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kquil · 3 months

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REMUS LUPIN | 13:53 — ONE NEGRONI

SUM : to help pay the bills and your tuition fee, you get a new job at an elite club where the tips are incredibly generous. you’ve met a majority of the clientele already but they don’t match the stranger who ordered a simple negroni

TAGS. : mafia au ; modern au ; muggle au ; mobster remus ; mafia boss remus ; bartender reader ; reader is a hard working sweetheart that must be protected! ; catching remus’ eye ; remus lowkey wishes he can be the one to do the protecting ; and maybe more ; for now, he’s a low key stalker ; but sexy… ; stalking is bad, don’t do it! ; this is just fiction! ; but hey! remus owns an elite club! wooooo! ; i don’t know how to feel about my interpretation of the marauders as mafia men/mobsters ; it’s growing on me… ; also, im casting peter pettigrew as Dane DeHan in this!

LENGTH : 1.5k

It wasn’t as if you were new to the job; you had previously worked some years as a bar tender for a pretty well-established club, it paid well and managed to help pay for your rent and utility bills for most of your higher education years. However, all the built up stress and sleepless nights finally caught up to you. And you found yourself repeating a year, meaning that you needed to pay for your own tuition this year atop all the other monthly bills and necessities you keep up with. Perhaps it was the universe telling you that you needed to stop and change the direction of your life — you needed to choose an easier path, a doable path. But you were stubborn and also quite the optimist. So you kept at it, determined to finish what you started and earn your degree.

Yes, it was a let down but you were still breathing. Life just gets hard sometimes.

Thankfully, your past experience and phenomenal recommendation letter from your previous manager earned you another bar tending job at a very elite club, where tips were more than generous, considering the clientele composed primarily of the privileged class, some with multiple businesses under their belts, some who were phenomenal investors and some living off their parents’ money. You didn’t care to look too much into it, you were there to work and you were going to work hard and honestly.

The patrons surprisingly had very similar tastes and so, you fond yourself making the same types of drinks repeatedly. It made the job a lot easier and you were able to focus more on your delivery and interaction with customers, leading to more tips. Times were rough after having to accept defeat with your studies and repeating a year with your own funding but things were looking up. If you keep at it, you’ll make it out alive.

Your only complaint was the dress code. Make up was advised with a bold red lip but must be kept simple. You felt like a showgirl of some kind, squeezed into a high collar, white dress that came down to your mid thigh and with a low-cut, open back. The sleeves aren’t as long as you would like but, at least, you were permitted to use black kitten heel court shoe pumps as opposed to stilettos — your only saving grace, along with the higher salary and generous tips.

“Looks like we have a newbie working the bar,” Sirius points out, drawing all attention to your lively figure as you served drinks with a sweet smile and airy voice. A hum of curiosity vibrates through Remus’ chest and up to his lips at the sight of you, “certainly easy on the eyes, huh?” the tattooed, right-hand comments again as he looks towards the head of the table where Remus holds up his glass of Negroni.

“Very… innocent— a sweet, pretty, little thing,” James comments on Remus’ other side, which Peter grunts at in agreement as he takes a sip of his whiskey-sour.

“Looks like she doesn’t belong,” Peter nods before smirking and letting out a light laugh. The domino effect had James and Sirius laughing too as Remus smirks behind his glass before proceeding to down the rest of his drink.

“Exactly your type, eh? Moony?”

Sirius’ teasing comment is ignored. Instead, Remus calls for there server and orders another drink with an additional request that only confirms his smirking friend’s disregarded statement, “Have the new bartender personally deliver my drink for me as well,”

There was no higher authority that could dismiss the club owner’s personal request.

It was a strange request but you steeled your nerves and asked your fellow bartender to minister your unattended station while you made quick work on the order. It wasn’t unusual to receive requests like this from an isolated table that had privacy curtains for convenience. However, it was usually for drinks that you could make a show out of like a Holy Water cocktail, a Phoenix cocktail and even a Dragon’s Blood cocktail — a performance that you liked partaking in for the flammable aspect. But this was a Negroni. A cocktail of equal parts gin, saccharine vermouth and bitter Italian Campari. It’s a very egalitarian drink that was enjoyed by everyone, men and women alike, simple but elegant and definitely didn’t require a performance. Despite the odd summons, you were eager to fulfil your curiosity for who the client may be.

With a professional smile, you place refined mix in the middle of your circular tray with it’s classic orange garnish and set off to the table. The standby server, who made the order, saw your approach and quickly announced your arrival through the small front opening, momentarily disappearing into the shadow of the curtains. He reappears a moment later and pulls the heavy drapes fully apart, to reveal the guests from beneath the, once, opaque shadows.

To say that you were stunned was an understatement.

It was pure luck that you didn’t stutter in your stride and spill the cocktail prematurely. At the table was seated four men, all dressed in suits and ties that were in various states of disorder. Among their collection of suits, you could spot Armani and Tom Ford, however, you were sure that their unconventional styles were not the way those suits were intended to be worn.

One man with long, midnight-black hair and paper-pale skin had an array of mismatching tattoos littering both arms, revealed to you by his lack of a suit jacket and rolled-up sleeves. Another wore cute circular glasses and a cheeky grin with a suit jacket but no button up shirt and his chiseled upper body on full display. The last was a dirty blonde with piercing eyes and a deceivingly boyish smile. He had his ankle propped up on his opposite knee and several buttons undone where a tie should have been fastened over, his sleeves also rolled up as his suit jacket lay beside him.

It was the man at the head of the table, however, who stole your attention. If you had to guess who ordered such a simple but elegant drink, it would have to be him. He had his suit jacket draped over his broad shoulders and also had several of his top buttons undone, revealing some faded scars marked across his toned chest. His neat brunette hair and kind brown eyes gave him a deceivingly gentle appearance but his close company revealed a duplicity that caught and tensed your nerves.

You ignored the creeping goosebumps that prickled your skin, down from your toes all the way up to your ears.

Just do your job…

“Gentlemen,” you addressed kindly with a slight tilt of your head, which they acknowledged with their own hums of acknowledgement, their eyes lighting up in subtle surprise at your actions, “I have an order for a Negroni,” you raise your tray with the drink and scan the four for some indication as to who the order belonged to.

“That would be for me,” just as you suspected, it was the brunette with the kindest eyes but also the most ominous air. His voice is a deep and smooth lullaby, patient with it’s seduction on your senses. It was a trap that you resisted but are so hopelessly tempted to fall into, “Thank you, sweetheart,” he meets your eyes as you lower the drink into his large, outstretched hand. You notice how his knuckles and fingers are littered with scars also, some fresh, some faded with time and some hidden behind luxurious rings. Nevertheless…

He’s beautiful

She’s precious

“Not a problem,” you reassure with a soft voice, “have a good evening,” with your circular tray pressed against your side, you offer him an innocent smile and dismiss the butterflies in your stomach urging you to linger, “gentlemen,” you acknowledge the remaining three once more before offering another sweet smile. Turning on your heel, you leave the group and ignore the stares drilling holes into the back of your head.

She doesn’t know…

Once you were out of earshot, Remus turns to his closest friends and most trusted colleagues. They all share a look, one that conveys a unanimous thought. It isn’t long before their agreement manifests into knowing smiles and a ring of laughter shared between them.

“Don’t get greedy now, Moony,” Peter chimes in as Sirius throws his head back with a barking laugh.

“That’s not gonna stop him Wormtail, you know that; she’s a rare one,”

“So what’s the plan, bossman?” James asks with a raised brow as he brings his drink up to his lips.

Remus doesn’t answer right away, he simply requests that the curtain remain open so he can fix his fond gaze on you for the remainder of the evening. The group already knew what to do and sat at the edge of their seats, awaiting orders eagerly despite their slack shoulders and composed expressions. Only they were able to observe the shift in the air between them; it became charged as soon as you entered their circle and slowly started accelerating, parallel to the climbing affection in Remus’ eyes as he watches you smile at customers while making their drinks.

He takes a singular sip of his Negroni, bitterly sweet with a citrus edge.

Heaven in a glass. And made by an angel.

“I want a background check and profile put together immediately,” Remus finally orders, “I want to know everything there is to know about her,”

A/N : i downloaded some fics and read some over the holidays and there some mafia/mobster aus and i couldn’t help but picture remus as a mob boss, i’m sure im not the only one to ever imagine this but goddamn! why is it so easy to imagine sweet, gentle, responsible remus like that?!

NAVI.

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @desikudisworld @volturissideslut @arilxup88 @rosalyn-s

#remus lupin #☽ : timestamp #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fic #remus x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin fanfiction #the marauders #marauders #remus lupin mafia boss au #mafia au #mobster au

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anlian-aishang · 5 months

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SNK Men - Masturbation Habits - Levi, Erwin, Eren, Armin, Jean, Reiner, Zeke [nsfw]

Levi

Masturbates in the shower. Levi deems it as a way to save time, to keep his sheets and clothes from getting too dirty. He hates to admit it, but something about sex makes him sweat easily. Even more shameful, he is weak to the flow of scalding water on his skin and the way it melts his reserves, inhibitions down the drain. The echo of tile walls amplifies the smacks of his hand around his cock, making it easier to imagine it's your pussy around him instead. Feigning the priority of cleanliness, he grants himself an excuse to be filthy. Levi sees masturbation as a last resort, something to rely on when he can’t have the real thing. As such, when by himself, he finishes fast. Three minutes of ferocity, white-knuckle holds of the shower bar and his erection. Toes curl tight against slippery tile. Soap trickles down his bangs and into his eyes. Squeezing them shut, he relies on imagined scenes to get him there. Strives to stay silent, but especially when it's been too long, not even Ackerman can prevent the grunts and swears from escaping. At the sound of his own succumbing, his ears, cheeks, chest flush red. On comedown, he deliberately jerks the metal handle to cold with hopes that, by the time he steps out and sees the mirror’s reflection, his fucked-out state will not stare him back.

Erwin

Gets off at his desk. It’s always the end of the quarter that his sex drive surges. Though it’s inconvenient at best and incapacitating at worst, he has come to understand why. A cruel chain reaction: work piles up, his mind multitasks to its bitter end, and at that end is a pure, carnal desire for reprieve. His signature grows illegible with the way his hand is shaking. He is making mistakes and making them in ink. Erwin clenched his fist, nails dug into his palm, but neither his erection nor filthy thoughts will die down. His hand is big, but his cock is bigger. The ratio aids his fantasy, trying to pretend it's your grasp wrapped around him instead. Erwin pumps himself a couple palms full of the lotion that others find so innocuously stored on top of his desk, lays a path of tissues on the pad of his office chair, and shuts his blinds as well as his eyes. Left hand works his member tight from tip to base. Right hand undoes his top button and hooks itself on the loop of his tie, allowing his breaths to deepen, and they do. Erwin growls through it. After this many successive nights of overtime, he deserves these minutes of release from those reins. Squeezing so hard that the veins in his biceps rise. Exhales harsh, fogging the oak of his desk top. Toes curl in his leather shoes. Words fail him as he climaxes to the thought of you barging in on him - loud grunts and moans of your name all the man can muster.

Eren

Lays back on the sofa. Unspeakable yearnings have brought him to this point. It was not only that he was unable to make it to the privacy of his bedroom. More accurately, Eren was so caught up in his fantasy that he couldn't care less if he were walked-in on. Lying on his back, his right hand slithers beneath the hem of his shirt and hikes it to his teeth. Abdomen exposed to less stifling air. At the same time, his left hand handles his belt, button, zipper before tugging his waistband to rest at his upper thighs. Eren leans his head back over the armrest, airway straightened, low yet loud vocals fill the room. Running his fingers through his hair, his elastic band snaps and lets his locks flow freely. Even with his eyes closed, his thumb lands right atop the lotion bottle - an old habit - and pumps a couple ounces into his hand. The unexpected cold draws a few hisses and curses, but before long, the fierce friction of his hand has converted it: hot like the rest of him. Even though he is reclined back, Eren is an active masturbator. His left hand has one job, one primary motion, but his right hand plays himself. Palm over his chest, fingertips pinching his jawline. Legs squirm, heels jut - all threatening to rip the leather couch. Instead of damaging the space around him, he takes that tension out on himself: cock sore, nipples bruised, scratches on his abdomen - but nothing that his sweatshirts can’t hide.

