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zarameraki · 4 months

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♡₊˚🔪・₊✧ 𝘁𝗼𝗷𝗶 𝗶𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗸𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝘁. 𝟭₊˚🔪・₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 mdni 𖥔 obsessed at the first glance 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 masturbation (toji time) 𖥔 "she's mine even if she doesn't know it yet" 𖥔 age gap 𖥔 he's downright depraved for you

: ̗̀➛ word count: 3.7k

: ̗̀➛ notes: happy new year, mamas! and happy belated birthday to my baby daddy. y'all have no idea how fun it is to write toji fics. i've got a hundred already lined up. i'm going to make this a full series but for now here is part one of what's about to come (haha get it? oh god. i need help)

The first time Toji laid his eyes on you was the morning after he’d finished yet another one of his assassination cases.

There you were, seated on a picnic mat, a serene oasis in the bustling sea of activity. The wind danced through your hair, and you were engrossed in a book, your legs tucked comfortably beneath you. The music in your headphones created a private sanctuary, shielding you from the cacophony of playful children, picnicking families, and the vibrant hum of the city's summer.

Toji found himself rooted to the spot.

Oblivious to the annoyed cyclists and the world rushing past him, he stood there, captivated. It was as though he had stumbled upon a deity crafted solely for him.

You briefly raised your gaze, taking a momentary break from the confines of the small text.

Toji couldn't believe his luck as he found himself mesmerized by the tantalizing sight before him. Despite his best efforts to maintain composure, a telltale bulge in his sweatpants betrayed the mark you had on him. There you were, blissfully unaware, sipping from a water bottle that seemed almost rehearsed.

His fixation deepened as he observed every nuance of your movements—the curve of your mouth, the delicate way your throat accommodated the liquid, and the small hands that gripped the oversized bottle. He imagined his cock instead and flinched from the way his dick twitched. The simple act of you licking your lower lip and unbuttoning the top buttons of your dress shirt to fan yourself from the heat sent shivers down his spine.

You just had to start tying your hair up.

Taking a deep breath, Toji briskly walked towards a nearby public restroom and locked himself in one of the vacant stalls.

His back pressed against the wall as he lowered his sweatpants and pulled his thick, trembling cock out, pre-cum trickling from the tip. He lowered his eyes and visualized you on your knees, grabbing his cock and circling your small, pink tongue around his tip. His head cruised back as you swallowed his length to the back of your warm throat, gagging, gasping, choking, bobbing your head back and forth. His fingers tightly held onto your tender scalp, fucking himself into your pretty, little mouth until your nose was crushed against his pelvis. He heard you begging, pleading, scratching at his hips to give you a breather, but Toji relentlessly fed you his cock, over and over and over—

Spurts of release erupted and splattered onto the stall's wall, with droplets dripping onto the floor. Toji opened his eyes only to find the space where your apparition was supposed to linger now empty. His hand was sticky and hot, smudged in the mess he’d made envisioning you. You. It was you who had provoked this intense response, causing him to reach a climax faster than ever before.

As Toji cleaned himself up, he couldn't ignore the unabashed stares from the onlookers, men who had clearly overheard him masturbating. Ignoring the judgmental gazes, he focused on formulating a plan to claim you, even if you fought or opposed it; he was convinced that, in time, you would surrender.

In his mind, you were already his.

Toji lingered for the next few hours on that park bench, focused on you. His eyes traced every move you made, absorbed in that stupid book of yours, oblivious to the frisbees and kites dancing above you. His gaze burned into the teenage boys engaged in soccer behind you, fuming as they carelessly neared you with the ball. Especially the one you beamed at after he half-heartedly apologized to you.

Fuck, that smile of yours was irreplaceable.

As you packed your mat into the duffle bag and rose, turning to dust your ass off from any debris sticking to it, Toji's thoughts took a blunt turn. Sleep was an impossibility now.

Following discreetly as you strolled down the path, immersed in the rhythm of your ear-throbbing music, Toji couldn't help but dissect every inch of you. Your clothes, undoubtedly high-end and branded, spoke volumes. The price tag on your headphones alone easily flirted with seven hundred dollars, if not more. It was clear—you came from a life of comfort, perhaps a spoiled heir or held a proud position in some grand corporation. You were proving to be a challenging prize, a fish that refused to be easily caught.

You decided to take a pit stop at a vegan café where they charged an arm and a leg for a tiny cup of espresso.

Patiently, Toji lingered outside, cigarette dangling from his lips, the ember casting shadows on his sharp features. Peering through the glass, he caught glimpses of your animated conversation with a male barista. Though, the bastard's eyes were shamelessly speaking to your cleavage.

Toji hadn’t killed anyone for fun in a while; maybe the lanky fucker was going to start a new streak.

As you emerged, holding your iced coffee and muffin like some divine offering, he noticed the scribbles on the napkin. Ah, the barista's number, huh? The son-of-a-bitch just signed his own death warrant.

With a flick of your wrist, you crumpled the napkin and tossed it into the trash, conveniently placed right next to him.

Your eyes locked.

The cigarette in Toji's mouth hung suspended in a moment that seemed to stretch forever. Your gaze shot up as you took in the powerful physique of the man, the scar tracing its path on his left lip, and the black, sleek strands of hair framing those perilous, obsidian-green eyes. He was more than just attractive; he was a magnetic force, and you could feel the tingling of anxiety dancing on your skin. Too bad your family had always drummed into you the importance of polished over rugged.

Despite the internal turmoil, you turned on your heel and continued walking, nonchalantly sipping on your cold coffee to ease the tension building within you. There was an undeniable urge to steal one last glance at him, an itch in your brain pushing you to do so. With feigned composure, you added an extra sway to your hips, aware that his eyes were still on you.

Toji’s eyes were glued to your ass. Was he breathing? Nope. He was sure he’d busted his cover just then. You had checked him out for thirty whole seconds, the opportunity to speak suspended in the air, only to be pulled apart and crumble at his feet.

But he didn’t care.

He shadowed your every move, navigating through busy intersections, seamlessly blending into the teeming masses, keeping up with only the sway of your swinging ponytail and your ass. Fuck, he loved your ass. He wanted to spank it red, bruise the flesh for teasing you.

Finally, you stepped into the most luxurious hotel in the city.

Toji wondered if you were a local or a visitor from abroad. If he had to purchase a plane ticket to tail you back to your residence, he'd gladly do it. It was insane how unknowingly you had him trapped, wrapped around your perfectly manicured finger.

The lobby was nothing short of fucking fancy.

The place was decked out with marble floors that shone so much he could almost see his reflection. A huge chandelier hung from the ceiling, sparkling with a zillion crystals.

The furniture was all plush and comfortable, like sinking into a cloud. Big, ornate couches and chairs scattered around, all in rich, deep colors.

In the middle was a fancy concierge desk with people in sharp suits and friendly smiles ready to help out. He caught a whiff of some subtle, expensive scent in the air—not too overpowering, just enough to make him feel like he was out of place.

There was a low hum of activity—people chatting, the clinking of glasses from the bar nearby, maybe some soft piano music in the background. He couldn't help but feel a bit important just standing there like he'd stepped into a world where everything was a little more polished and refined.

He was in hell.

"Dad!" you exclaimed, striding towards your father amidst a crowd of his guards and members of the family hotel enterprise board.

"Darling!" Your father embraced you briefly, then caught a whiff of something unusual around you. "Were you smoking?"

Shit.

That attractive stranger from before had been smoking and the scent must’ve stuck to your clothes.

"I bumped into a friend who was," you lied, acknowledging your father's associates with a nod. Your current appearance didn't exactly match the polished image your mother presented to the press, but it was a facet appreciated by some online fans. As the heiress to the family hotel, however, you understood the importance of maintaining grace.

Even on your days-off.

"How was your meeting?" you asked.

"Same old, same old. Nothing for you to worry about," he replied dismissively.

"I mean, shouldn't I be involved? I'm almost twenty-one. It might be time for me to learn the ropes of managing—"

"I'm still around, aren't I?" Your father pushed your arm, causing you to stagger slightly. "Why don't you go freshen up now? We have a family dinner tonight." Family dinners, in this case, were elaborate affairs with your father and mother's vast social circles, almost a societal event. Unfortunately, everything was hosted at the hotel, making you feel like you were in a gilded cage.

"Sure, Dad."

He planted a quick kiss on your cheek and walked past you.

You stared at his retreating figure and the group of men you would eventually be working with, all of them vanishing through the hotel's automatic doors until the lights surrounding you became a blur. Your fingers touched your wet eyes, the back of your shaky hand wiping at your cheeks.

Despite the hurt, your training to act classy in public kicked in. You rolled back your shoulders, attempted a smile, and walked toward the elevators leading to your personal suite.

Observing the unfolding scenario from a discreet vantage point nearby, Toji, with arms and ankles casually crossed, wore a devilish smirk at how effortlessly the situation had played into his hands.

His room was on the twelfth floor.

It served as a temporary base for the two nights he had planned to stay. Plenty of time, in his calculation, to claim you as his own. He walked the fine line between confidence and cockiness, especially when dealing with a woman of your caliber. If he were to leave empty-handed, Toji carried a darkness within that would annihilate those you loved, a merciless flood of destruction until you had no choice but to turn to him. His sights were set on you, beginning with your pretentious father.

Yes, Toji had researched each and every single human associated with you.

Your father was a titan in the hospitality game and built an empire that stretched across the map. His hotels sprouted like mushrooms, and his wealth skyrocketed faster than you could say "check-in." He portrayed himself as the picture-perfect family man, but lurking in the shadows were dealings that'd make you think twice about tagging him with the 'daddy dear' label. During one of his many interviews, he let slip a desire for a son. When the inevitable talk of you inheriting the hotels surfaced, he'd chuckle, saying, "We'll see about that."

Toji absentmindedly toyed with his pocket knife, thinking of ways he’d cut your father’s tongue and shove it down his throat.

Then there's your mom, the classic trophy wife. No accomplishments to her name, just born into a world of idle gossip and social climbing. Since you were in diapers, she's been molding you into the picture-perfect daughter for the public eye. Nannies raised you, and she only paid attention when it came to playing matchmaker, setting you up with aristocratic jerks.

Toji might spare your mother only because she was an airhead being puppeteered by your father’s gimmicks.

You, on the contrary, were as perfect as one could get. Top of your class all through elementary to high school, currently enrolled in a business Ivy program at a prestigious university, president of the student union, and an active team player in clubs as absurd as juggling.

Your carefully crafted social media presence had Toji rolling his eyes. An avid reader who probably devoured Shakespeare in between saving the world and a lover of sunsets because nothing said depth like a passion for the fading light. Your commitment to wildlife, starting a charity for animals in captivity that was funded strictly by your family's friends. He bet the lions and tigers sent you thank-you cards.

Toji forcefully closed his laptop, took a deep breath, and sank into his mattress, gripping the roots of his hair.

He knew he wanted you. He wanted to touch you, to be inside of you, to break you and put you together again. The image of you being pushed by your father played in his mind, making his heart threaten to burst from his chest.

Despite the depraved thoughts, Toji was genuinely curious about you. The real you. The person seeking love in the same way you offered it to others. He wanted to fuck you but also take great care of you. He wanted to make you cry, but only when you were underneath him, begging for more. He’d kill himself if he hurt you otherwise. He questioned if a dormant monster within you waiting to be awakened by his own.

There had to be.

And he would be the one to root it out.

Toji pulled himself together, took a quick shower, and threw on the best outfit he had found in his cramped closet within his even more cramped apartment while packing. Living in close quarters didn't bother him; after all, his income came from a rather unconventional source—he was a professional assassin, taking out targets for clients that ranged from politicians to drug dealers. Penthouses and sports cars weren't his style, even if he could afford them; he preferred the simple life, spending most of his earnings on one thing he enjoyed the most: gambling on horse racing.

Knowing that you'd be at the bar, Toji decided to do a bit of reconnaissance. He hacked into the private security servers of the hotel, observing your movements from the corridor to the public areas. He saw you leaving your room in a stunning maroon gown, hair elegantly pinned up, and lips painted a vibrant red. His dick jerked in his trousers.

He spotted you alone at the bar, enjoying a cyan-colored drink. The smooth expanse of your back in that revealing dress nearly made him come in his pants right there and then.

Cracking his neck muscles, Toji walked up to the bartender, positioning himself about two meters away from where you sat. He pulled out a cigarette and flicked the silver lighter, flaming the end of the dart. Drawing in the first drag, he exhaled a plume of smoke. “I’ll take a whiskey.”

Giving you a casual once-over, Toji noticed you tracing circles on the table, lips in a pout, and eyes blinking languidly.

“Rough day?” he asked, settling into the seat beside you.

“You have no idea—” You looked sideways and met the dark green eyes of the attractive stranger. Your nails were now idle on the table, and you sat up straight. A breath caught in your chest, and you greeted him with a simple "Hi."

“Hi.” He pulled out the cigarette to take a sip, lips pulling in to savor the sharp taste of his whiskey. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, sweetheart.”

Your chest skipped a beat at the unexpected nickname. "I-I— Are you stalking me or something?"

“Stalking is a strong word, doll. I prefer 'casual observation.'”

“So you’re stalking me?”

The stranger chuckled, and your knees quivered from the husky, rough sound. “You're a vision, sure,” he said, his voice a slight victim to the smoking, “but I’m too much of a gentleman to do such a thing.”

You observed his clothes closely. He was dressed in a sleek black formal ensemble with impeccably shiny Oxfords. However, his hair was neatly combed down instead of styled up, and you caught the silver hoop adorning his left ear. The idea of him being sent by your mother or being the son of one of your father's friends quickly crossed your mind, but you ruled out the possibility. Maybe him being outside that café and being here was a complete coincidence.

“The name’s Toji.” He extended his hand for a shake. You glanced at the faded scars on the back of his hands. And when you hesitantly slipped your hand through his, the roughness of his palm rubbed against your softer one. “Ever washed a dish in your life, sweetheart?”

A shake of your head was all the admission he needed.

"Yeah, figured as much." Toji turned your hand, his thumb tracing a journey along its unblemished terrain.

You quickly took back your hand and placed it on your lap. “I’m sure you know my name.”

Toji tilted his head. “Am I supposed to?”

You blinked. In a world where your family name echoed through the corridors of the hotel, his genuine ignorance was a rarity. "I'm Y/N.”

"Y/N," he echoed, your name a lazy caress on your skin. Above the rim of his nearly empty glass, he regarded you with a watchful gaze. “The fuck is that, anyway? Windex?”

You raised your drink. “It’s a mocktail. I have a family dinner in an hour so I can’t drink. My father says it’ll impede my ability to talk. I can’t mess anything up.”

He half-rolled his eyes. “You like Coke?”

“Like, the soda?”

"What else, sweetheart?" He swiped a finger under his nose, throwing in a wink. "Unless that's your thing."

“No.” Your cheeks heated. “I like diet Coke, I suppose.”

Toji locked eyes with you and signaled the bartender. "Vodka diet coke for the lady."

"What?" You started to object, but Toji's hand clasped around your forearm, freezing you. “Remove your hand right now.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, a grin playing on his lips. If he weren't so irritatingly charming, you might have considered introducing your mocktail to his face with a quick call to security as a chaser. “Just don’t want you to die knowing you never tried vodka.” His cheeks hollowed as he inhaled, exhaling wisps of smoke that danced in captivating swirls. “Ever smoked?”

You shook your head, a coy resistance to his vices obvious on your face. "It's detrimental to your health, you know. Consistent smoking can fast-track your journey to an early death. If you're aiming for more than thirty candles on your birthday cake, I'd advise a little moderation."

A sardonic chuckle escaped him. “Well, fuck.” He inspected the dart in his hand as if it held the secrets of the universe. “Guess I missed the invitation for my funeral five years ago.”

He’s old.

“Too old for you, sweetheart?” He dipped his head conspiratorially, locking eyes with you. "Hope you're not collecting a set of daddy issues like souvenirs."

