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#dunno when i’ll even watch all of this

starbuck · 1 year

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if it’s not obvious by what i’ve been saying lately, some lever snapped in my brain and i’m now having some sort of film extravaganza where i finally watch all the Really Good movies everyone always talks about but i haven’t seen before and it’s been a GREAT experience so far because like.

my brain does this Thing with Classic Media i haven’t seen before (whether that be books, plays, shows, or movies) where it views it as this huge, intimidating, impenetrable thing, and so i’m going into these movies all scared and then afterwards i’m like Wow. it was literally just a movie!!!!!

I mean, a really GOOD movie, to be sure, but it suddenly feels approachable and fun instead of scary because I’m in on the secret now, and I love that!

#it’s just sooooooooo nice!!!!!!#i’m having such a great time!#making notes on all my Thoughts as well just to keep track #which is nice since i’m watching so many over such a short amount of time #in a sense - i feel like i should give them all more individual time to Soak but also like.#that’s what rewatches are for!#i can already feel rewatches looming on some of these…#anyways… the list currently has a little over 60 films on it - but i have a bunch still to add #i’m not looking for recommendations just Yet bc i have so much ground to cover here #but i’ll be asking around eventually!!#let it be known that films my Trusted Mutuals never shut the fuck up about (affectionate) are being given priority #minus stuff from the 2000s - i’m saving that for later #dunno what i’m gonna get around to tomorrow since i’m gonna go out birding #but i’m hoping to get at least one in in the evening! :))#what’s fun is that i barely know what any of them are about - so i’m really shooting blind here when i pick them out 😂😂#it’s wild

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icaruspendragon · 2 months

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something the women in my family are absolutely flabbergasted by every time it comes up is the fact that i don’t own a scale.

“how do you know how much you weigh??” they cry.

“i don’t.” i simply respond.

“you look thinner, have you lost weight?” they ask at christmas.

“i dunno.” i say as i check on the turkey.

“you look bigger, have you gained weight?” they probe, as if my weight rests on their shoulders.

“i’m not sure, but it’s fine if i have.” i respond with a casualness they cannot comprehend.

“don’t you want to know if you’ve lost or gained?” they inquire over cups of coffee and a plate of untouched cookies.

“i do.” i take a sip. “which is why i don’t need to know.”

“we don’t understand.” they say.

“i’ll drive myself mad if i know. it’s been a question i’ve been looking for the answer to since i was in the seventh grade and my weight was the topic of conversation for the first time; the stretch marks on my calves puberty brought being questioned and condemned. and so i started weighing myself once a day. then twice a day. i gained weight as i grew and was told to stop. i got depressed when i was 16 and the weight i gained was more concerning than the scars on my thighs. the critiques turned to compliments during my first year of college when i’d started skipping meals and my body had to feed itself because i wouldn’t. everyday i stepped on the scale and smiled as i watched that number get smaller and smaller. hunger felt like victory. i started doing drugs that took away my appetite and then my strength. and started feeling guilt when my stomach felt full. and suddenly every time i looked in the mirror i hated what i saw. the more weight i lost, the better i was supposed to feel. each remark on another part of my body lost felt like a slap to the face. i was told i looked good but i knew i wasn’t good enough. and so i tried harder. and then i started to get dizzy when i stood. and i ignored it like i’d learned to ignore my hunger. and then one day at work i dropped like the weight that was never enough after i bending at the waist to grab a milk cap from the floor. and when the darkness faded, i was surrounded by panic as an ambulance was called. and then i was tested and prodded and poked because they thought something was wrong with my heart. and the problem persisted but they never found out why. but i’d known all along. and then i left home and its scale behind. and moved into a new home that was mine. so i bought plates and sheets and art for the walls. but i didn’t buy a scale. then every time i walked down an aisle i’d see the them and pause. and i’d think about the hunger i now kept at bay. and even though i didn’t know how much i weighed, i didn’t notice my body had changed. and i’d think about how i hadn’t been dizzy for months. and how i hadn’t fainted for longer. and then i’d keep on walking. and now most days i like how i look.”

“but don’t you want to be skinny?” comes their quiet response.

“i want to be myself in whatever body i have.”

they stare in disbelief. so i shrug my shoulders, and grab a cookie. and i smile at them as i swallow the first bite.

#trigger warning ed #tw disordered eating #body neutrality i love you !!#the women in my family cannot comprehend that i don’t diet anymore #and that i just eat what i want #and that im okay with the unknown #bc my body tried its hardest to be kind to me #even when i tried my hardest to be unkind to it #and now it’s time to pay it back #throw out your scales!! they’re bad for your mental health!!

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cupcakeinat0r · 3 months

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Thinkin abt Dad bod! Miguel again…

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Relationship weight gain is kinda inevitable when both parties are in absolute love with each other, and Miguel, despite being a total specimen, is no exception to this.

By now, you and Miguel have been dating for quite a bit, and you noticed Miguel getting a lil chunky. Not something you protested. At all. In fact, you were living for it. Yea, Miguel was gorgeous with those rock hard abs and that slutty waist of his that you were beginning to envy, but once his dad bod came in… dayum.

Miguel, however, did feel slightly embarrassed about it all, even though you reminded him everyday that he’s literally the most gorgeous man. Ever. It wasn’t about him, though. He was more concerned about you; that you wouldn’t see him the same way anymore, but you didn’t mind reassuring him a million times that he is all you want and ever need. Plus, it’s a dad bod, literally the best bod, like, c’mon now.

You’d watch him walk around the house with sweatpants on and no shirt, perky pecs (you could’ve sworn he had more titty than you, Jesus Christ), chest hair, pumped arms, fluffy abdomen and a tiny peek of a happy trail that could make your womanhood quiver. All that on full display for you and only you to ogle at. God, he was gorgeous. You, lying in bed, would bite your lip at the piece of work in front of you. Miguel was hunched over on his computer, which he dwarfed with his hands and build, reviewing some lab reports. Your eyes traced along his muscles, some of his stretch marks, and the one or two rolls he had on his side. How can a man look so delicious even while working?

“Whatcha looking at, mama?” He doesn’t look up.

“Oh, nothing… just the most beautiful human being I’ve ever seen.”

He finally looks up from the computer and smiles at you.

“That’s all you, mamita.”

You smile back. You still get butterflies with this man. You reach your arms out.

“C’mere, come to bed. I need my teddy bear.”

He chuckles. “ya mismo, beba, I only have one more left. I’ll be right there.”

You drop your hands in defeat. He says only one more, but you knew it would take him at least like 30 minutes to look over those things. He likes to be real thorough with them. You loved that your man had brains, but sometimes you wish he would just relax once in a while.

An idea flickered in your mind.

“Baby…”

“Yea, mama?” He mumbles, eyes concentrated on his screen.

“…how many kids would you want?”

He immediately perks up. Oh, now you’ve got his undivided attention.

“Kids?” He says, almost a little too excited, “What made you think about that?”

“Ohhh, I dunno… it’s just that you’ve got this dad look goin’ and… it’s been making think, y’know?”

“‘Dad look’?” He says with a humored smile.

“Well yea… I really like it. You’re lookin husky and thick, it’s so… sexy.”

The computer has been officially closed. Your plan is working.

“Oh yea?” His voice becomes lower, more sensual, as he climbs onto bed, his gaze becoming hungry. Miguel towers over you until he settles down on the comforter, nestled up right next to you, his thick thigh draped over both of yours. He rests his burly arm over your stomach, pulling you even closer to his warm body. Now that he lays next to you on the bed, you feel way smaller against him. You loved that.

“Mhm… it’s hard to not picture you with our future kids when you’re walking around here lookin’ like that. I’d make you such a cute daddy.” You coo, your hands brushing against his chest, playing with the hair there, occasionally caressing down to his soft mid-section. “Aw, baby… and I’d make you such a beautiful mommy,” Miguel groans into your neck, placing a kiss there, his hand goes up under his t shirt you’re wearing, caressing circles on your stomach as he imagines a bump there, “fuck, just thinking about you being pregnant makes me hot.“ His hand moves up to grab one of your breasts, giving it a light squeeze, his index finger giving your bud some attention, “and these filled with milk? coño, no puedo esperar.” He moans, his voice strained.

“So how many you want, daddy? Name a number and I’ll give em’ to you.”

Miguel just looks at you dumbfounded. He doesn’t know whether to get emotional or just pin you to the bed and fill you up with his kid to get a head start on this family. He thinks he’ll choose the latter.

“Mamita, I want however many you can give me.” he grabs you by the chin and smashes his lips against yours in a tongue-eating kiss. “Mmgonna look so pretty all swollen for me.” He then placed himself in between your legs, completely caging you in his broad shoulders and arms, his belly brushing up against your stomach. It’s not the only thing you feel, as you also feel his thick hard on when his hips start grinding against your weeping cunt.

“Mi princesita wants to make me a daddy, huh?” He says in a mocking voice. You nod, making a timid noise, aroused by his dominance. You look down to see a wet spot on his sweatpants, his precum seeping through from your little daddy talk no doubt. His mouth sucks and nips at the delicate skin on your neck, your shirt being hastily raised, your now wet panties shortly following the shirt. You’re in for it now. A victorious smirk growing on your face knowing that that last report would be saved for another day.

“Baby, What about your report?”

“It can wait.”

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Spoiler alert: He rails you like a dog in heat, cream pies you multiple times, and makes sure none of it goes to waste!!! <3333 u got what u wanted!!! Yay!!!

He is very gorjus to me, ur honor!!! <33333

Want more DadBod!Miguel ? Here’s my master list, bae!!!

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the-travelling-witch · 1 month

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𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌-𝐔𝐏

summary: when you forget to bring your jacket, an unlikely hero comes to your rescue; is there more to his chivalrous action than meets the eye?

pairing: kaiser x gn! reader

warnings: fluff, kaiser being kaiser; i’m still on hiatus but i have to free this idea from my mind or it won’t let me go, also i thought it was super fun when they spoke german in the manga so here we are

blue lock masterlist

“Is it me or is it chillier than normal in here?” You asked, rubbing your palms over your goosebump-ridden arms. As an assistant manager, you’d been next to the pitch more often than you could count, but on this day it seemed like someone turned up the AC.

“Hm, dunno. Seems normal to me,” Kurona said after contemplating for a few seconds. “You’re not getting sick, are you?”

“I don’t feel like it, no,” you wondered aloud as you watched the Bastard München and FC Barcha players walk onto the court. As much as you’d hate to miss the beginning of the Neo Egoist League, perhaps you should make the track back to your room. “I think I’ll go grab my jacket—“

Your sentence was cut off by fabric covering your head, making you flinch in the sudden darkness.