Armin

Shuts himself in his closet. An unexpectedly experienced masturbator, yet the shame Armin feels is disproportionately tremendous. Not even his bedroom is private enough, Arlert retreats to his locked closet, barely large enough to fit his clothes, let alone him. The blonde leans back against his wooden, creaky dresser and props his feet on the opposite wall. On the way to grab himself, his arm twitches: do you really need this? He tilts his head back and sighs: yes, you do. Armin dips his fingers into his mouth and pretends that they’re yours. Sucks them deliberately as he aims to keep quiet. As his tugs grow tighter, fuller, that sucking becomes sloppy, though. Overstimulated cries demand his lips fall from a circle to a helpless part. His breaths are brisk on his skin, covered in his own saliva. Soon enough, his tongue is flopping in frantic indecision: keep quiet or cry your name? That tug-of-war results in a submissive symphony for his reddened ears alone. But at least you can’t hear it. But what if you did? For what he lacks in confidence, he makes up for in imagination. Armin softens his grip to match the way he thought you would hold him. First, your fingers. Then, your presence. Now, your contact. Once his walls have weakened past the point of disbelief, and only once he convinces himself that you’re the one working him can he get himself to his toe-curling, back-breaking climax.

Jean

It always starts on his bed. Lazily palming himself on his mattress, Jean is rather carefree. Masturbation is not something he plans, but something he indulges in when he feels like it. It’s just one of those things. It is not something he lets himself anticipate all day, nor is it something he approaches with shame. Before he wakes up or before he drifts to sleep, it will cost only a little energy but help him rest. It’s the lie he tells himself, arousal his most gullible state. Less than a minute after he begins, Jean is panting, drooling, burying himself into his pillow. Swears muffled as he envelops his twitching cock in his similarly trembling hand. In working hours, he keeps his thoughts for you under wraps. When the sun is down, though, so is his façade of composure. Oh, the things he wants to do to you. More than that, what fucks him up is the thought of what you would do to him. Tendons strain and cast shadows on his neck, a desperate attempt to subdue his needy vocals. In this one session, the scenarios he has fantasized over have flashed faster than seconds. In that way, he thinks he must have lasted a while. In reality, everything is skewed. When he goes for days, sometimes weeks, without release, that release is difficult to delay. His pent-up dam demands a break: the uncatchable shot of his warm seed through his fingers and onto his sheets. He always thinks that climax will wind him down, but instead, it gets him up and out of bed, to the laundry machines.

Reiner

Slams himself against the door. Panting hard before he can even unbuckle and unzip himself. He’s ashamed to admit it all: how badly he wants to cum, how badly he needs to. The desperate rasp in his throat and the way it bounces off his bedroom walls turns his blush ablaze. He manages a squint and the sight of his bed, but the stagger in his legs tells him that he won’t make the walk. Reiner leans back against the wooden slate, one hand around his cock, one hand clutching the doorknob for stability. Eyes rolled back into his head. Hair a mess after this many runs of his hand through it. Inhales hiss through his teeth. Exhales shake on their fall past his lips. Looking down at himself, he notices the way his abdomen ripples with blood flow and wonders if you’d like that. He could practically hear you, the way you would dip your fingers into his mouth and pry, beckoning his moans and encouraging their volume. His imagination of what else you would do drives the speed and force of his hand. Pants crumpled at his ankles bind his legs to the perfect spread. His back is soaked with cold sweat, slicking and sticking him to his bedroom door. The flicks of his wrist are automatic now, racing to catch up with the snowball effect in his mind: you you you. With one final, nearly sadistic yank, he brings himself to finish - the sensation just as incoherent as his calls of your name.

Zeke

Tucks himself into bed. To Zeke, masturbation is a ritual, religiously stocked with offerings. From the drawer of his bedside table, he removes fire-and-ice lubrication and a ten-inch fleshlight. Atop the nightstand, a pack of cigarettes and his reflective lighter wait to accompany his comedown. He removes his glasses and sets them aside. By a thumb on his waistband, he peels his briefs down and flings them into the hamper across the room, satisfied with his aim. Zeke deliberately clashes his teeth together, trying to resist the admission of how good the initial sheathe feels. This is his relaxation time and he intends to savor it. His spank bank is rich with both fond memories and colorful fantasies. Playing them back in his mind, he accompanies the scenes with his own vocalizations, beating himself to the rhythm of your ass as it bounced around his cock, or the way your head bobbed back and forth around him. Most men last only a few minutes. Zeke basks in his average time of one hour. Edging himself on and on, chuckling maniacally each time he - to his own surprise - manages to wean himself off at the last second. His arm does not tire. His images are endless. It is only after the friction reaches an unbearable burn and his wrist begins to cramp that Zeke decides to give in, though he didn’t like to phrase it that way. Tilting his head back, his exhale is deceptively cool as his hot cum soaks his sleeve. It takes a couple flicks of his lighter, and many more involuntary twitches, though, until the pleasure truly ends.

// masterlist //

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lewdmommie · 10 months

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Dom bottom character x Sub top male reader

Where the reader is nervous and keeps whispering “what if somebody hears us” (as he fucks the character) while moaning and withering from overstimulation, at the same time the character is pushing himself down on him, smirk present.

I don’t mind who, you can even make an OC if you’d like. Just the character has to be fucked but still have the dom personality, ordering him around degrading/praising him, and the reader has to do the fucking or has to be trying hard to keep his legs open to let the character lower himself onto him. Readers got that sub personality.

Lunch time

Gojosatoruxhusbandmalereader💗

Summary: y/n spends “lunchtime” with gojo

🎀Warning🎀:18+NSFW,rough sex,raw sex,public sex,language,oral sex, dom/sub, absolute filth

Word count: 1.7k

The halls are swarming with tunnel visioned students and teachers hustling to their next period. Your shoulders brush countless passersby searching for class 1-A. You mumble apologies as you are thrown around in the crowd, the homemade bento box you made following a YouTube tutorial, was clutched close to your stomach. There was no way you would lose all that hard work before he could even see it. The bandaids on your fingers proved that point, you spent all afternoon cutting a variety of veggies and fruit into heart shapes. Your heart pounds as you spot the classroom down the hallway, your cheeks heat up at the thought of seeing him. Somehow after all these years he still managed to make you blush like a new lover. Ever since you two walked these very halls of jujutsu high; you never stopped having a crush on Gojo satoru. You take a deep breath, pumping yourself with confidence as you push the classroom door open. At the front of the class sat the white haired pretty boy, grading papers. He doesn’t look up from his paperwork as he speaks.

“I know you guys love me but you gotta go have lunch-“ his waves, marking the paper with red ink.

“I hope I’m not disturbing your work time.” You say shyly. His head shoots up, gleaming ocean eyes steal your gaze. He smiles wide and cheeky.

“What a pleasant surprise.” His head rests on his hand as he stares at you. He was well aware of the effect he had on you, he loved the way you crumbled under his gaze.

“I-I brought you some lunch.” You walk through the aisles of school desks, he smirks looking you up and down. Nervously, you set the neatly wrapped bento box at the edge of his desk. He wastes no time unwrapping the box, peeking inside.

“Wow, you made this? It’s the best lunch I’ve ever received, thank you baby.” He springs up, pulling you into a long warm hug. You relax in his arms, inhaling the delicious scent of his Versace cologne. He had expensive taste despite being a teacher. Somehow he made a way to support his playboy lifestyle on an educator's salary. You worried he wouldn’t like your home made lunch but to your surprise he loved it.

“Here, here, have a seat.” He clears the tower of homework, motioning to his leather desk chair.

“But that's your spot, I’ll just pull up a chair.” You wave him off. He grabs your waist as you turn away, his breath feathers on your neck.

“I said sit down.” He rasps, planting a warm kiss on your throat. Your feet stumble as he pushes you forcefully down into the chair. You stare up at him with big doe eyes, his cock twitches. Your eyes travel up the length of his body, he stood clad in dark leather shoes,black slacks, and a white button down. The first three buttons were undone, exposing the smooth skin of his upper chest. Even wearing the most simple outfit he managed to make it look like a million bucks. His snowy bangs brush over his low crystal eyes as he looks down on you. The crotch of your pants tighten from your growing arousal, you shift nervously in the seat. No way not here, you wouldn’t give into his temptation.

“D-don’t look at me like that.” You stammer, breaking eye contact. His long graceful fingers grip your chin, tilting your face up.

“Like what?” He smirks, focusing his gaze on the thick bulge in your lap. He leans down, closing the space between you. Your breath hitches as his tongue glides over your lower lip. Before you can even think about protesting, his fingers are working the zipper of your denim jeans.

“Wait, does the door lock?!” You whisper/yell in a panic. Your eyes dart back and forth between him and the classroom door anxiously. He slides down to his knees, peering deep into your eyes; completely hypnotizing you. The desk has a pretty large opening underneath, his slender frame is hidden from the view of the door. He nestles in the hiding place, working the waistband of your pants down. After a few seconds, your pants are rolled around your thighs. Gojo’s mouth pools with saliva as he drools at the delectable sight in front of him. He grasps the stiff twitching base of your cock, staring up at you with sinful eyes. He brushes his mouth over your oozing tip, thick warm spit flows from his tongue down the length of your shaft. Your head falls back against the office chair as you hold back your moans. His long slippery tongue swirls around the head of your dick, lapping at the salty pre-cum dribbling out.

“What if someone hears us?” You moan quietly.

“Then you’d better keep your voice down.” His mouth opens wide as he pushes down on your throbbing rod, the aching tip of your cock slams the back of his throat. He lifts up, hollowing out his cheeks, before slamming down and making your dick disappear into his greedy mouth. The hot squishy sensation of his throat clamping down on you is almost too much to handle.

“N-not so much please, feels s’to good ah-“ your nails dig into the arm rest as he moans low in his throat, vibrating your submerged cock. You gasp pulling yourself closer to the edge of the desk as you hear the door knob jingle. Because you pulled yourself closer to the desk, gojo is cramped tightly under with your dick forced so deep in his throat he can barely breath. Tears prick at his eyes as he tries to focus breathing through his nose.

“Mr.Satoru? Mr.satoru are you in here? Oh, hello.” The sweet elderly woman chirps walking up to the front of the class.

“H-hello, can I help you?” You ask shakily.

“Are you subbing for Mr.satoru, I could have sworn I saw him earlier.” She ponders.

Under the desk Gojo has found a comfortable spot in the new position, he pulls his head up, as far as it could go in the limited space, before slowly easing back down. The wet inner walls of his mouth suck you in deep, swallowing the entire length of you. His hands quietly work the button of his pants allowing himself enough room to reach a single hand behind to slide down his pants. Slowly he slips a finger down the back of his pants, rubbing his twitching hole as he sucks you off.

“No he’s um out for lunch, i'm just filling in till he gets b-back.” You lie, biting your lower lip.

“Are you alright? Should I ask the school nurse to stop by?”

“No! No need for that I-im fine.” You stutter.

“Well okay I’ll take your word for it. I’ll just leave these worksheet copies here. He had me print them and never even picked them up.” She complains, setting the papers on the desk.

“I-I’ll let him know, t-thank you.” You wave as she walks towards the door.

“Have a good day…” her eyebrow raises suspiciously before stepping out the door. Gojo’s head bobs steadily swallowing you whole as he fingers his desperate asshole. With an audible sound he pushes you back, rolling the chair into the chalkboard. Your cock shoots from his mouth with a pop, he gasps for much needed air.

“Thank god she’s finally gone, now you can fuck me.” He pants, standing to his feet. His dick is rock solid, thick veins pulse along the length of his shaft. His big hand grips the hilt of his blushed cock, pumping up and down as he stares at you. His tip is glistening, clear pre drips down his hand. You're standing at full attention, your dick twitches against the smooth skin of your stomach.

“W-we can’t…we almost got caught.” You plead, watching him turn around and spread his plush ass cheeks. He hovers over you, rubbing your tip on his puckered entrance. Your hips flick upward begging to be let inside, he smirks pushing down just enough to take in the head. Your tip is surrounded by the pillowy walls of his anus, wrapping you in a warm wet hug.