You shot him sidelong glances, a subtle shake of your head. "I happen to like my dad, thank you very much."

“You’re welcome.”

You couldn’t help but let out a small puff of a laugh at his response.

He shot you a grin, his scar stealing a moment of your attention before the vodka diet Coke presented itself. “You still in school?”

You nodded. “University.”

“Yeah? You like it?”

“Keeps me distracted.”

“From?”

Your hand swept through the ambience of the hotel's bar, and Toji followed your motion, absorbing the surroundings. “I don’t know if my name rang a bell at all, but I’m to inherit this place.”

“Didn’t.” Toji raised his glass, gesturing his chin at the vodka diet coke in front of you. “Let’s drink to it.”

“I told you I can’t. I’m also lightweight. Besides, I don’t want it on my tab. My father keeps a check—”

“My father this, my father that.” Toji sighed, taking your drink and snagging a straw from a nearby container. He placed it near your lips. “Your father might have set the stage, but he can't dictate the play. Take a sip. If you hate it, fuck it. That work for you, sweetheart?"

You frowned at the subtle pressure venting from him. A fleeting swipe of your tongue traced your lower lip, drawing Toji's gaze to the subtle curve. His intense scrutiny left you feeling strangely singled out, a rare occurrence in a world where every tidbit of your life laid at the fingertips of anyone with an internet connection. Your secrets were a vault locked tight, shared with no one but yourself. Indulging in personal interests took a back seat to your responsibilities, and you strictly stuck to a scripted persona to protect your family's reputation. Even something as mundane as sipping on a vodka diet Coke.

Toji set the drink on the table, slipping a generous tip to the bartender. His financial status seemed modest, likely someone comfortably positioned enough to book a room in your hotel. “Listen, sweetheart, I don’t often give out advice ‘cuz frankly, I'm not exactly an expert on your generation.” He took a final drag of his cigarette, extinguished it under his foot, and nonchalantly dropped the remains into your drink. “But, you might want to dust off that brilliant little brain of yours sooner rather than later. Mind passing me a pen, buddy?”

The tender handed him a sharpie instead, and Toji scribbled out something on a napkin.

“Are you leaving?” you asked, feeling somewhat disappointed in yourself. You wanted him to ask you more questions. You wanted to know more about him.

“Afraid so, doll.” He folded the napkin, both of you surreptitiously scanning the surroundings before he handed it over. A smirk played on his lips, causing you to rethink the urgency with which you accepted it. “Your old man taught you lots of lessons, but seems like 'Stranger Danger' wasn't part of his curriculum, huh?”

“He doesn’t completely control me.”

Toji smirked, tapping the folded napkin. “Well, we're about to test that theory."

He left you perched on the barstool, and the moment he vanished, you unfolded the napkin, heart pounding.

ROOM 1231.

Sooner or later.

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sailorholly · 8 months

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Stressed

Summary: Spencer’s been in a bad mood lately, you help him feel better.

Pairing: Season 5 Spencer Reid x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. Minors DNI. 18+ ONLY.

W/C: 1.4k

See my Masterlist here

“Who drank the last of the coffee and didn’t make another pot?” Spencer propped up on his cane, asked the crowded police station. One of the officers set his mug down beside the case files spread on the table before him.

“I did. I’m sorry, kid. I didn’t know it was a big deal.” Spencer scoffed. “You didn’t think that anyone else would want coffee, when we have barely had three hours of sleep?” The officer looked stunned, obviously caught off guard by the grumpy FBI agent.

“Kid, like I said, I’m sorry.” Spencer limped over to an empty chair, taking a seat. “Don’t call me kid. It’s Dr. Reid to you.” Hotch shot him a warning glance. “Reid.” Spencer dropped his gaze. The officer put his hands up in defeat, muttering under his breath as he walked away.

You wait until the room clears before going over to Spencer. You walk slowly as if you were approaching a wounded animal. “I started a fresh pot just for you. I’ll bring you a cup when it’s finished.” You smile at him, but he doesn’t return it. “Thanks.”

You can tell he’s still upset. He has been moody for a few weeks. Even though you all had agreed not to profile each other, the team had been taking guesses about what was wrong. You still didn’t have an answer. Hotch tried to speak with him privately, but he wouldn’t open up.

At the end of the day, everyone was glad to be back at the hotel. It wasn’t like the comfort of your homes, but at least it was a place to lay your head down. You all had been running on fumes.

You took a shower, thinking of every detail of the abduction. Something didn’t make sense to you, and you couldn’t get your mind off it. You dried your hair, deciding to knock on Spencer’s door to talk through it.

If anyone could help you figure it out, it was him. He answers the door, looking grouchier than before. “I’m trying to sleep. What do you want?” He snaps. You take in his attire. He’s wearing a cardigan over his button up and dress pants, the same outfit he had on earlier.

You frown, pushing your way into his room. “Since when did you start sleeping in your work clothes?” He closes the door, gripping his cane as he walks toward you sitting on his bed. He sits beside you, keeping his distance.

“You’ve been a real asshole lately, Spencer. It’s so unlike you. Is there anything you want to talk about?” He looks away, avoiding your face. “You can tell me anything. I won’t judge you. I’d love to help you, especially if it gets you out of this bad mood.”

You watch as he considers your words. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?” He asks quietly. You place a hand on your heart. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” The faintest of smiles appears, the first one you’ve seen in a while.

“Now spill.” He sighs. “I am unbelievably stressed. My mom is on a new medication, and she’s giving her doctors a hard time. I got a new neighbor and he plays loud music late at night. I’ve asked him to stop, and he does for a while. Until I go on a case, when I get back, he’s started again. And I’ve been getting these headaches that won’t go away.”

He rubs his left eye, shoulders sinking in relief after he confessed. “Well, all those are valid reasons to be stressed. You really need to get laid.” You giggle, elbowing his side. “I’ve tried.” You stop laughing. You weren’t expecting a sincere answer. You were only joking.

“Wait, you’ve tried to have sex, but can’t find a partner?” You ask, a little surprised. “Yeah, I think it’s my awkwardness paired with the cane. It freaks them out. They probably think I’m an unsub.” He pushes his hair behind his ear.

“I like the cane.” You admit. “Really?” He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah! I think it’s sexy. Don’t take this the wrong way, but couldn’t you just take care of yourself?” You wince. You were having the most awkward conversation of your life with your favorite coworker.

“I tried that. But I couldn’t finish. My mind would race with a million thoughts. It kills the mood.” You lower yourself to the floor, getting on your knees in front of him. “Wha.. what are you doing?” Spencer asks nervously, his voice raising.

“Helping.” You state matter of factly. You unbutton his pants, pulling the zipper down. You’re careful when you tug his pants and underwear down his legs, going slowly so you don’t hurt him. He takes a deep breath when you wrap both hands around his hard cock.

You lower your head toward his lap, taking him between your lips. You suck slowly, waiting for his reaction. He lets out a shaky breath when you take him to the back of your throat. You suck harder now, saliva dripping down your chin.

Spencer watches you intently. He can’t believe this is happening. All the nights he had laid in bed, imagining this exact scenario as he pleasured himself. His biggest fantasy was playing out before him. He grips the white comforter on the bed with one hand, the other holds your head in place as you bob up and down on him.

This was too much. He was going to come, and he hadn’t seen you naked yet. “Come up here, I want to touch you.” He sounds almost like he’s begging. You release him, standing to remove your clothing. “Take everything off.” You command as your panties hit the floor.

He wastes no time, throwing his cardigan and shirt beside your discarded clothes. He didn’t even unbutton his shirt. You didn’t know how he managed to get it off. “Lay back against the pillows.” He scoots until his back hits the cushiony wall. You climb on top of him, legs positioned around his hips.

You start grinding against him. The head of his cock rubbing against your clit. He tilts his head back, greasy curls splayed out on the pillows. You pepper kisses against the sensitive skin of his neck, while large hands cup your breasts.

He tugs at your nipples, rolling them between calloused fingers. You feel your arousal dripping down your thighs. You couldn’t remember a time when you were more turned on. “I want you to sit on my face.” You notice the faint blush rising on his cheeks as he said the words. “You sure?” He nods his head, confirming. “I want to taste you.”

You place your thighs on either side of his head. He kisses your inner thigh, working his way up to where you need him the most. His curious tongue meets your center, collecting your arousal and bringing it to your clit. He moans, the sound vibrating against you. You clamp your legs tighter around his ears, letting him devour you.

His tongue swirls around you expertly. He could be writing in Morse Code for all you know. You reach for the headboard when his lips wrap around your most sensitive spot. The suction and heat of his mouth tip you over the edge. You reluctantly remove yourself from him, still feeling needy.

“I need you inside of me.” You kiss above his belly button and his cock twitches. “I can’t get on top because of my leg.” He points to the offending appendage like you had forgotten about it. You beam at him, as you you straddle him once more. “I got this.” You line yourself up with his hard length, sinking down on him.

He gasps when he fills you all the way. You move yourself on top of him, placing your hands on his shoulders for support. You rock your hips back and forth, letting your head tip back when he brushes your g-spot. You call his name, tilting your hips so he hits it again.

“You like that?” Spencer asks, gripping your hips, working your body with his. You feel the pressure building inside you. It’s unbelievable. You’re lucky if you get off once during sex, and your second orgasm is quickly approaching. Spencer feels you clenching around him.

“Already?” He is in complete awe of you. You were even better than he imagined. “Oh God, Spencer! I’m so close.” His hands hold you harder. He sits up, pressing his chest flush against yours. Your peaked nipples rub against his chest, adding fuel to the flames.

He removes a hand from your waist, bringing it down between you. The pad of his thumb drags across your clit, making you writhe with pleasure. He looks down at where you’re joined, admiring the view. “You’re taking me so well, Angel.” He swirls fast circles against you, and your orgasm rolls over you in waves.

Spencer watches as you come undone. He follows closely behind you, a string of curses leaving his lips. You bury your head in the crook of his neck, breathing heavily. “I need to be in a bad mood more often.” Spencer thinks out loud, his lips curling upward into a smile.

Tagging some people I think would like this.

@cindylynn @potter-puff007 @multifandom-worlds @mochie85 @wheredafandomat @cynbx @lamentis-10 @megharat-barnes @anonymously-ominous @kats72 @vivian-555 @itzdarling @emarich7 @nomajdetective @aelinismyqueen @wildernessflora @academiareid

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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

Text

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR THREE

in which eddie munson and you absolutely hate each other's guts. what happens when your friends make a bet that you can't spend more than twenty four hours consecutively together?

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader

→ wc: 3.7k+

→ a/n: quick question - would you guys like me to include chapter summaries at the beginning of each chapter? is that a thing we'd like lol? lemme know! quick edit: totally forgot to thank @boomhauer for the genius idea of the flip phone!!

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

3:00 ──ㅇ──────────────── 24:00

HOUR THREE - 6:00 PM

The pounding on the door is frenetic, nonstop as you stand and make no move to unlock it. It doesn’t take long before Eddie starts to beg.

He tries to repeatedly say your name at first, over and over, voice pathetic and cracking by the seventh time.

“Just open the door!” he finally shouts in frustration, “I- It’s- Those are private!”

You look down at the open spread once more, shaking your head, the deviant smile never once leaving your face. “What’s the magic word?”

“Magic word? I- Jesus Christ, you’re fucking impossible!”

“Sorry,” you say, taking a few steps closer to the door, “‘Fraid it’s none of those.”

The same thumping from before sounds as Eddie sighs deeply enough for you to hear, and you realize he’s lightly banging his forehead against the door now.

You start to feel bad, honestly. It was an invasion of his privacy, and if the roles were reversed, you’d be fuming. Kindness wasn’t something you offered to the likes of Eddie, and if he had ever locked you out of your own bedroom and raided your own stash of personal porn, you’d be downright hateful.

But then you remember his words.

“Why my friends are so enamored with you, I will never understand.”

Maybe he deserves this. Maybe he deserves all the hatefulness and spitefulness you can manage.

The two sides of your brain bicker, and Eddie continues to thump his head against the door. It’s a losing battle as the kinder part of you wins over.

You take a step closer to the door, until the wood is all that separates the two of you, “Try again.”

Your voice is softer and gentler, and not quite as teasing.

The banging ceases.

He doesn’t speak for a few moments and you begin to worry that he walked away. That this latest game of cat and mouse has ended, that he’s decided you aren’t worth the trouble. You don’t understand the pang in your chest at the idea – it’s not like this was supposed to be fun. Arguing with Eddie was something that ruined your day, that always strung out your last nerves and led to you grinding your teeth in your sleep. He had just shot to kill with his words to you; you shouldn’t be on the other side of a wooden door with a fickle spark of hope that he’s still waiting for you.

“Please,” he says in monotone, almost a hint of pain as if to spit the word out was like pulling blood from stone.

The spark of hope vanishes just as quickly as it had appeared. Already forgotten.

You open the door reluctantly, still gripping the open and curled magazine in your fist, “The magic word was sorry.”

He wasn’t expecting you to give up so quickly, clear as his head snaps up and he looks over you with genuine shock.

“Sorry?” he echoes, “You’re the one who stormed my room and stole my… magazine.”

“And I wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t such an asshole.”

His eyebrows disappear behind his disheveled bangs. “Because I said that I… I wouldn’t care if you disappeared?”

It’s more than that. You both know it. He says it with restraint, he pauses because he knows that that wasn’t the comment that struck you hardest.

“I’m sorry,” he swallows his pride with surprising ease, straightening up, “I assumed the feeling was mutual.”

“Well, it’s not.”

“You wouldn’t celebrate my death?”

There it was. You’re surprised he’s even willing to repeat the words. Acknowledging them is the first step, you suppose.

You want to say no, but instead settle on, “I wouldn’t tell you to your face.”

You wouldn’t even think it to begin with. Because while Eddie was awful to you, he wasn’t a bad person. You’d seen his ability to play nice with others, to treat others with the respect that they deserved. For some odd reason, you were the only exception when it came to him. Even the strangers that he’d keep up a brooding act with had never met the sharpness of his tongue when he was within proximity to you.

He opens his mouth, but you don’t think you can stomach an insincere apology, so you lift the magazine into both your views instead, “Whatever. It’s water under the bridge. I’m far more intrigued by this now.”

The moment he catches sight of the laminated photo, his expression goes from something similar to remorse to a full-fledged blush. Eddie Munson is blushing because you’re holding his Playboy magazine.

His hand shoots out for it, but you’re faster than him, pulling it out of his reach with ease, “Nope! Not so fast, Munson.”

“Give that bac-” he starts with ardent desperation, following you with each step back you take.

You shake your head and hide the magazine behind your back, “Over my dead body.”

He goes rigid, as if it reminds him of his cruel words, before his efforts double. There’s no hesitation in occupying your space as he begins to reach behind you to snatch back the private item.

You’re not quite sure how it happens. It’s a quick succession of mistakes made on both of your parts; he’s grown too determined to get the Playboy back in his grasp, and your mind is solely focused on keeping it away from him. You don’t notice the way your two bodies shuffle farther into the room as you struggle with him. You don’t notice when your knees hit the edge of his mattress. Neither of you do.

Not until it’s too late.

One moment, you’re standing upright and Eddie’s arms are wrapping around you. The next, your back is connecting with soft sheets that erupt in the scent of boy upon impact, the entirety of Eddie’s weight now on top of you with a hand trapped beneath your lower back.

He lets out a soft oof directly into your chest.

Directly into your boobs.

Both of you freeze, unsure of what to do. The magazine has fallen to your side, opening to a different marked page, but you can’t even turn your head to properly see it.

The warmth of him suffocates you, twisting your gut as it sinks into your skin. You can feel his heartbeat drumming in his ribcage against your own. Racing, racing, racing. Just like your own.

“Get off me,” you grunt, shoving at his shoulders to roll him off of you, the closeness suddenly too much. If you two stay this way a second long, you’re sure you may die.

