legundo’s jaw, thumbs brushing faint circles there, comfort woven seamlessly into control.
“You’re very generous,” Louis says softly. “It’s one of the things I admire most about you.”
The first kiss lands just below Legundo’s ear, slow, grounding. No hunger yet. Reassurance. Another follows, lower this time, lingering warm against skin already sensitive from earlier. Louis takes his time, mapping gentle presses of his mouth along the curve of Legundo’s neck as if reminding him where he is, who he is with.
Legundo’s hands tense instinctively in Louis’s sleeves.
“Hands down,” Louis murmurs without breaking rhythm.
Legundo obeys.
That earns him a faint, approving hum against his skin.
Only then does Louis bite.
It’s careful. Measured. Never rushed. His control is absolute, not just over himself, but over the moment. One hand brace at the back of the chair, the other steady at Legundo’s shoulder, keeping him anchored as the dizziness builds.
When Louis finally draws back, he does so slowly.
Deliberately.
Enough.
He stays close afterward, forehead resting lightly against Legundo’s temple, breath quiet and even.
“Still with me?” Louis asks softly.
Legundo nods. “Yeah. Lightheaded. Not gone.”
Louis exhales in relief. “Good. I would hate to have to explain that to Owen.”
That earns a weak, breathless laugh.
Louis straightens, adjusts Legundo’s collar with careful fingers, then presses one last gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, chaste, grounding.
“You’re done for today,” Louis says calmly. “No more generosity.”
“Yes, sir,” Legundo murmurs faintly, not entirely teasing.
Louis pauses.
Then allows himself the smallest, most dangerous hint of a smile.
a little insecure tasm peter parker x reader, early stages of relationship
masterlist | requests are open!
buy me a ko-fi!
nerdy peter lovers rise
They were just glasses.
On, off. On, off. A clear reflection of Peter in the bathroom mirror, a few circles of color where his head and body would be.
Peter examines himself with the lenses on, pulls out a piece of his sweater that had gotten caught inside his plaid pajama pants. His hands run up through the damp hair that falls flat against his forehead in an attempt to give it a little volume but it's no use without his usual styling products. Peter slaps his palms on his cheeks, shakes his head and sends micro-drops of water sailing. He bounces in place, attempting to shake out the jitters his body has had trouble containing all day.
Peter pushes his contact lens case aside, gives himself one last glance over. He contemplates for a few seconds, biting the inside of his cheek. Peter sighs as he pulls the lenses off again, cradling them in his hands and blowing air through his lips.
Metal frames, thick lenses.
Couldn't have that spider fixed his vision while he was at it?
Okay, Peter's vision wasn't that bad. Maybe he could survive without the frames Peter felt altered his appearance so drastically (or at least, reflected more accurately the type of person Peter was in his spare time). Peter with Contacts was cool and confident - scaled back from the confidence he had while he was in his suit, but not as pathetic as he was back in high school. Peter with Glasses? Yeah, that guy looked deserving of wedgies.
He reaches for his phone to check the time (and make sure he hasn't left you alone for too long), but can't make out what the white numbers say through his cracked screen.
Okay, maybe it is pretty bad.
Peter sighs, picks up the mess he'd made pre and post shower, hyping himself up one more time before opening the door and flipping the light switch off.
Peter pads down the hallway and peers his head around the corner into the small living room. He squints and can just barely make out the top of your head sitting on his couch.
Even though he can't see you very well, Peter's heart makes a funny feeling in his chest, even through the eye strain.
It's like you can feel Peter's eyes on you (which, you probably can - Peter is working overtime to try and make out the details of you) because you sit a little straighter and turn your head. Peter pushes his glasses on just in time to see you smile. And then grin.
"You wear glasses?"
Your voice is curious, not at all condescending, though Peter can hear the smile in your voice as you come up to meet him.
"For the aesthetics," Peter grins, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms in an attempt to make you believe the false sense of confidence he's putting up. It's stupid, really, but a tiny piece of Peter thinks someone as consistently perfect as you should be with someone who is equally on par. And, at the moment, Peter feels like he's letting you down.