“Mmm I can feel you twitching inside me. Don’t tell me you’re already gonna cum. So cute and pathetic.” He teases pushing down again, taking in another inch.

“D-don’t tease me.” You whine, squirming beneath him. He pushed down again, harder this time, taking in half of your cock. Your lap is drenched in his saliva. His spit works as a lubricant to guide you easily inside of him.

“Mmm you’re stretching me s’fucking good.” Gojo groans, throwing his ass down with a final slam. Your eyes roll back as you sink into the deepest parts of him, your tip poking his throbbing g spot. He shivers on top of you as your hands rest on his waist pulling him down further. His hands grip your thighs for support as he bounces up and down, gently tugging the skin of your cock with his tight hole.

“Not doing much talking now that your cock is inside me huh? Uhn fuck… you’re gonna fuck me when and where I say. I’m gonna milk you whenever I want.” He pants. His hips whirl stirring your dick inside of him, your nails dig into his skin. Your legs shiver as he Impales himself on you, his hands push your knees, holding your legs open for him.

“Keep them open for me baby, there you go take it, good boy you’re being so obedient for me.” His fist closes around his dick stroking himself as he jumps up and down on your overstimulated rod.

“Gonna c-cum, so close please please please uhn cumming!” Your hips rut upward pushing as deep as his hole allows you. Hot strings of cum spurt from your twitching tip, coating his anal walls with your sticky milk. Gojos tongue lols out as his own orgasm hits him like a truck, his muscles clamp around you as his tip oozes with loads of thick cum. It runs down his hand and drips onto the classroom floor below. Your spent cock trembles inside him, softening in real time. You both jump at the sudden blare of a bell. He smirks sliding up and off your dick, his asshole drips with the mess you made.

“Thanks for the meal.” He leans down kissing your lips.

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femmefatalevibe · 8 months

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Femme Fatale Guide: Fall Wardrobe Essentials

Staple Tees:

**Purchase in Modal, Pima cotton, or a cotton-cashmere blend**

Fitted crewneck tees (long-sleeves/tees & tanks for layering)

Relaxed fit long-sleeve tees

Turtleneck long-sleeve top (fitted & relaxed fit options)

Contour bodysuits

Blouses/Shirting:

Silk button-down blouse

Cotton button-down blouse

Silk shell top/t-shirts/camis (for layering)

Sculpt knit top(s)

Self-tie wrap blouse

Shirred boatneck, mock neck, or cowlneck silk blouse(s)

Leather button-down

Knitwear:

Thin cashmere/wool crewneck sweater (fitted/relaxed fit)

Thin cashmere/wool turtleneck sweater

Chunky relaxed-fit cable knit sweater

Knit polo-neck sweater

Cashmere sweater vest (crewneck, v-neck, and/or turtleneck)

Mockneck cashmere/wool sweater

Cashmere long-sleeve sweater dress

Cashmere/knit skirt (mini, midi, or maxi - depending on your personal preferences)

Sophisticated coordinating knit set (top/pants or skirt of your choice)

Casual knit set (top/pullover and relaxed fit pants)

Cashmere cardigan

Cable knit cardigan (doubles as a light jacket)

Bottoms:

Black straight-leg jeans

Black bootcut/flared jeans

Black straight/bootcut trousers

Wide-leg trousers (I love a solid black, black pinstripe, and black with lace-up detail selection)

High-waisted leather pants

Split hem trousers

Stretch jersey/cashmere pants (straight-leg or flared)

Quilted leather/tweed mini skirt

Knit/wool mini and/pencil skirt

Leather skirt (mini or midi)

Silk midi skirt

Dresses/Jumpsuits:

Knit/sweater dress

Little black dress (shift dress/A-line cuts are great)

Blazer dress/jumpsuit

Slip dress (for layering)

Minimal black jumpsuit ("LBJ")

Leather and/or denim dress or jumpsuit

Jackets & Outerwear:

Black tailored blazer

Leather blazer

Tweed jacket

Trench coat

Leather moto/cropped/bomber jacket

Black wool coat

Raincoat ( I like Rains for high-quality options on the affordable side that are still built to last for several seasons)

Statement jacket/coat

Footwear:

Sleek flat/low-heel black boots with a pointed-toe or square-toe silhouette (I love Vagabond, Jeffrey Campbell, Vince Camuto, and Sam Edelman for more affordable, high-quality options)

Black loafers/sleek black flats

Black lace-up boots

Black heeled boots

Black pumps

White sneakers

Rain boots (I recommend the Melissa Shoes Welly/Grip/Step boots or a stylish, sustainable, and more affordable option)

Accessories:

White/black ankle & crew socks

Black control top tights

High-waisted shapewear shorts

Chunky/small chain necklaces & bracelets

Simple pendant necklace(s)

Pearl necklace

Simple diamond studs

Crystal drop earrings

Minimalist bangles

Stackable rings

A sleek, minimalist black tote (can fit a laptop for work/travel)

Black shoulder bag

Small black bag (top handle, crossbody, etc.)

Statement bag/evening bag

Cashmere scarf

Silk/decorative scarf

Fingerless/touch-screen friendly, lightweight gloves

Lingerie/Loungewear:

Seamless bra/underwear

Lace bra/underwear

Matching pullover cotton sweatshirt/sweatpants

Knit or jersey cotton top/lounge pants set

Luxurious pajama set (silk, Tencel, cashmere, etc.)

A to-die-for piece of lingerie like a lace slip/silk teddy

Silk or cozy robe

Cozy open-back slippers

549 notes · View notes

icallhimjoey · 3 months

Text

Define Close

♥ ♥ Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: What good are flatmates even, if they don't comfort you when you need it most? Or when you need it a normal amount? Or, you know, when you don't really need it, but just really want it?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, afab!reader, hurt/comfort i guess? idk we're sad a lot and joe cheers us up a lot, mentions of reader having hair long enough to be played with

Author’s note: are you ready for us to sleep with joe? but, like, actual sleep? the literal kind? bc that's all this chapter is. just, snoozing. enjoy!

Wordcount: 4K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Joe let the door fall into its lock behind him and stood still for a second, ears perked, listening carefully.

The flat was quiet.

He was alone.

Good. So maybe he could call one of his friends to see if they wanted to join him for a run. Joe had two friends who he went running with, sometimes. You never understood it. When you run, you can’t talk? So why do that together? What was the point?

Competition was the point, was always Joe’s answer.

But if he was honest, he just felt a little less lonely if he had a buddy by his side. Felt a little less like a stupid loser who didn’t have any friends to work out with. Was just nicer if he could run alongside someone else. Share airpods. Listen to the same playlist.

Joe was already scrolling through his contacts when something stopped him in his tracks and made him jump out of his skin. Knocked the air right out of him.

He wasn’t alone.

It was silly how the lump in his bed made him gasp for air, how it shot his heart right up into his throat, the adrenaline immediately pumping.

Just as quick as he’d been to step into his bedroom, he stepped back out of it within a second.

Joe had to catch his breath in the hallway, as much out of earshot as he could be, because what the fuck? Nothing had really scared him like that in a long time.

He knew it was just you in there. There was literally no reason for the sight of you sneaking a nap in his bed to scare him like that.

Joe just hadn’t expected it, is why.

“Why would she–”

He pressed his fingers into an eye as he silently scolded you, and then, himself.

“Idiot.”

Sighing deeply, he closed out of his contact list and tapped the side of his locked phone against his chin as he considered his next move.

He could wake you up and tell you off for scaring him the way you’d done. Then still go for that run.

Or, what he also could do, was crawl into bed with you and have a little cosy nap together.

Taking a small step forward to peek around his doorframe, Joe saw how you peacefully dozed through his short-lived panic. He couldn’t see your face from where he was stood, just a body underneath his duvet and your hair fanned over one of his pillows.

Hmm.

Work out?

Or take a nap?

Sports?

Or sleep?

Be moving outside?

Or be still inside?

Joe almost laughed at how even before his mental dialogue asked him those questions, he’d already decided.

He took his shoes off and tiptoed into his bedroom, trying to be quiet as he undid his belt and slipped out of his jeans.

When he was stood next to his bed, your face was clearly visible. All soft with sleep, lips slightly parted, cheeks and nose noticeably rosy, eyes a little puffy.

Joe thought they were all signs you’d been asleep for quite a while already.

Either that, or perhaps you’d been crying earlier.

The second that thought crossed his mind, something beautifully painful hurt him somewhere deep inside of his chest.

If you’d cried, that made sense. Joe had found you in his bed a couple of times before, and even though you always had a different excuse, it was kind of obvious that you only ever snuck over into his room when you felt extremely sad.

It was awful that you sometimes managed to let your mood slip down so low.

But it was sort of gut-wrechingly heart-warming that being in between Joe’s sheets had become a remedy for it.

In just his socks, underwear and T-shirt, Joe slipped into his bed and sighed contently at the warmth he found there.

You, on the other hand, roused awake a little at the cold Joe brought in.

“Shh, shh,” Joe was shushing you before you’d even made any noise, and grabbed hold of your arm in apology, even though that did the opposite. Only made it worse, his cold fingers almost making you flinch.

“Go back to sleep.”

You’d not even properly woken up, and consciously you didn’t register those words, but you relaxed as Joe cosied up, limbs not intertwining, but Joe moved in close enough to touch, consuming as much of your body heat as he could. Ducking his face down underneath the covers a little more than yours was, even if just to make sure you weren’t nose to nose, because you were asleep, and what if you weren’t on the same page?

You were on the same page, though.

Joe knew you were.

It was just that you usually took the lead in setting the norm, and he liked it that way. It was why Joe never ended up in your bed with you. Why it was always you in Joe’s bed with him.

But the thought of you pulling away from him as you’d wake up to his face too close to yours hurt his feelings more than keeping a little distance there, just in case.

Although, he might just be overthinking things, because, remember the first time he found you in his bed?

Joe remembered.

Vividly at that.

Because before that moment, your nose had never been buried into his neck for so long.

That night he’d gone for drinks with a girl and had bought her enough drinks that she’d agreed to come back with him when he offered to make her a coffee over at his place.

An Italian coffee. He could make her one of those, if she was interested, he’d shrugged all casual.

She had given a knowing smile and asked him, “Yea? You make good coffee?” and Joe said he’d not gotten any complaints before, and it had been so stupidly obvious that they weren’t talking about coffee at all.

Upon entering the flat, and gentlemanly letting her go inside first, he told his date to be a little quiet in case his flatmate was asleep already.

But then he saw that your bedroom door was open, and he said, “Oh, never mind. I don’t think she’s in, actually,” as he went to open the door to his own bedroom.

He’d turned the light on, and then, immediately slapped the switch to turn it back off before quickly but quietly closing the door again.

Hmm.

Now what?

Couldn’t exactly take a girl into a bed that already had a girl in it, could he?

With the door handle still in his hand, he turned to look at his date, who seemed a little confused, but hadn’t seen what Joe had seen.

“Um,” Joe said, shaking his head a little in a bid to get rid of the disappointment of the change in plans. To shake off the awkwardness of what he was about to ask.

“So. Milk and sugar?”

He ended up making her an actual coffee.

Kind of had no other choice.

An Italian one, too.

And then helped her get an Uber right after.

When she’d gone, he’d hunched over his bed and gently woke you up. A little shake of your shoulder and some soft whispers of your name. When you opened your eyes and squinted up at him, he couldn’t help his spreading smile.

“Hey, you’re in the wrong bed I think...”

You’d hummed at him and closed your eyes again as you curled the covers into your chest tightly. It squeezed a soft giggle out of Joe.

“What are you doing in my bed?”

“Hmm, ‘t was cold.”

“Cold?”

You rolled over, turning your back towards him, and Joe knew he was never going to get you out of there. You’d fully settled in for the night hours before he’d even gotten home.

Not that he minded.

It was just new, then.

“Left my window open and forgot.”

“Okay.” Joe easily accepted the excuse, despite not believing it at all.

But he could just sleep next to you.

Not a problem.

You slept on the sofa lots, all close together. This really shouldn’t be any different, should it?

But when Joe climbed into bed after a date night where he fully planned on having sex and then didn’t actually get any, followed by you sleepily nuzzling into his neck and hugging him close, Joe realised cuddling up with you, in his bed, underneath his covers, absolutely was different.

