How about a little match game? 😊 Match the dinner style with a babe:
fancy, decadent candlelit dinner
delicious, greasy takeout
homemade pasta and cheap wine
sampling various foodtrucks
with Curtis, Joel, Ari, Steve
Thank you for this fun game, Eva! I love to eat all those things. OK, so there are few chaps that could probably slot well to several, but I’m thinking--- (also I made them all weirdly sexual, lol, I’d apologize, buuut I know you’re into it and I’m on my period so not gonna apologise heh. 😘)
-fancy, decadent candlelit dinner – Steve – After growing up not having a lot, then being stuck on ice, then fighting the world’s (and galaxy’s) baddies (after which he’s STAYS IN THE PRESENT, ahem), Steve likes to slow down and take his time with you. He knows that being a superhero on call means you play second fiddle to his saving the world, despite being number one in his heart. He’s going to make sure to shut you in for a night, just the two of you, and enjoy all sorts of sensuous pleasures. Starting with taste…and probably ending with it too. 😏
-delicious, greasy takeout – Ari – Ari has the body of a Greek god, but he loves a cheat meal. His favourite is the Indian take away from down the road. Indian food isn’t necessarily greasy, but hear me out. He also has a massive sweet tooth, so you guys go for korma and peshwari naan. Watching him rip a piece of naan and drag it through the leftover korma sauce and then make a little moaning noise as he sucks up the last little bit of sauce and sweet bread from his thick fingers?! Please, I would die. And even after his cheat meal, his appetite wouldn’t be satisfied, cuz he hadn’t gotten a piece of you yet. And he’s a big beefcake with an even bigger appetite. 🥴
-homemade pasta and cheap wine – Curtis – Curtis makes an amazing pasta arrabbiata. When you start dating the first time he invites you to dinner at his, it’s to make this. And he apologises for the two buck chuck wine, but he needn’t because it’s perfectly drinkable, and compliments his simple, yet delicious, meal well. So when you thank him for the evening by climbing into his lap right there at the dining table and giving him red-wine and red-sauce stained kisses, he’s not going to object to a ‘kiss the cook’ appreciation.
-sampling various food trucks – Joel –Austin would probably have a lot of delicious options. But also! Joel would be so fun to drag on a date like this. Even in a non-outbreak world, I think he’s game for low key most things, and just spending time with the person he’s dating. He could turn up in a t-shirt and jeans! You could drift from picnic table to picnic table between courses, no reservations needed! And he would admire the way your outfit is casual but tempting, and how the string lights give you this glow that he’s drawn to you. But he’s pretty sure it’s more than just the halo of light, but how exciting and enthusiastic you are to try every thing, and how you give him military-like but sweetly executed instructions for the most efficient ordering to let you try samples from nearly every cart without eating TOO much. And then after you’ve both had so much food, he’s gonna walk you back to his truck, outside the glow of string lights, and give you a sweet kiss against it muttering, “Can’t believe you tricked me into ordering from every truck.”
“You loved it. Besides we haven’t even had dessert yet, so we should stop for ice cream on the way home.”
“Don’t want ice cream, but am gonna get my mouth on something sweet,” Joel says, big hands coming to cup your ass and rub your hips into his.
+++
This was perfect to do instead of working this morning, thank you!
So @stargazingfangirl18 wrote some tags about Jake Jensen's thick fingers that sent me spiralling. It inspired what I can't even call a drabble, it's just some random Hump Day Thots about Jake Jensen fingering you against a wall. 👀 Enjoy.
Like he'd be dirty talking and narrating through what he was doing, but still a bit needy about it. Jake’s gonna show you a good time, and really really enjoy doing it.
Liiike maybe it’s an AU where he’s not military and is legit just the office IT guy, and you’ve been eyeing each other over the Xerox machine. Which he’s often around because you seem to have the opposite of whatever the Midas touch is when it comes to the copier.
And so, yet again, Jake’s kneeling in front of the Xerox printer, and by extension you, which makes you think of other things he could be doing with his adroit hands and thick fingers and pretty mouth whilst on his knees that aren’t fixing shitty office equipment.
“I swear, I’m not inept at technology, this printer just hates me!” is what you’re saying aloud, but mentally you’re trying not to focus on how Jake Jensen is possibly one of the only men in the world who can get away with wearing short-sleeved button down work shirts, a tie and a pocket protector. It really helps that the short sleeve cuts into his bicep, which bunches and flexes as he tries rejigging the toner in attempt to fix the Xerox.