You stand close to Peter, too close (his heart can't stop fluttering and his breath has caught in his throat). Peter fights the urge to pull you close to him. Too much, too soon, though he'd really like to kiss you right about now.
You try to contain your smile, a part of you still not quite believing that you've been so consistently guilty of making Peter Parker flustered.
Your fingers gently pull Peter's glasses off with a glint in your eye and Peter frowns at the sudden loss of sight - only because he doesn't want to miss looking at you from so close.
"For the aesthetics, huh?" You grin, turning the glasses to measure the thickness of Peter's lenses. Your suspicions about the strength of his prescription are confirmed by the way Peter's eyes are squeezed together as he looks at you.
"A hundred percent," Peter persists, opening his eyes normally and looking straight at the blurred lines of your face.
You take a step back and flash your phone at Peter, tiny words melted into a block of black. Peter instinctively squints and leans forward, trying to distinguish what the small screen said.
"You're like a grandma," you laugh, fully now.
"You should feel horrible for making fun of the elderly." Peter's arms drop, reaching for his glasses with an easy smile. But you move your hands away and Peter's hands catch on the crooks of your arms as you carefully place Peter's glasses back on his face, taking care to place them behind his ears as comfortably as you can. Your fingers graze against Peter's hair, still damp from his shower, gently moving a few stray pieces back into place.
"Well, you can't go to sleep like that," you murmur. "You'll get sick."
"So I guess we have time to kill?" Peter asks, hoping the two of you will sit down for a movie - or anything that'd keep him close to you, really.
"I guess we do," you grin, hands falling to Peter's shoulders, savoring the feeling of his hands on you, unable to help the craving you have for more.
"Pete?"
"Hmm?" Peter is partially entranced, melted like chocolate with the sweet sound of that little nickname coming out of your mouth. His eyes flicker and he's trying not to stare at your lips, bottom lip caught in his mouth in anticipation.
"Could I put my stuff in your room?" You ask sweetly, trying not to laugh at the way Peter falters, blinking quickly.
"Oh, yeah, sure," Peter nods frantically, hoping he's not as red as he feels.
You bite back your grin as Peter stays there, not moving until you do, sweet brown eyes slightly magnified by his glasses. Oh, but it'd be so cruel to deny him.
You press a quick kiss to the corner of Peter's mouth. It's a little shy and you turn away immediately to grab the overnight bag you'd packed. Two pairs of cheeks are red and grateful for the excuse of it, trying to shake off the little bit of nervousness the two of you still have around each other. It's a little strange, neither of you quite used to having someone around to love so freely. It's new, too, both of you still a little afraid to do something that would scare the other off, each of you knowing you'd never be the one to run off.
But this tiny fear that lives in both of your brains is what had Peter picking over his appearance earlier and is what makes him nervous now as he leads you down the hall to his room. He'd cleaned it thoroughly, considering hiding all his trinkets and trophies, ended up shoving things that had littered his shelves into his closet.
Peter takes a breath before opening his creaky door, smiling as he welcomes you in, hoping you somehow wouldn't notice - or maybe, wouldn't care to ask about - any of the posters or books or medals or figurines that made Peter, Peter. He was partially embarrassed and entirely nervous about sharing more of himself with you. After all, Peter was an expert at shutting people out and not too great at letting them in.
He doesn't know if he's relieved or even more anxious as you stare in awe, bag abandoned near his bed. It's clear you're taking in every detail of Peter's room, eyes not missing a single decoration. Peter feels as if he's being dissected, fidgeting as he waits for you to finish your analyzing. He's about to suggest that movie when you walk over to the desk he has shoved against the wall. Peter doesn't think there's anything special about books and pencils, but you're touching the tops of the things on his desk with care and a fascination he doesn't quite understand.
You quietly move onto old trophies and medals Peter has displayed, only the ones he was proudest of.
"Princeton Math Competition? Wow, Pete." You only turn your attention to him momentarily, returning your eyes to the shelf with a grin.
Peter's heart flutters when you sound... impressed? It was an accomplishment he was proud of, but not something he went around telling strangers.