Good different, though.

Good different.

When you’d woken up early the next morning, it took you a second to know where you were. You’d never woken up in this part of your flat before. When you remembered where you were, whose arm was draped across your frame, whose fingers were tangled up in your hair, and the reason you’d given Joe for being there, you felt you probably overstayed your welcome and carefully got up and out. Took heavy footsteps across the hall and then snoozed in your own bed for a bit before you decided you were ready to start the day.

You’d found Joe eating a late breakfast in the kitchen and opened the fridge to find some of your own.

You’d casually asked Joe how his date had gone, and Joe smiled into his bowl of granola before he answered, “Yea, fine. Was good. She was nice.”

He didn’t tell you about the coffee. Didn’t tell you about how you unknowingly cock-blocked him in a way he’d never been cock-blocked before.

And you didn’t talk about how you slept in a bed together for the first time that night.

Just became one of those things that happened, sometimes.

Another unspoken flatmate thing.

One that you didn’t talk about with each other, let alone anyone else.

It didn’t happen often, but it happened enough that Joe had been able to puzzle together some things.

He could count the occasions on his hands though still.

And he thought he could only vividly remember every single detail of just that first time he had you in his bed. But if he took a second, he’d understand that, actually, he could recall all details of all the times you slept with your face pressed into his pillow.

Like that one time when he had woken up in the middle of the night, confused at why he wasn’t able to turn over.

You’d curled up next to him, in the middle of the bed, over the covers, like a dog. Essentially trapping him tightly underneath his own covers.

He wondered how long you’d been there already. If you’d fallen asleep in your own bed first before you’d scurried across the hall to climb onto his. Or if you maybe had been stirring, unable to fall asleep, and had just come over to try your hand at it over there.

Either way, it was no use having you over the covers.

Joe sleepily petted you on the side until you raised your head to look up at him and saw how he was trying to push down the covers next to him.

You’d silently moved into bed with him then and when the rustling of duvet stopped, Joe whispered, “Everything ok?” and you’d softly hummed before you answered, “Weird dream.”

And he’d tried imagining what kind of dream could possibly be bad enough for you to not be able to go back to sleep in your own bed by yourself. He could only conclude that it had probably been something scary.

“You’re safe,” Joe’d reassured and pulled you closer by your waist. “We’re safe.”

But you’d already drifted back off.

It was easy to sleep next to Joe. He was soft and gentle and warm and comfortable and, somehow never awkward or too close.

That is, if there even was a ‘too close’ with the two of you.

There probably wasn’t.

And it wasn’t like you only ever found your way into Joe’s bed when he wasn’t there or awake to witness it.

Joe remembered the time when he’d gotten back from a day of shooting late in the afternoon. Short set day. He’d gone for a shower and then got half-dressed before his eye fell on a large envelope he’d left on his dresser. He was meant to finish reading that script yesterday, but he hadn’t even gotten around to opening the envelope.

Cut to about half an hour later, sat on his bed in just his pants, socks and a T-shirt still, Joe was reading from white pages and doing his best to visualise the scenes in his mind when he heard the door open.

There was a lot of careless movement, sounds of shoes falling to the doormat, a bag being thrown into the corner, a coat missing the hook and dropping to the floor and a lot of annoyed huffing and puffing.

You’d walked past his room first, but then it registered that you caught him in the corner of your eye, and so you went back.

Face planted yourself right onto his bed.

Joe didn’t acknowledge you at first, eyes firm on the page he was reading. But then he heard you inhale deeply and it sounded a little like you were trying to keep yourself from bursting into tears.

He’d moved a hand over. Got one of your calves and squeezed it, then rubbed it and dug in his fingers a little, moving like he was giving a weird massage over your tights. Kept reading, though.

You didn’t tell Joe if anything was wrong. Why you’d come home from work in a sour mood, why you had tears of frustration and fatigue pricking behind your eyes. Just plonked yourself onto his bed and enjoyed his quiet company until you dozed off into a light sleep.

Joe eventually finished whatever he was reading and the sudden sounds of movement in your proximity were enough to pull you from your short nap. He then suggested you’d have dinner together.

“Sure, what do you feel like having?”

“Pizza?” Joe looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in question.

You knew he was asking if pizza was needed tonight. If it was necessary.

But you’d smiled and said, “Maybe not.” reasoning that you’d probably eaten too much pizza over the past month, and Joe was glad, because this meant you felt better, the little snooze having somehow fixed whatever had been wrong when you’d walked in.

Staring at your now, faces close but not directly opposite one another, Joe could see that your eyes really were a little puffy and, yea, he was right, wasn’t he?

You’d been crying and then you got ready for bed and then, to make yourself feel better, had gotten into his bed instead of your own.

Fucking hell.

Joe felt a surge of guilt when he thought about how much he loved that. He shouldn’t love you more when you felt bad. Sad. Down and all miserable.

But how could he not if it made you end up all snuggled up in bed together?

He knew you never talked to each other about these things, but if you did, if you were the type of sensible people to use your words to work things out, rather than physical touch and closeness, he’d whisper all sorts of questions into your skin.

He’d ask if you were all right. If you’d been crying. If there was anyone who he needed to hurt, which he knew would make you laugh, because no way he was going to go out and fight someone. He’d ask if you wanted to talk about it, because he’d listen. If there was anything else he could do to make you feel better.

But you didn’t talk.

You weren’t sensible people who used their words.

So Joe didn’t whisper any questions into anything, but just let his forehead rest against your collarbone as he tried to fall asleep too. It took a little while, but the focus on your breathing ended up grabbing hold of him by the ankles and pulling him under eventually.

Just like it always did when you dozed off on the sofa together.

Just like it did that one time when he was meant to get up early, but, you were there, all toasty warm and silky soft in between his sheets. It was his own fault you were there. He maybe shouldn’t have offered his bed to you if he had been serious about waking up early.

It was just that, the night before, he’d heard you have a long phone conversation in your bedroom. All serious. No laughter. Took ages, and it was sort of late already. When you’d finally gotten off the phone, Joe found you sat on the edge of the bed in your pajamas, face stuck in your phone, and it looked like you were texting someone. He was about to ask if you’d seen the charger to his laptop, but then he heard you sniffle and saw you wipe a cheek with back of your hand.

He had no idea who you’d been speaking to.

Or who you were texting now.

You didn’t acknowledge him when he walked into your room, eyes on your phone screen still, and for a second Joe thought maybe his legs should carry him the other way. Away from you, out of your room to give you some space.

But then before he really knew what he was doing, he was stood next to you, sort of cradling your head in his arms. Hugging your skull. He took care to look away from your phone screen as to not invade your privacy.

When you finally put your phone down, you dipped your chin underneath one of his arms and kissed the bit of skin that was there as a thank you.

“Come on,” he then said, letting go of your head and walking towards the door.

He switched the light off just before stepping out into the hallway.

When you didn’t immediately come after him, he called, “This way!” over his shoulder, and then grinned to himself when he heard you softly mumble, “Yea, just a sec,” followed by something about needing to brush your teeth first.

When you walked into Joe’s bedroom shortly after, he was already in bed, laid down on his stomach on the left side of the bed.

That wasn’t where Joe usually slept.

That was were you slept whenever you were in that bed.

In an attempt to be funny, to lift the mood a little, you ignored the empty spot in Joe’s bed and instead flung the covers back on the left side and climbed right onto him.

You laid down on top of your flatmate, and swung the covers back as best you could.

You felt him shake with silent laughter which made you giggle. You whispered, “Good night.” and waited for Joe to roll over or to shake, to make you slide off of him, but that moment never came.

You fell asleep smiling, because it was hilarious that Joe was going to let you drift off in that position, with your head in the dip of his neck and your hips over his bum.

In the night, your asleep-self managed to find the empty spot and continued your slumber on the mattress, like a normal person.

But the morning brought revenge.

You usually woke up before Joe did, but Joe was meant to wake up early, remember? His alarm woke him up, shooting awake with a jolt, immediately fumbling with his phone to turn it off. It took him a second to even remember why he’d set the alarm in the first place.

He felt you stir right next to him and remembered how he’d fallen asleep the night before.

If you were to ever bring it up, which he knew you’d never do, he’d tell you it was the most uncomfortable sleep he’d ever had.

They’d be lies.

He loved being pressed into the mattress by your weight a little. Loved the feeling of your entire body on top of his like that.

He’d never tell you.

He’d hold on to the fib that you’d been a great inconvenience, and now, it was time for payback.

Joe’s alarm had pulled you out of your dream a little, but then you fully woke up when Joe suddenly rolled right onto your back.

All of him.

Right on top of you.

His face pressed into one of your shoulder blades, and the air audibly escaped from your lungs as you tried to sleepily protest.

“Oh my God,” you groaned, voice all constrained. “My arm, wait, my– ow, Joe,”

Your arm was caught underneath your stomach, sort of weirdly twisted, and just for a second, Joe pressed his elbows into the mattress on each side of you to lift is weight off.

You readjusted, and Joe asked, “Got it?” and you easily accepted your fate, knowing that the moment you confirmed, he would let himself drop again.

And that’s exactly what happened.

You sighed, eyes still close, breathed “Yea,” as you snuck said arm underneath your pillow and felt Joe carelessly crash into you again.

Without your arm hurting you, it wasn’t so bad, and you felt Joe nuzzle against the bare skin of your upper back. You fully relaxed as you felt him swipe some hair aside that he then gently played with for a moment.

It had been the steady rise and fall of your breathing that had Joe snoozing in no time. Admittedly, the mattress right next to you was more comfortable to sleep on, Joe wasn’t going to lie. But sleeping with his face pressed into your warm morning skin brought a different kind of comfort. He knew that the strap of your top was going to end up marking his cheek, but he didn’t care.

This was nice.

It was one of those feelings he rarely ever got to experience not being in a serious relationship with anyone.

He got certain desires met. If he was honest, that had become almost a little too easy. But it would just be that. Just the sex. He never cuddled, never snuggled with any of those girls. He’d be out of his mind to pull a stunt like rolling on top of one of them to snooze until he actually wanted to get out of bed.

He only got to do that with you. And so he did, the early morning plans he had then no longer important enough. Because he had you in his bed, all relaxed, with soft skin and steady breathing that worked like fucking magic.

Just like it was doing now.

And it sort of shouldn’t.

It wasn’t meant to all be so easy.

Joe’d found you in his bed, and he was actually meant to go for a run and then take a quick shower and then have dinner, maybe even see if anyone was up for a drink at the pub.

But he’d done none of those things.

And now here he was.

Falling asleep as he listened to your slow breathing, happy that it wasn’t hitching in your throat. He didn’t like how it sometimes did that when you had been crying.

That run could wait.

The shower after could wait.

Dinner could wait.

For now it was just warmth underneath his covers and your bodies pressed together. Later, you wouldn’t talk about it. And if Joe was lucky, you’d not take so long to be sad again.

Awful thought, he knew.

But he couldn’t help it.

Joe loved it when you felt bad, but only so he could be there to make it better.

---

The Taglisted

@ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @bylermaxmayfield, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @djoseph-quinn, @dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma77645, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @hanahkatexo, @harringtonfan4, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @miserybeans, @munson-mjstan, @nadixq, @nglharry, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @royale1803, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #icallhimjoey #define close

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shootingstarwritings · 2 months

Text

Not Another Goddamn Interview

The job market was tough, and Holden had been unemployed for far too long. Months of interviews, companies ghosting him, and rejections drove him to a boiling point, and someone had to take the brunt of Holden’s anger.

The interview started off well, but when Holden’s lack of experience and months of inactivity after graduation came into light, an awkward silence permeated the office. Holden stuttered a few half-answers of clubs he attended during college, but Mr. Wells, the interviewer, looked unimpressed—as so many others did before him.

“Well, Mr. Wilde,” Mr. Wells began with little enthusiasm. Holden’s heart began to race as familiar words returned to haunt him once more. “We’ll be in touch. I wish you luck in your future interviews, as well.” Mr. Wells stood up and offered Holden his hand.