“Hier, nimm meine. (Here, take mine.)” A voice that had quickly become familiar since the foreign teams were introduced passed by and when you lifted the front of the jacket, you found none other than Michael Kaiser in your field of view. As usual, he was looking rather smug for no reason whatsoever.

Still, he was one of the last people you’d expect to help you out, so the raise of your eyebrow was somewhat inevitable.

“Versteh mich nicht falsch, (Don’t get me wrong,)” he continued, cerulean eyes trained on you, “ich mach das nur, dass du von Anfang an zusehen kannst, wie ich Blue Lock vernichte. (I’m only doing this so you can watch from the beginning as I crush Blue Lock.)

“Und da ich sowieso nicht auf die Bank gehöre, macht’s mir nichts aus, wenn jemand meine Jacke aufwärmt. (Also, since I won't be benched anyway, I don’t mind having someone warm up my jacket for me.)” And with that, he sauntered off towards the centre of the field, the self-satisfied grin still tugging on his lips.

“He’s such a jackass,” Raichi scoffed, his jaw locked and a vein protruding from his neck. “Now I wanna play even more, just so I can teach him a lesson.”

“Now now, let’s not get hasty,” you chuckled, holding the Bastard München jacket in your hands. “As much as I understand where you’re coming from, I don’t think it’s a good idea to pick a fight with our guests on the first match day.”

The fact that you knew about the auction system and livestream you’d keep hidden for now.

“While I really don’t like the guy,” Kurona cut in before Raichi could add anything else, “I still think you should wear the jacket. It won’t do anyone any good if you really get sick. You can still go get yours after the match.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, I agree,” Isagi sighed next to him. “It is probably for the best.”

“Fine, fine,” you mumbled, sliding your arms through the comfortable sleeves of Kaiser’s jacket, bunching it up at your wrists so it wouldn’t cover your fingers.

And with that, the whistle signalled the start of the match.

To no one’s surprise, the match was shaping up to be a great one from the start, the quality and speed of the plays upped significantly with the inclusion of the top league players. Though, for some reason or another, you just couldn’t tear your eyes away from München’s number 10, the same number currently decorating your back.

You knew Kaiser was good, considering he was hailed as a prodigy for the New Generation World XI. And yet, seeing him play was a whole different experience from watching the tapes. From his superb ball control to his efficient movements and precise awareness of the field, all culminating in a lightning fast Kaiser Impact, he basically demanded your attention to be on him.

So when his gaze crossed yours after scoring a goal, you felt like you were getting caught red handed by the amused crease of his eyes. With the way heat shot up your body in embarrassment, you might not have needed his jacket anymore.

By the end of the match, your brain felt as tired as if you had played yourself, trying to keep up with the new level to which football at Blue Lock had been raised. Subsequently, you zoned out for most of Ego’s explanation of the auction system, only to zone back in as Kaiser’s 300 million Yen bid was displayed for everyone to see. And while you swallowed hard at that number, the striker in question seemed rather unfazed.

Instead, he sauntered over to where you were standing, still wearing his jacket. You were halfway out of the garment already when he came to a halt in front of you, his long fingers tangling in the fabric to keep it wrapped around your shoulders.

“Hast du nicht gesagt, dir ist kalt? (Didn’t you say you were cold?)” He asked, blue eyes sparkling down at you with an unreadable expression. “Behalt sie an. Zumindest bis du deine eigene holst. (Keep it on. At least until you get your own.)”

“What? No!” You protested, further trying to shrug off the jacket. Despite shoving it back down to where it came from, a small part of you agreed with him, not wanting to give it back quite yet. “You need it more than I do!”

“Hm? Es ist süß, dass du dich um mich sorgst, (It’s cute that you’re worried about me),” he teased, amusement written all over his face, “aber es ist wirklich unnötig. (but, really, it’s unnecessary.)”

“Absolutely not! If you get sick because of me, I’ll never hear the end of it,” you groaned, finally wrestling yourself out of his jacket and shoving it in his arms. “So just take the damn jacket, Kaiser.”

“Nenn mich einfach Michael, okay?) Just call me Michael, alright?)” One finger tilted up your chin, so you wouldn’t avoid meeting his gaze any longer. “Immerhin kennen wir uns gut genug, dass du dir meine Jacke leihst. (After all, we’re close enough for you to borrow my jacket.)”

“Whatever you’re trying to play here, cut it out!” Before he could have a chance to feel the heat rising to your cheeks, you whirled around to make a swift exit and get your thoughts in order again.

In that moment, you were so distracted by the blond, you’d forgotten the whole world could see you wearing his name on your back. You’d later be reminded of it when seeing comments flooding social media, cooing about the gesture or speculating about your relationship with one another. But that was still far from your mind at present, which was still trying to figure out his reasons for behaving like he did.

Meanwhile Kaiser, who watched you retreat into Blue Lock’s hallways, couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at his lips. Perhaps someone here was worthy of devoting his time to after all.

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#┊holly’s potions ೃ༄#blue lock #x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock fluff #bllk fluff #kaiser x reader #kaiser fluff #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser fluff #michael kaiser #blue lock kaiser #bllk kaiser #blue lock michael kaiser #bllk michael kaiser

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pinkrelish · 1 year

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𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐬, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬.

ex-con!linecook!eddie x fem!reader

✶Steve messed up. He assured you over and over again that you could have the spare bedroom in his apartment, but while you took your time mulling over his offer, someone else moved in: his down-and-out best friend who needed a place to stay. When you show up at Steve's door with little warning due to your job relocating you, he suggests you and Eddie share the bedroom. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Besides the fact Eddie hated you, and in turn, you hated Eddie.✶

NSFW — smut, masturbation, eddie watches porn, dry humping, cumming in pants, reader flashes her bra & wears a pencil skirt, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, there was only one bed(room)

↳ teaser oneshot | [wc: 9.3k] | series tba!

⋅line cook hc from @bewilderedbunny⋅

Steve was a nice guy. Really.

He was your pen pal since meeting at summer camp when you were both eight-years-old. He was sweet, and wrote you back within a week, without fail. He was your first kiss one sweltering afternoon on the dock over the lake; a quick peck when the counselors weren’t looking. He was one of your first contacts in your flip phone, and his picture occupied the first circle when you got a smartphone, after pestering him to meet up with you in Indianapolis, snapping the pic at a crosswalk; a day where your conversations spanned nothing and everything. What was there to talk about when you talked via pencil, pen, markers, emojis, and photos for years, and suddenly forgot the past decade when you encircled your arms around each other?

He was a nice guy throughout all of college. He’d text you during class. You’d text him from states away, falling asleep at your dormroom desk. He worked at his father’s business. You started as an unpaid intern collecting coffee orders, and pulling all-nighters doing spreadsheet grunt work your superiors didn’t deem worthy of their time.

Stevie 🌞: just quit your job and live with me!

Stevie 🌞: I still have that spare bedroom

Stevie 🌞: rent free

Year after year, you always declined. Climbing the ranks at your job was important to you; and one day it paid off. They were relocating you to the Chicago, and if you didn’t take their pitiful relocation package, you’d get a decent advance on your next paycheck (which was dire considering your salary was roughly the same, despite the ever increasing cost of living); and knowing Steve always had that spare furnished bedroom, and most of your belongings could fit into your car (as long as you didn’t need to see out the rear window), it seemed like a done deal.

Until you surprised him.

You: hey! can i move in w you? my jobs relocating me to chicago and i might already be two hours out. sorry i didn’t text sooner. i had to leave my apartment asap. fuck paying for the damage cindy’s doberman did to that place 😬

Stevie 🌞: Lets talk when you get here

Stevie 🌞: I’ll meet you for coffee

Let’s talk? Never a good sign, even when he was smiling at you from over his latte.

————

“My friend needed the spare room, but he’s a good guy, I swear,” he told you.

“He’s just a little rough around the edges,” he told you.

“He’s understanding; I’m sure you two will get along,” he told you.

“He can make space in the closet for your stuff, and one of you can sleep on the couch,” he told you. “Maybe you can alternate! Bed, couch. It's not like I’m charging him rent, so he should be cool with you living with us until you can afford to move out, or whatever. No big deal. I don’t really care when, you know that. No rush.”

Right. Just share the room.

You weren’t present for the conversation; Steve and Eddie were in the bedroom while you stood awkwardly in the living room, but the result of the exchange made quite the first impression.

“I dunno,” Steve’s voice carried, “maybe you could work something out like you get the room Monday through Wednesday, and she gets it Thursday through Saturday. Sunday’s up in the air?”

“Oh, just share the room like I used to, huh?” Eddie asked, alluding to the life he lived several months ago. “Finally got some privacy to breathe around here, and now you’ve invited some chick to live with us without telling me? Actually–no–you invited her to live here. In my room. No heads up.”

Steve’s wince was audible in his heavy sigh. “You work weird hours, you probably won’t even have to interact with her. C’mon, man. She’s been my friend since we were kids, and it’s just until she finds her own place. She’s cool. She’ll sleep on the couch, or whatever if it really bothers you; just like, let her keep her clothes and shit in here, and let her use the computer for work.”

“Whatever, man.”

“Eddie, wait!”

Thunderous footsteps and a seething, “Fuck this,” followed the heightened emotions, and before you could straighten your spine, you were introduced to your new roommate.

His pace faltered, not expecting you to be standing there. The fine wrinkles in the outer corner of his eyes pinched tighter, and his long hair flowed around a faded black snake tattoo on his throat, stretching across the strained tendons it was inked over, reaching the twitching muscle in his jaw from his clenched teeth. It took him a narrow-eyed glance to sum you and your pink luggage up, and place you firmly in the ‘I don’t like you’ category in his mind, and he continued his march.

“Hi! I’m–”

Your outstretched hand went ignored as he passed you.

He shoved on his boots, and slammed the front door behind him, rattling every piece of metal in the apartment. You stared at where he was just standing, vision marked with a black silhouette of the good guy you’d be sharing intimate space with for the next.. however long, and still with your hand out, you swiveled to Steve. “Yeah, he seems nice.”

————

Eddie Munson glared at your very existence. He wore a permanent crease between his brows when you were in his vicinity. Apprehension tensed his muscles when your soft gaze slid from Steve, to him. There was distaste in his frown. He rolled his eyes when you laughed too loud at the TV. His voice was vitriol, words clipped when he had to speak to you. His shoulders hiked to his ears when you entered the kitchen for a glass of water and caught him mid-chew on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich after he got home from work. When it was your turn to sleep in the bed, he made it a point to come home as loud as possible–yanking open the drawers on the dresser, waking the computer to blazing home screen, and leaving the light on when he went to shower across the hallway, pretending he didn’t hear you grumble at him to turn it off.