"Oh, that... that- that's old," Peter laughs, coming up behind you, sure now there'd be no chance of getting you to watch that movie.
"Tell me about it."
"W...what?" Peter laughs, glancing at you curiously.
"I wanna hear about it," you say genuinely, taking a seat on the edge of Peter's bed. "Tell me about it."
Peter doesn't have to tell you he's shocked for you to realize it, a small smile tugging at your lips as you look up at him. Peter's not sure he has the courage to ask why before you beat him, sensing his hesitancy.
"I wanna know everything about you Peter. I wanna hear about your math competitions. I want you to tell me what books you're reading. I wanna know what matters most to you," you shrug, face a little warm from the confession. You don't have too much time to be embarrassed before Peter is next to you, hands digging into the bed at your sides. His face is inches away, his breath warm on your lips.
"Please let me kiss you," Peter whispers.
"Please do," you whisper back, letting Peter take your face in his hands and pull you into a kiss. The surface you've chosen is a little unstable as the both of you shift around, neither of you quite able to let the other go until you're forced to, breathless and grinning.
Peter's glasses have fogged up and he groans, pulling them off exasperatedly. "God, I hate these things."
"Really? But you look so good in them," you comment innocently, picking up the frames and attempting to look through them, muttering something about how, wow, Peter is blind.
Peter's not paying attention, though, heart hammering in his chest. He takes you by surprises when he kisses you this time, glasses still in your hands as they rest against his chest.
"You're trouble," Peter says when he finally pulls away. "You're doing awful things to my heart."
"Should I make fun of you, then?" You tease.
"Oh, I think that'd make it worse."
"I didn't know you were into that."
Peter shoves you as you laugh, though he can't help but join you.
"I didn't know you were into nerds," Peter quips, letting you slide his glasses back onto his face - the ones that suddenly don't seem that bad anymore.
"Only the really pretty ones," you murmur, and really, how could Peter not kiss you for that one?
Peter tries to take his glasses off as your kissing grows heated, knowing they'll be useless when they eventually fog up anyway. But your hand stops Peter, lips puffy from plenty of kisses and still eager for more.
"Nuh-uh," you say, pulling Peter's hand back down. "Keep them on."
Timeline? Who knows. This is purely based off of vibes.
I saw the GIF set and was even more in love than before. Also listening to this song on repeat.
Abrupt ending, my brain just is not braining for weeks now
GIF from @wesandresons
You are unsure why you are coming to the small get-together at the beach. You are unsure if you are even really wanted there or if the mumbled “you should come” from Deran wasn't just a courtesy. You are also unsure if Pope is there. And what you two are to each other. And, even if the other wanted you there, does he?
So you slowly walk up the dune, obscuring the view to the ocean itself. You hear the waves breaking, smell the salt in the air. You hear faint laughter and music before you see the red light of the fire. You emerge between the dunes, your hands tucked inside your hoodie sleeves. You can't make out who's who just yet, most of the backs turned away, so they could see the water in front of them.
You step closer just as someone passes a pretty empty bottle to the next person. You greet everyone with a polite wave and hello while you take stock of who is here. A few faces that you don't know, you make out J. and his Girlfriend, tucked away with her on his lap, while Craig is telling them something. Baz greets you with a nod, while his eyes wander from you to someone else. You follow his gaze, only to find Andrew looking at you. His eyes soften when they meet, his mouth tucked into a smile, which lights his face up. That answers at least one of your questions, you suppose.
“I hoped you would come,” Daran cheered. “You don't even know how hard it is these days to get Pope to come out with us. I had to practically drag him here, and he would only come after he heard that you would come, sooooo” He looked between you two expectantly.
Your face heats up, and you're certain that it's not just due to the fire near you. Nevertheless, you are joining Andrew and Dearan.
You three sit on driftwood, you right next to Pope, not quite touching, who seems rigid. But as the evening continues and the sun sets behind the horizon, Andrew's knee touches you almost accidentally when he stretches his long legs. He lets them there. You shiver even though heat radiates from the fire, and, of course, he notices. Even when he doesn't have you in his direct line of sight, he seems to have a sixth sense for you.