And you’re both flirting, the tension builds and builds, but he gets called away to solve another IT issue. Until later that afternoon you both wind up in the supply closet (with legitimate stationery needs) and then you just slam the door shut and push him against it.
After you’ve kissed him breathless, and come up for air, he looks adorably stunned “God I’m glad you did that.” and JAke’s hands squeezing your waist pull you back into him, and he rolls so you’re pinned against the wall and he’s kissing your neck and grabbing your ass.
And then all my brain power is just sapped for the day, so like ~insert smut here ~ but basically, Jake is pulling up your skirt, and stroking your slit over your underwear, until all of a sudden he’s asking if he can really touch you (because JJ is the King of Consent)
The duality of this man who is glorious dweeby and ruinously sexy all at once.
Because then he's using the two very thick fingers he made fingerguns at your earlier that day with during some silly thing he said, to now stroke along this silken walls of your pussy and make you keen and pant his name.
Filling you with his fingers and pressing against the spongy place inside you.
Etc etc etc... GOD I WISH I HAD ENERGY / CAPACITY TO SPIN THIS INTO AN ACTUAL FIC.
Luckily Jake would have energy / enthusiasm to ruin you, no problem. 🥴🥵👍 Happy Hump Day!
If you'd like to read more, please cruise on over to my Masterlist :
Tumblr is a place to express yourself, discover yourself, and bond over the stuff you love. It's where your interests connect you with your
Joel Miller x reader blurb: Joel is a sweetly nervous wreck on your first date
Guys? This? This----
That's 100% tipsy DILF Joel Miller going on his first proper date in a long while and he's super nervous and wants to make a good impression and so he arrives early and pounds merlot before his date gets there. Bullet point head canon fluff below. Thanks to @ozarkthedog for encouraging my nonsense. 😘
Word count: 550ish
Pairing: DILF disaster dater Joel Miller x f!reader
Unedited, unbeta'd etc. No warnings used, nothing beyond sweet disaster dater Joel Miller really.
Putting it out into the world unformed so we can all have a lil' indulgent daydream.
He's trying' to get back in the dating game
(like yeah he gets laid but DATING is scary)
Sarah is off to college and before she does (he's fucking mortified but appreciative) she helps him set up dating apps
and he's mostly horrified at having to interact with strangers lmao
and how some women are just straight in with sexting and he's a bit skittish and been a bit single for that
(with a stranger at least. Joel is slut when it's intimate)
but he's talking to a nice lady (that's you, babe!) and she’s funny and nice and seems real
So they arrange a 'big' 'proper' first date
and Joel wants to make a good impression
He picks a nice restaurant where Joel’s gonna have to wear a suit jacket
and he's sooo nervous
and Reader is too
But Joel doesn’t clock it, all he sees when you walk in is a vision in a beautiful, enticing dress perfectly suited to the venue, while he feels like a cater-waiter in his button down and sport coat
Meanwhile he turned up nearly 20 minutes early
and now he's flushed from downing nearly 2 glasses of wine in quick succession
and you both order dinner and there are some awkward starts and stops to conversation. But you're both kind and want the date to succeed, so you both take turns fumbling to fill the few awkward silences
He picks wine instead of anything harder because he wants to be present
He's trying to be a GENTLEMAN
he REALLY likes you
dinner is delicious and the waiter brings the dessert menu. And nothing on it even looks nice, even though you have a massive sweet tooth, and certainly don't want the night with Joel to end
"This all looks a bit fancy and not very sweet," you suggest putting the menu down.
So you say"shall we get the bill?"
Joel's heart drops cuz he doesn't want the night to end, but you clearly do and how did he fuck up so bad, of course you were just seeing the date through to the end cuz you’re nice and polite and—
Then you carry on "Do you want to go get gelato? There's a really good place around the corner."
and then his heart soars when you suggest gelato
Like Ozzie said, he’s like a “teenage girl totally lovestruck”
Joel flags down the waiter so fast and there’s a tussle for the check, and he only agrees to split the check when you acquiesce to let him buy you gelato.
You stroll down the street and the summer night is warm and the dark envelops you. You and Joel get your gelatos and sit down on a park bench, chatting merrily away, the awkwardness of the night forgotten as conversation flows.
Joel pointed out you had some ice cream on your face and when you kept missing it with swipes of your napkin, he licks his thumb, swipes it at the corner of your mouth, and popped the digit between his own lips.