As he does lift off of you, still looking aghast, his hand remains pinned against your back. Your shirt had ridden up ever so slightly, a sliver of skin exposed that his palm brushes. It sends shockwaves up your spine.

Without his weight caging you in, you’re quick to leap back onto your feet, away from him and away from his touch. Your movement must break whatever spell of embarrassment he had been lost in, because Eddie is just as quick as he searches for the Playboy and grabs it so roughly the pages might rip.

You catch a glimpse of the second marked page. The similarities remain. It could have been the same model, for all you know.

You tell yourself that that’s what it is. It’s not a matter of the model looking like you. Eddie just has a thing for that specific model. It’s all left to chance that you share similar features, that the plush of her thighs resemble yours and that your hips follow the same curve as hers. It’s a coincidence.

“I can’t believe yo-” you begin to chastise him, chest heaving still as you glare down at him. It must be a residual symptom of anger, of shock. The way your heart hammers is out of contempt. It has to be.

He cuts you off, “That was not my fault.”

“You were being an…. a….” you falter. You can’t think straight.

“An asshole?” he supplies, sitting up now and looking at you with expectancy.

Why was it so hard to find your words? This was a dance you’d done a thousand times before with Eddie – the fighting, the bickering, the hurting of feelings and the absence of genuine apologies. What changed?

His body against yours. The brush of his breath on your chest. His weight firm between your-

You cut off the ridiculous thoughts and focus on him, “Yes. You were an asshole.”

He scoffs, “Yeah, well, you’ve already mentioned that. Next time, don’t go through my shit.”

If you weren’t still recovering, you’d bring up the model looking like you. If you were in your right mind, you’d take that gift from the Universe and put it to good use, sending the dagger straight into his back.

But your mind has gone hazy for the time being. It swirls with hesitancy and confusion and why the fuck weren’t you laying it into him right now? Where the fuck were you usual words of viciousness?

“If you’re done staring me down with evil eyes,” he sighs and nods to the clock, “Nancy said we have to send a picture this hour. Or no cash, bet’s off.”

At first, you’re beyond belief he can brush past it all so easily. It’s damning that it’s only affecting you so vehemently. But then you take a moment to glance over him, to really look at the boy sat on the bed before you.

He’s still blushing, violently so. Rosey cheeks and red nose, his neck aflame with the evidence that he’s not brushing it off. He’s avoiding it. He’s avoiding talking about the magazine, just as he’s avoiding talking about the position the two of you had just been in, just as he avoided apologizing for cruel words spoken so casually. Eddie Munson is avoidant to a dangerous degree.

“Okay,” you finally supply in defeat. Even if he wasn’t avoiding the topics, what is there to say?

Oh, hey. I can’t fucking think straight because that’s the closest we’ve ever been after a year of hating each other, and I have no idea why. Care to explain?

He stands and moves out of the room, down the hallway, to the living room. He doesn’t even check to make sure you follow. You have to pause to grab your phone off of the ground before you’re speedwalking to catch up with him.

It’s stupid. It’s stupid and ridiculous.

“So how are we doing this?” he asks once you’re both in the living room. He’s already sitting down on the end of the couch that he’d taken to the first few hours, looking everywhere but you. “Do we just, like, send a photo? Do we take separate photos?”

“They want a selfie,” you inform him as if he hadn’t been in the room during all of the discussions of the limitations of this bet. As if he hadn’t encouraged it, even.

He nods to your phone clutched in your sweaty palm, “Let’s get it over with, then.”

“Remind me again why it has to be my phone?” you question, deciding to sit on the opposite end of the couch. As long as you both were visible in the photo, it should be fine. “You have a phone, too. I know you do - Nancy called you.”

“I do have a phone,” he nods, watching as you unlock your cell and tap until you’ve opened the camera app, “It’s just not a smart phone.”

You stop all actions, looking up from where you’d just flipped to the front camera setting, “What?”

“I don’t have a smart ph-”

“I heard what you said. What the fuck do you have then? Do you just communicate with two tin cans and a string?”

He rolls his eyes, but his hand is still moving to his pocket, tugging out a small flip phone, “No, I just have a phone.”

It’s black and shiny, downright tiny as it sits carefully in the palm of his hand on show for you. You have to bite back your laughter.

“Oh my God. Why do you have a flip phone? Jesus Christ, what year is it?”

“Fuck off,” he quips, fingers curling around the phone protectively, “I just… I don’t like all the technology and shit. It can get overwhelming, but this?” he holds up the phone for emphasis, gripping it loosely between his pointer finger and thumb as he waves it around, “This is simple. This doesn’t need a new update every week, or to be replaced every year for the shiniest model, or-”

You reach over and snatch the phone from him, and his hand is still frozen in midair, fingers still pinched from where they’d held the phone, “Oh, what’s this? I think it’s ringing. Let me get that for you,” you dramatically flip the phone open, taking some glee in the nostalgic action before bringing the phone up to your ear and humming tauntingly. Eddie still makes no move to stop you, face contorting in bitter amusement at your unexpected antics, “Yeah? Uh huh, okay. I’ll tell him,” it’s even more fun than you remember to snap the phone shut with one hand. It almost has you reconsidering joining Eddie’s anti-technology cause. You face him and try to pull a straight face, but you can’t help laughing at your own joke before you even finish it, “It was the early 2000’s. They’re calling because they want their prehistoric technology back.”

You’re giggling at yourself as Eddie sucks in a deep breath. He’s about to break, you know he is. The corners of his mouth are twitching terribly, so you go in for the kill. Not the type of kill you had expected to be delivering tonight, but a kill all the same.

“Also, I had to put the 80’s on hold. I think they’re calling to ask for their hair back,” you nod towards his dark curls, wild and frizzy around his face.

That’s all it takes for him to break. Right before your eyes, the stoic and cold front that Eddie Munson had put up crumbles. A smile breaks out across his lips, slowly spreading as he shakes his head and his shoulders shake with the effort to withhold any actual laughs from escaping him.

He has dimples. You’d never noticed that before.

“Fuck off,” he says with a voice still wavering from unheard laughter. You can’t recall a single time before in which he’d said those words to you in such a lighthearted tone.

“I’m serious,” you press on, still caught up on his dimples, “I think it might be Jon Bon Jovi himself!”

He snorts. The battle against the laughter is lost as the apartment fills with your childish giggles.

“My hair is way better than that old assh-” he’s cut off by the sudden buzzing from your phone on the couch. It effectively shatters whatever resemblance of a moment the two of you were having, and you push back the disappointment at that.

If it hadn’t been the phone, it would have been something else: jokes taken too far, insults tossed out carelessly, one of you remembering that you shouldn’t be joking around this way. You shouldn’t be joking around friends.

You glance down at your screen and the notifications that have begun to roll in.

STEVE-O: you guys have a minute before you both owe me $500

ROBIN 🐦: and me!

STEVE-O: and robin

“Who is it?” Eddie asks, leaning over to grab at your phone. Similar to how you had done to him with the magazine, you throw your hand out of his reach, narrowing your eyes in his direction. Unlike with the magazine, he doesn’t make a move to grab it. He keeps as much space between the two of you as possible.

“Excuse you,” you huff, glancing back down at the group message, preparing to take the quick photo and send it off.

“What? You can steal my phone but I can’t steal yours?” he questions, almost whines.

You glance at him, thumbs still hovering over the keyboard, “It was Steve. There, now you don’t need to steal my phone.”

“Let me respond to him,” he simply makes grabby hands this time, not reaching into your personal space.

“No.”

“Oh, c’mon.”

“Maybe you should have a smart phone like the rest of us so you could be part of the group chat.”

“You guys have a fucking group chat?”

“Yeah, without you.”

If it hurts his feelings, he doesn’t let it show. He simply pouts in his corner of the couch.

You’re about to swipe up, hit the camera icon and get the photo over with, but Eddie interrupts again.

“C’mon, just real quick. I just have something to say to Steve.”

He’s holding out his palm again. Another buzz of your phone, surely another text from Steve.

You don’t know why you do it. But you succumb. You take a leap of faith, and you reach out to drop your phone into Eddie Munson’s waiting hand.

Once it’s in his grasp, he wastes no time to bring it in close to him. For someone who has a goddamn flip phone, he’s quick with his thumbs, typing out whatever message he had been so desperate to send with ease. You don’t notice that you’ve scooted closer to watch him over his shoulder until he’s hitting send.

Patience, Harrington. We’re just trying to find my good angle. - E

“E?” you snort, “God, first the flip phone, now the cryptic messages. You’re either a serial killer or a drug dealer.”

He only flips you off as he hands back the phone.

Finally, finally, you’re able to open the camera app without interruption, stretching your arm out as you turn your back to Eddie and move your hand until you’re both in frame. Eddie keeps his middle finger held high and forces a scowl onto his face. You huff out, trying to not appear entertained before you flash a half-assed smile and thumbs up.

If the two of you were friends, it’d be a cute photo.

But you’re not, and as you hit send in the groupchat, providing them with the proof they so desperately crave, you consider deleting the photo. What use will it serve you after tonight?

You should probably delete the photo, but you don’t.

“Don’t look so overjoyed over there,” you comment as you finally lock your phone upon seeing the photo successfully sent, “You look miserable.”

“I am miserable.”

“You weren’t, like, ten seconds ago,” you’re quick to point out, discarding the smartphone onto his coffee table and facing him once more. You’re closer than before, “You were actually laughing at my jokes. It’s okay to admit I’m funny, y’know?”

You should probably scoot back over and put the distance back between the two of you, but you don’t.

“You were funny once,” he puts severe emphasis on the once, “That’s a rare occasion for you, sweetheart.”

There’s something different in the way he enunciated the nickname this time. He doesn’t sound out each syllable with the purpose of annoying you, and instead it seems to slip effortlessly off his tongue. You try to not think too much of it.

“Bullshit,” you shake your head and refuse to believe, only because you have proof to back your words up, “I’ve seen you laugh at my jokes when we’re out with everyone. You do this stupid thing when you start to laugh, and then you cough into your fist like you’re trying to cover it up. And everyone knows it’s not a real cough because when you really cough, you cover it with your elbow like a normal person.”

You probably shouldn’t take so much notice of his mannerisms, but you do.

To emphasize your point, you bring your arm to wrap around your head as if you were coughing, “Like this. Like… Like Dracula or something.”

He simply stares, one eyebrow slightly raised as he watches you. Normally, you’d interpret look as unimpressed. But something tugs in your chest, and you nearly convince yourself that he’s watching you with mirth.

“Oh, come on! Stop staring at me like I’m the giant nerd here for referencing a vampire everyone knows,” you complain, finally scooting under the burn of his gaze.

“You’re not a giant nerd,” he corrects, and it almost seems as if his mouth is working faster than his brain as he continues, “You’re a fucking dork.”

He lets the word hang heavy between the two of you. Dork. A stranger might find it to be dripping in adorement, all because they don’t know better. But you know better, and you know it can’t possibly be dripping of anything. It’s dry. It’s nothing.

“I’m a dork?” you counter, “You’re the one with an action figure of Gandalf the Great in your living room.”

“Oh, so you know who Gandalf is? Maybe you are a nerd.”

The dimples are back. This time, you try to not stare at them, to now acknowledge their existence. Because every time you do, you think of his hand passing over that sliver of skin on your lower back. Because every time you do, you remember the time when you thought there was hope for you and Eddie to be friends.

For a moment, it’s been easy. The banter has been friendly between the two of you, and if you close your eyes, you could pretend you’re having just another night in with Steve or Robin. Another day of sitting in Nancy’s living room as she asks for your opinions on her latest articles or another afternoon of smoking with Argyle. If you close your eyes, it’s not Eddie you’re here with, it’s a friend.

The realization seems to hit the two of you at the exact same time. All the merriment of the banter drains out of both of you. Eddie clears his throat, and you scoot back to your original placement on the couch.

You’re not here with a friend. You’re here with Eddie, the boy who has gone out of his way to make you miserable at every chance he’s offered. Eddie, the boy who’s made you cry twice now.

You probably shouldn’t still cling to the what-could-have-beens of a friendship with Eddie that had long since been buried, but you do.

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @amira0303 @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @tlclick73 @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau

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#twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #i learned a lot about taglists this time around lol #didn't double check formatting bear with me

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katiapostsss · 2 months

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DRABBLE:

anakin using the force against you

"he doesnt have full control of his powers in RoTS—" shhhh

enjoy!

〰️

anakin had been getting you to put off your work for the past week just to spend time with him, and if you allowed him to do it even once more, you'd miss the due date for all the documents and papers you had to get in order and most likely be booted from your position as senator. you really couldn't help it, though. when he asked, it was near-impossible to say no, and plus, anakin was so often gone on missions, it made it even harder.

you had only a week together before he was off again, and he was definitely using it to the maximum. little dates in private here and there, scattered kisses when no one was watching, and nights spent curled up together like if you pressed hard enough, you'd become one. that didn't mean you couldn't just discard your duties, even though it was exactly what you had been doing, with meaning, of course, but tonight? even your boyfriend and the short time you had with him wasn't an excuse.

so, there you sat, late into the night, ink scattered across crinkled papers and exhaustion looming over your shoulder, tugging at your worn hands. you'd been going at it for at least an hour now, and still had a quarter of work to get through. it was progress. not a lot of it.

and then, there was that matter. with the reoccurring nightmares and the little time on your hands, anakin obviously wanted nothing more than to pull you away and dispose of those stupid papers, to have you all to himself. last time you checked, he was in your bed to the right, trying to get some sleep in, but no. you must've been really focused if you didn't notice his approach. "baby..." his voice sounded somewhere, and you felt strong arms circle your middle from behind you, his chin resting atop your shoulder. you already knew what he was going to ask of you. he'd tried maybe 4 times tonight already. "come to bed, please."

"i can't," you spoke back, not bothering even a glance at his face. an hour more, and you'd be free. you just had to hold him off until then. "as soon as i'm done—"

"it's our last night together... i don't know when i'll see you again," he countered quickly, face turning to peck your jaw, to which you hummed in content, the small noise going unbeknownst to you. "please?" anakin added, and a piece of your attention was given to him just because. you wanted to, you really did.. but...

"in a bit, i promise!" and you meant it. if only you could get these papers done faster, then you'd give him all the love in the world and let him know you'd be there if he woke up from his nightmares. though, you didn't know if he'd even let you.

his lips stopped and you almost looked to him in annoyance. he was definitely trying to bribe you. when he realized it wasn't working, he straightened, setting a hand on the desk and looking skeptically at the papers. "we'll get someone else to do it. senator... what's his name?"

"senator basil?" finally, you turned your head up, craning your neck in a way that made you wince. your eyes locked onto his beautiful features, lit up only by the dim glow of your lamp. his gaze met yours, and you saw his face pass with hope.

"yea," anakin spoke quickly. quietly. "him." you pursed your lips and he leaned to kiss the strain away.

a moment of perfect silence set, and only when his mouth fell from yours did you respond. "he already has work to do, though. i shouldn't have to bother him with mine."

"that's fine. i'll bother him with it for you." and all of a sudden, the same papers you were so fervently working at were floating in the air between you, taunting you. you startled, reaching up to grab them, but they drifted away quicker than your arm could dart out.

"ani!" you fumed, twisting in your seat and preparing to shoot him with your eyes. you were being lifted as well not a moment later. faster than even his powers, you were out of your seat, and anakin's hands were beneath your thighs, forcing your legs to straddle his middle. "anakin!" you spoke again, this time using the full weight of his name against him. "put me down! i need to finish the papers—" thrashing. you hit at his chest with your fists, trying to knock him off of you, but he held tight, leading you to the bed, and you thrashed once he set you atop the comforters, too.

"senator basil will live. it's just a few things more—" anakin began, but you were up and darting back to the desk before he could finish, and you were being lifted into the air once more before you could get there. only this time, by an invisible force. the force. you knew it was useless, but you still fought against it, showing him your distaste.