You wore a sleep mask to bed after that.

And when you slept on the couch, it was the only time he cooked for himself. Scraping pans across the burners, clinking silverware, gathering his hair off his neck and twisting it between his laced fingers, creating a cradle for him to drop his head back and sigh at the ceiling, just loud enough to stir you from your sleep.

You wore earplugs to bed after that.

Eddie Munson made it known you were not welcomed in his territory, and saw your accidental warm smile thrown vaguely in his direction as a threat to his well being.

But as much as he ensured misery every second you had the fortune of spending in his presence, you weren’t so innocent of terrorizing his every waking moment either..

Soon, Monday through Wednesday, and Thursday through Saturday, and a chance at a lazy Sunday were not enough.

————

When Steve was home, he acted as the mediator when it came to you two being at each other’s throats after another vicious stare-off. Currently, Eddie was standing with his arms crossed, leaned against the counter with his cheeks darkened to a fleshy red, and you were pacing the kitchen, wrapped in a bath towel, stating your case to Steve. You argued since most of the hair clogging the drain belonged to Eddie, he should be the one to clean it. And Steve, not knowing how to interpret Eddie’s steely focus on the fridge as if you didn’t exist, nor the fact a woman was dripping wet and yelling at him, he put his hands up in defense.

He edged away from your ire until he was at the cabinet housing a toothpick dispenser, and depressed the mechanism for one to roll out. He snapped it, put his hands behind his back, and shuffled the two ends into his palm, and had you choose one. Eddie kept his gaze averted, but grasped the other.

You held the long end of the toothpick above your head with a smile to rival the kitchen’s daylight bulbs searing into your retinas. You were the winner, and Eddie was the loser who had to clean the bathroom.

This worked swell when Steve was around to mitigate the tension. But when he was on a business trip, or out on a date, the Bed Schedule was a formality at best, and largely ignored at worst.

Meaning, the bets, deals, and favors began.

They started small: Rock, paper, scissors; winner gets dibs on those just-washed sheets. Flip a coin and see who has to rough it in the living room for the next two nights. Draw the shorter toothpick and try not to stab it in Eddie’s eye when he smirked.

But those were childish games. It was the deals and favors that proved more interesting.

“Can you help me punch holes in these?” you asked, voice high and urgent as you rushed to grab your color coded pie charts from the printer and clip them into a presentation binder.

He scoffed from the bedroom doorway, smelling of fryer oil and bacon grease. “What makes you think I want to help you after cooking for assholes all night?”

“Because you’re nice, and you love me.”

“I despise you,” he corrected, crossing his arms tight over his chest. He shifted his weight from foot to foot while you organized the pages, resisting the bait to give him what he wants, but you knew in your heart it was the only way to not be late for work this morning.

“Fine. You can have the bed tonight.”

He stayed put. “Nope. You know I’m working the overnight shift until Thursday.” That way, he slept while you were at work, and you slept while he was at work.

You glanced at the blue dawn creeping in from the window, then red the time on your watch. “Okay, fine, whatever! Have it all next week. I don’t give a fuck, just help me!”

Reveling in his victory, his plush lips stretched into a wide grin, showing too much teeth. He sauntered at his leisure, closing his eyes half-way, and gazing at you down the long slope of his nose. “Good girl, I knew you could do it,” he mocked.

You wanted to strangle him.

–And another time–

“Shut the fuck up for an entire day, and you can have to whole fucking closet,” Eddie snapped after your fifth instance of complaining about your professional office clothes not having available hangers due to him taking them for his old, ratty band tees.

Centering yourself, you brushed the dust off your favorite pants after finding them wadded up on the floor, and whispered, “I hope a rogue knife finds its way into your thumb again tomorrow.”

You swore you saw his hand flex out the corner of your eye, reacting to your curse.

–And the week after that–

You: come help me bring up these groceries

You: elevators broken

You: we can race up the stairs

You: loser washes dishes and takes out the trash

😒dumb: as long as the loser doesn’t cry about it when she sleeps on the couch

You: whatever

😒dumb: i’ll even give you a head start to make it fair

Struck with being that person grinning down at your phone in the stuffy underground parking garage, you gilded your thumbs over the keyboard in a fluttery tease.

You: you just want an excuse to stare at my ass

It took Eddie longer to reply, fumbling with his phone to find the emoji keyboard, only to send–

😒dumb: 🙄

–And the week after that–

“Get a life, you fucking loser,” you yelled from within the metal cylinder of the dryer, bent over on your hands and knees to wrestle your silk blouse free from where it was tangled in a rope of bedsheets, after you told him–explicitly–to never wash it because he’d do it wrong.

He merely watched you struggle from the sidelines, informing you, “You’re the one who asked me to do laundry. Don’t toss your precious, delicate shirts on the bathroom floor if you don’t want them thrown in with everything else. And by the way, I did my part of the deal, so the room is still mine tonight.” As a bonus, he added as he walked away, “Suck my dick, sweetheart.”

Your gums ached from how hard you clenched your teeth. You didn’t leave your blouse on the floor. He did, when he went hunting for his wallet he left in his jeans, and dumped all the clothes out of both baskets, mixing your work clothes with his.

That night, you locked him out of the bedroom. Fuck him.

————

After tireless days of the same back and forth, the juvenile deals and favors were losing their significance. Someone needed to up the ante. And a certain line you two skirted taunted you both, but remained uncrossed until..

————

The hallway leading to your apartment was stale with inactivity. Most people had been home for hours, or were back from bars and crashed on the couch, drooling on their girlfriend’s favorite decorative pillow–the kind with the pom poms. You thought of them with envy. Snoring, dreaming of some blissful shit like sheep hopping a pasture fence. But not you. Your 9 to 5 extended far past those numbers on the clock. It skipped right over them, just like you were skipped over in meetings, being told the extra burden you were taking on was good for the company, and the programs you were learning would be paid in experience. Bullshit. You were tired, and the last thing you needed was some long haired man stubbing his toe on the coffee table to wake you up–morning or night.

But perhaps you were blessed.

You opened the door to near-darkness. Not a lamp, or TV on inside to show someone was home. Not a groan, sigh, or blast of music funneling from a set of oversized headphones. Not a creak of movement from the hallway, or bathroom; surrendering your heartbeat as the loudest feedback.

It appeared you were alone. What a wonderful thing.

The muffled thud of the low pile rug under your heels gave way to silky sweeps of plush carpet welcoming your aching pantyhose-covered feet. Moving further into the apartment, you knew the shapes to avoid in the dim light coming from above the stove, casting the coffee table and scattered stools at the breakfast bar in shadow.

Groggy from exhaustion, you blinked at the spice cabinet door Eddie left open before leaving for his shift. During a conversation with Steve, you let it slip that people who leave the cabinet doors open annoy you, so of course he began leaving one open as a greeting when you came home.

You closed it with your right hand, swinging your laptop bag wildly, and before you could react, the strap caught the top of the glass sugar jar and knocked it over in a wincing crash. Luckily, after peeping one eye open, you assessed nothing broke, but now there was a streak of glittery white dust on the countertop you definitely weren’t going to clean up.

Maybe you could strike a deal with Eddie to wipe it up for you. It was–in a way–his fault, since he left the cabinet door open. If you didn’t need to close it, none of this would’ve happened..

You made a gagging sound.

Since when did your immediate thought process swing to him, and how do you get it to stop? It was bad enough you peeked around the corner into the hallway, praying, praying, praying the bedroom light was off, and feeling your body slump with utter relief when it was. Being on the same planet as him was hell, you didn’t need your private thoughts to linger on him, too.