Barely managing a smile, Holden stood up and gingerly reached out to shake Mr. Wells’ hand as a thousand thoughts raced through his mind. ‘I’m never going to get anywhere… Another goddamn rejection… How am I gonna pay rent next month…? Savings are getting low… That gap in that resume is gonna get even loooonger…’

As Holden shook Mr. Wells’ older and calloused hand, he launched himself towards Mr. Wells. “What the—!” Was all Mr. Wells could say as Holden’s body shifted and morphed. A stream of blue gel-like substance forced itself into Mr. Wells’ mouth, muffling any screams for help. More and more of the slime pumped itself down Mr. Wells’ throat as he fell back into his chair. His legs spread out, kicking the floor and convulsing as another creature filled up his body.

Soon, as the last of the slime finished entering his body with a sickening slosh, Mr. Wells let out a low groan. He blinked, eyes flashing a light blue before returning back to normal. Holden looked down at the body he was inhabiting. “I’m not sitting through another goddamn interview,” Holden muttered to himself with his borrowed voice. “And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Promising young man,” Holden chuckled to himself as he wrote a report the interview. Possessing Mr. Wells’ body wouldn’t guarantee landing a job in this company, but at this point Holden figured he might as well give it a shot. “Lots of energy and enthusiasm. Really blew me away!”

While writing, Holden looked down at the particularly heavy chest he now wore. Curling the toes in his dress shoes and flexing the cock hidden by the slacks, he couldn’t help but grow aroused at the body he now wore. “Kept things casual while maintaining an air of,” he paused to groan as he gripped Mr. Wells’ crotch through the slacks, “an air of professionalism.” He capped off the report with that and reached down to his waistband.

#male possession #male body possession #slime possession

142 notes · View notes

steviebears · 2 years

Text

Needy

SUMMARY: Eddie comforts you when you have a panic attack.

GENRE: fluff, light angst

A/n: this is a repost. I wrote this in reference to the way i get panic attacks so i hope you can relate! This may be my favorite piece of work~

You weren't sure why you started to feel this way, all you knew is you were scared.

You felt like your heart was beating out of your chest. Your blood almost felt thick as it tried to pump through your body. You were suddenly overcome with chills and sweat had started to form on the surface of your skin. It was extremely uncomfortable.

But that was the least of your problems. Eddie was already on his way to pick you up, and he's about to see you like this. You cursed yourself for feeling this way now of all times.

Were you having a panic attack? Oh shit. You were having a panic attack. You whimper and rub your head, almost trying to force sense into yourself.

You repeated to yourself,

"Please, please not now." You squeezed your eyes shut, fast breaths left our lungs without you realizing.

You were already asking so much of Eddie. Asking him on dates, calling him all the time. Finding you like this was just another reason to be annoyed with you.

You wanted to pretend you were fine and answer the door with your normal amount of excitement and liveliness, but once the first tear fell you couldn't muster it. The doorbell rang and you whimpered in frustration. You forced yourself up, even while tears were still falling from your face and you slowly walked yourself to the door, you legs shaking as if they could hardly bear your weight.

Eddie looked so cute, holding flowers in his hand with the brightest smile. You felt so bad when his expression fell at your appearance.

"Woah, what's the matter doll?" He immediately stepped inside, setting the flowers on the little table by the door. You frowned and the layer of tears covering your eyes was so thick you could hardly see his worried face.

"I don't know." You started feeling very lightheaded, as if all the blood was draining from your head and making your feet too heavy. You stumble and start to fall, but Eddie catches you and pulls you into his arms.

"I'm right here sweetheart. It's okay." His voice is so calming and low. He rocks you back and fourth, forcing you to focus your attention to shifting your weight from one foot to the other. It worked remarkably well at getting your mind distracted.

After a few minutes he gets you to sit on the floor with him. Eddie was panicking at the sight of your purple hands and your skin that was cold to the touch. But he kept his composure for you.

"In... and out." He guides you through taking deep breaths that you hated to admit helped a lot. His warm hands were rubbing yours, trying to warm them up.

He started to tell you about what he did on the way here. He told you about how he decided to wear the shirt he was wearing, how he almost sprayed cologne in his eyes and slipped while putting on his shoe. He told you about the weird kid that pointed at him while he was picking out the flowers he held to your nose, the smell had a sort of calming effect on you. He told you what song he was jamming to, singing it briefly for you, and told you which stop sign he ignored.

Who knew you'd be able to laugh so hard when having a panic attack?

After color returned to your face he kissed your forehead and brought you to the kitchen for a glass of water. He even offered to feed you.

"I'm sorry." You say with a sigh. His head cocks to the side.

"Why, baby?"

"I'm so needy." You try to laugh it off but he doesn't let that slide. He suddenly gets a serious look on his face. He reaches for your hands.

"You're not, I promise. You really aren't." His deep and dark eyes were pouring nothing but love into yours. He pulls you tightly into his arms. All you can do is nod and hug him back.

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styleandrole · 6 months

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LifeStride Women's, Giovanna 2 Pump

FEATURES :

Front and side cutouts; back zip closure.

Superbly comfy, easy, and elegant.

This pump hits every note just right.

An almond-toed dress shoe with a cloth upper.

For more purchase or more details about this shoe, please Explore and Connect with..

#PartyShoes #WomensFootwear #FashionForHer #DressUpShoes #HeelsForDays #FancyFootwear #StylishSoles #NightOutShoes #PartyStyle #dream paris #Low pointed Pump Shoes #Low Heel Dress Pump Shoes

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iluvshinytwink · 1 year

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Trent with school smart, but emotionally/socially dumb, and a very sensitive gf and he gets frustrated with her and yells at her and she bursts out crying making him feel bad and both end up crying but with a fluff ending I love ur angsty works😩

Sensitivity - Trent Alexander-Arnold

Summary: After a harsh game where Trent wants nothing more but to hold you close and pure silence, you come to him ranting about your lesson and Trent gets frustrated and lashes out on you.

Now Playing . . . How To Disappear by Lana Del Rey

A/N: tell me why i forgot to put other players in my first introduction, anyways thank u for requesting and liking my works!!! this'll be the first time i'll post about trent so i hope u enjoy this! <33

put on some mother lana so i hope she'll bring out the angsty words from my dictionary and into this goofy oneshot 😈🤞🤞

Trent sighs to himself, his body ached of pain and his eyes drooped low. He was worn out and even though the game was done he felt his heart beating faster due to the adrenaline. He took off his shoes and all he could think about was you. Your warm body which he wanted to embrace, your soft hair which he wanted to run his fingers through, your eyes which he wanted to be lost in, your lips that curled into a smile and which he wanted to kiss senselessly, to forget everything.

He felt his chest close in, his mind thought of nothing but you. He was happy the game was over, he could drive home and run into your arms, melting into your body as you played with his dreads with a book in your hand.

Trent steps into his car, quickly turning it on, he wanted to be home as quick as possible. As he drives his mind started remembering the subtle moments he wanted to experience again tonight.

Trent had his head on your chest, eyes closed. His arms wrapped around your waist, almost protectively. With your right arm you played with his dreads, humming a tune from a song. And with your left hand was a book, reading silently. He remembers the way your chest rhythmically pumped up and down, he was lulled by your soft humming and eventually fell asleep.

He smiles at the sweet memory and continues driving.

Trent opens your front door, being met with silence. He was a bit upset that you weren't immediately there to greet him hello and maybe engulf him in a hug. He softly sighs, letting the things in his hand fall freely on the ground.

"Babe?" your boyfriend called out as he took off his shoes. No response.

His body ached by the second and gave up on the idea to search for you. He let his body freely fall into the couch, a deep sigh escaping his lips. He closed his eyes as he hoped he'd drift to sleep and when he wakes up you'd be beside him, also sleeping.

Suddenly, fast footsteps descended a flight of stairs.

"Trent!" you exclaimed. Trent immediately felt his eyes open and even though his body felt numb he sat up, there you were-- the person he craved for. "Hi--" he said but he was cut off. "Ugh! Today was such a pain in the ass!" you groaned, folding your arms together. He felt his eyes droop lower and his patience ran thin.

He loved you with all his heart, his soul, his body but he hated the fact that even though you were academically smart you were dumb with emotions and reading them in general. You would cut him off when he was upset or happy but he was fine with it. No person was perfect and he knew that but it was annoying.

Trent leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling as you rambled. Whatever you said was incoherent to him at this point. Trent closed his eyes, mind blank and ears seemingly closed.

"Trent?" you called out to your boyfriend. His eyes slowly opened, meeting with yours. "Are you done?" his tone sounded annoyed and bothered. "Are you okay?" you asked, a little worried at this point. "I just want silence for a while." he plainly explained, voice laced with bother. "A-- Are you sure? You seem--" you started fiddling with your fingers, you didn't know what was going on or what would happen after this. "Can you just leave me alone!?" Trent yelled. A shudder was sent through your spine, your ears rang from the volume of his voice. You were scared, emotional, and everything in between. "I--" your throat gave out all it could, all that was left. Your voice wobbled. A lump formed in the middle of your throat, your eyes stung of tears and you blinked rapidly to scare it away.

"What? What else do you want to say?" Trent stood up. You instinctively stumbled back, eyes glued on the ground. "What else!?" his voice was louder than it was before. You felt yourself flinch at his voice. The voice you once craved to hear, the voice that made you feel calm, loved-- scared you.

Trent feels a heavy sigh escape his lips which felt like more of a groan out of annoyance. Trent turned his back on you, collecting his patience back. Trent mumbled things under his breath. With his mumbling you heard: "Why are you like this?" You felt angry, sad, and somewhat betrayed. Your eyes stayed on the ground, you held your breath for several minutes, afraid that if you open your mouth a strained whimper would escape your lips.

Trent turns to look back at you, finally seeing your head hung low, hand fiddling with each other. Trent stayed silent, his mouth open, his throat preparing for something to say.

Then, he sees a tear fall into the ground. He felt his chest close up, his world stopped and his heart broke. Were those tears? Your tears? Did he make you feel the need to cry?

"Y/n?" his voice was low, shaky. His feet slowly approaching you but you back away. Were you scared of him? "Babe..?" his voice came out a desperate call, a whisper. Your teeth gritted against each other and a hic came from your mouth. With that, he felt another piece of his heart break away.

Even so, he kept nearing you and every time he neared, you backed away.

Eventually you hit a wall. Your back pressed on the wall as another hic escaped your lips. "I'm sorry.." Trent whispered, eyes blurred from the tears. He didn't dare blink. He wanted to look away from you, to stop this feeling-- this ache in his body to stop but he didn't want to. He couldn't break his gaze from you.

Trent feels his arm reaching out for you. Trent's hand eventually touches your shoulder and he feels you flinch for a moment, your entire body stiff from the sudden move. Slowly, you felt your body relax. Trent's lips quiver in fear, sadness before bringing your body to his.

He hugged you tightly, afraid that if he let go you'd vanish. Your arms stayed on your side, not wanting to hug him. His chin rested on your shoulder as he cried. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.. I--" he croaked. You felt your body tense up once more. You blinked and more tears fell. You felt your hands dig into your palm. You didn't know what to do-- how to feel. A shaky sigh escapes your lips and slowly, instinctively your arms wrapped around him. "Please forgive me." he mumbled underneath his sobs.

You hugged Trent comfortingly, your touch told him that it wasn't his fault, your embrace felt warm, your arms told him that you've forgiven him, your fingers told him that whatever he'd do you'd never break away from him, no matter how hard he pushes.

"I'm sorry, baby. I can't-- I didn't--" he stammered.

"It's okay, Trent." you finally spoke, your voice came out soft and comforting. "You didn't mean to." you reassured.

Trent felt guilty, a part of him knows it was his fault but a part of him started believing it wasn't his fault.

He felt guilty, like he did an unforgivable crime and lied about it.

He broke your heart and he broke his own.

"I'm sorry." he repeated, desperate and shaky. "I know you're sorry, you didn't mean it, you didn't mean any of it." you cried. The way your voice broke, the was it cracked-- it hurt him. Your words were soft and calm but your voice was broken into pieces.

"I love you and you love me. That won't change anything, whatever you say won't affect that. You hear me?" your voice calm and steady. "There's no point in saying you're sorry because I know you are." you pulled away from him, looking at him directly. His eyes glimmered with tears, cheeks stained with it. He looked at you, your eyes were red and puffy and he felt like he couldn't forgive himself for doing this to you.