"i will never forgive you for this," you warned, even as you drifted to him and he pressed you against his body, brought you under the sheets with him. "worst boyfriend ever."

warmth enveloped you and his arms circled around yours once again. your lips were pecked before you could say anything more, and despite the need to get back to your documents, you melted into him like butter on a hot pan. like it was the most natural thing ever. "you love me."

"a little less everyday."

he chuckled, dark and low and vibrating against your chest, and although everything in you defied it, you found yourself fighting a smile.

posting this without thinking cause i gotta be active

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year

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Bad For Business: Level Three

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.5K] An enemies to lovers au. Arcade coworkers, who love to hate each other, get too competitive about Dig Dug and share a mutal annoyance for the kids that like to pester them. Choose your own adventure by picking an option at the end of the chapter. “What do you mean, it just stopped working?”

Standing under the broken aircon unit was not how you wanted this shift to go. Especially on the hottest day of the year.

Especially with Jason Carver and Steve Harrington.

It was hotter than ever inside the empty arcade, the rows and rows of machines doing nothing more than pumping heat into the room from their whirring fans. The jumpy, happy tune from Mario Bros. was starting to make your eye twitch and you hadn’t seen a customer the entire time you’d been working. Normal people were at the community pool, the richest of Hawkins relaxing under their own air conditioning, on their floats in their private swimming pools.

“I don’t know!” Jason fumed, rounding on Steve with more anger than necessary, seeing how he was the one to cause the ancient thing to die. There was a broken off broom handle sticking out of the vent. “I just tried to get the thing to aim towards the desk more!”

You were standing too near Steve, bare arms brushing, pressed close behind the desk as the boy swore, skin glistening and doing everything he could to not look at you. You’d taken your stupid staff shirt off an hour ago, a too thin camisole thing underneath, cropped and letting everyone know that you definitely weren’t wearing a proper bra.

Your skin was flushed, a little damp, your hair sticking to your neck and sweat beading at your chest, clinging to the space between your vest and your shorts. Steve definitely wasn’t looking.

“You impaled it,” you muttered, staring up at the sputtering fan. “You absolute fucking moron.”

It was the straw that broke the sweaty camel's back, because Jason’s nostrils flared and he dropped the second half of the broken broom onto the floor. He held up his hands in defeat, face red with heat and anger. “I’m out. I’m done,” he told you before rounding on Steve. “Sort this shit yourself, Harrington. And maybe teach your girl some manners whilst you're at it.”

No one spoke as he stormed through the empty arcade, the lights flashing on the machines no one played. The door opened for just a second as Jason slipped out, a bright flash of blue sky and sunbeams over the black walls, the neon signs and ultraviolet light. There wasn’t any breeze, no wind that came in, nothing to soothe the heat that lingered heavily in the air.

“She isn’t my girl!” Steve shouted the same time you yelled feebly, “I’m not his girl, jerk.”

But the door had already slammed shut and Jason’s car could be heard ripping out of the parking lot. An almost silence followed, the hum of the machines, the stuttering of the barely alive aircon unit, Steve’s strained sigh. And then, a click.

Deafening, final, ending in darkness.

The lights went out, the sickly yellow overhead fluorescents, the flashing neons on the machines, the screens and even the green numbers that usually flashed on the cash register. With no windows in the old unit, well, you couldn’t see shit.

“You’ve got to be fucking joking me,” Steve muttered and he cursed when he moved, bumping into you as you both tried to find the edge of the desk and the same time. “Fuck, you’re on my foot—”

“That’s ‘cause you’re in my way,” you huffed, arguing weakly, an edge to your voice that sounded a little like panic but you weren’t going to tell Steve that. You weren’t a fan of the dark, especially the kind that made your own hand invisible in front of your face, the kind of dark that made you doubt your own vision. “Move, Harrington.”

“Move where?” Steve growled back, his hip bumping against your own, the edges of knuckles grazing against your ribs, against too much bare skin. It was suddenly so much warmer. “I can’t see shit, princess, what am I supposed to do?”

You tripped over something, a cable, a part of an old machine that Murray liked to keep, who knows, but it sent you into Steve’s side with a noise of objection. You swore, grabbing at anything you could, cringing when it happened to be Steve’s arms. He’d long rolled his shirt sleeves up, the cotton folded up to his shoulders, the lines of muscles there slick with sweat, more distracting than ever now you could feel them.

“Christ,” the boy chastised, “you’ve got as much grace as a baby giraffe, here—“ Steve didn’t finish his sentence, he just reached out to grab at you, hands on your waist, fingers skimming over the hand of your shorts as he righted you.

You were still holding his shoulders and you were close enough that you could see the outline of his features, the faint slope of his nose, the line of his jaw, even in the dark. Neither of you said anything, not right away. And then you were both pushing back, hands leaving each other, hips and elbows and ribs bumping into cabinets and stray stools.

“Where’s the fuse box?” Steve asked and he sounded further away now, like he was moving towards the office door, wherever it was. Something clattered to the floor and you heard him curse and then kick it. “Murray’s gotta have a flashlight somewhere, right? Probably stashed with his not so secret weed that he ‘confiscates’ from the kids,” he snorted.

Another thump, a small bang and then Steve’s hands found the office door, a pleased and triumphant sound leaving his lips as the hinges squeaked. The noise suddenly pushed you into action, a nervous anxiety gripping you as you tried to take a step forward, squeaking when your foot landed on a stack of papers that slid under your sneakers.

“Harrington!” You yelped, stumbling forward clumsily. “Steve? Jesus Christ, Steve!”

The door squeaked again, and although you couldn’t see him, a burst of cologne and sunscreen filled the space in front of you. Hands found yours, fumbling, awkward, as clammy with sticky warmth as yours were.

Suddenly the heat was cloying, suffocating. You felt tightly wound, head scrambled, throat dry. “What’re you doing?”

“Helping you, dummy.” Steve snorted, beginning to lead you around the desk, your free hand skimming along the wall, skating over the frayed edges of old posters and forgotten thumbtacks. “Unless you wanna stay here and amuse yourself. Argue with the wall or somethin’, you’re good at that.”

“Shut up.” There wasn’t much heat behind it, your words nowhere near as harsh as they’d usually be, ‘cause you were clinging to Steve’s hand as he led you back to the door. “Asshole.”

The office was just as dark as the rest of the arcade, the old computer on Murray’s desk as dead as the rest of the machines. You let go of Steve’s hand when you found the edge of the lunch table, the legs wobbling as you made contact with it and you could feel Steve behind you, around you, the sound of drawers opening and closing filling the quiet room.

“The fuck is this flashlight?” You heard him murmur, and then, “shit, wait, yes!”

A beam of light flooded the small room, orange-yellow and a little weak but it made your eyes water and squint and the sudden burst of colour. Steve must’ve reacted the same, hissing as his eyes stung, both of you stumbling.

Shoulders bumped, elbows knocked, hands brushed. Again.

You were closer than you’d realised, toes almost touching and Steve was all tight jeans and bare arms, lines of muscle you usually didn’t pay attention to wrapping around strong forearms. His hair was a mess, wilder than usual, sticking to his forehead and over his eyes, cheeks pink from the heat.

You watched him swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing, eyes flickering down to roam all too obviously over your frame. Tight shirt, cropped, slick skin, peach flavoured lip balm that he’d watched you reapply in the tiny mirror by the lockers that morning. Silence stretched on, a yawning, all consuming thing that seemed thicker than the heat, warmer than the summer outside.

You licked your lips, salt on your Cupids bow and you watched Steve’s gaze follow the movement. The flashlight fell, bouncing on the worn carpet and the beam flickered across the wall, Steve’s trainers, your bare legs. Steve’s head knocked against your own as you both bent to pick it up, swearing softly and the boy winced, knowing he hurt you more than you hurt him.

“Shit,” his voice was quiet, low and a little rough. “Sorry.”

You were still too close, knelt on the floor with the boy, heads dipped together and you were desperate to shrug off the unfamiliar feeling of softness, the genuine apology from Steve making your chest stutter and still.

You let Steve grab the flashlight, muttering a “whatever,” in order to brush off the moment. You watched him stand, turning quickly when he flashed the beam back down to see you still on your knees before him, tits pushed together in your stupid little vest top, a bead of sweat rolling down your neck and into the dip between them.

He wasn’t looking. He wasn’t looking.

So he left you in the dark as he pushed away the leftover coats that the rest of the staff had left since winter, pulling at the handle of the fuse box, letting clatter noisily against the wall. “C’mere for a second,” he said gruffly, not looking at you at all. “Hold this, yeah?”

“Manners are free, Harrington,” you tutted, “don’t be a bitch.”

Steve still wasn’t facing you, but you were pretty sure he was rolling his eyes. “You wanna stay stuck in the dark? In this heat?” He asked, he handed you the flashlight. “Least you can do is hold this, princess, don’t break a nail now, god forbid.”

You snatched the light from him, shouldering into his space just to piss him off, too close and too warm, cologne and sunscreen and chlorine scent hair from an early morning swim, peach scented chapstick and sweat. You hated it. You hated that you didn’t hate it all.

“Come on, sparky,” you nudged Steve, an elbow to his side, the flashlight pointed at the circuit board, showing rows and rows of switches and wires. “Fix it. Don’t break a nail, sweetheart.”

Steve glared at you, brows stitched together and his brown eyes honeycomb in the light. He looked like he wanted to argue, to snap back at you and bite, but instead he pressed his lips together and turned back to the fuses.

His fingers lingered over the switches, pausing to read the peeling and faded labels under each one, hesitating before he flicked the plastic. Some did nothing, the arcade remaining in darkness, in silence. Steve mumbled under his breath, a grumble that made you want to laugh but you kept your lips pressed together, the light still held aloft for him.

You were silent as you watched him push at each one, plastic flicking up and down, doing nothing. You grimaced as Steve started to play with some of the wires, pushing them back into the board with a little more force than made you comfortable, as if he knew what he was doing, as if was suddenly an expert in hard wiring and electrics.

“You’re gonna blow us up,” you warned, slapping at his hand when he kept prodding at things he didn’t know about. “Steve, Jesus, stop it!”

The boy tsked, budging up closer to you, only to try to shoulder you out of the way, shaking his hand loose from your attempt to grab him. It was a childish scuffle, one you’d definitely had before with Steve, over stolen bags of chips, the last can of soda, the set of keys that worked properly. But this time it was in the dark, skin still slick and the air too heavy and he was so fucking close, hands sliding over the bare skin on your stomach, your sides, his hair tickling your cheek as he poked at your ribs, trying to make you give in.

And then, all at once, Steve’s hand pushed at yours and the flashlight fell again, the beam flickering off just as something in the fuse box sparked and popped.

You yelped and Steve swore, both of you clambering backwards, away from the possibility of a full on fire, grabbing at each other like that would help. There was a beat of silence, one second, two second, three, just the sound of you and Steve breathing a little heavy - and then the lights came back on.

You blinked, squinting into the too bright strip lights and it maybe took you both too long that you were still clinging to each other, your fingers twisted in the front of his shirt, Steve’s wide, warm hand pressed to your lower back, his frame slightly in front of yours… like he was trying to block you from any danger.

He sprang away from you when your eyes met, your nose scrunched as you tried your best to act annoyed, like your heart wasn’t rattling in your chest, like you couldn’t smell Steve’s cologne on your own skin. You pushed back just as hard, ass bumping with the table, forgotten lunch boxes falling to the floor.

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled, ducking to hide your warm cheeks.

Steve scoffed, running a hand through his hair and looking anywhere but at you. “What’re you even talkin’ about? I fixed it, didn’t I?”

“That was a fluke,” you laughed, more haughtily than you’d ever sounded but god, you were still too warm and you could feel the leftover pressure of Steve’s hand on your back. “You pressed some buttons and hoped for the best, get real.”

Steve glared, snapping the fuse box shut and leaning against it, arms crossed. “S’real cute coming from the girl who didn’t want me to leave her alone in the dark.”

You weren’t sure how you ended up toe to toe again, how you’d managed to cross the small office, chin lifted defiantly, cheeks warm. “No one would wanna be left in the dark!” You tried to reason, words feeling clumsy in your mouth because Steve was smirking, looking far too amused. “It’s not like I wanted to be beside you. I would’ve followed Jason, Jesus, don’t flatter yourself, Harrington.”

Steve just shrugged, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek to stop his grin. He sighed all dramatically and poked a finger to your cheek, laughing when you huffed and slapped it away. “Keep telling yourself that, princess.”

“You’re so full of yourself. I would’ve been fine without you.”

Closer still, toes touching, noses too close, the heat still clinging to you both.

“I saved your ass,” Steve teased. “Admit it.”

“No you didn’t, asshole.” You were unreasonably annoyed about how relaxed Steve was, cocky and lazy as he leaned against the desk.

The boy grinned. “Yeah? Wanna fight about it?”

The sound of the games resetting saved you from replying, the electronic cacophony of alarms and theme songs breaking up whatever was about to happen. You left Steve in the office and spent the rest of your shift with your T-shirt back on, sticky skin and unable to look him in the eye.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut

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parad-ice-lostandfound · 8 months

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Prompt: Just some things about the Ramshackle Prefect and Scarabia's vice-housewarden <3

Pairing: Jamil Viper × Yuu / Gn!Reader

Genre: Fluff mostly, a little bit of angst

TW: NA (for now, please let me know if I should add trigger warnings and for what ^^)

Jamil is no stranger to looks of awe and envy. A large part of it is owed to his status as a servant of the Asim family, as well as being Kalim's closest friend and retainer. But when the Prefect looks at him, they look at him in awe of his skills. Of how he expertly manages to tackle every obstacle Kalim unwittingly puts in his way. Of how his hands work quickly and efficiently in the kitchen as he stirs and mixes and makes food for the entirety of Scarabia. Of how he manages to give his best (despite the limitations set upon him by his status) in everything he does. For them, his status as a servant matters little; his hardwork is seen for what it is, and appreciated genuinely.

Jamil takes good care of his looks. As Kalim's retainer, he is required to look after his appearance, lest even the slightest of mistakes bring scrutiny upon the Asim family. The gold trinkets braided into his hair are a symbol of his status and servitude, of pride and resentment, yet he finds that resentment slowly die down as the Prefect plays with the accessories, batting at them with all the curiosity and wonder of a little kitten. His voicing of the fact only gets him a playful pout from them, which leaves him a little weak in the knees and a little short of breath. He thanks his lucky stars that they are both sitting on his bed, for surely his traitorous legs would have given away underneath him had he been standing.

Jamil stays up at night, quite a lot. His responsibilities do not end when the Asim heir finally falls asleep; for some reason, they seem to increase. Between his own studying, making rounds of the dorm so that no unruly dorm members (or housewardens) sneak off in the middle of the night, and countless other tasks, it is a miracle that he even gets time to rest his ever watchful eyes. Yet he smiles each time the Prefect stumbles over to him, half-asleep as they tug at his arms and mumble that he needs to sleep and that they are not taking no for an answer (not that he would say no to such an adorable request) and goes along with what they say.

Jamil is not one to bare his heart to just anybody. It takes time and dedication to peel back all his layers, his self doubt, to truly get him to speak about everything and anything that is bothering him. Yet sometimes, sometimes things are too difficult to talk about, and Jamil is too tired to think about them. So when the Prefect opens their arms, inviting him in their soft and safe embrace, he obliges with a soft murmur that is his thanks to them. They rub his back, and Jamil cannot stop himself from melting under their wordless yet tender care, holding onto his beloved Prefect with all the strength he can muster in that moment.

Jamil is very perceptive; very little misses his keen gaze. He sees how each incident the Prefect invariably gets roped into takes away a little part of them. The light in their eyes is a little dimmer each time they meet his, and their smiles a little more forced as they gently turn down his enquiries about their health. Each matter resolved, each overblot fought saps their energy and shakes their will, and Jamil knows it is only a matter of time before they fall down like a house of cards. He can see them working themself to the bone, running on fumes and sheer determination to save all those who had endeared themselves to the Prefect. So he insists, borderline begging even, to take care of them. Even for just one day, one hour. He just wants to be there for them, the way they always are for him.