Mentally dismissing Eddie Munson from your brainspace, you invited yourself into the bedroom. You sought the cushy mattress to cradle your weary body after a long day, and the nest of cozy fleece blankets to swaddle you as you drifted to sleep. Unfortunately, the idiot’s pillow smelled far too much like him; cigarettes and cheap vanilla cologne combined with his hair products, burning your nose like toasted sugar. Despicable. Just the worst. You should exchange it with your own pillow, but you forgot it on the couch, and the couch was so very, very far away..

~~~

Eddie sat crouched in the alleyway outside of Benny’s Diner with a stubby cigarette balanced between his lips, blowing the smoke out in a slow exhale like a roll of fog on a misty morning. Cold emanated from the bricks pricking the expanse of his shoulders, and the night air chilled his damp shirt to his sticky skin, erupting goosebumps along his forearms. Standing around him were the other cooks on break. He didn’t share a common language with them outside of gestures, curse words, and kitchen lingo, but they gathered in a semi-circle as if to include him.

His shift was over. He’d technically clocked out, but he loitered until their vices were stomped under their shoes, and he snuffed his glowing ash on the wall behind him, and followed them inside.

Washing his hands first, he dried them on the towel tucked under the string of his apron tied around his waist, and set up a space on the flat top for him to occupy since the dinner rush had long since died, and the only patrons on the floor were drunks wandering in for greasy hashbrowns. He grabbed the four quart Cambro from the fridge beneath the prep area, and ladled enough batter for two large pancakes. Borrowing a station, he sliced up a ripe banana from the walk-in, and dropped it into a hot pan with a bit of butter, caramelizing them on the range while he waited for the pancakes to be flipped.

The guys behind him read off the few tickets, and carried their conversation from earlier. Eddie caught some of it, learning a few words here or there, but regardless of the language barrier, he knew they were talking about him. They were snickering with their heads together, pointing at the pancakes he was making despite being clocked out.

Eddie spoke with a sneaky grin, “If I make them for her, she’ll leave me the fuck alone on my day off.”

The guys may not have understood entirely what he meant, but his sunny disposition juxtaposed by his wry gaze communicated a universal plight: girls.

One of their hands landed hard between Eddie’s shoulder blades when they doubled over in a belly laugh, and the other one made whip-cracking sounds, calling him the same slang word he called the married cooks. It wasn’t worth it to attempt to correct them that these pancakes were not for his girl, but for his future migraine, so he hummed along with them, and flipped the pancakes with his right hand while tossing the bananas with a swift jerk of his left.

After their gossip, they went back to work, and Eddie grabbed a to-go container, loading it with the two pancakes and sliding the caramelized bananas on top. He brought it to the prep area to drizzle with chocolate sauce, and finished it off with heart-shaped strawberries, a dusting of powdered sugar, and a sprig of mint. He didn’t cut the strawberries that way with ulterior motives, it was just something he did when he had spare time in the morning. Cutting a wedge out of the stemmed top, and slicing them vertical. The customers liked it. It was cute, supposedly. There were no hidden intentions to him taking his time to place them just so around the box; it was merely him taking pride in how he plated his dish.

Clamping the container shut, he untied his apron, changed his shoes, and left out the back entrance, kicking pebbles under the crescent moon, and walking through the front door of the next building over. Gray concrete, a faulty elevator, ugly rugs to feign elegance, and high rise as far as ‘high rise when you live next a bunch of squatty buildings’ went. It was home, and it was blissfully dark inside.

Eddie worked his feet out of his tied-once-and-never-untied street shoes, and dropped his non-slip clogs next to them in a loud clatter.

He breathed. Inhaled deep. Sighed through his nose.

Quiet. Peaceful respite behind his eyelids.

The adrenaline ebbed. The hours of shouting and being shouted at, metal on metal clangs, timer beeps, and mechanical whirr of a ticket being printed out would never cease haunting his mind, but he should stop flinching from the imaginary sounds after a few hours. The pain stretching the length of his back should ease under a hot shower. The throbbing ache in his knees should lessen once he sleeps. The fatigue, like needles driven into his bones, should heal so he could be on his feet for thirteen more hours tomorrow.

Warmth worked its way beyond the calluses creating a barrier in his palm supporting the styrofoam container. Syrupy sweet hot sugar invaded his nostrils from the pancake bribe, battling the stench of his dried sweat and body odor baked into his t-shirt. The tiled entryway beneath his feet woke him out of his daze, and he slid his heavy-lidded gaze to the vacant couch; the comforter was folded, and the pillow was propped up, unslept on.

Briefly he wondered if you went out with your friends after work. But as he approached the kitchen, his dreams were crushed by a single closed cabinet door.

You were home.

You were home, and you weren’t on the couch, nor in the shower.

Eddie allowed his eyes to flutter closed as he hung his head back. In that position, he rolled the disappointment out of his shoulders, and braced them with something new.

Irritation.

Tamping the frustration in the pit of his stomach from bubbling up, he exhaled another calming breath, and opened the fridge, placing the pancakes exactly front and center amongst the fresh produce he was sometimes excited to create with, and sometimes slammed to the bottom of the trash when he was too exhausted and uninspired to do anything with their rotten corpses.

He prepared his expression into one of unbudging indifference. Flat, and unwilling to back down.

And yet, his nose scrunched when he pushed open the bedroom door, and there you were, as predicted, lounging amongst your hideous blankets spilling out from under you as if you were an opulent pearl nestled within an oyster shell.

The resentment built as he assessed your form delicately painted in a red glow from the ugly neon sign in the shape of a lipstick kiss tacked alongside his favorite band posters. He’d only lived with Steve long enough to feel comfortable decorating the blank walls, and you ruined the Rob Halford flow three days into your invasion. Your face was highlighted by the dim blue light of your laptop resting on your stomach, rising and falling with each gentle breath, and you were haloed by the Himalayan salt lamp crowding the nightstand. It’s trendy, you explained.

With vehemence, he flickered the light switch.

You cringed from the bright assault, and clacked your fingers on the keyboard, pretending you weren’t dozing off a second ago. “Can you go away?”

“What’re you doing in here?”

Unimpressed by his tone, you glazed your response in insolence. “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m minding my own business.” At that, your attitude was solidified, along with how this interaction would go.

Eddie stared at you for a long minute. Not once did you acknowledge him. He watched your eyes dart across the screen, probably watching one of those Youtube videos where girls walked around exciting cities with a camera way too close to their face, and he dragged his gaze downwards, noticing you were still in your work clothes; though, your blouse and skirt were disheveled, and your pantyhose were discarded on the floor, still holding the vague shape of your legs, resembling a flattened rotisserie chicken.

He focused on your eyes again. Bloodshot, rimmed in red with a suggestion of water clinging to the outer corners where your eyelashes met, and sporting a hefty burden of bags beneath them.

“It’s Wednesday,” he reminded you, voice heavy in his chest, but sounding scratchy, and hollow. His throat was shot.

“Mm,” you hummed and glanced at the clock in the corner of your screen, “it’s Thursday, actually.”

White hot anger boiled in his veins, striking his skin like a leather lash. It simmered, popped, sizzled, boiled over. The yelling, the timers, the cacophonous clanging. The ticket machine, the keyboard, the stinging cut on his thumb. Smug fucking brat laying in his bed on his night to have it. It was sudden, it was stark, and it was hatred.

“Make a deal.”

“A deal?”

“A fucking deal,” he repeated. “You know, like we’ve been making?” He stopped himself short of calling you a dirty name, but you must’ve gathered it from his tongue’s hesitation, because you turned your head a few degrees to challenge his temper.

“Oh, lucky for you, there was a two-for-one deal at the store.”

You waved two middle fingers at him, showing a bit of teeth with your crooked grin.

The hatred festered, but not as vicious. The anger was there–oh, the anger was there–but the energy to keep this going hit its peak, and fizzled. There was no sense in reasoning with you. The pancakes in the fridge were for a different occasion, he couldn’t waste them on this, and he was too tired to come up with his own bet, deal, or favor. “Just think of something so we can get this over with,” he nearly begged.

After some consideration, you held your fist out for rock, paper, scissors.

“Where’s the option for a gun in my mouth?”

“Harsh,” you pouted. Instead, you pointed at the 20 sided die on the desk. He inclined his head, shaking it with a slow sort of intention, eyes wide to express his warning to knock it off, and give him a true answer, something to make this worthwhile.

Finding the whole ordeal dull, you returned your attention to your laptop, pressing the white earbud into your ear before unpausing the video.

It took seconds off his life, but you finally spoke again.

“How long were you in prison? Six years? Bet it’s been a while since you’ve seen one of these in the flesh.” Due to your satin cream blouse being unbuttoned at the neck, you dipped your thumb under the collar, and traced the vibrant temptation of your red bra strap in a long, deliberate stroke. You hooked the soft pad of your thumb under the luxury, and brought it out for his viewing pleasure. A moment later, you snapped it to your skin, and went back to typing, not once breaking concentration with your video.

Eddie’s fascination, however, was trained on the dainty crimson gift slipping under the shimmery cream, sliding against the soft slope of your shoulder.

Heat thrummed in his chest. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, sloshing his blood like viscous tidal waves, muting the clacky sound of your keyboard. Anger mixed with something more, something worse. It warmed his cheeks, and reignited the cold sweat prickling his back. It honed his curiosity, sinking every detail of the second tortoiseshell button on your blouse into his mind. Memorizing how the fabric around it went taut, and glinted honey at the height of your breath. Noticing how the bottom of your shirt was wrinkled and pulled slack, but still tucked into your pencil skirt. Remembering how the tight material hugged your thighs when you traipsed around the apartment. Although, the navy blue number was less defined now, fitting looser around your hips.

He didn’t know how long he was fixated by your clothing, until you sighed.

“Not enough for you?”

You asked it with forced casualness, he could tell. Your voice was too even, tone too polite, eyebrows too raised in mock indifference. You were introducing a line that had yet to be crossed. A door which, when opened, would give access to more possibilities than the usual bets, deals, and favors. An enticing offer, and he didn’t deny the nervous flutter of intrigue arousing his blood elsewhere.

But past the line was dangerous territory. Right? That’s where things got muddied, and feelings got involved.

Or maybe not. Because, above all else, he hated you, and you hated him.

This was a deal like any other.

“Maybe this’ll help,” you said, never breaking eyesight from the screen, its colors reflecting in your pupils.

You were the epitome of cool pinching the blouse between your fingers and slotting the buttons through the holes one after the other. Down, down, down to your navel, tugging either side of the shirt open, letting the elegant cream frame the aggressive scarlet.

Eddie was taken off guard.

The bra was more akin to lingerie than he expected. Its cups contained you like a poorly kept secret. Curves of red peonies covered your nipples–hard bud pressing against the center of the flower from the thrill of exploring a new end to your daily arguments. Your areolas peeked from between the petals, where the intricate lacework went see through, granting him a preview to the smooth flesh beneath.

Click clack, click clack, space bar, space bar, space bar, he swore you pressed your arms together to make your breasts rounder. Actually, he didn’t need to second guess. He saw the cusp of cleavage squish before his very eyes.