You inched closer to him, planting a kiss on his forehead, then to his cheeks. You cupped his cheeks with a wobbly smile on your face.

Even though he made you cry, you loved him regardless, even though he made you scared of him, you held him tightly, even though he screamed at you, you spoke to him tenderly and softly. Even though he'd never forgive himself, you forgave him in a heartbeat.

(SPECIAL TAG TO @habuonlylikesu she has sent 2 requests and shes such a slayer idk how to explain her bro.. ANYWAYS the reason why this is so long is cause of the description of the details 🙄🙄 i tell u guys mama lana del rey DOES something to ur writing. ANYWAYSYSYSYS THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING FOR TRENT AND IM LOWKEY PROUD. funfact i did this the evening i got the request and i just deadass didnt know how to execute it and like 2 days later i finish it in one sitting. OKAY SMASH THAT LIKE BUTTON AND SUBSCRIBE FOR MORE BANGERS LIKE THESE!!! 😱😱💕💕)

#trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander arnold x y/n #iluvshinytwink #imsoslaying #delulu hours exe #ijusttookadoodoo

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blankknsfww · 4 months

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"diamonds & rubies"

sugar daddy!ghost x sugar baby!fem reader (pink is you!!) cw: angry sex, unprotected sex, creampie, little to no aftercare, low doggy word count: 579 shoo minors (18+)

you could hear his heavy duty boots from a mile away, and they were just getting louder, and louder as he made his way to your room. this was planned, of course, he never showed up uninvited.. even when he was invited he rarely came to see you. "knock knock." he mumbles as he pokes his head into your room, majority of his face covered by his black balaclava. he never did show you his face fully, even during your most intimate moments. "come in.." you respond, your voice becoming soft, as it normally did when you were around him. when he walks in you point to his boots which causes him to furrow his eyebrows in confusion. "your shoes." "oh" he takes off his boots and sets them on the shoe rack next to your bedroom door, his black boots contrasting all of your pretty pink heels and white converses (most of which he bought for you). "it's been a while.." "we need to talk." you cut in, fumbling with your freshly painted nails (which, of course, he also paid for) and hoping this conversation would go well. "about?" "my allowance." he raises an eyebrow, your words seeming to have upset him. "your allowance?" "mhm.." "go ahead." he doesn't seem too amused with your choice of conversation topic, but he's always been a very good listener, and trusts that you won't waste his time. "when i went in to get a mani pedi yesterday, i only had enough for the mani, and i really wanted my finger nails to match my toe nails for my trip to-" "that's the reason?" he cuts in, scoffing at your "problem". you pout slightly, looking up at him through your long lashes. "si, it's important.." you all but whine, causing him to give you small tounge clicks. "sounds like someones getting a little ungrateful, huh pup?" he leans forward, getting in your face which causes your shoulders to shrink in intimidation. "i'll worry about you allowance, got that?" "now be the good slut i know you can be and lie on your stomach." ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

"god.. uh!" you moan out as he pounds into you from behind, his hands roaming and gripping at your skin. he laughs at your position. "dumb fucking girl. looking for money and all you found was my cock, hm?" "so-o much better th-than money.. nnghh~" you mumble, using up the last of your energy. he taps your hip, wanting you to lift your ass a little higher. once you manage to shakily hike your lower half up for him, his cock brushes against your cervix, which causes you to let out a loud, high pitched moan. "oh there it is baby, there it fucking i-is.." his grip on your hips tighten, as his thrust get rougher and less rythmic. "gotta fill you. fill you till you forget a-about your allowance... better yet, till you forget your fucking na-ame." he growls, his hips stilling as he lets out a loud groan and pumps his cum into you. you grind back on his dick, till you finally reach your peak with a loud whine. your upper half slouches down onto the bed tiredly, while your lower portion twitches in a euphoric kind of pleasure. he gently pulls out of your aching core and plugs you up with his fingers. "c-can't let you spill any of my p-precious seed, can we pup?" he lets out a low chuckle. "not a s-single drop."

#simon ghost riley smut #ghost smut #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost #smut

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genderbinaryisforlosers · 1 year

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fit check!

all of the outfits are based on Oscar’s descriptions - the peacock feathers in the Hart Hunt cap, the teacup wig - with my own spin on Rue’s design. i based them on the striped owl, because they have big dark eyes and a distinctive face like a barn owl, but also ear tufts! i also imagine that their “wings” are more pretty than functional.

i also headcanon that their constant glamours were really hard on them and gave them major balance issues, which is why i draw them with canes and a chair. the idea for the glamours using ribbons came from this comic by rabdoidal

[id: Three digital drawings, each containing three outfits of Delloso de la Rue’s. The first shows the opening night, Hart Hunt, and duel on the Southern Lawn, all of which they are in their glamoured form for. The second has two fits in their glamoured form, their nightgown and the teatime gown, and the third in the reveal of their true self before the hedge maze. The third drawing shows their remaining three fits, all in their true form, at the tailor shop, at the Masquerade, and in the finale. /end id]

more detailed description of each fit under the cut

Rue’s glamoured form is a tall, fat humanoid with mint-coloured skin, long elfin ears, golden-brown eyes, and a hooked nose. They have very long wavy sea-green hair, and a very neat, short beard.

Opening Night - They are wearing a glittering pale blue form-fitting dress that flares out at the bottom into pale green ruffles, resembling sea-foam. The dress has full sleeves that become fingerless gloves. There is a slit in the skirt which their leg emerges from, showing off leg hair and a light blue sparkling heeled shoe. Their hair is decorated with pearls and have glitter in their beard. They have a pearl and teardrop necklace over a pale purple ribbon, and they are wearing an auger shell as an earring. The skirt of the dress is also decorated with strings of pearls. They have their left hand (viewer’s right) on their hip while their right hand leans on a cane with a pearl handle. Behind them, off-white fabric resembles huge overlapping clam shells, outlining their entire silhouette.

Hart Hunt - They are wearing a green tunic with gold trim and matching half-cloak, which is fixed with a pin that resembles a bow where the the arrow is replaced by a flower. Beneath the cloak they have big puffy sleeves, and a doublet made from strips of leather. They have dark green tights and thigh-high high-heeled leather boots. They have a teal ribbon around each wrist and many gold rings on their fingers, and both hands are leaning on their cane, which resembles a thick, knotted tree branch. Their hair is tied in a braid, and they are wearing a pointed Robin Hood cap with two peacock feathers stuck in the prim. Their beard is slightly painted in to darken the stubble into an anchor beard. They have gold eyeliner on their bottom lids.

Duel on the Southern Lawn - They are wearing a snakeskin unitard, a bomber jacket made from alligator skin and porcupine quills, cowhide gloves, and platform combat boots leafed with fish scales. The jacket’s toggles are wolf fangs, and they have earrings that look like swords. They are wearing a helmet that has a mohawk of porcupine quills, black lipstick and eyeshadow. They are gripping their cane, the handle of which is a crow skull, tightly with both hands, without leaning on it.

Nightgown - They are wearing a semi-translucent, iridescent dress with white and pale blue frills and indigo ribbons. They are wearing a periwinkle blue silk cap which their hair cascades out from, and their makeup - the eyeshadow and liner from the duel - is smudged as tears have made it run down their face. They are sitting in a wheelchair with a low, purple-cushioned back. The wheels are gold and inlaid with swirling peonies. They are sitting with one leg crossed over the other and hands crossed over their legs, and have pink heeled pumps with white pom-poms on them. Over their head, to fill the space, are blooming pink peonies.

Teatime - They are wearing a white Georgian gown with a very large translucent skirt. The bodice is made from shattered white teacups, and the skirt has pink roses around the hem. It has puff sleeves that look like teapots with gold handles and pale pink roses on them, and the sleeves appear to be bronze-coloured “tea” spilling out. They are wearing white stockings and garters, and flat gold pumps. They have a towering Georgian wig made of tight ringlets that start their “natural” colour and transition up to being gold at the peak. There are also flower-patterned teacups stacked and stuffed into the wig, with the very topmost one being gold as well. Their face is painted white with a heart-shaped “beauty mark” on their cheek and pink lipstick in a heart shape over their lips. They also have pink eyeshadow, and a pearl earring. They have a pink ribbon tied in a bow around their neck, and their right hand (viewer’s left) reaches up towards it white they raise an eyebrow. Their cane is plain brown, resembling a croquet mallet.

In their true form, Rue is a bipedal owlbear (top half owl, bottom half bear) resembling a striped owl. Most of their feathers are muted olive green, but they have dusty pink and pink-brown stripes, and a cream face and accents. They have ear tufts, dark brown eyes, and pink freckle-like marks on their cheeks, and dark pink feathers over the eyes that look like eyeshadow, as well as a darker cream colour on their face resembling a five o’ clock shadow. Their bear legs are thick and covered in dark brown fur, with long claws on each digit.

Through the Hedge Maze - Rue’s left claw pinches the unravelled ribbon in their fingers, making the illusion fall away. They are the same height that their towering wig made them, but dressed completely differently, in a straight pink dress with frills around the hem and gold trim. They have bunches of pink peonies with gold leaves on their shoulders around the back and one at the front in the dip of their neckline. They also have a bunch of peonies behind their right (viewer’s left) ear. They are using the same cane as they were before.

Tailor Shop - They are wearing a green dress with glittery gold drop sleeves and gold stitching. The skirt of the dress has a patchwork look, of different shades and textures of green fabric. They are wearing a green beret and using a green umbrella as a cane. Their bear feet are visible at the hem of the dress. They are holding one claw up close to their face with a delighted expression.

Masquerade - They have a black ballgown with a big skirt made of black peonies and shiny black ruffles that look like water. The “water” pools at the bottom of their skirt, flowing from the flowers. They have delicate, puffy lace sleeves, and they and the bodice are also patterned with black-on-black flowers. They have a black flower crown on their head, and a string of white pearls around their neck. They are wearing Hob’s medal as a gold ring, and their cane is sleek white and gold.

Finale - They are standing with their back to the viewer, and their head turned in profile, looking to the right. They have a bright red dress styled like an opened, downturned rose with petals for the skirt. There is gold embroidery on the tiny petals at the waistline and on the ones on their shoulders, and even tinier petals that are entirely gold. They are wearing an arrangement of red peonies like an afro. They are holding a pair of opera glasses with gold trim.

#delloso de la rue #a court of fey and flowers #acofaf #dimension 20 #d20 art #my art #things i made #image described

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persimmonthusiast · 1 year

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PF's Fancy Suit + Laced Suede Shoes for AF

Fancysuit was always one of my favourite formal outfits in the basegame, and I was so happy to see @pforestsims' AF version! One thing I never have enough of in my game is pantsuits with flats as formalwear for women. So here is a shoeswap of pineappleforest's Fancy Suit with Pumps, with their lovely Laced Suede Shoes instead of high heels. All 18 recolors with pf's original shirt/shoes color combos (black shoes shirtless, brown shoes with low cut t-shirt, or black shoes with black turtleneck. Only exception is the white turtleneck which I paired with white shoes instead of black). AF only like the original mesh, enabled for everyday and formal I also used the same method repo'ing everything to the shoe textures included in the mesh file (btw why is it customary to include textures with build/buy meshes but not for CAS content? I had never seen that and even thought it might not even be possible! but it makes so much sense to avoid duplicate shoe textures or bump maps)

UPDATE 07/02/2023: turns out my files were borked, and I didn't realize while testing in my game. @pforestsims pointed out the issue and kindly fixed the mesh. I re-linked all my recolors and updated the download link with the fixed files. Should be working this time, Sorry! DOWNLOAD (SFS) Thanks a lot to @pforestsims for the meshes, textures and ready-to-use creator resources! I did not do much in practice, it was really mostly a copy-paste job

#ts2 download #ts2cc #sims 2 download #sims 2 bodyshop #sims 2 clothes #shoeswap #pineappleforest #formal

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bleubrri · 2 years

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⟡ ゚ ៹ it’s a beautiful night — jean kirstein

22:14pm

wheezy laughter fills the room as you both collapse back onto the couch. the strewn around bottles of mulled wine and half-discarded carton of eggnog are what you’re choosing to blame your acceptance at jeans offer to dance on. it’s not that you don’t like dancing with him- you love it actually- but the boyish spontaneity that usually makes you laugh and roll your eyes was nothing but endearing when your adorable wine-drunk boyfriend had insisted on a competition to the music of the montage as Elf played on the tv screen.