It was only when you gawped at him that he realized what he’d done without thinking, and took his thumb out from between his plump lips.
“God, I’m so sorry, that was---” You shut him up by lunging at him and licking the taste of your ice cream out of his mouth.
++the end++
I love one (1) man, and it's nervous DILF Joel Miller:
Dieter keeping things you’ve made a mess in or on for his own little collection is headcanon now. 👏👏👏
On that note… he brought this pillow with him because he made you ride it right before he had to leave to film a movie. 😇
I WANT TO BITE HIS BICEPS HE LOOKS SO SNUG I AM DEAD. Whew, OK now that that’s out of the way. 😂
Ozzie I love this. 💀🤌🥵
Title: Pillow Case
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x personal assistant!reader (afab!reader) from Luster but you don’t have to have read that to understand this.
Word count: 700ish
Unbeta’d.
🔞Over 18s only, minors dni! 🔞 I do not give permission for my work to be republished, reposted, or translated.
Warning: Dieter is a gloriously dirty pervert, what do I even tag it???
Pillow humping, masturbation (f and m), phone/video sex.
Dieter [SPOILER] licks your dried cum? [/end SPOILER]
More filth under the cut:
Dieter squeezes you tightly as daylight permeates his senses. But your flesh gives way far too easily. You’re soft and snuggable, but you still had bones. And the form his leg is flung over and his arms hold definitely doesn’t.
The smell of it is nearly you – your perfume, the sweet tang of your sex. But it’s not fresh, and not the delectable scent of your skin, your slickened juicy ripe cunt.
Thinking of your wet folds has Dieter’s cock thickening against the bed sheets.
The pillow, Dieter groggily remembers. And hugs it tighter as his mind wanders to the moment two days ago he got you to leave your sweetness on it for his enjoyment:
You’re worked up and wet, so close to an orgasm.
You kneel at the head of Dieter’s California king bed, straddling a pillow. Head thrown back, biting your lip.
He’s urging you on, marveling and slobbering at the sight of your sweet cunt split open on the seam of the pillow case.
But you can’t get the final weight or friction to call your orgasm fully.
“So fucking close, Dee, I just-” you whimper and fall forward, chest on the bed and hips humping the pillow in search of some aching relief. Dieter smacks your ass. “Get up baby, please, need to see your cunt make its mess. I’ll help, I’ll help,“ Dieter urges you upright again.
He shuffles in front of you. Clutches a hip so you grind down into the pillow, knees widening for him in the way you couldn’t get yourself to do. You cry out wantonly, your clit catching just right as Dieter busies his other hands by cupping your tit, pressing your nipple with his thumb. He swallows your sounds with his mouth planted firmly on and licking into yours. Dieter’s kiss is as messy and gloriously wet as your cunt on this pillow while you come.
In his lonely hotel room, Dieter’s cock stiffens fully, smacks his stomach as he tongues the pillow case where it’s now stiffened with the stain of your slick from your orgasm.
While he sucks your taste from the cloth, his bracelet clatters against the nightstand as he fumbles for his phone, stabs it for a video call.
In LA, your phone rings, the ‘Dieter 💗’ contact flashing (he added the pink heart himself after you slept together) as you’re just settling down to breakfast on Dieter’s patio with your book.
When you accept the video call all you see is Dieter’s riotously tousled bedhead, one deep brown eye and his mouth, unlatching from the pillow he’s sucking to mumble, “Baby, can you talk?”
You recognize the pale sage green and your breath catches. It’s the one you humped, the one you came all over. You don’t know why you assumed Dieter had taken it to the laundry, he never did for anything, so his scheme should have been evident.
“Course. What’s up?”
“Missing your pussy. Missing you.” He pans the phone down to his cock, thick against his belly and you lick your lips. “Got this to take care of when I was thinkin’ about you and this pillow.”
He rolls over to his back, tugs at his cock and angles the camera so you can see his face and his working hand. You squirm in your seat.
“Dieter, fuck baby, you look good.”
“God you don’t even have to talk real dirty, you just say nice things and I’m gonna fucking spunk all over myself,” Dieter says, back arching in time with his jerking of his cock.
His thrown back head levels to stare down the barrel of the camera, “You start too, it’s your spend on this pillow that got me like this. Need you to make some of that slick fresh, babe.”
What can you do but dash inside to start a show of your own?