“Satisfied?” you inquired.

No, he ached.

The voice in his head was so automatic, so sure, he didn’t question it, either.

When he refused to verbalize the things which made him nauseous, his opulent pearl rolled onto her shoulder and lifted the laptop the pillow, turning over onto her stomach to engage with it solely, circling a manicured fingernail over the trackpad, and clicking.

To his surprise, the video on screen wasn’t of the vapid people you watched, but of a troubleshooting guide to the program your company was having you learn in order to teach it to the higher ups next week. (Or so he heard when you told Steve yesterday.) You tabbed out of the video, fixed a property in a column, checked the statistic it was evaluating, and added in an aesthetically pleasing green color before tabbing back.

He couldn’t parse how he felt about you having to do more thankless tasks off the clock, especially when you were clearly tired, but something else stole the last of his fiery anger, and doused his willpower to resist a glance.

Your habit of unzipping your skirt as soon as you walked into the apartment proved evident when you rolled over. The silky polyester lining slipped against your skin, shifting the long zipper from your hip to your backside. The halves parted, showing the end of the cream blouse, and a peek of skin. You adjusted how you laid, rocking your hips back and forth until you sank into the plush blankets, and propped your chin in your palm when you weren’t typing. Small movements working the skirt higher, and higher, bunching the fabric around the fat of your ass. Squirming, and stretching, tugging on your blouse, pulling, pulling, blouse, skirt, blouse, skirt, and then he saw it..

Red.

Delicate, feminine.

Tucked, hidden from anyone’s view but his, were the matching red panties to your bra. Trapped in a valley between thighs and ass, and stretching over the swell of your heat, embellishing the mouth watering desire in opaque lace strained firm against the outline of his treasure.

Eddie swallowed.

“Why’re you still in here?” you asked with a bite of annoyance. “You got to see a girl’s bra for the first time ever, probably. You should be celebrating, throwing yourself a party. In the living room. On the couch.”

The anger had returned like a slap of reality across his cheek. He narrowed his eyes at the back of your head, remembering why he loathed you with every fiber of his being. “I’ve seen a bra before.”

“Pictures don’t count.”

“Whatever, bitch.”

Your body jolted with a snort, and he flung open the door hard enough for it to bounce off the door stop. He heard your infuriating inhale, and slapped the lightswitch off, shutting the door behind him with excessive force before you could ask more demands of him. Gladly, he closed himself out of his own bedroom. The physical barrier under his trembling fist had never felt better, still gripping the knob as if he’d go back in there.

He wouldn’t.

He let go of the chilled metal and stalked down the hall, curbing himself from stomping out his frustration, only to throw himself onto the couch. Stomach burning with hunger, hatred. Chest heaving with rage. Pulse rising in his throat, beating against the ball chain necklace he wore. Breathing so hard, sounding as if he’d ran laps before collapsing onto his bed for the night, crossing his arms to squeeze his biceps, massaging his fingers down the muscle. Occupying himself. Distracting himself.

It wasn’t working.

He was mad.

Furious.

Draping his hand over his eyes, he gave himself a moment to make a decision, and pushed his bangs off his forehead. They stayed in their gravity defying position due to the oil. He needed to shower. He needed to clean himself of this day, and go to sleep. But he couldn’t.

The fever in his veins was too distracting. He needed to take care of it. Get rid of it.

Sitting up, he unfolded the comforter from the end of the couch, and propped the pillow against the armrest to angle his head slightly up, where he could see the hallway.

From his front pocket, he collected his phone and laid it on his stomach while he unbuttoned his pants, pinching the waistband together and pulling the zipper down, sighing through his nose at the relief of the lines he was crossing.

He grasped his phone and brought it close to his face. Cupped in one palm, and using the other hand to tap it twice. A streak of perspiration was left on the screen where he swiped in his passcode, using his index finger to open a private browser and type in a porn site. Any porn site. Whichever variation of the word porn + noun he thought of first. It didn’t matter much to him; that’s not where his preferences lie.

office worker

co-worker

secretary

office worker tight skirt

office worker pov skirt grinding

His brain went stupid for synonyms trying to narrow down his search. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew the ultra HD, professionally lit, fakey acting wasn’t it. He scrolled, and scrolled. Narrowed his search again. Ticked off boxes on the side. Tried broader genres. Went back to the results he was on, and traveled down the rabbit hole a few more pages until, at last, he found what suited him.

The thumbnail appeared promising. Dimly lit, sorta bad quality, and clearly shot at home with a woman whose body type wasn’t far off from what he was hoping for. He even appreciated the visual similarities in the amateur actress’ navy blue skirt, and off-white blouse. As long as he scrolled down a tad to crop out her face, it was perfect. Plus, it was easier to insert himself into the scene that way.

He clicked it, and– ”Jesus Christ,” he turned down the volume as quickly as he could, accidentally pressing down the two buttons on the side that took a screenshot and saved it to his gallery.

The video started a little further into the act than he anticipated.

Such a fucking idiot, Eddie, Jesus Christ. Sitting in thick silence, he waited to see if you’d heard, and once his face calmed of the embarrassed flush stinging his cheeks, he moved on.

Eddie worked his right hand under the comforter, but heeded his boxers as a layer of separation. At the first contact with the parts of him he denied aching for the bane of his existence, he allowed his eyes to flutter closed. Gently, he raked his fingernails down the base of his shaft, and over his balls. He cupped them. Felt their heft. Cradled them and dragged them softly upwards, letting them fall and stretch before repeating the motion, enjoying the tickly sensation of being the first thing he touched. His most sensitive, most susceptible part of himself. Meanly ignoring the other part of him twitching, throbbing, begging to be catered to.

He kept some fraction of his brain alert to the hallway, senses sharpened by the spike of adrenaline, listening out for any sound of you exiting the room. But most of him was focused on hitting the play button, sticking to his decision that he couldn’t wait to do this in the shower. He needed it now.

It started with the woman already in motion. Shot from the guy’s point of view laying on the bed, his obvious hardon pressing through his slacks into her pussy grinding down on him. Her skirt lifted with each motion, showing her black underwear. Not that he was complaining they weren’t red, but he didn’t concentrate on them.

He switched from playing with his balls to gripping his cock. Finally. It buzzed with the rush of pleasure, harder than it had ever been, even in his youth. His fingers hardly met through his boxers, but he encircled them the best he could, and started with fast, desperate, stunted strokes, getting himself to where the guy in the video was in a matter of pent-up seconds, clenching his ass to buck his hips up. Heart pounding. Inhales shaky from the speed at which he took care of his problem, exhales interrupted by muted huffs.

Maybe he should be embarrassed, but it didn’t take him long to feel that encouragement to keep going, keep going, keep going. Where each frantic pump along his length was better than the last. Where each accidental graze of his fingers over the lipped edge of his tip sprinted towards his bliss.

In the video, the woman dipped a finger between her lips and moved her panties aside.

There was a low hum in the back of his throat, engrossed by the wet warmth opposed to his dry fist.

Metal knob turning–door creaking–carpet groaning, step, step, step–

It was a fucking miracle he managed to close out of the window in his panic. His thumb missed it the first two times as fear coated him in a cold sweat, and the phone fell out of his palm, smacking him in the chin as you rounded the corner.

You didn’t spare him the time of day as you walked into the kitchen and got a glass from the cabinet. Didn’t bother looking at him as you stood at the fridge with your hip cocked out, holding the cup under the outer dispenser and depressing the button for ice.

The fridge made a mechanical whirr, and filled your glass. Ker-chunk, ker-chunk, ker-chunk, the ice cubes tinked into the cup for the longest seconds of his life. His hand was frozen mid-tug on his dick, and you were wearing an oversized t-shirt, and nothing else. Truly, it hardly covered your ass. It clung to your hips, brushed the height of your thighs, and suddenly, he was checking how obvious the bulk of the comforter was over his lap, and if it creased when he moved his hand upwards.

Nothing. Not a fold out of place. He could keep it up. Stroke, by stroke, brushing his fingers over the head only, testing his limits to keep discreet while you switched to the other spout on the fridge for water.

Even when you turned to him, he massaged himself over his boxers, soaking the sticky slick beads of precum into the fabric.

“What?”

Your tone didn’t deter him from tracing the underside of his swollen head, caressing the glans with the same sort of sentiment he experienced in the homemade porn between a real couple–all gentle and nice.

He mustered enough brain cells to respond, “What? I’m already sleeping on the couch. Can’t you leave me alone for one night? Or are you that desperate for attention?”

None the wiser, you took a sip from your glass, and folded your other arm across your stomach, making it obvious from the natural sway that you weren’t wearing a bra. Probably weren’t wearing panties either..

Swallowing the ice cold water with a satisfied ‘ah’, you went on your merry way. “Just came to gawk at the bridge troll, is all. Night night!” Your annoying farewell was followed by the creak of the door, and the faint click of it closing.

What a fucking irritating person.

The anger bristled again. Definitely anger. It was there, lurking, when he rubbed at the sore spot on his chin and picked up his phone, unlocking it to stare at the homescreen.

There was no patience within him to find the video. Besides, the sanitized professional thumbnails on the homepage were enough to have him dropping his phone to the cushion crevices beside him, surrendering himself to his imagination. Nothing lived up to the scenarios in his head, anyway.

Before getting ahead of himself, he slid his fingers beneath the elastic waistband, and gripped himself wholly. There was no sense in denying what he wanted: the raw desire of his hand wrapped firmly around his cock, not caring about creating a mess. It could be cleaned up later. He needed this. Now.

He immersed himself in the fantasy.

The visuals took place minutes ago, if he hadn’t backed down. It was based on you refusing to give him the bed, and instead of walking away from your bratty attitude, he lifted his chin, and broadened his chest with a confidence he didn’t possess. Fantasy Eddie had the courage to kneel on the mattress like he belonged there. Your body would dip, rock towards his imposing knees straddling either side of your calves, and in his strongest dreams, he acted out what should’ve happened.

If he had his way, he would begin with your hips. A single strong palm on the curve would have you hiking them up to greet him, and he was a gentleman. As soon as you presented him with the opportunity, he was scrambling to spread your legs so he could dip between them, eager to please. He wanted to know the sensation of coarse red lace scratching across his tongue; it would be a novelty only he would know. His hands would be on your upper thighs, bringing you closer, closer, to where his mouth awaited you. Persuading your face to the sheets. Putting a wicked arch in your back, granting him permission.

He’d angle his mouth to your clothed clit and collect spit to his bottom lip, parting, and lapping his tongue over the pretty thing, suckling it through the fabric. His nose would be to your cunt, inhaling the musky pheromones. Didn’t matter how long you’d been at work, proving yourself to people who would never appreciate you like he did. He cherished every bit of you so much. The heady scent intoxicated him like a drug, the dimples when he smashed the fat of your ass around his face, your silly whine when he pressed kisses up your pretty pussy. The anger was gone. Like that, he adored you. After all, you craved him. And it’d been a long time since he was wanted. It felt nice to not be rejected.