Jamil shows his care in subtle ways in public. Carrying an extra lunch for the Prefect, sitting next to them in class, helping them with their studies, all these are ways he shows his favor to them. In private, he whispers declarations of love and devotion to them, reveling in how flustered they get even as his own heart thumps loudly inside his chest. He stumbles over his words when they carefully hold one of his braids up to their lips, leaving a kiss on the dark strands while maintaining eye contact with him; a silent declaration more powerful and potent than any of his teasing words.

#twst #here goes nothing #jamil lovers come get your man #blame my period hormones and the firelit sky event for my jamil brainrot <3 #not quite happy with the last few parts but oh well #twisted wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst jamil #jamil viper #jamil x reader #jamil x mc #jamil x yuu #jamil x y/n #ice writes #twst writing #my writing

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muddyorbsblr · 8 months

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after hours visits

'one look and they'll know' collection masterlist See my full list of works here!

Placement: hours after 'a tale of ice baths and hot sauce'

Summary: An unwelcome visitor knocks at the door of Tom's hotel room while you two were trying to enjoy your evening together

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: 18+ | smuttish steamy moments (minors & pearl clutchers please exit the chat…like right now); coitus interruptus; language; insecure reader moment towards the end; mentions of cheating (not Tom, our precious meow meow would never); Brynne (yeah she's a warning now) [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: established relationship

"I think we should break the facade," Tom exhaled softly, his breathing already evened out while he held you to his naked body in a blissful post-coital haze, fingers aimlessly stroking your hair. "There were far too many comments today that had me fuming, it physically hurt me to hold back my tongue. Those immature, disrespectful--" He let out a sigh, chest muscles tensing under your touch telling you he was getting worked up over just the memory of how you were undoubtedly the topic of immature locker room chatter. What with your flowy little outfit earlier today and the hickeys your boyfriend so generously placed throughout your neck last night and early this morning.

"I'll make a note to cover up a little more tomorrow," you murmured, absentmindedly tracing the curls of his chest hairs with your fingertips, silently stewing in your own irrational jealous annoyance because of the comments so carelessly thrown his way. "Sorry, sweetie."

"Why are you apologizing for their disrespect, goddess?"

"Force of habit," you sighed. "And I know it gets to you that these guys are just flat out disgusting because they think they can be, so if I can ease that a bit I can just--"

"I don't want you to prioritize anyone's comfort but your own, and they'll make those comments even if you're wearing sweats. What ticked me off wasn't that your clothes made them let out those revolting comments, but that they said those things and I couldn't say anything to get them to stop. That the subject of their sexual daydreams was already unavailable because--"

"Because I'm yours," you finished for him, placing a soft kiss on the mark on his shoulder from your wakeup call shenanigans this morning that became quite prominent. "And that same subject of their stupid little daydreams gave you that."

He tilted your chin upwards, pressing his lips to yours and letting out a sound of contentment when you let him deepen the kiss and his tongue began to gently tangle with yours. "Yes you did, sweetheart," he mumbled against your lips, stealing another kiss as he wrapped his free arm around you to pull you on top of him, pressing your chests together. "I didn't like having to bite my tongue when they were being so vile about you, talking about how you were probably a hellcat followed by bitter retorts of you probably being a lousy lay. They shouldn't be so bold to talk about you. They're unworthy to even be saying your name let alone thinking such lewd thoughts that should only be mine."

"Then tell them exactly that," you told him, kissing along his jawline until you felt the tension in him start to subside. "We said we would keep things private, not secret. And if our privacy comes at a price that one of us isn't willing to pay anymore, then we start making it…less private." You began to smirk against his skin when you heard the most minute whimpers once you started kissing his neck. "Besides, just because we're not super quiet about it doesn't mean we're suddenly gonna start fucking in the middle of the field because I for one do not want to have to wash the grass off of me," you finished with a little giggle, letting out a squeal when his hands grasped your waist and began to maneuver you again, sliding you easily down his body until your hips were nearly aligned with his.

"Sometimes I'm convinced there's still sand on me from Ibiza," he chuckled, playfully nipping at your shoulder when you started laughing along. The memory played in your head so vividly of the day you made a mental note that while 'sex on the beach' made for a naughty bucket list item and the occasional indulgent drink, it wasn't meant to be more than that.

"Impossible," you murmured, letting out a soft moan when your lips met his again in a delicate kiss. "We've checked. More than twice. It's been years." You both laughed into your kiss, the sound quickly turning into breathy moans when you felt him lining himself up at your entrance. "Again?" you asked him breathlessly, fighting back the urge to make a quip about his stamina knowing full well that if you did, you'd be feeling the consequences of that comment until well after the match was done on Sunday.

"You should know by now that I'm nowhere near finished with you for--"

Knock knock knock

"What in the world--We didn't order anything!" Tom called out toward the direction of the door, the lust quickly returning to his expression as if you two were never interrupted to begin with when he turned back to face you, his hands moving your hips so that they started rolling against his and making you delirious for him again. "Now, before we were so rudely interrupted--"

Knock knock knock

"Fucking dammit," you hissed out, your voice dropping an octave into your more 'boss lady domineering' tone and making you feel the tip of his length twitching against you in response. "Really?"

"You know the effect you have on me, goddess. After all this time are you honestly surprised?" he quipped back, nipping at your skin again as he started to move you again, only this time it was on to your side of the bed. No doubt so he could make himself somewhat decent and address whoever was on the other side of the door.

That was until you heard the person in question speak.

"Mr. Hiddleston? It's uhm…I'm from staff and I was wondering if you needed anything from me—I mean us before we all locked up for the night?"

"Fucking hell, it's Brynne," you spat out, the dislike even more pronounced when you said her name. "The fuck is she doing here?"

"And does committee staff really go door to door asking if players need anything or…?" he trailed off, hand immediately wrapping around yours when you sat up from the bed, your shoulders squared as if you were readying yourself for a face off.

"We had no more duties for the night. And I was the one that locked up. Hours ago." Your blood began to boil when her words from this morning about 'shooting her shot' came barreling back to you. "This bitch is here to try her chances with you. Again," you seethed, the gesture of his thumb stroking the back of your hand doing nothing to soothe you.

"Answer the door, then, my love."

His words broke through your raging thoughts, your gaze finding his like you were looking for confirmation that you understood exactly what he was saying. "You're sure?"

He brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles as he kept your gaze with those unfairly beautiful eyes like there was a star that paid rent just behind them. "You're clearly distressed with how brazen she's become. Don't get me wrong, I adore how insatiable we get when either of us becomes a touch possessive." He scooted a bit closer to you, eyebrows scrunching together in a second's irritation when Brynne started talking again outside, wrapping his arm around you and pressing a line of delicate kisses from your shoulder across your collarbone. "But your prolonged discomfort is too high a price to pay for our privacy. I refuse to endure you paying it for the rest of this week."

"You're sure you want this?" you choked out, whimpering against his lips when he sought yours out. You mentally smacked yourself for even asking it. You knew exactly where he stood when it came to your relationship. His words from a few years ago echoed tauntingly in your head.

I know you're not ready yet, but I want you to know that I am. I've always been.

"Completely," he murmured against your lips, pressing one last kiss before stepping off the bed and starting to make his way to the closet. "I'll get you a robe--What are you up to, sweetheart?"

He began to smirk as you shook your head, standing from the bed yourself and walking over to his discarded jersey on the floor. "Yeah, no…fuck that. If we're painting a picture, I'm making sure she doesn't have any room for misinterpretation," you told him with a cheeky little wink as you slipped the jersey over your head, indulging yourself of the view of your boyfriend walking into the bathroom without a stitch of clothing on him before you answered the door to a visibly irritated and bewildered Brynne.

"Mister Hi--Oh, Y/N. I'm so sorry, I must've gotten the wrong room." She plastered on a wide smile as her gaze nearly felt like nails on a board the second she clocked Tom's jersey looking like an oversized t-shirt dress on you.

"Well hey Brynne," you greeted her with an equally fake wide smile, taking note of the lacy navy blue silk camisole and shorts she was wearing. "You look all dolled up. Are you looking for someone?"

She started to pull at the hem of her shorts, suddenly seemingly self-conscious at how scantily dressed she really was. "Uhh…yeah. I could've sworn this was Player 6's room, but I must've remembered wrong do you rem--"

"No no, you're in the right place," you answered simply, practically seeing the gears turning in her head as she put the bigger picture together. Come on you're so close. Figure it out and get the fuck out of here, you sneered in your head.

Her expression quickly became haughty, looking like a kid that just caught their classmate stealing the answer key to a major test. "And what exactly would your boyfriend have to say about you being here? Wearing Hiddleston's jersey and probably nothing else? Or maybe…he's on your list and now your boyfriend that you claimed earlier today you were so happy and in love with is back in your room trying to pretend that he's okay with--"

Maybe not close enough. "Wow, your brain must be extra smooth," you scoffed, cutting her off again. "You really wanna know what my boyfriend would think? Why don't we go ask him." You turned away from her to call out in the direction of the bathroom. "Hey sweetie, you know I'm wearing your jersey, right?"

"Hold on, he's--"

Tom's answer, echoed by the bathroom tiles, stopped her words short. "Yes and it's an outright crime that you're not letting me see you wearing my jersey. So if you could please do away with our visitor, that would be great, my love."

You turned back to face your visitor who was now visibly seething at you, her face contorted into an expression of pure indignation. "You can go now," you told her as calmly as you could manage, clearing your throat and letting your voice drop an octave lower before you continued. "There's nothing you could offer him that he couldn't get from me."

The second she stepped back from the doorway, you closed the door on her, not even giving her a chance to let out a snarky comment in return. That didn't stop her from yelling out in the hallway, however. "He'll get tired of you! You don't deserve him, you snobby little bitch!"

Much as you tried to let the words just roll off your back like you'd done for the better part of the last decade, on nights like this they still stung. They still got to you. Just thinking about how easy it was before to have a relationship slip through your fingers over someone just like Brynne that so audaciously made her way to your then boyfriend's hotel room while he was on a business trip.

The half-hour sobbing phone call where he managed to blubber up a guilt trip of how you shouldn't "just throw away a year long relationship over something that meant nothing".

"You think I don't know that?" you mumbled, deadpanned, trying to block out her sardonic yelling muffled by the door.

You'd gotten so lost in your unwelcome trip down memory lane to your time before Tom that you didn't hear your boyfriend's footsteps padding toward you until his hands gently grasped your shoulders, coaxing you to turn and face him.

"It seems she refuses to receive the message that she's not welcome," he commented, looking intently at your expression and gauging where your thoughts were. "Y/N?" When he called your name, you tried to shake all the haunting memories from your head, giving him a bright smile. "Don't do that, sweetheart. Don't wear your mask around me." He shook his head at you, framing your face with his hands before kissing your fake smile away.

"I can't not hear her," you admitted. You could actually feel your ears straining from your efforts to block out her bitterness from the other side of the door.

The feel of Tom pressing tender kisses to your temple had you letting out the breath you realized you were holding, feeling as if he was lifting away a weight at your chest. "Just focus on me, goddess. Her words mean nothing to us." He kissed his way down to your lips, murmuring against your skin, "If she insists on trying to make us listen to her childish remarks, then it's only right for us to return the favor."

He wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you flush against him, holding you steady when your knees went weak as he licked into your mouth. You felt his smirk when you let out a muffled moan from him tracing along the roof of your mouth. You could barely gasp out any words when he pulled away. "What--"

"If she won't leave then she'll simply have to stay out there and hear us." He moved you until you felt your back against the door, his fingers skimming the sides of your body over his shirt. "Hear how much I love you…" He pressed a trail of soft kisses down the side of your face and along your jawline, just like you had minutes earlier. "How devoted I am to you…"

He proceeded to suck another bruise into a spot behind your ear, nipping at your skin when you let out an indecent moan that you were sure was heard by your neighboring rooms. You vaguely wondered if it was loud enough that you two were practically goading someone to call security with a noise complaint against you, but as you felt Tom's lips latch on to the base of your throat and proceed to give it the same treatment, you realized that you honestly couldn't bring yourself to care that much.

"And most importantly," he mumbled as he kissed at a spot above your heart, wrapping his arms around you in a gentle yet firm embrace. "How no matter how hard anyone tries, there is no one that will ever succeed in taking me from you." He pressed his forehead to yours, brushing his nose across yours. "My body, my heart, they're yours, goddess. They've always been."

All the words you had stopped in a lump at the back of your throat. The only thing you could do was throw your arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss that you tried to pour your heart into. Words were never your forte. "I love you," you breathed out, letting out a little squeal when you felt his hands grasp the backs of your thighs to lift you into his arms and make you wrap your legs around him.

"And I love you." His lips never left yours as he leveraged you against the door, grinding his hips against yours while he slowly lifted the hem of his jersey up to your stomach, only pulling away when he playfully swatted your hands away when you made a motion to take the garment off. "No no, sweetheart. You know how I adore you in my clothes. The jersey stays on."

A/N: Aight it took me a while and honestly I've been on a slump the last few weeks but it's here and I hope y'all are still enjoying where I"m taking the story because…there's a reason I've turned this into an entire collection and lemme just tell you all right now: There's more coming from this couple 🥹🥹

Not right now though because I'm working on 'relinquish the crown' next. 😅🫡

everything taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @gigglingtiggerv2

#tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x female reader #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston imagine #muddyorbs writes

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julianalvarez9 · 1 year

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treat you better / pedri

summary: gavi and you were just fooling around, but pedri didn't quite approve. he knows that, if he had a chance, he could treat you so much better.

warnings: asshole!gavi, fuckboy behaviour (??, alcohol mentioned.

being the two golden boys currently, both gavi and pedri were well aware that they would draw attention everywhere: not only on the field, with opponents that would want to prove themselves against them, but outside of it, where they would get swarmed by fans every time they came to practice or they were seen around town. pedro never liked it that much, preferring to keep on his more private side, but gavi enjoyed the attention quite a lot. not only the one the media would give him, being only 18 and already a starter for both barcelona fc and his national team, but the one girls all over the world would give him.

because of this, the younger one had presented quite a bit of flings to his older friend, even though they never lasted that long. however, when you came around, pedri thought that you were it for him: you had stayed by his side longer than any other girl did, attending every match held at camp nou, his likes and comments all over your instagram pics. he was sure that you two were serious about each other, without knowing that gavi and you weren't formally in a relationship. and it wasn't that you didn't want one: pablo convinced you each time, saying that he really wanted you by his side, but the backlash that you two could face if the news about your relationship broke out would be huge, and he claimed that by not making it official and keeping you in the dark, he was only protecting you. since you weren't an insecure person, you hadn't really had a problem with it, trusting his word without a second thought.

but pedro knew better, since he saw exactly what gavi did when you weren't there. like tonight, in a bar pablo had dragged everyone to after another win for barça.

after a couple of hours there, the older one wanted to go home already, not being much of a fan of public displays or parties. the fact that he was certainly more sober than his friend was only making the matters worse. it wasn’t unusual to see random girls come by, whether invited or not by them, but the players that were in a relationship usually used to politely decline the attention, not wanting to get engaged in any scandal that could jeopardize their public image, nevermind their whole careers.

otherwise, it looked like gavi had forgotten where they were, since he had a girl seated on his lap for the last couple of minutes, actively engaging in conversation and with his hands over her waist. pedri had put on a disapproving look as soon as he saw what was going on, but he thought that it was a matter of time before the girl went away. but it wasn’t happening anytime soon, and pedro was growing rather annoyed at his friend’s behavior.