So you find yourself bundled up in his lap, engulfed in his arms. You instinctively borrow your face in the crock of his neck, breathing him in. He holds you steady and tight to himself. You are unsure if you hear his voice muffled against your hair, “I'm glad that you came.”
From your perched position, you watch as the people get more high or drunk or both, slowly couple up or leave on their own until Deran leaves you two as the sole survivors with a huffed warning not to do anything he wouldn't do. Which means basically nothing at all.
The cold creeps in, and the heat radiating from the fire and Pope are not enough to keep you from shivering anymore. You are not entirely sure, it's only the cold, and not the fact, that you are so close to the man you have been pining after for quite a while now.
You look up, only to find Andrew already staring down at you. Time seems to slow, while he tightens the grip he has on you, pulling you closer to him. Your noses almost touch now, breathing the same air. His eyes flicker down to your lips briefly. But it was enough for you to collect your courage, close your eyes, to lean in and press your lips to his.
At first, you get nothing in return, and you fear that you have overstepped. But when you pulled away, you felt a hand at your face, pulling you back. His lips captured yours, tasting the cheap beer on them. You followed, slipping your tongue into his mouth.
Panting, his hand still on your face, the thumb brushing away all thought, your foreheads pressed together. You opened your eyes to find him staring again, eyes hopeful, lips shining and quirked upwards. He leaned in again, soft and exploring, before he parted again, almost hesitant. As if you would disappear when he stopped. The only change was in your position in his lap; you were straddling him now, one of his hands securing you to him at your lower back.
You don't know whose idea it was to pack up and go back to your place. The HOW you get back to yours is also kind of a blur. You are pretty sure that Andrew was white knuckling the entire drive back. He insisted on taking his truck and getting your car back later. You are, however, very aware of Andrew's hand on your thigh. When you glance over, he is staring very deliberately ahead. When he puts his truck in park, he tells you to wait, only to open the door for you moments later. You take his offered hand to climb out.
He is walking right behind you and crowds you against the door, mouthing at your neck, while you try- and fail at first- to open the door. You both basically fall into your flat when you finally manage.
You kick the door shut behind you two, refusing to let Andrew out of your eye line. He looks positively wrecked when he asks you if you are sure, if you really want that. Instead of answering, you kiss him again, hungrier this time, while pushing him deeper into your flat.
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princess reader who insists she wants to learn how to swing a sword and her loyal knight who accepts to secretly train her... the same hands that commit atrocities in your name are quick and precise as he shows you the correct way to use a weapon... princess reader who grows more and more impatient by the respectful distance he keeps, orders him to touch her, demands that he closes his broad hands on top of hers to properly show her how to hold a blade... princess reader who senses her knight's hesitation and the increasing, intense magnetism each sparring session is infused with... the more you improve, the more time you spend together, the more he feels drawn to you, his role weighing oh so heavy especially when on one particular evening you command him to touch you right where you're aching for him, to show you how to touch him... perhaps with a blade held to his throat... your devoted cavalier, the loyal dog who wouldn't dare defy your father's orders... and yet you see the tension in his jaw, the way he looks at you... and decide that if he really isn't willing to touch you then so be it. you'll be the one who'll be kneeling before him for once
Deep down, Atsushi always believed that, one day, Dazai would leave him.
He never expected that his crush on the handsome, extremely intelligent and charmingly ridiculous brunet would grow into an actual proper relationship. Every soft gaze, every warm touch, every shared meal and walk home felt like fleeting moments, the older man indulging Atsushi before, inevitably, growing bored of him and leaving him behind to seek someone better, someone worthy.
And yet, Dazai's gaze never seemed to waver.
No matter who they crossed in their path, Dazai's eyes always stayed on Atsushi. The brunet never stopped being hard to read, and yet his feelings for Atsushi were clear and unquestionable. By the time they moved in together, the tiger had let go of almost all his doubts.
Almost.
It was just another case, apprehending a dangerous ability user, and Atsushi slipped up. He got caught in the ability, and, suddenly, there was another. Another him.