Eddie, Fantasy You gasped when the wet sound of him sucking your clit through your panties grew in fervor. He was drunk on you. Trying hard. Giving more. Licking at the dark patch he created. God, he loved it. He loved the evidence. He could suckle, moan, flatten his tongue like torture and just breathe on you until he fell asleep, waking up to nudge his teeth over the sensitive areas you presented to him. Spending hours getting you to your peak, over and over.

But in reality, he was approaching his end rather quickly.

My turn, sweetheart, he regretfully informed you.

Getting to his knees, he positioned himself behind you. His cock slotted so nicely against you; red lace meeting unzipped gray uniform pants, and he wasted no time stoking the flames from where he left off.

He clapped your cheeks around the hard outline of his cock. His black boxers stretched to their limits to contain him. There was a dark patch at the tip peeking out between your ass, growing with each slow, assertive grind he committed to, fucking himself into the curve of your cunt with ragged breaths. Losing himself. Mouth agape, and eyebrows pinched as his needy head was swallowed when he rocked his hips back, and reappeared with a rough thrust.

Again, it didn’t take long until he needed a break to make himself last longer.

He draped his weight over you as he slid his rough, calloused palms up the backs of your thighs, creating goosebumps along the sensitive flesh on his way to your sorry excuse for skirt. He bunched the pitiful thing to your waist, and reached for the hem of your shirt.

You hummed in approval, pressing against his lap.

It was hard to balance, but you supported him as he yanked your blouse up–sucking in a sharp breath when you moaned, and rutted yourself on his length–and he brushed his fingers along your soft skin in search for the bra clasp, and when he found it, he pulled the band tight. The latch gave. He caught sudden heft in his palm, cupping you and the bra together, massaging lightly until your nipple slotted between the base of two of his fingers, and he applied the gentlest pressure.

Oh fuck, you whined so nicely for him.

They’re extra sensitive after being caged all day, you explained.

Yeah? Does it feel good?

You nodded, cheek smashed against the wrinkled sheets.

He pinched harder.

Saliva gathered at the corner of your lips, spilling in a sticky string as you dragged your head in another nod, heavy-lidded eyes just visible through your lashes, open mouth panting for him.

True satisfaction spread like weightlessness from the pit of anger in his stomach. He wasn’t supposed to be making you feel good, not the person ruining the one place he found peace after six years of paranoia, but here he was, wishing the taste of your pussy lasted longer in his mouth. Here he was, anchoring his forearm alongside yours, gripping the same sheet you gripped while he beared his weight down on you, and pressed kisses to your clothed shoulders.

His other hand was trapped between you and the bed, but each pulse around your nipple was another long stroke on his cock.

The scene had been set. The build up and story line were crafted. Now, he could play.

He worked kisses under your collar, tasting the sheen of sweat at your hairline, leaving trails of spit to cool as he lolled his head on top of yours, resting his forehead amongst your hair, and he put his lips to the shell of your ear, feeling you shiver beneath him.

Do you think you can treat me that way, and get away with it? Fantasy Him asked. Think you can boss me around whenever you want? He punctuated his question with a hard, unexpected thrust, earning a gasp from your pretty mouth.

Turn over. He didn’t command it verbally, but when he took away his hand to smack the side of your ass, and sat back, you were aware of his unstated switch in position.

You laid on your back, legs spread for him. Skirt bunched around your hips, blouse fallen open, except for the one button remaining. He grasped his cock, and stroked himself through his boxers for you. His brows were drawn together in a gentle question, gaze locked onto yours. This was supposed to be about him, but he still asked, Is this okay? Is this what you want?

The source of his anger, his rage, his frustration–all the blame, burdens, and negativity he attributed to a single woman–opened her arms to him, and nodded.

He passed over your pussy to praise kisses to your stomach. Deft fingers working to undo the last button on your blouse, and explore upwards. Wet smacks of his sloppy gifts arched your back the higher he traveled, molding his large hands to your body. Brushing his rough fingers to the junction of your inner thigh and hip, and spreading you open so your pussy swallowed the fabric, wedging the red lace tight to your clit for later. Up, up, his kisses covered you, until he nosed at the underwire of your bra, and lifted it out of the way.

Fuck, Eddie.

You pushed his hair out of his face. The shorter curls fell from the low bun at his nape, and you tucked them behind his ear so you could watch his tongue lap and swirl at your nipple. Your fluttery moans were heaven, as were your tits being shoved in his mouth. You squirmed for him, clamored for him. You wanted him, needed him. Did you care that his hair was greasy? Did you care that dried salt crystals from sweat scratched your fingers when you cradled his jaw? Did you care about his smell from thirteen hours of being in a hot kitchen when you cupped him under the armpits, encouraging him with a buck of your hips to get back to business?

He supposed not, since it was his fantasy.

But just like reality, you were trying to boss him around.

Want me to fuck you, sweetheart?

You could hardly meet his gaze, eyes so heavy with lust you couldn’t keep them open long enough to beg.

He aligned himself, nudging the tip of his cock to your clit, and he savored the experience of watching the bliss wash over you. It took him a beat to realize, but he moaned in response to your moan. Watching you react from where he picked up his head from your chest, memorizing the fake vision of your face losing the usual harsh distaste for him. Your lips were better this way–lush, and making an effort to sound out his name as he drew his hips back–not sneering because you had the displeasure of asking him a question.

Still, he drove forward with haste. Cotton on lace. Layers of separation. Anything else was too intimate for how he wanted to fuck you, rough and fast, caring only about himself and not about your poor neglected clit, swollen and pleading for his soft tongue, only to get rough, unmeasured thrusts. Messy, and unintentional, and denying. Until you made them work for you.

You used the meat of his shoulders as leverage. Digging your fingers in, holding tight as you rocked with him and raised your legs, wrapping them around his ass. The squeeze of your thighs, and pressure built from your locked ankles tipped you into a better position, and now, his entire length was flush to your clit, not simply passing over the top of it.

All of him was touching you, touching you, touching you. Trapping his cock between your stomachs, damp with reignited sweat. Back to rutting against one another at a desperate pace, chasing the tension, the high. The snap of his hips. Your stuttered groans for more. The anger, the hatred. Festering under the surface, bubbling in your insolence. Present in his teeth grazing your throat, nipping at the pulse, kissing, sucking, licking, tasting.

You’re gonna make me cum. Even Fantasy You said it in a lower register, reaching where the molten resentment laid dormant.

He found the same gravelly animosity and warned you, “I’m too close, I’m too close.”

You cradled him tighter, burying your heads in each other’s embrace. Muscles quivering from effort, burning with each grind, tensing under curious hands finding new places to cling to, curves to admire. Until they stayed put.

Nails bit flesh. Strong fingers dug painfully at bone. Mouths fell open. Eyes closed. Writhing flesh on fabric, and flesh, you trembled under him.

I’m–mm, Eddie–I’m cumming–

His thrusts faltered, jerking into short bursts, and his gracious moans went high and tight in his throat, spilling out as he panted, “You make me feel so good, baby. Fucked you so good. I can’t–I’m cumming–fuck–”

Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–

–”Fuck,” he babbled aloud.

The climax took him to the dark apartment. The overwhelming shadows of sleeping in the lonely living room on the flat couch under an extra blanket not yet broken of its factory starch, scratchy on the skin. His muscles were still tensed into him curling in on himself, lifting his aching neck and shoulders off the pillow for a few more pumps of his hand sliding over his slick shaft, spreading the warmth oozing towards his hip, no doubt tangling the curly thatch of hair above the base. In lip-biting silence, he stroked himself, not daring to breathe after he knew he said something out loud from his imagination. He listened. Eyes straining to see the hallway.

His bangs stuck to the heavy sweat on his forehead.

His entire body was heated beyond belief.

Anticipation sat heavy on his tongue.

But as he came down from his peak, nothing happened. He stayed lonely. His heartbeat pounded against the guitar pick sticking to his chest, and that was it. Now his head was cleared of distractions, and he could sleep. The fantasy was a fantasy, and in this reality, he wouldn’t do this again. It was too weird to muddy the multitude of negative feelings he had for you with.. whatever this was.

A release, that’s what this was.

Kicking the blanket off, he swung his legs to the side to sit up, socked feet softened by the plush carpet. He pressed his palm over the sticky substance dripping downward, and soaked it up to the best of his ability. And as his cum hit the fresh air, and his inhale was cut short as he smelled his shirt, he thought about the shower he needed. And he thought about the dark patch on his boxers. And he thought about his clothes in the dresser in the bedroom.

Looking down, he inspected his gray pants, and groaned.

They were ruined.

So, so ruined and obvious as to what he was doing.

There was no way he could go into there and grab new clothes for a shower. The thought of facing you after this, and you seeing him in this pathetic state–and God, if you knew it was because of you, and because he couldn’t control himself–he’d rather die than admit you did this to him.

Fuck.

Couldn’t even go to his own room for some fucking clothes so he could shower after working all day.

Yeah, that confirmed it. He fucking hated you.

Hated you even more when he thought about you sleeping on his mattress, wrapped snug in his bedsheets wearing only a t-shirt with nothing else to cover you, and his dick twitched again for that red lace he knew was discarded in the laundry basket.

“Fuck my life.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #linecook!eddie #roommate!eddie #ex-con!eddie

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moonstruckme · 6 months

Note

Could I request poly marauders x reader who was always judged at home on what she ate when she was little, and now subconsciously hides her food from the marauders (like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it) I completely understand if you’re not comfortable doing this req!

Thanks honey!

cw: reader experiences shame around eating "bad" foods

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

“You know what I could use right now?” Sirius asks about halfway through the film, right on schedule. “A little treat.”

You smile, and James hops up gamely. “I’ll see what we have,” he says. Remus chuckles as you and Sirius both turn around on the couch, watching eagerly as James goes into the kitchen. “Ice cream?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know already.

“Obviously,” Sirius confirms.

James opens the freezer. “Alright, we have rocky road…half a pint of mint chip…rum raisin—Remus, you’re an old man.” Remus shrugs with a little smile. You think that he’s probably just glad no one else wants anything to do with his flavor of choice. “Also plain vanilla, and…” James pauses, moving things aside and reaching into the back of the freezer. “...chocolate cherry. This yours, angel?”

You’d forgotten you’d bought that. “Yeah,” you tell him, “but it’s open to everyone, of course.”

James sends you an odd look. “Why’d you have it back behind the frozen peas?”

“I didn’t know it was back there,” you say with a shrug. “I just put things there automatically, I guess.”

There’s a crinkling sound as James moves more bags of frozen vegetables aside. “There’s also a box of thin mints and an ice cream sandwich.”

“Ooh, can I have that?” Sirius asks, giving you a pleading look.

You smile at him. “Course you can. And Jamie, would you bring me the chocolate cherry, please?”

James still has a funny look on his face as he shuts the freezer, bringing you and Sirius your frozen treats. You turn around once he hands it to you, finding Remus watching you with a similar expression.

“What?” you ask, popping the lid off your ice cream. James squishes between you and Sirius, the four of you barely fitting on the couch.