"¿cuál es tu puto problema?" (what's your damn problem?) the older one bitterly said in his friend's ear, nudging him so he could get the youngest's attention. gavi turned his face so he could maintain eye contact, clearly pissed at his best friend for the antics used to make him notice him. "¿qué?" (what?), he responded in a strong tone, part to be heard even with the deafening music around them, and part to show his anger at his elder.

pedro frowned his eyebrows at the horrid tone pablo had used to answer his question. "¿qué haces con una chica que no es tu novia en la falda?" (what are you doing with a girl that isn't your girlfriend on your lap?) he disapprovingly questioned, tilting his head to signal to the blonde girl that was comfortably sitting on his leg. the fact that anyone could snap a pic at any moment, and it could get to you, made him even more urgent to get her out of the booth all the players were sharing.

"no tengo novia" (i don't have a girlfriend), he shrugged, changing his focus back to the girl that was claiming his attention again. pedri was now fuming. he didn't know if gavi was intoxicated enough to not remember about you, or he was simply being an asshole. either way, he had enough.

"genial. entonces no tendrás problema en que y/n se entere, verdad?" (great. then you won't have a problem when y/n finds out, right?) he tried to reason with him. pedro thought that you two were serious, but his last answer and his latest actions were proving him otherwise. pablo turned again, now clearly annoyed, and almost screamed at his face."¿cuál es tu puto problema?" (what's your damn problem?).

"no seas gilipollas. tiene una fila de tíos mejores que tú esperando una oportunidad. no la eches a perder" (don't be an asshole. she has a bunch of guys lined up to be the next one that gets a chance. don't throw yours away) he huffed, getting up to go to the bar to pick up another drink and avoid gavi for the remainder of the night. maybe that way he could forget about what he saw, how he didn't deserve the chance you had given him. and he didn't say it to him, but he had thought about it often. daily, even, not just due to their encounter.

pedro damned himself for not seeing your first, for not making a move before his friend did. he knew that it was too late now, even if you knew what pablo did. the backlash the two of you would get would be even worse: golden boy pedri dating his best friend’s ex. he had no chance now, and he doubted if he ever had one to begin with. but he was certain that in other circumstances, maybe if you had ended up with him instead, or if the two players weren’t that closely tied, that he could treat you so much better. he was sure he would.

#pedri x reader #pedri imagine #pedri x you #pedri gonzalez x reader #pedri gonzalez x you #pedri gonzalez imagine #gavi x reader #gavi imagine #gavi x you #pablo gavi x y/n #pablo gavi x you #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi imagine #football x y/n #football x reader #football imagine #football x you

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oneforthemunny · 11 months

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An emotional thought, but what about Nepo Baby and Eddie accidentally missing an important event. Usually they’re on top of it, making sure they get to everything they can for the girls. But today was falling apart, from Seph ripping her jeans, Kensie getting in a fight with Sienna, Sicily accidentally running out of gas on the side of the road and Vega coloring on her walls, Eddie and Nepo are on their last straw. When they sit down to eat, Seph comes in and asks why they’re at dinner and they’re confused. With her chronic older sister syndrome, she tells them they forgot about Zarah’s science fair.

They run as fast as they can to the school, but a teacher cleaning up says she did excellent and she won first place. The teacher has to also has to give her the printed photos of her acceptance and, sadly, gives her the parent-student copy that has her with her best friend and their parents in it. The teacher says she was very nonchalant and said it’s okay and that her sisters probably had something, that it’s not a surprise and is getting dinner with their family.

They go to the car, feeling so bad that the one time Zarah wanted them there, they weren’t. Not only did she win and they didn’t get to see or support her, she said she wasn’t surprised. It’s hurts even more knowing that she didn’t mean it maliciously, she is just so easy going.

Zarah gets home and they’re immediately apologizing, but she’s so understanding, saying it’s okay. As much as the other girls lashing outs drive them crazy, this is one time they wish Zarah would just scream in their face. They make sure to take her on a special trip with just her, doing whatever she’d like to do and also have her redo her award winning project for the family.

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

fine. you started this non, but I'm going to make it worse. hope you guys like SOBBING!

so it wasn't a science fair, it's a recital. a musical, talent show type recital. she'd been practicing with eddie for weeks, he'd been showing her how to play the guitar, then she'd go practice in private. she wanted the song she performed to be a secret, a surprise.

you had it marked on your calendar for weeks. made sure your assistant knew, your parents, everyone. you were so proud of zarah and so excited.

then came the week from hell.

your assistant got the flu. you and eddie had to balance swapping off the kids, and it was a fucking nightmare.

sienna and kensie decided this would be the week that they went to war with each other about a fucking pair of shoes, and who was the rightful owner.

persephone was in nyc for business for her new brand, sicily ran out of gas on the side of the road and got hounded by paparazzi. you told kensie to drop zarah off, kissing her head and telling her you'd see her later, looking over the fact that she was dressed up and bouncing on her toes. it slipped your mind today was the recital.

eddie didn't come back with sicily until hours later, on edge and fuming. the paps, the tow truck, the type that he told sicily to fucking get gas before she left. you weren't much better. you'd had to break up the fight between kensington and sienna, taking the shoes and throwing them in the trash. while you were dealing with that, vega decided that she needed to unleash her artistic talents on the world... in the form of scribbling all over the walls.

you were near tears, beyond frustrated, tension so high by the time eddie got home. vega wailing loudly in the corner, sicily stomping up stairs, and eddie already reaching for another cigarette at the piercing sound of vega's loud, exaggerated cries.

the phone rang, shrill and cutting through the house. you huffed, halting your scrubbing to glare at eddie. "can you get that?" you grit, glaring at him.

he huffed, looking at the phone on the receiver. "it's your mother." he snapped with an eye roll.

you scrubbed the wall again with the magic eraser sponge, sure your manicure was ruined- you could add that to the list of things you would need to get done. "just ignore it. I'll call her later."

then it rang again. this time, she left a message.

"button, where are you at?" her hushed, nasally tone cut through the machine, background music loud even over the phone. "zarah is about to go on. daddy is with her back stage but she's asking for eddie. please tell me you're almost here. honestly, this is so mortifying."

you gasped, the sound tearing from your lungs. "oh my god." you held your hands over your mouth, heart plummeting while you looked at eddie.

"shit, shit, shit. let's go! now! everybody! down here right now! let's go!" eddie boomed up the stairs, snatching his keys then scrambling to scoop vega up from the chair in the corner. she fought against him, still upset at being put into the dreaded corner, but he ignored her, putting her in her carseat as quickly as he could.

you wrangled the other girls out to the car. "we forgot zarah's recital." you snapped when kensie started to whine about not being dressed. "get in the car now."

they filed in, all equally as quiet- guilty. the car was silent, except for the occasional barking yell from eddie to other cars and vega's whiney sniffles.

you tore into the school like a bat out of hell, eddie's tires screeching when he pulled up to the front of the school, turning on his hazards, before you all bounded up the stairs towards the school's auditorium.

you heard applause as you opened the door, hopeful that zarah was about to go on, that you made it- until you saw your daughter, bowing with the guitar that was all too big for her, scanning the crowd- for you.

your dad stood off the side of the stage, and you could see him hug her in the wings. your heart shattered, a gut punch sickening feeling. he had never been there for anything of yours, late to your graduation, your wedding. yet, they were here when you weren't for your baby- when you forgot. the one thing on earth you swore you'd never do.

eddie looked at you hesitantly, seeing the wobble in your lip before you could even register it. vega was still fussing in kensie's arms, sicily and sienna uncomfortable with the tension.

"take your sister out to the car, alright? just park it and we'll be right there, kens." eddie muttered, pulling you gently down the hall towards backstage.

you pushed yourself through the makeshift dressing room until you saw your father and zarah. "zarah, baby," you called, pushing through the crowds to get to her.

your father's eyes cut to you, cold and unimpressed, but that was nothing compared to the sorrowful, rounded brown eyes of your eleven year old shining at you in defeat. you were sure you were going to be sick now.

"zarah, I am so sorry. we tried to get here and-and it-"

"it's alright." zarah nodded gently, sweetly, like she wanted to comfort you. your heart tore.

"no, it's not. it's not alright, and I am so sorry, baby." you sucked in a deep breath to keep yourself from crying. "did mom record it?" you asked, looking up at your father hopefully.

"no," he seethed coldly, stern and stone glare like he couldn't believe you'd done this, hypocritical at best, but it didn't make you feel any worse. "she though you both would be here."

eddie's fist balled, turning away to compose himself. he hated victor, wanted to scream at him that he had no fucking room to talk, break his jaw for making you feel bad. he was angry, angry at himself for missing this. they'd practiced for weeks, talked about it for weeks. she'd been so excited to surprise the two of you and now... you missed it.

"but-but the school records it, right?" you asked hopefully. "ed, go see if you can ask one of the teacher's if we could get a copy, please. we'll watch it all together, and-and you can perform it for all of us, and-"

"it's ok." zarah mumbled sadly. "there's another one in a few weeks and...maybe you could be at that one and see me?"

you felt your face crumble at the question, the final straw after this entire shit show of a day. your sweet baby, zarah, was already so quiet so calm, shadowed by the loud personalities of her sisters. you and eddie held a fair amount of fear that she would feel overlooked, that any of your girls would feel like you didn't have time for them- like your parents made you feel. you'd been so tedious about making sure you attended everything, spent time with them, equally. all that work was gone now, blown up in your face after one bad day.

eddie placed a hand on your shoulder, soothing and calming, while he crouched in front of zarah. "zar, we'll be there, baby. I'll camp out int he auditorium the night before to get front row seats for you." his chest loosened a little at her lips pulling in the corners, the faintest smile. "we're sorry, zarah. we didn't mean to miss it."

"I know." zarah nodded calmly, understandingly. somehow this wss worse.

you'd kill for her to screech and cry like kensie or vega, to call you the worst mother like sephy, or be furious enough to give the silent treatment like the twins. this was worse somehow, made you feel guiltier and guiltier.

you hugged her close to your chest, muttering apologies into her soft hair, more of a comfort to yourself than anyone else.

your parents glared at you, judging glares at the dinner, while they raved about how great zarah was- how they were there to see it.

eddie watched how you shrunk down, so consumed by guilt, by your own shortcomings and trauma. the girls saw it too, guilty that they'd caused it, that they took away from their sister with their own stupid things. zarah's sad little eyes, even though she tried to brush it off. like she was used to it.

it made eddie's stomach churn.

"excuse me," eddie grumbled, pushing back from the table. "I'll be right back."

you didn't acknowledge it, listening to the praises your parents poured out to zarah, trying not to flinch at every hurled backhanded insult towards you.

eddie stood outside, phone pressed to his ear, finsihing a cigarette. "you name your price, I'll pay it alright." he said easily into the phone. "I don't care. whatever they want. I'll call my manager as soon as I get off with you and I'll have it sent, cashed, a check, whatever."

he came back, seeing your parents still chatting and bragging. "oh, we should take you out for something special, zar. a real treat. you deserve it." the sneer on your mother's face made you feel sick.

"actually. I have a surprise for us." eddie snapped. "if you're up for it, zar."

she nodded softly, eddie's dimpled grin spreading over his cheeks. "great. let's go." he grabbed vega out of her highchair.

"where are we going, ed?" you whispered, eyes cutting to the girls behind you.

"I got it handled." eddie nodded.

"what? got what handled-"

"I've got it handled." eddie nodded, pulling the door open to let the girls file in.

"edward," your mother chirped. "what on earth are you doing?"

"tana, victor, I can't thank you enough for everything today. it means so much. the girls are lucky to have you." eddie said smoothly. "I mean, I'm sure you know how busy things can get as parents. how hard it is to keep up with everything all the time."

tana scoffed. your eyes narrowed. "I hardly think-"

"mom, you didn't even show up to my graduation." you snapped, in a low voice that made her eyes bulge. "and while I do appreciate you being here for zarah, you have no room to judge anyone."

tana blubbered while victor gave you a disapproving look. eddie smirked at you lightly, shutting the car door. "thanks again!" he waved, tearing out of the parking lot.

you were shocked when eddie pulled back into the school, turning to look at your girls. "did you forget something?" you mumbled to him.

"nope." eddie said cooly. "get your stuff. sicily help zarah get her guitar."

"dad, what are we doing?" kensie asked, brows furrowed in confusion at eddie.

the headmaster opened the door, waving at eddie politely. "baby, can you get the girls?" eddie turned to you. "'m gonna help zar tune up."

your face flashed in confusion before softening. "eddie, are you serious?" you muttered. "how did you-"

"martin's got it." eddie nodded cooly. "they don't mind. I promise, but they were nice enough to come back, so ya know. don't take forever." he grinned, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"c'mon, zar-zar," eddie held the small guitar case, hand extending for her to take, walking up the stairs.

you weren't sure how eddie managed to do this. how he got the number of the headmaster and convinced him to let you back into the school, set up again so you could see the show. you assumed the addition built on to the library months later was probably a result of it, but it didn't matter.

spotlight on, sound and lighting, and even the headmaster introducing zarah like before- as if she wasn't the only one there.

you sat on the third row, wanting to see her as best you could.

"next, we have zarah munson performing 'slipping through my fingers' a rendition done on the acoustic guitar." the headmaster bowed out, and you all clapped loudly from your seats when she walked across the stage.

she blushed, giving that sweet, shy smile you always cooed at when she sat at her bench. the piano started and she started strumming the guitar, the harmony to the song.

you felt the tears fall, too overwhelmed to wipe them. zarah chose to sing abba's slipping through my fingers, a good song, yes; but it was the song you always sang to her. when she was a baby, a toddler, when she had nightmares, or just when you felt like humming it. especially after her mama mia! obsession, you switched from abba to meryl streep's version, but it was your song for zarah.

she bowed, and the clapping and screaming from the seven of you in the theater rivaled the full audience from before. loud and cheering, whooping while zarah beamed, a warm light coming back to her.

you still felt horrible, guilty, even after the entire thing. the next recital, eddie was true to his fucking word. he was there at eight am. dropped the girls off and sat front row with the crew while they set up.

#oneforthemunny #munnytalks #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie munson x nepo baby!reader #dad!rockstar!eddie munson #dad!eddie x mom!reader #dad!eddie munson

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allzelemonz · 9 months

Text

Red Dead Redemption Scenarios: Taller than them

Pronouns: None Mentioned, vaguely implied masculinity, Reader referred to as ‘man’ Physical Sex: None Mentioned Rating: M/Allusions to sex, violence Warnings: Crime, cuddling, kissing, protectiveness A/N: Heights of the boys are listed so you can gauge if you’re taller/shorter. They’re taken from a few different sources around the internet as well as my own staring at the screen for hours. Been reading a lot of ship fics where Kieran is described as short but he’s really not, Micah is tiny and I am very happy about that.