I'm over here daydreaming about hanging out with your bar keeper Ari, doing shots together and constantly having a battle of the jukebox. Of course I'm tipsy and pulling Ari onto the floor to dance to whatever is playing at the moment
Dearest Amber, this thought you submitted (lo these many months ago 😅) prompted a ficlet I never finished. But am clearing out the lovely asks I’ve received like yours, so posting what I’ve got so far plus a conclusion of sorts. Hope you enjoy😘
Pairing: Bar owner!Ari Levinson x clueless FWB! Reader from this fic
+++
You hear Ari's groan before you hear the song change yourself. "Noooo, sweetheart, how could you do this to me?!"
The opening strains of Chumbawamba's “Tubthumping” drifts to your ears.
You cackle, "It's your bar, why have anything in your jukebox you don't want to hear? This is on you, Levinson."
A few weeks after that first night on Ari's office couch and several more nights - - in the bar after closing, in Ari's office several times, his bed, his kitchen table, even once on the floor of Ari's apartment, and he was so chastened and apologetic about rug burn on your ass and back you had to ride him right then and there, yanking his hands to your hips and guide to clutch and slap your ass to show him you felt no pain. (At least none that wasn't good.)
You're a fixture in the bar. Your liver isn't thanking you but Ari can tell when you're feeling peaky and plies you with decaf coffee, or orange juice, or a lime and soda instead of booze. Mentally you catalog those with the stacks of pancakes and avocado toasts that Ari has also fed you. How thoughtful, that he keeps his fuck buddies nourished and watered. Given Ari's insatiable sexual appetite you don't wonder. He's merely keeping your strength up.
The bar light gives Ari a halo round his golden head. Even as his eyes narrow with chagrin at your song choice, they dance with merriment as you start to slowly shimmy your shoulders to the bright horns blaring through the bar. "C'mon, Levinson. You drinks a whisky drink, you drinks a vodka drink?" You keep eye contact while bopping to the earworm and extending your hand.
Ari plants his arms on the bar and launches himself over like a goddamn flying ninja to take your hand and pull you off the bar stool.
You squeal and stumble into him before the pair of you right yourself, Ari’s hands firmly on your waist and yours locking behind his neck. After a minute of rocking, completely apart from the music’s tempo, you close your eyes and press your forehead to Ari’s.
“We’re slow dancing,” you say.
He hums in agreement. “Yup.”
“To one-hit wonder Chumbawamba.”
“Appears so.” You may be discussing the song but Ari’s voice has dipped deep and your feet have stopped moving. Ari’s breath fuels yours. His grip steers you to press fully against him.
“Haven’t ever done that.”
“Me neither,” Ari agrees. “Doin’ a lot things with you I haven’t done.” His large hand moves to cup your neck, guides your lips to his, and he kisses you breathless.
+end+
////
Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoyed what you read, please do reblog or leave a comment, I’d be most grateful! Want to read more of my work? Take a peek at my masterlist here
Warnings: snow storms, mentions of a gun. Some sexy snuggling.
🔞Over 18s only, minors dni! 🔞 I do not give permission for my work to be republished, reposted, or translated.
A/N: Guys, back on my there-was-only-one-bed bullshit. Can't stop, won't stop. Tim Rockford this time. Have I written this trope seemingly a dozen times before? Yes. Will this be the last time? Unlikely. Perennially cold girls get all the beefy human blankets. 🙌
Unbeta'd and written/posted on my phone so formatting dodgy AF.
—-
Trying to get away for the weekend with your friends a bit early so you would be rested for Monday had backfired. The snow trapped you at the bottom of the mountain, hours away from your friends' and the cozy AirBnB cabin you'd been ensconced at, instead seeking refuge in the downmarket roadside motel. There was a lobby with a fireplace, so unlike most of these mid-century roadside rundowns, and you checked in, dumped your things, and went back to the solace of others' company and the warmth of the shabby but serviceable mid-century lobby.
The small group of ragtag guests seeking the same refuge are pleasant enough, and the group of you turn your attention to the door when the worsening weather (howling wind in addition to the rapidly increasing flurries) blasts into the room from the broad shouldered man who looks like he was ripped from the pages of a detective novel. White button down shirt and non-descript navy tie, weather-inappropriate standard issue detective trench coat bulking at the shoulder with what you presume is a gun holster, not to mention his own impressive breadth. His glasses fog instantly with the warm of the room and the tips of his ears pink sweetly, poking from beneath his wind-swept brown hair.