Remus looks like he’s turning something over in his head. “Why was all that back behind the frozen vegetables, love?”

You shrug, happily sucking ice cream off your spoon. “I dunno. I just put it there, I guess.”

“It just…” Remus shrugs, and he’s wearing that tiny smile he does when he’s trying to make light of something he doesn’t consider light at all. You tilt your head bemusedly. “It makes it seem like you were trying to hide them or something.”

“She’s always hiding food,” Sirius says airily, munching on his dessert. “Like the oreos behind the soup cans.” You all look at him, and he stops chewing. “Was that not something we all knew?”

“I don’t…I didn’t think I was hiding anything.” You cross your arms, feeling defensive without really knowing why. There’s a whole number of things you don’t know about yourself, apparently.

“It’s alright, darling,” Remus says soothingly, placing a hand on your thigh, “just so long as you don’t think you have to hide anything from us.”

“I don’t,” you say, but you’re looking at your lap and your face feels hot. You don’t, right? Why would you?

“Sorry for calling you out like that, babe,” Sirius says through a mouthful. “I figured it was intentional, and you just didn’t want us to eat your food. Nobody here cares what you eat, y’know.”

“I know,” you promise him. “I guess…I just get a little embarrassed sometimes. Like, if I pig out, I don’t want everyone to know because suddenly a whole box of oreos is gone or whatever.”

“First of all, as if we would even notice,” James scoffs, giving you a friendly shake by the shoulder. “And second, it’s like Sirius said—we don’t care what you eat, sweetheart. Or how much of it. If you want to eat a box of oreos, that’s your business. That’s not even that many oreos.” He shakes his head like you’re silly. “No one’s going to judge you for it.”

It’s not surprising to hear him say that, and yet you can’t make yourself believe it’s true. Your boyfriends may not say anything about your eating habits—to your face or even to each other—but there’s no way that if they knew every detail, they wouldn’t think it was shameful.

“Also,” Remus says, arching an eyebrow, “I don’t love the phrase ‘pig out.’ There’s nothing wrong with having a treat—”

“Duh,” Sirius cuts in, toasting with his half-eaten ice cream sandwich.

“—and you shouldn’t feel like you have to hide things like that from us,” Remus finishes with a nod to appease Sirius. “If you don’t mind me asking, did you put your food in hiding places before you moved in with us?”

You gnaw on your lip as you think back to pints of ice cream stowed in the ice cube dispenser when you lived at home, eating before your parents got back from work and quickly putting it away again when you heard cars approaching. Back then, you’d hidden dishes in your room too, evidence of food you knew wouldn’t be approved of crusted onto plates and bowls you were keeping stashed there until you could wash them without anyone noticing.

“I guess so,” you say, and you can feel Remus’ eyes on yours but can’t bring yourself to meet them. You don’t know whether your shame is for your love of junk food or the odd habit of secrecy you’ve fallen into because of it. It might be both. “I used to do it when I lived at home, but I didn’t realize I was doing it here.”

“That’s alright, sweetheart,” James says hastily, panicking in the face of your solemn change in mood. “So long as you know we don’t care, it’s not like you hiding it is hurting anyone.”

“It’s hurting me,” Sirius protests. “We had ice cream sandwiches, and I had no idea!”

You laugh, and James visibly relaxes. “Alright, I’ll try to stop putting things way in the back so that you can find them. I’m not trying to hoard, I swear.”

“Keeping all the good stuff for yourself.” Sirius shakes his head at you. “That sweet face hides some pretty selfish tendencies, huh?”

“Actually, could I grab a few of your oreos?” Remus asks before you and Sirius can really get into it. “That sounds pretty good right now.”

“Yes!” you say. “Yes, please, have as many as you want. Sorry I kept them to myself, it wasn’t on purpose.”

James takes your jaw in a big hand, pressing a slobbery smooch to your cheek. “You’re forgiven, sweetpea.” He raises his eyebrows. “If I can have some of those thin mints.”

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cal-flakes · 2 months

Note

i love your writing sm 🤍

you know what i also love? when rafe calls reader angel 🤭

and i love YOU

‧₊🫧꒷꒦‧₊˚⋆

— rafe was never good at pet names, not first at least, and that was made clear on your first date, when you poured about him calling you dude. ‘m’not your dude’ — so from there he worked out what you responded most to, and the way you peered up at him, all cute and ready to do anything for him when he called you kid, or the way your lashes fluttered, plump lips threatening a smile when he called you doll, told him everything needed to know.

but angel? angel was a soft spot he only dared to touch when he really needed you to listen to him, the name shut down your brain yet got your cogs working all the same. you knew he was serious, and you needed to be serious.

and when his name popped up on your screen on a day you weren’t expecting to see him at all, you all but leaped across your bedroom, knowing he’d be irritable about having to call twice, your phone being on do not disturb as usual.

“rafey?” you beamed, as though he could see your pearly whites. “what have i told you about changin’ your settings kid? don’t like having to call more than once kid” he huffed, your eyebrows pulling together at the sound of his breathless voice. “i dunno how to change it rafey” you spoke softly, pressing the speaker button while you mindlessly brushed through your hair in the mirror.

“you just go to— whatever, i’ll do it f’you tomorrow. need you to come outside” he sighed, obviously perplexed about something— which really could be anything given his choice of lifestyle. your frown only deepened as you glanced towards the window, quickly pulling away the curtain to see his car outside. “outsi— m’coming”

skipping down the stairs, in nothing but one of his huge t-shirts and some slippers, you pulled the door open in a hurry. “i thought i wasn’t seeing you today— did i forget?” you almost whispered, eyes falling to the floor as you toyed with your hands, regret clouding your thoughts. rafe was quick to assure you however.

“y’didnt forget anythin’, alright kid? but i need you to do something f’me” rafe said, squishing your cheeks between both hands, pulling you to look at him. nodding softly, you looked at him through your lashes expectantly, but winced slightly when he only tightened his grip. “m’serious right now”

you watched, intrigued when he pulled his hands away, pulling his gun from his waistband and held it out to you; which you skeptically took in your significantly smaller, manicured hands. if your eyes were lasers, they would’ve burned a hole right through the handle of the heavy metal, utterly confused.

“look, angel, i need you to hide this for me okay? can you do that f’me?” he spoke, tone firm and unshaken while he pulled you closer again, your chin between his fingers. — as if you were some sort of soldier, your shoulders seemed to tense up under his gaze. there was a task at hand, and your rafey had asked you to help. you nodded, concern apparent on your face.

“tha’s a good girl, remember— you gotta hide it somewhere super secret, alright? put it somewhere that even i can’t find it” rafe stated, body relaxing finally as he saw the look on your face, seeing the complete determination in your face.

“m’gonna pick you up tomorrow, m’kay doll? take you for breakfast or somethin’” he hummed, pressing a mindless kiss to your forehead.

#ʚ♡ɞ ☁: elle’s dreams #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron #outerbanks rafe #obx #rafecameron #rafe cameron drabble #rafe blurb

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screampied · 3 months

Note

Fighting for dominance w yuki 🙏🏽

❤︎ ໋𓈒 trying to top yuki (you fail)

warnings. fem! reader, praise, doggy, dirty talk, she has a strap, petnames. mdni.

“oh. what’s this, baby?” yuki whispers, her eyes flicker towards your hovering body. her stare made you swallow. her legs remained spread, and she had a cunning grin tugging against his lips. she eyed your figure up and down before raising a eyebrow once you lightly shove her back. “you’re getting ahead of yourself. you’re gonna try to ride me?”

“yeah,” you utter, glancing down at her clear lengthy strap—you were already prepped, just barely getting over your last release from her eating you out.

as she tilted her head towards the side with a cheeky smile, you could still see some of your own slick running down her chin. “you don’t think i can?”

she giggles. “sweetheart, i never said that,” and she runs a hand across her thigh, watching you prepare to align yourself against the plump tip. “. . . although,” she breaks, teasingly staring off in the other direction, still manspread with her arms now stretched across the sides of the mattress. “i dunno, you couldn’t really take me if you tried. besides, you always end up tapping out.”

your eyes widen as you grew flustered before grumbling, “s-shut up.”

“aw. how ‘bout ya make me? otherwise i’ll just keep talking, princess.” she snickers, softly tracing her fingers down your waist just to get a reaction out of you.

she had the smuggest grin smeared on her face, watching you start to sink down on the strap-on.

“don’t hurt yourself now,” she giggles, eyeing you the entire time—you bit down on your lip, trying to suppress as much mind as you could, and she only simpers wider. “want me to hold your hand?”

“y-yuki,” you whined, putting a hand over her mouth. she playfully licks against your fingers, feeling you hover against the tip—you moan, your pussy gripping around the faux material before you jerked into her inwards. “stop talking.”

“not unless you make m—”

she gets cut off from the softness of your lips. you feel the smile still on his lips. she tastes sweet, candied even. yuki runs a hand down your hips as you gradually started to rut against her.

you ran your tongue against hers, tasting a tang of alcohol on her before you let off a whimper once she grips onto your ass.

she’s panting the more you deepened the kiss, she found it cute and you trying to show a bit more dominance—yet you were already failing. strands of her hair tickled against your skin the more your warm body heat made direct contact with hers.

the taste of her lip gloss had you hooked for more, the pure strawberry that resided against her lips. you moaned in your mouth before your hips started to pick up.

she briefly pulls away, a lustrous cobweb string of spit departing from your mouth and she stares at you.

“why can’t you look at me, princess?” she hums, grabbing ahold of your chin—you leer into her eyes before feeling butterflies swell in inside your tummy. she sneaks a wet kiss against your mouth as your hips rolled back and forth against her. “do i make you nervous?”

“no.” you immensely replied, feeling the continuously expand through your walls. it felt so good, you couldn’t help but moan all against her ear.

“no . . ?” she repeats, her tone was purely playful. yuki chuckles beside you before allowing her hands to roam all over your body—you shudder from the warmth of her touch before she whispers against your ear. “i’m a lot of things, sweetheart but i’m not an idiot,” and then she brings you close towards her chest.

you lean into her touch, thighs of yours rubbing against hers solely from your jagged body movements and she kisses near the inner part of your neck.

“you’re cute when you try to be all . . ” and she pauses for a moment, thinking of the word before tittering. “dominate.”

she studies your face, and you’re pouting. “pretty girl. don’t be so disappointed,” and she kisses you again — a quick kiss that never fails to leave you speechless everytime. “you want me to finish for you, hm?”

you sheepishly nod, stopping yourself from moving against the toy buried inside of you before she smiles, stroking your left cheek.

“at least you’re finally honest, baby,” she whispers, matching your pout before a small chortle leaves her lips. “c’mon, let’s do this the right way, yeah?”

she was so gentle—yet you found yourself pressed against the cushioned pillows, maintaining a swift arch and she towers over you even while being on her knees. yuki rubs a hand against your ass, caressing it as your cheek squished against the couch. “how do you want it, princess? tell me.”

“h-hard, yuki. jus’ make me cum.” you whined, not even caring anymore by this point.

“ooh,” she purrs, watching your back just go forward—your ass remained up and you were craving for her to inside again. you swallowed the nonexistent lump in your throat before feeling her gently prod the fat tip of the toy against your frontage. “say pretty please.”

you whine, wriggling your ass against the head part just for her to hurry up, “p-pretty please.”

“good girl,” she hums, her words went straight towards your cunt. you throbbed vigorously, aching for more of her touch. it wasn’t a want, it was a need. she’s slow as she starts to make her way inside again.