This Atsushi was broader, his hair more even, eyes more dull and neck dotted with scars. He didn't seem happy to be confronted with anyone from the Armed Detective Agency, but, once he saw Dazai, he looked like he had seen a ghost and spiraled into tears.
Because Dazai he knew was dead.
The Agency couldn't let a man from another world roam around, so they took him in to watch over. Nakajima (they called this other Atsushi to avoid confusion) came willingly, trembling under the concerned gaze of Dazai's amber eyes. The story he told of his life had everyone sympathetic, Atsushi included. It sounded like a nightmare even worse than his upbringing was already.
Nakajima was like a dark cloud. Only time he seemed to be more at ease was around Kyouka. Even with Atsushi he was reserved. He didn't believe when the detective told him of his and Dazai's relationship, saying how his Dazai would never look this way at him. How unworthy he was. Familiar echo of Atsushi's own thoughts regarding himself.
Dazai was very invested in what was happening with Nakajima. He tried to make sure Nakajima was comfortable at every turn, always trying his best to make him relax, even cheer up. And it worked - soon Nakajima was laughing at his silly jokes, looking less like death and more like Atsushi.
And Atsushi was happy for him. Really, he was - talking to Nakajima felt as if he suddenly had a brother, someone much like him and yet extremely different. Atsushi wanted for that ever-present shadow on Nakajima's face to disappear, and whenever Nakajima lightened up Atsushi himself felt lighter.
Although, at some point, Atsushi started to feel this... heaviness. Whenever Nakajima needed something, Dazai was there first to try and help him, and around Dazai Nakajima smiled the most. For the first time in a long time, an old, forgotten anxiety rose up in Atsushi, sinking its steel claws into his gut.
He will leave you for someone else.
Atsushi abandoned that thought ages ago, his bond with Dazai too strong to believe the man was lying about his affections for him, but... Nakajima was him. They were different, but both of them were Atsushi Nakajima at their core. Everything that Dazai loved about Atsushi, Nakajima must've had it, too. And what's more, he was more interesting. Exciting, new, literally from another world. Dazai had already learned anything there was to know about Atsushi, so boredom must've been settling in for the brunet.
Atsushi began feeling sad whenever he saw Dazai and Nakajima talk. He was... unnecessary. Dazai loved Atsushi Nakajima, and Nakajima was in so much pain that he needed Dazai more than Atsushi did. It would be better for everyone if Atsushi just... stepped aside.
Dazai was not happy to hear this.
"Atsushi-kun." His face was carefully blank, his perfected mask of indifference, but his eyes were cast down. "I suppose I am to blame. I didn't mean to overlook your feelings. He's filled with so much pain that it was hard for me to think of anything else. I hate seeing your face in pain."
Atsushi willed himself not to show any pain.
"But even though you share a face, there's place for only one Atsushi in my heart." Dazai framed Atsushi's face with his hands, tenderness blooming in his eyes. "I love you. The boy who pulled me out from a river. Who saw light in me, even when I believed there was none. Who never gave up on me, even though I had already gave up on life." He pressed a kiss to his cheek. "My Atsushi-kun."
Dazai tenderly wiped tears from Atsushi's, and held him until he was no longer shaking.
synopsis: reader tries to set boundaries between her and Jordan, per the recommendation of her boss, and instead finds her mind filling the gaps she was blanking from her imagination.
warnings: mature content! MINORS DNI oral, male receiving, brief intercourse that is implied to be unprotected. Not proofread!
word count: 2.9k
•••
Another late night at the practice facility with Jordan meant another night of tossing and turning in your bed, trying not to think too much about him.
He’s just a basketball player.
The simple statement was being thrown around your head like a lost ball. Nowhere to go, no direction in mind. Just aimlessly floating through every corner of your mind, bouncing off of walls just to cross to the front of everything again.
“He’s just a basketball player,” you mumbled to yourself as you clicked off your desk lamp after slinging your bag over your shoulder.
It was just past 10 pm, and you were exhausted. Saying goodbye to Jordan on the court some 5 minutes ago was hard. Talking to him felt like talking to someone you’d known your whole life. Conversation flowed so easily, and time passed in the blink of an eye. Just the other day, he’d walked past as you were grabbing an energy drink from the vending machine down the hall from your office, and when you returned to your desk, more than 45 minutes had passed. You could’ve sworn it had only been five minutes – you couldn’t believe it.