Abe: (5’9”to 5’10”)

He’s never been bothered by it

He kind of likes leaning up to kiss you or you having to tilt his head up

Your height makes him feel a little safer, what with that gang running around the ranches

Sometimes you tease him, it makes him blush and he enjoys it like any other playful thing

He loves when you cuddle and he can shrink into you a little

He will melt when you hold him from behind and rest your chin on his shoulder or head

From a practical standpoint, your height is something he’s thankful for

You can reach those lanterns that need fixing and get the stubborn hay bails he can’t

Of course sometimes he likes feeling bigger and you oblige, curling into his chest or slouching a little so he can easily kiss your forehead

Bill Williamson: (5’11” to 6’)

He’s torn

Because he’s a man and it feels silly to be smaller than his sweetheart

Until you’re holding him and his head finds that nice spot on your chest

Until you’re the big spoon and he feels safe for once in his life

Until you press that same soft kiss to his head because it’s right there and you want to see his face go red

But then he has to lean up a little to kiss you and he feels so damn tiny

But then someone makes a comment about him being ‘little’ while he’s next to you and he fumes

But then you’re standing next to Brown Jack and he’s jealous he doesn’t stack up the same way

You never tease him over it unless he’s in the right mood, that goes for any form of teasing with Bill

You’re well aware that he is a big, strong man in his own right and you make a point to bring that up when giving him praises

He does like to feel small sometimes, usually in private

It’s a balance, it had a learning curve, but you have it all figured out

Charles Smith: (6’ to 6’4, no one can agree on this man’s height)

He doesn’t really mind

Sometimes he likes that you’re bigger than him because everyone expects him to be the big one and it’s not to not have to deal with that

He always reminds you to step quietly when you’re hunting with him

Really enjoys forehead kisses when you’re alone

Likes sitting in your lap sometimes, usually when he’s had a bad day

Resting his head on your chest is almost a requirement for him to sleep because he needs to hear your heartbeat

He still likes holding you and being the ‘big’ one on occasion just because he like to be protective

Likes when you hug him from behind, especially if you whisper in his ear

Colm O’Driscoll: (6’ to 6’2”)

He was never quite sure how he felt about it when he was pinning

He always thought his partners should be shorter--smaller than him for the sake of his own ego and reputation

But he doesn’t really worry about those things any more

You’re both the same height when horizontal as far as he’s concerned

He can still control you and intimidate you how he likes

He has grown fond of you being one of the few people he has to tilt his head up to look at

And bringing someone taller down to their knees gives him an even bigger sense of power

So long as you don’t point it out, everything will be fine

One of the boys brought it up, Colm was already in a bad mood, never saw that boy again

If you’ve been particularly good he might bring it up, praise it even

Knowing that the boys are less likely to pick on you, because height can be intimidating by itself, gives him a bit of relief

He doesn’t feel like he has to protect you like he’s had to with partners shorter than him

He still will protect you, be insanely protective at times, but he feels like you can handle yourself a little better

Do not kiss him on the forehead, he will make you pay for it even though he kind of likes it

He just doesn’t want to admit it

Just like he doesn’t want to admit that he likes how easy it is to rest his head near your chest when he hugs you

He has boots that give him a bit of height while standing with you, never tell anyone about them or Colm will really make you pay

Kieran Duffy: (5’11” to 6’)

He never thinks about it that much

It’s just not all that big to him, he would feel the same about most things despite your height

He feels a bit safer standing next to you, like people that pick on him might lay off if you’re there

His face turns red if you tease him about it and he always wants a hug to make up for it

He does appreciate that you can more easily brush some of the large horses for him

Going for a shared horse ride where he can almost fall asleep against your back, one of his favorite passive activities

When you pulled him into your lap for the first time he really didn’t want to leave

Micah Bell: (5’9” to 5’10”)

Don’t bring it up unless you’re absolutely alone and you have something in mind

There are a million things he’ll never admit and half of them have to do with your height and how much he loves it

The way you hold him and he feels safe and protected for once

His face turning red the first time he was the little spoon and eventually never wanting it any other way

The fact that you can loom over him when he really slouches

Taking his hat off to press a kiss to his head

Looking up at you after a kiss with those icy eyes in the process of melting

Being able to more easily hide his face from you with his hat

How easy it is to give in and feel small when you’re alone with your hands on his hips

Sean MacGuire: (5’10” to 5’11”)

He enjoys it quite a lot

Gets to truthfully call you Big Man

He has a plethora of names about your height

He will ask you how the weather is up there and other jokes like that

Likes to stand on his tip-toes even if it’s unnecessary

Loves forehead kisses

Will sit in your lap and make you rest your chin on his head or shoulder

Back him against a wall or a tree and look down at him to watch his knees go weak

Use him as something to lean on and he will grin about it the whole time

Pick him up if you’re on the stronger side, spin him around

He gets a little mad when you hold him back from fights and he can’t push past you

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heavyhitterheaux · 2 years

Text

His Favorite Pillow

First Lady of Private Garden Fic

AN: Quality cuddle time with Jack is an absolute must

Synopsis: Jack hasn't been sleeping very well while on tour. When you visit, you made sure to put a stop to it. After all, what wifey says, goes.

Pairing: Husband!Jack Harlow x Wife!Reader

Requested by: the beautiful @cmalass 😘💕

This takes place a few days after I’m Doing This For Us. You can read that first, but you don’t have to.

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

"You can barely keep your eyes open smush." You said to your husband while eyeing him. He would nod off every few minutes and then jolt himself awake. This made your nervous because the last thing that you ever wanted was for your husband to be running on fumes with all that he had to do.

"But I want to spend time with you." Jack replied as he let out another yawn and you crossed your arms over your chest and made a face at him.

"I am literally not going anywhere. You need to sleep. I promise to be here when you wake up." You replied while running a hand through his curls.

"Who even told you that I hadn't been sleeping?"

"Uhh, baby you did. The other day when I first got here."

“Oh. I did?” Jack asked as he got a confused look on his face.

“Yes and the fact that you can’t even remember telling me that let’s me know that you need to go to sleep.”

“But we were supposed to go out today. I owe you a new purse.”

“You will not be going anywhere because if your 6′3 ass falls, my barely 5 feet ass cannot pick you up.”

“But...”

“No, we have plenty of other days where we’ll be able to go out but not today.”

“I slept enough last night.”

“You slept for for two hours. I know because I felt you tossing and turning and you eventually put the tv on to catch up on Euphoria.”

“Shit, that means you didn’t sleep.”

“We are not talking about me right now. I am not the one who needs to perform later on tonight and has a club appearance.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Jackman Thomas.”

“Damn. Full government.”

“Don’t play with me sir.”

“I feel as though you’re going to keep bothering me until I finally agree.”

“Congratulations, you know your wife well.”

“Hmm fine.”

You were wearing one of your favorite oversized sweaters since you had gotten to be a little bit cold that Jack had gifted you a few years back.

It was pink which happened to be your favorite color and was one of your favorite gifts that he had ever given you.

Anytime you packed your suitcase to go somewhere, you made sure to take it with you.

Without warning, Jack literally laid on top of you but not before sticking his head underneath your sweater and laying on your boobs which resulted in you letting out a yelp not expecting for him to do so.

“Jack, what the?” You asked him clearly confused as he was now literally face to face with you and your noses were touching.

“Hmm?” He replied before placing a kiss on your nose and laying his head back down.

“Your boobs just happen to be my favorite pillow and if you want me to go to sleep so bad, I know for a fact that this is the only way it’ll happen.”

“I’m... not complaining, smush. I always love having you so close to me.”

“Now, I can get even closer...”

“No. We are not having sex right now so you can forget it. Close those eyes, now.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Jack did as he was told and within fifteen minutes you heard his light snores indicating that he was finally asleep. You were currently playing with his curls before you reached over to the nightstand to grab your phone off the charger.

You occupied yourself with playing on your phone, until you heard a knock on the door.

“Come in.” You softly said and was met with the site of Urban.

“Hey..”

“Shhh! I finally got him to sleep! Shut the hell up!” You whisper yelled at him, but he wasn’t paying attention.

He was focused on the fact that Jack was underneath your sweater along with you still wearing it.

“Don’t tell me he’s so exhausted that he fell asleep while you two were going at it?”

“No, you dumbass. He literally crawled underneath my sweater and fell asleep.”

“If there was a way that you two could be joined at the hip, Jack would do it at any second.”

“Leave my baby alone and let him sleep. It’s the most he’s gotten in days.”

“I’m definitely taking a picture of this.” Urban replied and all you could do was shake your head and laugh.

He pulled out his phone and snapped a few pictures before coming over to show you.

“Send that to me and your job is to make sure that no one disturbs my baby. Keep them away and keep them quiet or I will raise absolute hell if yall wake him up before his club appearance tonight.”

“Here you go again being bossy.”

“Urban Henry, I will literally kick you in the throat. Do NOT wake my baby.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll make sure no one does. Besides you’re so short you probably couldn’t even kick high enough to hit me in my throat.”

“Wanna bet?” You asked while raising your eyebrows at him.

“Never mind. I take your threats seriously because I know better and I know for a fact you stick to your word.”

“And that’s why we’re best friends.”

“I think we’re best friends because I’ve kept you out of jail more times than one.”

“Bye Urban. Go bother Neelam because now you’re getting on my nerves.”

Urban held up his hands in defense before leaving and closing the door behind him.

Within twenty minutes, there was another knock on the door and you rolled your eyes.

“Come in.”

Next thing you knew, you saw all of PG, Neelam, and Metta come in the room and you had a confused look on your face.

“Uhh, can I help yall?” You curiously asked while looking at them dumbfounded.

“Urban wasn’t lying.”

“What?” You asked not knowing what they were getting at.

“He is literally in your sweater sleep on your chest. With you still in it.”

“Yall got one time and one time only for my baby to wake up because yall are too loud. If that happens, I’m kicking everyone’s ass. I have been trying to get him to go to sleep for the past three hours.”

“AWWW SO CUTE!”

“Metta, shut the fuck up!” Neelam whisper yelled but not before taking a few pictures herself.

“Urban, your ass had one job. When I wake him up, my first mission is to find you and kick your ass. Better yet, I’ll just put your weed in my bra again.”

“Damn, here she go.”

“You always choosing violence, Y/N.”

“I wouldn’t have to if yall acted like yall had some sense from time to time.”

Just then you felt Jack move and your eyes went wide along with everyone else.

Thank goodness he was just adjusting and didn’t wake up.

“Everyone out now. Urban, sleep with one eye open.”

“Mmm baby, what time is it? How long have I been sleep?” You heard Jack ask while raising up to look at you.

He had literally only been sleep for 45 minutes and you were about to raise hell.

You didn’t even respond to Jack, but just looked over at Urban with a pissed off look on your face.

“Urban, if I were you I’d start running now. Not now, but right now.” Shloob quietly said as he looked over at you.

“Nah, not just Urban. All of you.”

“HELL NAW, I’M GONE.” Shloob exclaimed and was the first one out the room.

“DON’T HAVE TO TELL ME TWICE!” 2fo was next to make his exit.

Once everyone was out of the room, you then looked down at your husband who was still awake and began once again playing in his curls.

“Just when I finally got you to sleep. Their dumbasses just had to wake you up.”

“Well, now that I am, can we practice making a baby?”

“NO! Back to sleep you go.”

“But babyyyyyy.”

“I’m already kicking Urban’s ass for waking you up and I will also kick yours if you don’t shut up and go back to sleep.”

He sighed before rolling his eyes and placing his chin directly in your cleavage.

“I hate it here.”

“If you hate it here so much, take your big ass head out of my sweater.”

“I was just playin, baby girl.” Jack replied while placing a kiss on both of your boobs.

“Uh huh, that’s what I thought.”

Within ten minutes, Jack fell back asleep.

Then without warning, your phone blasted on full volume with a call from Urban.

You were going to kill him.

You quickly answered as Jack ONCE AGAIN woke up from the loud noise.

“Urban! WHAT?”

“Um, are you hungry? I just.. want to make a peace offering.”

“Your peace offering would have sufficed if you didn’t just WAKE HIM BACK UP BY CALLING ME. YOU COULD HAVE SENT A TEXT.”

“Oh um okay. I’ll just.. I’ll bring the two of you something and make Neelam drop it off.”

“Good idea, also make sure to hide your weed.”

“Y/N!!”

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actuallysaiyan · 1 year

Note

“don’t pretend to be so innocent” with Vegeta :)))

warnings: smuttiness, mentions of drinking, Vegeta pining over you, making out, biting prompt list here

He knew what you were trying to do. Vegeta has been neglectful of your needs recently, and you couldn’t take it anymore. You’re both at the party that Bulma has invited you to, and you’re wearing the skimpiest outfit you could find. And as much as he had wanted to scold you for dressing so indecently, the guilt from his recent neglectfulness has left him almost speechless.

But he is fuming with rage as he sees all these eyes on you. Especially that Yamcha, who seems to always be too friendly with you. As much as Vegeta wanted the chance to emasculate him, Vegeta’s thoughts were now improper and lewd about you. All he could think about doing was finding a quiet place for the both of you and to press you up against the wall and make you scream his name.

The more the party goes on and Vegeta contents himself with stuffing his face with food instead of fucking your brains out, you wonder if you’re little plan is even working. Would it even be worth it now to come crawling over to him with your tail between your? Vegeta would probably find you to be so weak if you were to even attempt to beg for some sort of attention.

So you allow yourself to enjoy your time at the party. The booze is flowing through you, making you dance even more with Bulma. Vegeta is finding it harder and harder to concentrate on just eating. The sight of you just swaying your hips to the music was making him sweat. The cool night breeze was just dancing on his skin, sending shivers up and down his spine. Any more of this, and he’s really going to have to find a private spot to fuck your brains out and make you pay for being such a damn tease.

It’s only about half an hour later that Vegeta approaches you. You’re just hanging out by the bar, drinking another drink. He’s not really sure how to do this considering how flirty you’re acting right now. He’s losing his resolve in trying to punish you. But he grabs your hand and pulls you to the nearest private room.

Once the door closes, Vegeta has you pushed up against the wall. His lips are all over your neck, and he keeps nipping at that sweet spot that makes you moan. Before you even have a chance to ask him what’s going on, his lips crash down onto yours and you grunt at the suddenness of his movements. The two of you make out for a little bit, and his hips press up against you. You can feel just how hard his throbbing cock is.

“What’s gotten into you?” You ask once he pulls away.

Vegeta grunts, “Don’t pretend to be so innocent.”

You whine when he bites on your bottom lip, breaking the skin ever so slightly. His hands are cupping your breasts and then he begins pulling on your nipples to make you whimper just for him.

“I know what you’re doing, and you can quit it. Because I’m going to fuck you senseless to make up for lost time.”

#bacon.writes #vegeta #vegeta x you #vegeta x reader #vegeta x y/n #vegeta x fem!reader #vegeta smut #vegeta fluff #vegeta fanfiction #dragon ball #dragon ball z #dragon ball super #dragon ball x you #dragon ball x reader #dragon ball smut

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belit0 · 9 months

Note

hi there. i really love ur blog so much!! definitely cant find other blogs that dedicated to our uchiha’s daddies out there than yours!! hshshshhs. 🥵🥵🥵

can i know what will all the uchiha’s reaction especially indra and madara (such a suckers for them.😩😩) toward their s/o that can sing and also dance… i mean dance in sensual way? *winkwink.

Thank you so much for your words!!

Yeah, this blog is completely specific for them, there is no other way around it🤣💕

Indra

- Charming and infuriating all at the same time. He loves her voice, listening to her sing is the beautiful part of the situation, but watching her dance triggers him in many different ways. On one hand it gives him a massive erection, on the other it cooks his brain with the fumes of his own anger. He'll do everything he can to try to stop (Y/N) from dancing and singing in public, keeping her all to himself, but if he can't help it, he'll refuse to even see her, until she decides not to do it anymore.

Madara

- More charming than infuriating, but similar to the Otsutsuki. (Y/N)'s talent never ceases to amaze him, and he adores having someone so versatile in so many ways by his side, it makes life interesting. Of course, when it's private. Madara won't say anything about it, he'll act indifferent to seeing her dance in public or sing, but he'll die inside. He will be at all her performances to make sure no one gets close to her, and will act as her bodyguard in public.

Izuna

-Total arousal. Where did (Y/N) get so much talent and sensuality, and why has she never shown it before? Izuna has a hard-on from the first hip movement, and ends up unbuttoning his pants with the last step of her choreography. Her ability to sing is displayed after he fucks her for several hours, and probably makes her dance naked just for more pleasure. As for her voice, he doesn't think he's ever heard anything like it, but he won't admit it out loud.

Obito

- Panic mode activated. He doesn't know how to act calm in front of such a display of talent, but it is especially the dance that manages to blow his mind. Her voice is calm and soothing, it puts him to sleep and makes him feel safe, but seeing her move that way, with that suggestiveness, in such outrageous clothes... he doesn't know how to hide the fact his cock is getting hard, and doesn't want to look like a quickie who gets turned on by anything. He'll cross his legs and feign insanity until (Y/N) is done, he has no choice.