You're instantly smitten as he shakes snow out of his hair and keenly takes in his surroundings. "You got a room?"
Actually the motel doesn't. Actually they rented out the last room to you. Actually there is no hotel for miles and the snow has taken down visibility to nil, and the TV news blaring in the corner tells you that the snow will only be more intense during the night, so the windswept detective is SOL. He removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. "How much to sleep on the couch in here?"
The proprietor of the hotel, Mike, says he's welcome to stay for free in the lobby, but that he's gotta take his ID for safety, apologetically telling him, "You understand, chief," and the man replies and says he does, and flashes a badge from under his trench coat, but says, "It's just Detective. Detective Tim Rockford." And you tamp down the thought of about doodling "Mrs Detective Tim Rockford" into a notebook.
As luck would have it, the only free seat in the lobby is on the couch between you and an elderly woman named Betty who you enjoyed talking to, she'd been on the mountain watching her granddaughter compete in a snowboarding tournament but wanted to sleep in her own bed that night. Detective Tim wedged himself between you. "Sorry ladies." Betty's eyes ate up Tim's bulk as he tries to make himself as small as possible, "Oh sweetheart, take all the room you need." Her eyes locked on yours and widened conspiratorially.
Mere moments before Tim's arrival you'd been confessing to Betty your love life (or lack thereof) and the horrors of dating apps, to which she gave a sympathetic ear. (She was a widow and even older men were hard to find a good stable one on when she used it for 2 weeks when her granddaughter set her up on a dating site for seniors.)
"Welcome. I'm Betty. A detective, huh? That sounds like a good solid job. You work long hours, Tim?" You want to kiss Betty for playing matchmaker whilst simultaneously willing the floor to open up and swallow you whole.
"Yes, ma'am. And it is long hours. As you can see on account of it being a Sunday evening and me being out here."
The man beside you is warm and he's settled into the couch, your arms press against each other, shoulder to elbow. As he and Betty speak, she scoots closer and closer so Tim subtly retreats back into you. Betty's dancing eyes only leave Tim's to shoot pointed glances at you. Mike hands out hot chocolates, which draws the three of you into conversation about best hot chocolate making methods (all three agree warming milk is preferred and while Mike's packet made microwaved water is far from the platonic ideal, it is lovely to have.) You think Tim's brown eyes are warm and sweet, liquid chocolate you don't mind drinking in. Mike's round arrives at your sofa, and while he passes yours you fumble slightly at its weight and spill hot chocolate right in Tim's lap.
"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" you exclaim, unthinkingly starting to pat and wipe at Tim's thighs, picking the fabric up so the hot liquid doesn't stick to his leg through his quality navy slacks. You only realize the dubiousness of your actions at Betty's stifled laugh when Tim grits out in pain but his tone still gentle,, "No honestly, it's fine." You are holding the thigh over the trouser of this strange man very close to his crotch. His large hand covers yours, squeezes reassuringly and you lock eyes for a moment (hot chocolate eyes here) and Mike appears with a roll of paper towels and the offer of sweat pants, and you leave Tim to clean his own crotch.
Tim returns from the back room Mike ushered him to looking like an exquisite corpse drawing, top half all detective business, legs clad like a man lounging in his living room, with his incongruous polished black dress shoes peeking out underneath. He resumes his seat beside you and you instantly feel his warmth seeping into you through your side. His leg now presses against yours too.
The night carries on, hotel patrons drifting away to turn in. Soon it's you, Tim, and Betty left alone on the couch, with Mike hunkering into his seat at the front desk for the night.
Betty begs off, wishing both of you good night before she says, "I'd offer you a place in my room Tim, but I snore. Maybe our friend here has space in her bed? I hear she bagsied the last King bed in the joint. Plenty of room for two. Good night, kids." With that thought lingering in the air heavily between you and Tim, Betty winks and is off into the night. You and Tim are still pressed together, side-by-side. He eases away as he looks at you, but you interrupt.
"You can't stay on this couch. It's so lumpy. It's not even long enough for you to sleep straight. It's the least I can do after ruining your pants." Tim protests lightly, "I don't want to encroach, you probably don't want some strange man in your space, let alone your bed...."
"Please, you're a detective. Besides, Mike has your ID if you try anything. They'll find you," but you smile. "And it's freezing, even with the heaters on, we're probably safer with body warmth." And the small lopsided grin Tim permits himself as he agrees warms you already.