You’d packed your camera away just before 9 pm that night, and Jordan had said that he was probably going to head home soon, too. But then you got talking, and he asked about your weekend plans, which somehow led to discussing your families and the holidays. At one point, the two of you were just passing the ball back and forth, kind of making comments about the upcoming games he had, but mostly just staring at each other and smiling.
You needed to set boundaries with him, like actual, solid boundaries. Or this was just going to get worse and worse. A workplace crush was fine as long as it didn’t get in the way of you doing your work; that had always been your mentality. Work crushes made the days more fun and kept you entertained when you were stuck with your head down. There was no way you could bend this statement to apply it to your current situation, though. Jordan was your muse, 75% of your workday evolved around him. He was the centre of your job and your biggest projects. The fine lines that so often separated these parts of your life were blurred and almost invisible.
You needed boundaries, or everything you had worked so hard to get would crumble around you. It was on your to-do list, literally the second item under ‘get new toothpaste’ was ‘set boundaries with Jordan ASAP’. You were going to the grocery store on your way home, and after that, it would be at the top of your list. A bottle of Pinot Gris and rewatching Love Island were calling your name, alongside your favourite pen and journal that never went longer than two days without you scribbling in it.
The next week, you were determined to establish the boundaries. This time, when Jordan and you bumped into each other, you kept an eye on your watch and excused yourself when five minutes passed.
“You know I like talking to you,” you had said as you took a few steps away from him, you needed to create more space, “but I really have to get back to work.”
“Don’t let me hold you back,” Jordan smiled, throwing his hands up in a playful manner, “go be great.”
You waved goodbye and quickly made your way back to your office. It felt so wrong ending the conversation before you were ready. It was like a full-length 80-minute episode’s script was stuffed at the top of your throat and waiting to be spit out. On top of feeling like you could talk about a million other things with him, you were praying that cutting the conversation short didn’t come off as rude.
Jordan wasn’t stupid, and you knew for certain that it wouldn’t take long for him to pick up on the fact that you were barely talking to him outside of work-related things. You didn’t want him to think something had happened between the two of you, or that you didn’t like him anymore. That wasn’t true. If anything, you were starting to like him way too much. But you couldn’t tell him, and you sure as shit weren’t about to blow up the boundaries you’d just set for yourself.
“Are you good?” Jordan had asked you in your office after he’d approved a video, a few weeks after you’d implemented the boundaries. “You’ve seemed a little off recently.”
You smiled up at him, picking up a stack of papers to straighten and file away in your bottom drawer of used video ideas.
“I’m okay,” you reassured him, “things have just been really hectic recently, and I’m just trying to find a proper balance and routine, you know?”
Jordan nodded his head in response, jutting his bottom lip out a bit as he did so. “I feel you,” he nodded one last time before patting your door frame.
“Same time tomorrow?”
“Same time.”
With that, he disappeared from your office, and you felt a weight lifted from your shoulders. You slumped back in your desk chair and blew air through your lips in frustration. The same words that had been replaying in your mind over and over again came out of your mouth without you even thinking, as had become your new normal.
“He’s just a basketball player.”
Lying in bed without distraction was always the hardest part after a day spent working with or around Jordan. Every time you closed your eyes, flashes of him flickered across your eyelids.
Him training, him laughing, him wearing casual-wear, him in only his basketball shorts rolled all the way up, him drenched in sweat and zoned in, him carefully adjusting his clothes before walking out of the hotel for game-time fits. You were documenting a majority of his life for this little PR project. That meant there was little you hadn’t seen him do. It made it so easy for your mind to spin tales higher than the trees are tall and longer than the river that runs through Tanzania.
The scenes that untangled when you finally drifted into a light slumber were nothing short of creative and intense. You could practically feel Jordan’s lips drag against the skin of your stomach as his large hands parted your thighs. Your bed dipped and your sheets twisted under both your squirming bodies. From dusk till dawn, your bodies were intertwined, your arms holding each other close. Lips constantly almost touching, drifting over one another but never meeting.