“i totally won!” you say, breathless and smiling and in love.

“cartwheels aren’t dancing, you’re just a show off.” you pinch at his cheek that’s dusted pink from his efforts in parading around the coffee table with his legs in the air.

jean sighs and accepts defeat, if not just to see your eyes shine as you pump your fists in the air in obnoxious triumph. when your fists flail a little too close to his face he’s quick to grab them and lift your hands to graze his lips over your knuckles. he kisses your pulse-point on the inside of your wrist, making his way up your arms.

“and what––” he begins to pepper featherlight kisses along your collarbone, igniting flames in your chest, “does my oh so humble winner wish for their prize?”

you release your hands from the warmth of his to press down on his chest and hover over him, situating yourself over his clothed cock.

“i can have anything?” you blink at him innocently.

“anything.” he whispers, craning his neck to catch your lips in a dizzying kiss. jean thinks that your kisses have to be laced with valium, addictive and over far too soon. he groans and chases your mouth for his next hit when you pull away a fraction. your chuckle is light and your breath warm against his ear as you lean into him.

the moan of his name has him twitching in his pants as you press your core against him, “jean i want––” he’s rolling his hips and humming to urge you to speak before he starts stating what he wants. his breath hitches as you lick a slow stripe from from his jugular to just behind his ear, his heartbeat thrumming faster under the heat from your tongue.

“i want cake.” you state, pulling away to stare down at him, your eyes sparkling and lips pulled up in mischief.

“you–– what?” he pouts, incredulous and horny and pretty sure no supermarket is open this late on christmas eve to satiate your cravings.

he audibly groans when you rise off of the couch to stop straddling him, taking your warmth and ignoring his desire. jeans hands reach out for you but you’re quick to sidestep him and make your way towards the entryway.

you take on a singsong tone, “c’mon jeanie! shoes on, your winner wants cake!” and jean shamelessly stares at your ass as you bend down to tie your converse laces. he glowers at you with no real malice as you snicker and throw a scarf at his face and his jacket over the half-hard bulge in his pants.

“you’re lucky i love you..”

22:50pm

“damn.” you frown at what’s shaping up to be your third failed attempt to claim your prize as you stare at the cake-less shelves of the 24h gas station. the door chimes as you exit, catching jeans attention and he turns to face you. you perk up at the sight of him–– his orange beanie making his hair spike against his forehead, matching scarf wrapped up to his nose- courtesy of you- and his long eyelashes dusted with the light snowfall that surrounds you. he’s too cute for his own good.

you sigh dramatically and bury your head in his chest, wrapping your hands around him as you feel his chin come to rest atop your head. “think i’m ready to call it a night..” a low hum in his chest rumbles against your cheek.

he’s silent for a moment, his arms a comforting weight draped around your waist. “how bad d’you want that cake?” he asks carefully.

“more than anything in the world, jean.” you deadpan.

his fingers begin to toy with the hem of your shirt, exposing your skin to the crisp, blue air and making you shiver. he clears his throat and you look up at him, but his eyes dart to the floor in a shy manner that’s unlike him. he mutters lowly, “there’s this chapel on the boulevard,” and your brows raise. “they, uh, they give out cake to the newly wed couples? like vegas! but it’s like,” he swallows the fear that feels like marbles in his throat and continues, “it’s like really good cake, y’know? i’m talking costco sheet cake level good, babe it’s like––”

“jean.” you whisper, feeling him tighten his grip around your waist.

“it’s just a dumb idea but i mean… we could always get it like, annulled or whatever in the morning? i got maybe 40 bucks on me? probably enough for a marriage licence but it’d be one expensive cake––”

“jean.” you say, firmly enough to bring his eyes back up to you. the tops of his cheeks are flushed and you can tell it’s not from the cold. tilting your head to place a chaste kiss to his lips, you feel him sigh against you.

“are you asking me to marry you, you idiot?”

“i’m… giving you an ultimatum for cake.” he huffs.

the absurdity of the situation isn’t lost on you, despite the lingering buzz from the decent amount of spiced wine still swimming in your system, but maybe it’s the devestating, hopeful look in his eyes or the fact that you’re desperately fucking in love with him that has you saying,

“yes.”

“yes?”

“yes.” you start to laugh, but jean is quick to swallow it down. his hands are cold as he cups your face, but with his tongue against yours and your blood fizzling with want in your veins, you’ve never felt warmer.

23:01pm

“jean we don’t have time for this!” you call after him as he exits the car to jog back to the gas station door. it’d been all of 3 minutes since you’d gotten ‘engaged’ and he’d started the car, beginning to dive before slamming on the breaks and shouting, “rings!” you barely processed his train of thought before he was leaping from his seat and fishing for coins in his jacket pocket.

craning your neck out the window, you see his tall figure crouched by the kids’ toy machines and can’t help the smile that fights its way onto your face. “you’re ridiculous.” you say as he clambers back into the car, grinning and opening his large palms to reveal four little plastic packets.

“pick two.” he commands “one from each hand.”

you sigh, reminding him that the chapel closes in an hour, but nevertheless reach out to choose two. the giddy ripping of plastic reveals the packets contents: for you, a cherry ring pop and a ‘sapphire’ ring and for jean, blue raspberry and a ‘diamond’.

the plastic rings are comically small, with yours unable to go past the knuckle of your ring finger and jeans just about fitting his pinky. he seems more interested in the sweets anyway, “if you kiss me long enough after these our tongues’ll be purple.” he smirks and wiggles his eyebrows, his diamond clad hand coming to rest dangerously high on your thigh.

you swat at his arm but make no real move to remove his hand. “just drive.”

23:36pm

the chapel is pretty much what you’d expect from a vegas-style hole in the wall on christmas eve, absolutely deserted. you actually startled the receptionist who was on the edge of sleep when you’d barrelled in with a gust of wind on your tails. he’d sighed and handed you some paperwork that you both promptly filled out, taken the grand total of 37.40 from jean who so chivalrously offered up his 40 dollars, and gestured to the hallway where you were now waiting. holy shit you were waiting to get married.

jean was sucking on his ring pop, his lips already tinged blue as you fidgeted on the hard seat of the chair. he said nothing, just reached over and laced his fingers with yours and began running his thumb in soothing lines along your hand.

“got your vows ready?” he pipes up.

“oh yeah. all here.” you tap your temple. “you?”

“uh huh. wanna hear ‘em?”

you nod and he says your name, becoming serious.

“you are… the apple of my eye. the ache in my loins. the throb in my–– ow!” the whack to the back of his head echoes through the empty corridor.

“you’re insufferable.” you mutter, bringing your ring pop to your lips to hide your smile.

“and you’re stuck with me.” he wiggles his pinky in your face–– you wouldn’t be surprised if that ring is permanently stuck on his finger, “foreverrr.”

you suppose he meant for it to sound teasingly menacing, but it just makes your smile widen and heart race and brain flood with everything you love about him.

23:59pm

the cake is painfully mediocre. you’re both huddled on a bench opposite the chapel, overly sweet icing coating your gums as you wait for the clock to strike.

“so, dear husband, care to explain yourself? what happened to ‘costco sheet cake level good’?” you say, pushing the remains of the sponge around on the paper plate with your fork.

“details of the cake may have been… greatly exaggerated.”

“any particular reason why?” you’re fishing for something and he knows it.

“maybe i just enjoy lying to my dear wife.” you pout and jean can’t help but let his stare linger on your lips, a little cracked from the cold and stained cherry red.

“i think,” you start, tossing the sad excuse for wedding cake into the bin behind you, “you just really wanted to marry me.”

he pinches your nose playfully that has you trying to resist him when he pulls you to his chest. a moment of weakness as the chiming of the clock makes you jump results in him pulling you flush with him, his lips barely touching yours as he whispers, “maybe.” his admission has you smiling and closing the distance between you.

00:00am

the clock continues to ring, 12 consecutive chimes that jean pulls away with as they conclude. his eyes are glassy as he blinks away the snowflakes that litter his lashes and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose.

“merry christmas, mrs kirstein.” <3

a/n: now you might be thinking, a christmas fic? in a july heatwave? yes, shut the fuck up!!!

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beautflstranger · 1 month

Text

Shall I tell the story about how we met?

It started as an innocent Saturday morning in a random shoe department.

His eyes locked on mine.

I thought he was there with a girlfriend or wife. That she was shopping, as he distracted himself observing.

I couldn't have been more incorrect.

No hesitation, when he sat on the chair opposite of mine, his eyes fixated on the high heeled shoes I had chosen.

The department hummed with activity, each person hoping for that one pair of shoes that possessed the absolute power to change one's life.

Without any thought about how he'd eventually change mine.

'They're just lovely,' he murmured approvingly.

My shy smile in response, seemingly heightened his interest.

When I looked up again, he was gone. Disappeared in fact. I glanced around, but he was nowhere in sight.

I motioned to the salesperson, and handed her my charge card.

"These have already been paid for, by the gentleman who was with you,' she breathlessly uttered, picking up the shoe box,then dashing off to place them in a shopping bag.

' I don't know who he is ' I commented.

' Wait! They've been paid for!!??' I questioned.

Smiling, she handed the shopping bag and receipt.

'At the very least, have lunch with me.' A male voice purred in my ear.

He stood smiling. ' I hope that you don't mind' he motioned toward the shopping bag.

'Thank you for your kind generosity, but I insist upon paying for my shoes' I began opening my wallet to hand cash to him.

'Please. No. You have to have them. But I would love it, if you said yes to lunch.' His smile was irresistible.

Sips of wine. Plates of food. Hushed whispered conversations surrounding ours.

I offered money again for my shoes.

He politely declined with one exception. Would I join him for lunch sometime this week?

In my mind, I was telling him no. My lips replied yes.

A few days later at a lovely restaurant, he explained his deepest wants.

How I wound up in his apartment still bewilders me.

More conversation.

I realized that not once did he look at my face. His eyes never traveled outlining my body, as most men had.

Instead, he was mesmerized by my sky high sandal wrapped feet.

Extending his hand to mine, he led me into his exquisite bedroom. Three walls of floor to ceiling glass windows, the city spread below.

I felt as though I was floating, surrounded by the bluest sky and billowy clouds.

'Wait here, I'll be right back' he guided me onto his sumptuous bed.

At the foot of the bed were plush towels, brushes of all sizes, lotions, soaps.

He returned holding two large ceramic basins placing them on a small low wooden table.

Kneeling, he gently undid one sandal, then the next. He brought my feet to his face, inhaling deeply before kissing them.

He swirled the most heavenly scented Molton Brown liquid soap into one basin and placed my feet into the froth.

Reaching for assortment of brushes he used each one on a separate part of my foot.

An elaborate ritual unfolded.

My feet were massaged, soaked and brushed, with shiatsu pressure interspersed.

He placed them into the basin with plain water for rinsing.

Excused himself once more, to return with another basin of clear water.

My feet were rinsed, three times before placing them on top of the thickest softest towels.

Taking the utmost care, each toe was massaged and dried with a small cloth.

He picked up my feet again, inhaling them, then kissing them lightly. Deeper kisses with each toe sucked and licked.

A small bottle of lotion, the same heady scent as the soap, was opened.

Two deep pumps of creme into his hands. Gently my feet were massaged and buffed.

Pressure points squeezed, pulsed. Arches tickled by the dragging of his fingers.

He excused himself and returned with thick towels which had been warmed.

My feet were wrapped gently in a towel each.

I never asked, nor did he explain.

There was no need to.

It was an incredibly relaxing erotic experience.

What I never expected, was to become as wet as I did.

My body hovered on the edge of an impending orgasm.

I fell asleep, undisturbed.

Two hours later I awakened to him smiling.

'For you' he whispered as he handed a large white box with black lettering.

Undoing the ribbon, and lifting the lid, I found the most elegant array of Chanel nail lacquers.

'Till next time' he smiled as he kissed my feet goodbye.