"I am pretty tired," Tim says. "And I reckon you're correct about the couch being lumpy and short. A real bed would be a dream after a day like today." So you both bid good night to Mike, and while the walk to your room should be awkward, you ask Tim why his day was so hard and he fires off enthusiastically as much as he can share about the case that brought him to the ski resort and stranded up the side of a mountain on a Sunday afternoon.
—
in the room you pace waiting for Tim to finish in the bathroom and you nearly crash into him as he emerges.
His feet, large though they were, seem oddly delicate in the black dress socks poking out of the heavier sweatpants.
He comes out with the dress shirt and tie over his arm, carefully clutching his holster. "I can put the gun in the safe if it would make you feel better," he offers when he notices your eye zero in it. You nod and he does. Once the gun is away, Tim drapes the holster over the chair and wrangles his shirt on the hotel hanger. You notice now that sans shirt his broad shoulders are straining in his sleeveless undershirt. You swallow thickly, and dive under the covers.
The motel bedspread is thin and starchy, crumpling and crunchy as you and Tim separately settle into place beneath it. Luckily the sheets are cotton and surprisingly soft. But the duvet lacks warmth and soon you're shivering, despite feeling Tim's body heat radiating tantalizingly from the short distance between you.
The hotel has seen better years but is clean and well-tended by Mike even if its glory days are several decades ago. It's comfortable and shows signs of how worn-in it is. The wind howls outside and you shiver, swearing the curtains rustle. No snow or obvious draft comes in.
Tim must be freezing with his thin dress socks, you think as you rub your feet together for warmth in your thick woollen socks.
“You cold?” Tim’s question disrupts the silence of the room.
"It's fine, I'll be OK. There's no more blankets, I already checked. Mike was out. Betty needed more."
"I can hear your teeth chattering," Then, softer. "You're practically shaking the whole bed with your shivering, sweetheart."
Tim shifts and the bed frame creaks under his broad frame. His voice comes out closer to your ear, he must be facing you now.
"You got a boyfriend or a husband...or, hell, a wife, waiting for you at home?"
"No."
A beat.
"You?"
"No."
You ease your body back slightly, nestling towards the warmth emanating from Tim.
You hear him huff an exhalation that could be frustration or desire or hope. "Can I hold you?"
"Yes. Please."
"Well,since you said, 'please.'" The sweetly teasing edge to Tim's voice cuts lightens the delicious tension of his heavy arm slotting into place across your middle, and his chest nestling up behind you. His knees tuck up behind yours and he rubs your forearm to hear you before his breath ghosts hot over your neck.
You yelp. Shock wasn't the reaction you wanted to Tim. "Why is your nose so cold?" you say, squirming away from his nose, but still nestling your hips firmly into the broad cradle of his body.
"Honestly? You got my blood rushing to other appendages, sweetheart," someone else would have sounded like a sleazy line, but Tim says it so matter-of-factly, his thumb carefully stroking your wrist it has the air of honest plain confession. Of unabashed truth.
"Really?" you tease because you feel him half hard beneath you, and you don't resist pressing back
Tim groans. "You know it, sweetheart."
You move Tim's hand to your belly. Your grip barely encircles the thickness of his wrist as you then move his hands up till you press his palm over your breast.
"I can think of some ways we can keep warm, without any of Mike's blankets?" you propose.
"Aw, hell, sweetheart, all you have to do is ask."
+end+
–
A/N: sorry for the fade to black! They definitely did it and are gonna see each other after the storm clears, Betty's gonna make a comment to her at breakfast how she swore the wind wasn't the only thing howling that night. 😏
Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoyed what you read, please do reblog or leave a comment, I’d be most grateful! Want to read more of my work? Take a peek at my masterlist link in my blog header.
Choosing not to use warnings, if you're under 18 please go away. 🔞 Written on my phone and unedited
+++
"It's stiff. Is it supposed to be stiff?"
"Ari, stop talking," you chide softly. "You're making it crack."
Your boyfriend cracks one eye open. His nose twitches involuntarily as you continue applying the mint face mask. Admiring his sunkissed freckles as you smooth the spearmint fresh green goop over his handsome face.
"Besides, you're usually bragging about your stiffness."
His blue eyes narrow dangerously, and unclenches his fists, balled from your unintentionally ticklish mask application ministrations, to rest on your hips.