Shisui

- Her biggest fan. Shisui is the one who sits in the front row and screams for her like he's the director of her fan club and not her boyfriend. He supports her performances and every show she puts on, be it singing or dancing, and the part he enjoys the most is watching her reject men who approach her without needing to be glued by her. Completely confident of his looks and the love between the two of them, the Uchiha loves to see how his wife gets them all off her back, and intervenes when someone doesn't understand.

Itachi

- He keeps it professional, and thinks about kittens and grannies while watching (Y/N) dance. He doesn't want to come off as a disgusting man who gets horny over nothing and thinks with his second head, so he remains stoic throughout the entire performance. It's when she sings he can no longer keep up appearances, and he lets out a few tears of emotion for all that her voice generates in him. The woman has him in a choke hold, and she probably knows it.

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self-written-god · 6 months

Text

T | 649 | m/m Steddie human/demon | it's part of the Temptation universe, monsterfucker Steve, demon!Eddie

Sometimes, when they are inside, especially in Eddie's trailer, he slips up without thinking.

He doesn’t shift fully, but somehow the mix of familiar setting and people makes him feel safe enough to let go. It’s on a day like that, when he’s on the floor, taking notes for his next session, that his tail shows up swaying behind him, back and forth.

Steve can’t take his eyes away.

They are waiting for Robin to finish her driving lessons, so they can go to the movies together. It’s been an excruciating twenty minutes since he got there and he was already losing his mind. The tail had a mind of its own and was trying to hypnotize him.

And he was determined to read the comic in front of him. The Teen Titans that both Dustin and Robin seemed to enjoy, so he decided to give it a go.

Based on the little he knew about the characters so far, he wondered if Eddie was like their private fusion of Raven and Beast Boy. The demonic and shapeshifting parts, respectively. Although Raven’s powers were more akin to Eleven’s…

“How’s the comic?”

He nearly jumps out of his skin, when Eddie addresses him out of the blue. He lowers the issue in his hands to look back into his mischievous eyes.

“Uh, it’s good.”

He remembers nothing from the past ten pages.

“Maybe you should try Marvel instead. It’s more suited for casual readers.”

Steve frowns.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Eddie chuckles.

“Absolutely nothing,” he sing-songs, his tail swinging. Only then does he seem to even notice it. “Damn, sorry. Do you mind?”

Steve shakes his head furiously, flabbergasted that he even has to answer that question. Eddie should be aware by now how little he minds.

The metalhead settles back down, tail swinging with new vigour, even letting his horns grow out in full.

Steve is far from settling down. He doesn’t even bother with picking his comic back up. Why would he care about fictional characters with superpowers when there was a real one literally in front of him?

“Steeeve,” Eddie's voice is reprimanding yet playful. “You’re distracting me.”

Steve lets out a huff.

“Well, I'm trying to read, and you’re just-” he waves his hand in Eddie’s general direction

“I’m what?” Eddie leans on his elbows to look up at him properly. “Waving a dick-shaped appendage right in front of your face?”

He fumes, slapping his comic book down and straightening up.

“So it was on purpose!”

Eddie laughs. Laughs so hard he almost rolls over on the dirty carpet.

“No, I wasn’t even thinking about it, honestly. But it’s good to know that’s how you interpret it.”

Steve tried to fight the blood going to his cheeks. Was probably failing. So instead, he picks the comic back up and tries to focus on it.

“Steeve.” He can hear the boy crawling closer. Stares harder at the blurry speech bubbles in front of him. “Steve, sweetie.” A warm hand lands on his knee and he gives up quickly. Lowers his comic faster than before, because the hand on him is big.

Eddie has shifted, and while still on his knees next to the bed, was already towering over Steve. And that, unfortunately, worked on him.

“There’s still over an hour before Robin gets here,” he says, his tail rubbing tantalizing circles into his calf.

Steve hesitates because what they're doing is weird, and not because they are both men or because one of them is partially a demon. It’s weird because Steve is unable to name it. It’s further than flirting, more than casual, but not enough to call it dating. But his gut churns with the promise of what Edie can do to him, and with his next words, his dick comes alive.

“And I remember someone wanted to be fucked with my tail.”

#steddie #monsterlovetober2023 #monster romance #human/monster romance #monster lover #monsterfucker #monsterfucker steve harrington #demon eddie munson #human x demon #fantasy romance #spooktober #monster kink #steve harrington #eddie munson

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rreskk · 9 months

Note

Hiii <3 i love your fics so much, can you do one where a girl who really needs a job ends up getting hired to be trevor’s assistant/ secretary (because tpi is hectic lol) and they start having a sexual relationship where he is the dom? Kinda like the movie secretary ehe please and thank you! 💌

I love this idea sm!

Summary: There was only one way to get a raise.

TW: -Smut

Word count: 2134

Pairings: Fem!reader/Trevor Philips

“You want a fuckin’ raise?”

Now that was a tone of voice you always avoided since working for him.

Desperate, naïve, eager; Trevor was your only saviour when you had trouble getting employment. It wasn’t that hard to convince the man after your totally informal job interview. All you had to wear was a slim, dark dress and he immediately hired you. Not a single question asked.

“I…” You felt ashamed, wishing you hadn’t of mentioned it – “I’m sorry. I just thought I deserved it because I’ve been working overtime… And stuff.”

“Stuff? Define stuff, sugar.”

“Uhh…”

Trevor crossed his arms, “You’re a great gal, but I don’t give raises. Ask Ron. The guy’s been my second-hand man for a few years and hasn’t even gotten enough cash to get himself a fuckin’ threesome down the motel.”

You’d think this was great marketing advertisement, the boss refusing to give his employees enough for personal fun. It made you realise how unfair and cruel he was, as a human, not just boss.

“Right.”

“I’m not sayin’ you don’t deserve a raise, gorgeous, but I gotta keep my folks equal. If I gave you a bonus, I’d have to give the rest some… And they’re thick as fuck,” He scowled, “So it’s settled, babe. No fuckin’ raises.” His tone becoming hostile.

You nodded, “I understand.” Which was a complete lie.

“Good girl… Now get your ass back on the computer or whatever the fuck you do. Trevor Philips Industries ain’t movin’ without my loyal servants, and lady.” Your boss winked before walking off, presumably hitting some meth that had been manufactured earlier that week.

Yet, even when he’s so vividly disgusting and captivating, you couldn’t help but blush when he soloed you in his attempt of a prep talk. There was an odd charisma he had around women. There was no bitterness, no aimed frustrations; he was completely neutral (and occasionally flirty). Remembering that one time he was disrespected by a lady, you were surprised when he was aroused than angry. But if it was all men – they’d be dead. No exaggeration, their bodies would be piled 6ft under, scarred with the message that Trevor Philip’s HATES being disrespected.

It would easily contrast the inequality of his company, an image so against his words that stated; “I gotta keep my folks equal.�� Trevor’s ability to treat his employees fairly is impossible. He has a weakness, a soft spot for you. Late for work? You only get yelled at for 2 minutes straight. Made a client angry? He’ll blame it on the client. Disrespect him? Blow job.

That thing you were discussing. That “stuff” you vaguely mentioned when asking for a raise, it referred to the extra-curriculum you had to do after work hours. Blow him, none stop, until he cums at least 5 times. You’d think it would be enough to convince him…

But clearly not.

“[y/n]! I want my coffee!” Trevor’s beaming voice cried from his gutted office.

Playtimes over and you were snapped out of your daydream. It was back to work, and you held a hot mug of pure black coffee into his private room. As the door opened, you saw him slump against his chair, legs heavy on his desk. He made a satisfied grunt when you magically appeared.

“Thanks, gorgeous.” That low grumble forever making your stomach twirl uncontrollably.

“You’re welcome.”

His glass pipe remained tightly around his lips as he’d suck in the intoxicating fumes. You watched him, hoping that the effects of meth would at least make him change his mind about the whole “raise” situation. The money was needed; the economy not helping at all.

“[y/n].” He spoke as the fumes of his pipe evaporated from his nostrils. The impression of his neutral tone had given you hope. Your eyes lit up when he sat forward in his seat, looking like he was about to say something very –

“I’m feelin’ a little tight, if you know what I mean…”

All hope was lost.

Trevor continued to talk, “Could you help good old Trevor out, sugar? You know, the usual.”

You couldn’t show your disappointment as you didn’t want to ruin his mellow mood. Once you nodded, he threw the pipe aside and leaned back, opening up his legs. No words were even said.

You dropped to your knees and pulled out his soft cock. He watched as you began stroking his tip, trying to engage and make him erect enough for you to continue this “side-work.” Your palms groped his sensitive skin roughly. Trevor jumped at your weird aggression, giving you a small glare.

“Careful, sugar. You almost yanked off my fuckin’ dick.”

It seems as though you were bitter about his disapproval of a raise. Your sudden roughhousing with his length was done unconsciously, and you didn’t realise until he spoke up about it.

“Oh, shit – “ You quickly returned to his tip, wanting to keep the tension going, “Sorry, sorry… I didn’t realise.”

Trevor was tempted to backtalk but shook his head and returned his focus upon the hand around his cock. He’d occasional glance up to observe your down-casted frown. He’s been noticing how distant you’ve been in the past week, but he couldn’t understand why.

“What’s up with you, gorgeous? You ain’t been smiling a lot.”

“Oh, I’m okay.”

“Don’t lie. You’re barely touching my penis, you got this depressive ass scowl on your face, you usually sweet-talk me through this and you ain’t sayin’ shit. What’s going on with you?” Trevor frowned.

You took your hands off him and stood up. It was hard to speak up, you had no idea what to do.

“[y/n].” His tone grew more serious.

“I’m just… Stressed.”

“Okay…? About what?”

“I don’t know. I’ve just been thinking about everything and… I’m not where I want to be.” You tried to explain.

“The fuck does that mean?” He pushed his cock back into his underwear and pouted, clearly not impressed at the turn of events.

“I’m not happy.”

Trevor was silent for a minute. You could tell he was considering something.

“What? The job, or like… The pay?” Bingo.

You nodded, “Both.”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. His shoulders grew tight and heavy. For once in your life, you finally saw him look… Stressed? He’s usually angry, or super horny, or dramatically depressed. But never stressed. There was a sense of worry in his whole frame.

“You want to… Quit?” His voice trembled a bit.

“I don’t know what else to do. You said you wouldn’t give out rais – “

“Woah, hey, hey!” He snapped, grabbing your arm as if you were trying to leave, but you weren’t. Trevor stared into your eyes with his dark ones, “I-I didn’t mean it like that, gorgeous. I was just… AH! You know what? Fuck that… FUCK THAT!”

You froze at his outburst.

“[y/n], fuck, if you want a raise. I’ll give you a raise, yeah? How much, huh? 20% bonus? 50%? 65%?” It was hard to determine if he was generally scared, or angry.

“I – “

“HOW MUCH DO YOU WANT?”

“Shit, shit. I don’t know, Trevor. Like… 50? Maybe?”

“MAYBE? YES OR NO? C’MON, GIRL!” Now he was angry. No. He was furious.

“Trevor, sorry. I’m sorry!” You blurted out in fear that he was going to throw you out.

Trevor covered his face and lets out a low growl. He does this for a few seconds before he wiped that grim glare off his face and gave you a terrifying smile.

“Ah, sorry about that, sugar. I just don’t like being told what to do. It makes me… annoyed, shall I say.”

“I guess. I’m sorry, Trevor, I really a –“

“Stop apologising,” He scoffed, “Just stop. You want a bonus? I’ll give you one. 50% bonus, there, sorted. Now… Fuck off, [y/n]. No wait, no. Don’t fuck off. Are you finally happy enough to gimme a fuckin’ blowie, or what?”

There was only one way to lighten up his mood, so you nodded.

“Yes.”

“Oh, thank the Lord! Great, ‘cause I’ve been hard ever since you used that tongue of yours to speak. You have such a wet mouth, sugar… GOD! Just… c’mere, now.”

You approached him again but apparently it wasn’t fast enough.

“C’mon [y/n], I ain’t playin’ around. I need you ASAP!” Trevor ordered, pointing to his crotch that had an occurring boner.

At least he wasn’t soft anymore. You hated rubbing it raw until it gets hard, it was just an anti-climax feeling. Luckily he was more than hard. You pulled out his dick and it pulsed the moment you made contact with it. How didn’t you notice this mess of a boner? Being so caught up in the conversation, you had failed to see his bulge grow overtime.

“Fuck, that’s what I’m talking about.” He grinned when you began stroking his tip.

Slowly dropping to your knees again, you found the energy and spirit to massage his tender cock, pestering the tip and exhaling your moist, hot breath upon the skin. Receiving this bonus from a guy who refuses to buy designer clothes despite being a professional criminal had really brightened your mood. Even after his small tantrum, he wanted you back onto his dick, proving how much he’d hate to lose you.

It left you smug.

“Oh, Christ… Yeah, yeah, c’mon… That’s good.” Trevor placed his hands over yours, guiding you through his cock with a smirk. He wanted an excuse to stroke your naked skin.

His fingertips were rough. You shivered knowing he’s killed many people with these hands, yet he’s so gently holding yours while rubbing his dick with love. He didn’t want to let go. Trevor muffled out grunts as you leaned closer, taking him in whole.

“Fuck, fuck! [y/n], you’re so hot…”

You gurgled when his full length had molested your mouth. His hand migrated from yours, to the back of your head, gripping your locks as you rammed his cock in and out of your wet mouth. He’d whisper your name continuously. Trevor would also accidentally whimper whenever you’d lick around his tip, torturing his dick with your filthy mouth.

“Fuck, sugar… Keep going, c’mon. Don’t stop. Don’t stop on me, baby. F-Fuuccckkk…” He groaned.

Gagging and slurping, you picked up the pace and held him so you could easily bop your head repeatedly.

“Keep going. Good girl, faster.”

You whimpered at his commands.

“Faster, [y/n]. C’MON!” His hand gripped your hair harsher. He’d yank you up and down with a smirk, loving how you allowed him to toy your body around so effortlessly.

At this point, you were drooling over his cock. He gave you no time to breathe. You’d hold onto his lap and smother his skin with your hot saliva, letting your eyes roll up as he’d only get rougher.

“You deserve that raise, don’t you? C’mon, girl! [y/n], fuckin’ SUCK! Be a fuckin’ slut for my cock, ay? You looooooove it… You love being my personal whore, yeah? That’s what you’re paid for, [y/n]. You know that? Your pretty little mouth belongs to my dick, baby. NOW SUCK, C’MON!”

“Ohh, yeah – “ You gagged, feeling him throb and twitch against your tongue.

“Mmm… Shit, shit, shit. I’m gonna fuckin’ cum…”

Your tongue mangled his tip, ready for him to shoot. Trevor’s nails were digging into your scalp at this point. He was whining out your name. You were certain the others were hearing this, but who cares? They already knew you were his personal fuck-doll. And you were proud of it.

“[y/n]… I love you, I love you, fuck… Baby, SHIT!” His words slowly descends into a haze of murmurs. His penis only enlarged at the peek of his climax. You took a deep breath in before –

“FUCK! FUCK, FUCK!”

He jerked his hip up, ramming the cock into your throat as he came. Your eyes were beyond glassy. You held onto his hands for support since he was ejaculating so much fluid. He smothered your tongue and mouth with his semen, the salty taste burning your taste buds.

“Shit… Fuck me, fuck…” His body had calmed down with subtle spasms. He sunk into his chair, hand slowly falling from your hair.

You wiped away the cum from your lips and swallowed, not breaking eye-contact. It was sensual, and he only winked back at you.

“That’s my fuckin’ girl… I love you and your slutty mouth.”

“Thank you… Thank you, Trevor.” You pitifully thanked him even though you were the source of his orgasm. Without meaning to, you treated him God-like.

He grinned – “You better fuckin’ thank me… Now, actually answer calls or I’m gonna cut your bonus by 5%.” His voice so charming and deep.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes sir.”

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