- beautflstranger

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marshmallows2345 · 2 years

Text

red bottoms (jay halstead x fem! reader)

Content Warning: smut, kitchen sex, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, fingering, dirty talk, age gap(reader is 22, jay is about 30/31)

you had a shopping problem.

it wasn’t like you couldn’t afford it; you had a job that paid extremely well. the problem came from your boyfriend, jay. he had moved in with you recently, and you might have forgotten to mention that you were a shopaholic. he loved and hated it. he loved it because if you went lingerie shopping, it was a gift that kep on giving. he hated it because sometimes the boxes and bags would overwhelm your bedroom floor and he couldn’t get in.

you had been eyeing a pair of christian louboutin heels for months, and the only reason you hadn’t gotten them was not because of the price tag, but because you couldn’t find them in your size. but the minute you were able to get them, you swiped your credit card faster than you could pick them out. they were a sleek pair of pumps, with a pointed toe and a 4-inch heel, and you were in love with them. classic, timeless, and tasteful, they were an ideal pair of shoes. they weren’t the most comfortable, but you weren’t wearing them for comfort. you wore them to look and feel like a heartbreaker.

when you brought the shoes home, you kept them in the box until jay came home. once he did, you put them on and came out in them, and a black silk robe. jay’s eyes went wide as he looked you up and down, taking you in. he was looking up at you now; you were almost eye-level with him normally, but now you were a few inches taller than him. you felt incredibly sexy as you watched his eyes rake over your body, trailing over every curve.

“those heels…i love them, baby. god, they’re so sexy…”

“i know. i knew you’d like them, and i think i look great in them, so everybody wins.”

he tugged you close, wrapping his arm around your waist and saying,

“i want you in those and nothing else. and then, i want them over my shoulders by the end of the night.”

every time you wore those shoes, you and jay would think about the night you first brought them home. so, when he asked you to come down to meet his teammates, you were more than happy to oblige. you were just going to remind him of all the fun activities he was in for later that night. not only that, since it was during your workday, you had made sure to put on one of your tighter skirts, just to make jay struggle a little more.

he met you in the district’s lobby, and your eyes immediately went to the holster on his thigh. god, did jay know how to wear a gun and make it look so incredibly sexy. he noticed where you were staring, and he chuckled before pulling you into a hug. you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him close.

“hey, baby,” he murmured as he placed a quick kiss to your lips. “so glad you could come!”

“of course! um, do i look okay?”

he pulled away slightly to look at you and his eyes went wide,

“you look…incredible. i might have to shield you from the guys,” he said, earning a playful slap to the chest. “come on, i’ll take you up.”

as the two of you walked up to intelligence, jay’s hand rested low on your waist. he was eyeing you, up and down, from your long legs up to your gorgeous face. there was no way he’d be able to focus on the rest of his workday, not after seeing what he could have later on that night. your mind went straight into the gutter as well, seeing him in those perfectly fitting jeans, that t-shit that just fit.

jay went in first and said,

“everyone, i’d like you to meet someone.”

he motioned for you to come in, and you stepped next to him, giving all of the people standing in the room a sweet smile. they were all staring at you, and you could feel the judgement. sure, you were younger than jay, but you had never met a man who was kinder or more considerate. jay took care of you, not in a financial way, but he made sure that you were okay. you felt safe with him, protected. but sometimes, you wondered if he would leave you for a woman his own age. he would never, and you knew that, but the possibility was always there.

jay’s hand found yours, and he said,

“this is my girlfriend, y/n, and i wanted to introduce her to you all since, according to her, i see you all more than i see her and should marry someone here because of that.”

you shot jay a glare, but everyone was laughing, so it didn’t help much. jay kissed your cheek and said,

“alright, we’re going from left to right. that’s detectives antonio dawson and erin lindsay, our sergeant, hank voight, officers adam ruzek and kevin atwater, and detective alvin olinsky.”

each one of them put up their hand and waved as jay told you their name. you made a mental note to get the name and number of erin’s hairdresser; her hair looked incredible and gave you a very large amount of hair envy.

“it’s really nice to finally meet the people who spend more time with jay than i do,” you said, softly chuckling. “he talks about you all a lot. all good things, i promise.”

“well, y/n? he hasn’t kept you under wraps, that’s for sure,” antonio said, making you smile. “talks about you just as much, i bet.”

“oh really?”

“yeah,” erin said, “you should see him when you text him about your nail color; he agonizes over it every time. i had to help him, cause he couldn’t decide.”

“oh come on, erin,” jay said, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, as you giggled. “did you-“

“no no, i like her.”

you ended up getting erin’s number, promised to take her out for drinks. sure, it was jay’s ex, but you didn’t really mind. though, it was funny to imagine jay stressing out over something like your nail color. the others were nice too, and you were grateful to finally meet them all. it also was nice to see exactly where jay spent most of his time. your heart swelled when you saw a photo of the two of you oh his desk, one of him kissing your cheek as you were laughing.

“i like them,” you said as jay brought you back downstairs. “especially erin.”

“of course you do. i’ll see you at home?”

“same time as always!”

jay kissed you goodbye before heading back upstairs. as he walked up, he was met by a few teasing remarks from the team,

“alright, lover boy,” adam said as jay sat back down at his desk. “how long?”

“eight months,” jay replied.

“how old is she? she looks young,” antonio said, glancing down at his laptop.

“22.”

everyone shared confused glances with each other. it wasn’t the biggest age difference; you were 22, and he was 30, but it was stilll noticeable. jay raised his eyebrow and said,

“what? is something wrong?”

“no, no, it’s just…” antonio trailed off.

“listen, i’m happy with her. she’s an incredible person, and she’s been there for me through a lot. the only reason i even brought her up was because she wanted to meet you all and kept on asking. look, i know that the age gap is a thing, but i, in all honesty, don’t think that it really matters.”

“she makes you happy, right?” erin said.

“incredibly.”

“then you’re right, it doesn’t matter. by the way, was she wearing louboutins?”

“yeah, i think so; she just got them like a month ago. she loves shopping. i swear, i’ll come home sometimes and she’ll have like five bags and fifteen boxes. it’s insane, sometimes. but hey, she knows how to dress and decorate.”

“i’ll be stealing her as a shopping buddy.”

“oh, erin, please don’t do that, she-“

“nope,” erin said as she picked up her phone to text you. “too late.”

when jay came home that night, he was met with a priceless visual. you were in the kitchen, cooking dinner, and you were in an oversized tshirt, with not much else on.

“hey baby,” he said as he put down his duffel bag and took off his shoes, “i’m home!”

“jay! hi! i’m cooking up some chicken, and i sauteed some broccoli. i made some dinner rolls, the frozen ones; they’re in the oven.”

“well, i can’t wait to eat.”

he came up behind you and laid soft kisses up your neck as his strong arms wrapped around your waist. you leaned back into him and smiled.

“you know,” you said as you looked into his eyes, “i really liked your thigh holster.”

“you did?”

“god yes, you looked so good with it. you wear it so well…”

“yeah? well, those heels had my mind in the gutter.”

“they always do…” you murmured as he kissed your lips.

his hands slid up your shirt, touching your curves and appreciating your body. you softly moaned as his lips moved down to your neck, sucking on your sweet spot as he groped your breasts over your shirt. turning off the stove, you turned around to face jay and said,

“you looked so good at work. i bet you look even better when you’re on a case with your gear and stuff…”

“maybe i’ll have to do a little roleplay with you, huh?” he chuckled as his hands moved down to grab your ass.

“don’t tempt me to ask.”

he pushed you up against the counter, sliding his knee in between your thighs. the rough fabric of his jeans was the perfect surface for you to get off on. your hips ground against his knee as his lips left a trail of love bites up your neck. soft moans escaped your mouth as his hand found its way into your panties. your eyes met his as he gently rubbed your clit, not wanting to actually get you off just yet.

“jay,” you whined as your hips bucked onto his hand, craving more friction, “please..”

“you’re wet already, and this pussy is just getting slicker by the minute. you don’t mind if i have some dessert before dinner, do you?” he huskily whispered as he pulled out his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and licking them clean.

you blushed as he turned you around so you were facing away from him.

“answer me,” he growled as he pushed his very prominent erection against your ass. “let me hear you say it.”

“do whatever you want with me, jay.”

he moved your panties to the side and slid two fingers into you. you clutched onto the counter and let your head roll back. god, even his fingers were magical. that was one of the ebst parts about jay; his desire to please you. he never left you unsatisfied, and he always focused on your pleasure. his hands were always loving and tender, and he never failed to make you feel like the most beautiful woman on the planet. you loved being intimate with him because it was pleasurable for both him and you.

his fingers moved expertly in you, brushing against your g-spot every time while his other hand tilted your chin back. your walls fluttered around him as he kissed your jawline.

“oh? you like this? such a good, sweet girl..”

“ah!” you groaned as he pulled his fingers out. “jay…”

“i know, i know. just had to prep you a little. couldn’t just slide into you, you know?”

you smiled and nodded, kissing him tenderly. he undid his jeans, pulling out his hardened cock and sliding the head along your slit.

“tell me you want this, tell me-“

“i swear to god, jay, if you don’t fuck me, i will do it myself.”

“that’s not happening, babe,” jay chuckled as he slowly slid into you. “god, you feel amazing.”

“shit..”

jay fit inside you perfectly, always made you feel so good. when he was rough, it was never too much. he knew your body, knew what made you feel good and what could make your thighs absolutely tremble. as he fucked you, you were reminded of that fact. he hit every spot, every sensitive spot inside you. one of his gorgeous hands rested on your throat, the other was on your hip, and he pulled your head abck so you were looking up at him.

“feel so good around me, sweetheart, oh fuck..”

“god, i’m so full, holy shit...”

his hand moved from your breast to cup your face, and he pressed his forehead up to yours as his hips snapped back and forth into you. your mouths were inches apart, so close, but so far from touching. his breath fanned on your face, and you had never felt so close to him before. jay moved his hand from your hip down to rub your clit, and your body jerked forward at the new sensation. it all felt so good, so perfect. you couldn’t have asked for him to make you feel any better than this.

“feel good, baby? god, you’re squeezin’ me..”

you nodded as you pulled him in for a kiss, letting out soft moans as his lips melted onto yours. he felt incredible, and you did as well. his fingers and cock worked in tandem, bringing your release closer and closer. jay let out soft gorans and grunts, his hips driving your into the counter. there would definitely be bruises lining your hips tomorrow, but you welcomed it. any mark caused by jay was welcomed; the only ones he would leave on you were from sex. you could feel the pressure build in your stomach, like a coil tightening before it sprung open.

“gonna cum? i can feel you squeezin’ me, babe. fuck, just-just cum when you’re ready.”

you let yourself go, let the coil that had wound up spring open and release all the tension that was held within you. the sweet cry that escaped from your mouth sent jay over the edge as well, and he buried himself in you as he came, cursing and moaning your name. the two of you panted, bracing yourselves against the cool granite counter as you caught your breaths. he slowly pulled out of you, kissing your cheek as he did. you adjusted your underwear and smoothed down your shirt, trying to not look so disheveled.

“i love you,” you said, breaking the silence. “a lot, and-”

he cut you off by kissing you, and when he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours.

“i love you too. so, so much.”

“is something wrong?” you asked, noticing how he wasn’t looking at you anymore. “jay?”

“no, nothing. it’s just…you don’t think that the age difference is..”

“no. not in the slightest. what-what made you think i cared?”

“nothing. i just needed some reassurance, that’s all.”

you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him close to you, kissing his cheek.

“i’m not going anywhere, jay. i want you, i want us. i want to keep on hearing you chide me every time i bring home a new pair of shoes or a new perfume. i want to be there when you come home from a bust, adrenaline pumping, and you need to release it on me. jay, if i didn’t want this, i would have turned you down when i met you. but…i want this. i want to build a future with you and-and be together.”

“i want that too, y/n. so much, really.”

“then we’ll make it. together.”

he kissed you, but as you rested your hands on the back of his neck, and his were on your waist, you knew that this kiss was different. his lips asked for reassurance, to know that you wouldn’t go. yours told him that you were here to stay, through thick and thin. you loved him, and he loved you. in this moment, alone in your apartment, together, nothing else mattered except the two of you.

thank god you bought those red bottoms.

#jay halstead x you #jay halstead #chicago pd #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead x y/n #jay halstead smut #chicago pd imagine #chicago pd smut

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