"You know I can get stiff real quick, baby--" he leans forward, attempting to duck your still-busy hands, and steal a kiss.
"Ah ah ah!" you put your forearms up to stop him, hold the mask tub and your minty mask hand aloft. "Not wearing this we're not. This stuff is expensive--"
"Then why get it?" Ari's voice is lower and he's leaning over you, knowing exactly the temptation that his mere closeness is.
"It feels nice."
"You feel nice," Ari says, leaning down to kiss you.
You acquiesce and give him a careful peck.
The plop of cold minty goop on your sternum makes you shriek and jump back.
"Ari!" you scoop the bit of face mask out from where it's fallen down your top. "Wait! Only ten minutes and then we can wipe it off. and kiss."
He sighs and looks heavenward, as if not kissing you for ten minutes is a fucking chore. (Your chest puffs up pridefully at Ari not being able to keep his lips off you, for even ten minutes.)
"Fine. I will wait ten minutes." Ari leans his long frame back against the bathroom counter. You're certain he's just showing off being that he's lounging around in only a pair of gray sweatpants for your home spa day. "It's tingly."
You sidle up close, press your tits against his chest. "You make me tingle," you say and dab a lone swipe of mask along Ari's collarbone.
one muse riding the other while the tv plays in the background, movie forgotten entirely.
- Dieter Bravo - can be heavy petting or filth - I’ll gladly take either 😜
A/N: Thanks for playing, lovely Ozzie! I'm sorry this isn't filthier, my muse initially was gonna make it messy but I think she's saving that for Dieter x Ari x Reader 😏😉
This wide-necked shirt I just wanna kiss his collarbones please. 🥺
Please send me fic prompt asks (or any other asks / ask games!) from the fic ask game tag on my blog, plus a character. Please remember to send the full prompt or a link to original list, so I know which prompt the number corresponds to. I may not get to them right away but they are keeping my muse fresh and it's so fun to play with you all! 😘
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x reader
Word Count: 430
Warnings: P in V sex, ignoring a good film.
🔞Over 18s only, minors dni! 🔞 I do not give permission for my work to be republished, reposted, or translated.
Unbeta'd.
—--
The din of the TV's droning barely registers now. Dieter had started it up, insisting that it was an absolute “crime against art” that you hadn’t seen Raising Arizona, that it was an "absolutely epic" comedy. And yes, the film was very funny and you were enjoying it.
But more enjoyable was the body of the man beneath you as you settled in to watch it. And your attention span was all directed to him.
Especially after a couple weeks apart. Even after your amorous reunion last night, you couldn’t get enough of his puppyish buoyancy, not to mention his intense devotions.
It started with you innocently petting the soft nubbly fabric of Dieter’s bathrobe, well-loved but clean and smelling of the sweet fresh zest of his fabric conditioner. He was bare-chested beneath it and your hands wandered to stroke him skin-on-skin, roaming beneath the well-worn fabric. The rub of his stubble against your face when you lunge forward to kiss him.
Now, the glow of the television screen has receded into the background. You're a nerve ending exposed, everything is sensation. And the sensation is divinity.
Your greedy fingertips press up Dieter's torso, feeling the swell and sturdiness of his thickened waist, and you slowly drag your nails up his pecs. The affinity you feel watching his slack-jawed, blissed out face as you eagerly ride him.
His awestruck face when you lean back, anchoring your hands to his shoulders to get a new angle.
The downy hair on his belly that thickened to the curls of his pubic hair, the way it made you wild to feel it pressed against your stomach when you come back in to kiss him again.
For an actor, an Oscar-winning one no less, Dieter can't dissemble. He looks at you like you hang the moon and the stars. His puppyish eagerness as well as his handsome face drew you to him like a magnet.
The thickness of his sturdy waist spreads your legs to delicious ache, the firmness of his tree trunk thighs cradling your ass.
“Is this what the kids mean by Netflix and–fucking hell, baby–chill?” Dieter’s pleasure-slackened jaw has now clenched, as you clench your cunt around him at the same moment you bounce at the deepest point of his cock inside you.
His broad hand smacks your ass lovingly and sighs when gropes it, his rings stinging you pleasingly.
“Next time, we don’t even have to start the movie,” you say with a smile from atop your man mountain perch.
Dieter’s eyes light up, “Amazing,” he breathes out before he captures your nipple with his kiss-wet lips.
+end+
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