This was all that you wanted. Your mind never let it fall too far away. The issue was that you were sure Jordan had picked up on the way you looked a little too long when he was drenched in sweat and shirtless. There was no reason for him to stand as close to you as he had recently. Did he really need to see the photos you’d just taken right then and there?
The smell of his cologne and his sweat was intoxicating. You could practically predict how beautifully it would mix with the thick scent of sex. You’d been drunk off of him in no time, eyes squeezed shut with his name passing through your lips over and over again while he pushed into you from behind. Begging for more and more, you’d watch his hand disappear between your thighs, him forcing you to look him in the eye while he took what was his.
You could see it unfolding anywhere. You finally reaching your peak and locking the door to your office one day after showing him a video. Jordan would be sitting there with his legs spread in some grey sweatpants. He’d be leaning forward, watching the video intensely. It would take everything in you not to stare at his crotch, wondering what was going on under there and if you really could deal with seeing him walk around. He would approve of the video; he always did, but this time, when you would stand up, you wouldn’t start directing him out the door. Instead, you would stand between his spread legs, put your hands on his shoulders and kiss him. Hard.
You sighed, rolling onto your side in your bed and gently caressing your own thigh. You needed to stop getting so caught up in all these thoughts. One day, it would backfire. One day, a part of your daydream would slip into reality, and you would be fucked.
One day, exactly like today.
You were staying late again, it was an agreement you and Jordan had come to share. He came and knocked on your office door when he was about to head down to the court. It was just going to be him getting shots up, he reassured you, though it always was just him. You joined him on the court after what felt like 5 minutes, but already, Jordan had taken off his shirt, and he was drenched in sweat.
He looked delicious. You couldn’t help but stare. Every part of you just wanted to pull him into the locker room and lick up and down every part of his body.
“You’re staring,” Jordan said, standing in front of you, looking down at where you sat on the benches. You looked up at him quickly, away from his beautiful torso and V-line that was right in your eyeline and made you want to pull down his shorts and take in every inch of him.
“Now you’re really staring,” Jordan remarked, and you finally pulled your eyes away and looked up at him.
“Sorry,” you mumbled. You had sworn you did look away the first time. “You just look really yummy.”
Your cheeks burnt the second the sentence left your mouth. You had heard it, not in your head, but outloud. And worst of all, so had Jordan.
“Oh my God, I am so sorry,” you started blubbering as you apologised, shaking your head and avoiding looking at him. You stood up quickly, not even thinking about how close you were to him, and suddenly, his hands were on your shoulders, pushing you down again.
“Don’t be sorry,” he shook his head, that crooked smile, ever so charming, lulling you into a sense of security. “I stare at you all the time, too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he nodded and reached his hand out to cup your chin. His thumb caressed your face gently.
“I can’t help myself. Sometimes, you just look too damn sexy, especially when you’re walking away from me, or when you’re tryna get the perfect shot. You get this hard look on your face, and you’re completely in the zone. Every time I see it, it makes me wanna kiss you. Honestly, most of the time when I see you, I’m trying not to press you up against a wall and feel you all around me.” Jordan’s doe eyes lazily drifted over you, taking in how you reacted to his words. He smiled at you, as if he knew more than he should.
“That’s exactly why I limit our time together,” you confessed, leaning into his hand. “There are so many places I’ve thought about us, so many ways I’ve thought about you.”
“What about just now? What were you thinking then?” He cocked his head to the side and took the slightest step closer to you.
“I was thinking about licking you all over,” you blushed, “licking the sweat off of you, following this line all the way down to your cock.” Your finger dragged along his V-line, and you felt yourself pulling closer to him.
“You can, you know,” you didn’t dare look up at him, “I wouldn’t stop you.”
You nodded your head and cautiously moved your face closer to his body. You stuck your tongue out and just kissed it over his skin, dragging from one ab muscle to another. He was so salty on your tongue, so sweet and smooth, and perfect. You moaned at the taste of him. When you licked him next, it was longer, braver. You found his V-line and licked both sides of his hips. He brushed your hair out of your face as you did it, quite hums of pleasure pouring out of him.
Then, like magic, you were on your knees on the hardwood floors and nothing hurt. His shorts were down around his ankles, and his cock was in your mouth, hitting the back of your throat while he moaned and groaned your name.
“Fuck, yes baby,” he spoke harshly in a way you’d never heard him, “take this big dick down your throat like a good girl.” You moaned at his words, opening your throat as much as you could.
Your throat burnt every time he thrust into you, but you kept wanting more and more. You grabbed at his hips and hollowed your cheeks. You loved the feeling of his cock in your mouth; you could feel every vein, every ridge, and you couldn’t help but think about how that would feel in your pussy.
“That’s it,” Jordan praised you as you swirled your tongue around his tip, spitting on top of him and playing with his balls, “you’ve been waiting for this dick, huh?”
“Oh, I’ve been dreaming ‘bout this dick,” you pumped him slowly, long strokes with his tip in your mouth, “you ain’t even had it, and this pussy’s all yours.”
“Come with me,” Jordan said, helping you to your feet quickly, “we gotta go somewhere else for this.”
You didn’t ask any questions but watched as Jordan quickly pulled his shorts up before grabbing your hand again and leading you away. You followed quickly, your pussy calling out for whatever was coming, excited and ready for whatever was coming.
He led you to your office, the last place you thought he would go. He closed the door and locked it behind you, dropping his pants before he turned to face you and pushed you against your desk.
“I’ve had this exact dream,” you half moaned as he pulled your pants down, his hands rubbing up and down your body afterwards. He groped your breasts with both hands, groaning at the feeling and bit at your neck. Your head lulled back, and you breathlessly moaned his name.
“Stop teasing me,” you moaned, turning in his arms, “don’t you want to be inside me?” You pushed your ass back into him, presenting your wet pussy for him. He grabbed at your ass, spreading your cheeks and groaned your name before his hand landed hard on your cheek.
“You want me so bad,” he teased, his hand pressing into your lower back so you would arch more, “you want me to fuck you right here, against your desk so you can remember me every time you’re sitting here, working.”
“Yes, baby,” you moaned, “I wanna be thinking about you and how you feel inside me every time I’m sitting right here.”
Jordan spanked you, mumbling something about a naughty girl to himself, “I’ve wanted to do this to you ever since that first night we met.”
“Stop teasing me, Jordan,” you pushed your hips back against him, this time feeling his cock against your ass cheek, “take what’s yours, baby, come inside this pussy.”
“You’re such a greedy girl, aren’t you?” Jordan teased, his hands now firmly on your hips, holding you in place. “You don’t just want this cock, you want my babies too.” his lips pressed against your bare shoulder; you didn’t remember taking off your shirt.
You couldn’t even process what he’d say before he’d lined up his dick with your entrance and had pushed himself inside of you. You called out his name loudly and started moaning like a pornstar with every steady stroke he made. His groans joined yours as his hands moved around your body. He groped at your tits, pinching your nipples and jiggling them, feeling how they moved with his stroke. He watched your ass cheeks bounce back at every thrust of his hips, and he felt how you moved with him, throwing it back to meet you.
He felt so deep inside you, stretching your pussy out. It felt so good, so real. It almost didn’t make sense when your phone started to buzz from your bedside table, your alarm echoing throughout your room.
It was 5 am. You needed to get up and get to the gym before work. You needed to deal with how your body was burning for Jordan, begging for him. You needed to pull it together.
But still, you smiled to yourself as you dragged your hands up your torso and over your breasts. You pictured the rough pads of his fingers and let out a sigh of content, and then a groan of frustration.
The season would keep moving, you reassured yourself, and once it ended, everything would change. Boundaries would no longer push the two of you apart; in fact, you’d tear every wall down the second you handed in your letter of resignation.
It was decided, probably long before you’d even acknowledged the thought. You were quitting once the season ended, and then you were going straight to Jordan and making all these wet dreams a reality. Who cares how it looked? You needed him more than sleep, more than oxygen.