yuki lets off a soft groan, feeling you clamp down with such ease. once your thighs tapped against hers, she kissed her teeth before starting up a pace. “thaaaat’s it, baby. let me—let me take care of you.”

you moaned at the sweetness of her words, she was so deep—your eyes rolled back within seconds of her only delivering a few thrusts. she was tame yet grabbed both of your hips, slowly making sure you felt every inch.

“fuck,” she utters, hearing the sloppy squelches of your pussy voice all against her. yuki’s breathing started to become a bit raspy, quiet but very much raspy.

she always kept her eyes on your ass, she could never look away. the mere shape of it . . .

she ran her fingers across it while she’s fucking you dumb. such deep yet slow thorough strokes had you whining out her name loudly. she pulses from your words of pleasure everytime, but of course she never shows it.

this was all about you.

“you’re so pretty like this,” she hisses, bringing a few spanks to your ass to watch it jiggle—you whined, back arching a bit more for her and she playfully skims her hands down your spine to watch you jolt in pleasure. “how’s it feel, princess? lemme guess should i go harder?”

“p-please,” you squeak out, your head just mashed against the pillows.

she giggles, softly reaching down against your clit to create even more stimulation, earning out a surprised whimper from you.

“i know my girl well,” and then you feel her start to quicken up her hips. she’s reaching all the right spots, the angle was perfect. you felt the length of the toy continue to stretch out your pussy, leaving such a good taste in your mouth. “and to think you could have been topping me, hehe. we all start from somewhere, i guess.”

after a while you lost track of time, like most would.

you started to shake against her and she takes notice. yuki raises a brow before pressing all up against your ass, she’s fully inside and you moan at the warmth of her going against you. “is someone gonna cum? that why ya keep tryin’ to grab onto my leg, sweetheart—?”

the toy was so thick, your pussy made just as much noise as you did. cacophonies of mixed squelches that reverberated throughout the room. it felt so good . . . you clenched your jaw as you felt a hidden bundle of nerves make their way to stir you from the inside.

it’s a long pause as she’s still fucking you—you were a mess, strands of spit running down your mouth before she sings in a seductive tone, “well . . ?” she rubs a thumb against your bare ass whilst watching it jerk and move against her before she mutters. “if you want somethin’ from me, you gotta use your words. go on.”

“—wan’ cum, yuki,” you sniffled, your core was being filled with such inches. your ears rang and you could taste the sweetened orgasm on your tongue practically. “wanna cum, please. please let me c-cum . . ”

“good,” she hums cooingly. each praise she gifted you made you throb ten times more. you feel her grab your ass, scooting it directly towards her before she huffs out a single breath. “good girl. now give it to me, c’mon. don’t be shy. let go just for me, yeah.”

you moaned, feeling her pin your arms behind your back as she’s thrusting in and out of you.

instantly, you felt your legs intensely shake from the incoming rapture—you were simply dumb and close-mouthed. tongue tied even, your orgasm came crashing down on you and she watched as you’re just a mess, cute whines eliciting from your mouth.

your slick covered her faux base entirely, and she licks her lips while watching you ride it out—you panted, feeling her hips come to a stop before seconds later, she slowly pulls out. “aw. you’re so loud, baby. i told you.”

words of silence departed from your lips before she flips you over, pulling you into a deep, loving kiss. yuki’s rough hands gently danced against your skin as she pulled you close, only before you moan into her mouth once you feel her squeeze against your soaked pussy.

“all mine,” she whispers, breaking away to speak before she kisses against the side of your lip to stare you right in the eyes with such a dominant look. “who’s pretty pussy does this belong to, sweetheart?”

“yours, yuki.” you moaned, feeling her chest prick against yours—you felt so hot, in a good way. a smile goes on her lips before she nips at your neck in a playful manner.

“good girl, and it’ll stay that way,” she teases, soft eyes lingering at you for a few good seconds before she brushes a thumb over your wet lips. she leans in as if she’s about to kiss you again before she whispers against your lips. “unless you can ever prove me wrong, sweetheart.”

#★vegasbaby.#yuki tsukumo #yuki jjk #jujutsu kaisen yuki #yuki smut #tsukumo yuki #wlw smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustsu kaisen x reader #female reader #anime smut

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jujutsubaby · 27 days

Text

🍒 only fans boyfriend!toji headcanons 🍒

☆ pairing: toji fushiguro x afab!reader ☆ summary: blurb in which toji is your bf who helps you take your photos and videos for your onlyfans ☆ warnings: 18+ !! MINORS DNI !! dirty talking, nudes, sex work, penetrative sex, idk what else lol ☆ a/n: i'm having some serious toji brain rot send help

bf!toji who first thinks of the idea of you doing an only fans after taking his millionth video of him pounding into you. he won’t lie, initially it was because he was tight on some cash and didn’t wanna borrow from you again, but he was convinced you could be some insane OF celebrity. “i’m not sure about it, toji. i don’t want randos to see my face…” you surmise. “c’mon, we’ll cover your face, doll, if that’s what you’re worried about. i swear, we could be raking in thousands from this.” the prospect of coming across a large amount of money like that was enticing…

bf!toji who suggests that you start out simple. “maybe just a shot of you wearing somethin’ cute for the camera, i dunno.” after work one day, you both go to a lingerie store and pick out a sheer pink babydoll slip on, with silky bows on the shoulders. at home, you fish out an old mid 2000s digital camera from the garage and present it to toji. “you’re gonna be my sexy photographer, right?” you tease, as you change into the babydoll slip dress.

bf!toji who totally sucks at taking photos at first, but is a quick learner as he learns all your best angles and poses. turns out when money is on the line, he’s a hard worker after all. pictures of you sluttily sticking out your tongue, and the dress straps falling off your shoulders send toji into a frenzy, and you both take a quick sex break before going back to taking the photos.

bf!toji doesn’t know how to edit photos for shit so you use the minimal photoshop you know to spruce up your makeshift boudoir shoot. not to toot your own horn, but you kinda ate those pics up, and toji can’t get enough of it. at work, he’s partially distracted, fighting off enemies with half a brain as the other half is trying not to get turned on (one time, he did get turned on while fighting and it was awkward to say the least. the guy’s dead now so toji doesn’t really care).

bf!toji who creates the OF account for you because you’re feeling too shy to do so. the interface is confusing for both of you at first, but you guys get the hang of it pretty easily. you post the boudoir photoshoot and immediately close the laptop because you’re terrified of it flopping. “the damage of no one subscribing to me, toji, i would die,” you say earnestly, feeling nauseous. “if no one subscribes to you, i’ll fuck the memory out of you, don’t worry,” he says nonchalantly as he picks a random show on netflix to watch. he’s not bothered by this even one bit and you think it’s because he doesn’t care but really, it’s because he’s that confident.

bf!toji who wakes up before you the next morning for work and quickly checks to see if your photos gained any traction. “holy shit, doll, wake up!” he practically pushes you off the bed as he shakes you and you groggily wake up, irked at the intrusion of your slumber. “toji, i swear to god i’ll kill y-” “you just got 300 subscribers overnight, shut up.” he says, cutting you off and meeting your lips with a tender kiss. you quickly pull back, eyes widening at the news.

bf!toji who reassures you that you’re only gonna blow up more, and that’s why you need to post more photos and videos. it starts off small: simple photoshoots and more slutty lingerie. you arch your back as toji gets an ass shot with your camera. he slaps it hard, leaving a red handprint mark and snaps a couple more photos.

bf!toji who encourages you to start doing videos after reaching over 1k subscribers. you do a little strip tease/dance while toji films, but the first time you do it, toji folds almost immediately and has you pinned under him. you try again the next day, and graduate to longer more explicit videos – fingering yourself, using toys, and live streaming. toji buys you a couple cute masquerade masks to use, too.

bf!toji who loves it when you get donations during streams. he ends up creating an amazon wishlist for you of things you guys could really use around the house. he can’t remember the last time he bought you lingerie anymore because your donations would usually cover that cost. that being said, he always chooses lingerie for you. he knows exactly what other horny guys are looking for on girls. “doll, i know crotchless panties are awful but i know the male gaze – they don’t give a fuck. look, okay, i’ll buy you that one piece too, don’t give me that look.” he says to you as you throw in a bunch of lingerie of your liking in the cart.

bf!toji who finally decides to join you in front of the camera, giving your fans what they wanted. the way he sees it, he fucks you senseless for free every night anyway, might as well get paid for it. toji makes a show to tear your nice lingerie off you and leaves visible marks in your skin from his touch as he pounds into you or bites your neck.

bf!toji who joins you on your livestreams, and they usually end with you bent over a desk, skirt hiked up, and his arousal deep inside you. “you guys think she deserves to cum?” he asks the chat, feeling you clench against him. he knows you're close, and it turns you on knowing it’s out of your control on whether or not you get to feel a release. your fans love your pornographic and lewd moans, but with toji fucking you, you don’t even have to act for them to come out of your mouth naturally. speaking of your mouth, toji especially loves when you have a masquerade mask on while he makes your little throat gag. you love it when he tests your gag reflex on camera in front of an audience, and everyone can tell when they see you soaked through your panties.

bf!toji who surprises you by taking you on a lavish vacation to bora bora when you reach over 10k subscribers. “we built this shit together,” he says, talking about your OF fame and money. you can’t remember the last time you guys worried about paying rent, and he wanted to do something special for his slutty little doll. he got one of those seaside huts surrounded by a private deck. your breath is taken away by the surprise, and toji wastes no time getting all your clothes off and getting you into the water. the makeout session turns into him fingering you underwater as he pushes your bikini to the side. after coming all over his fingers, you give him a handjob under the water, and toji has to quickly climb out of the pool so he doesn’t cum inside it and has to request a clean up on the very first day.

bf!toji who fucks you more times than you can count in the water, on the bed, in the infinity pool, that one time super discretely under the blanket in the beach. you bring up the idea of filming a little here and there on vacation. “what? the grind never stops,” you say jokingly as you set up the camera on the tripod in front of the bed. he surprises you by using some silk ribbons to tie your hands back while he licks and kisses every inch of your body, focusing especially on your sensitive nipples erect for the camera. he blindfolds you, hands still tied back while he eats you out. the electrifying sensations are amplified in the darkness of the blindfold, and you make an absolute mess on the sheets and his mouth.

bf!toji who uses the last night of your trip there to convince you to film one more video, this time on the private infinity pool outside your hut. you come out with a black strappy bikini with a sheer babydoll cover up. “don’t take off your clothes just yet, doll. just come in the water.” he commands, and you slowly get into the water. his silhouette looks ethereal in the golden hour of the sunset as you approach him. he cradles your jaw and kisses you deeply and passionately.

bf!toji pulls away from you and guides you to the edge of the pool that stares out to the pink sunset and the turquoise ocean. “what? gonna fuck me while looking at the sunset like a stupid romantic?” you jeer, poking his chest. he chuckles nervously. “eventually…”

bf!toji who pulls a small black box from behind him and opens it to reveal a big shiny diamond ring. tears start freely falling down your cheeks and you don’t even hear what toji is saying (you feel a little bad – he must’ve prepped this speech for a while but you were far too emotional to process anything). all you do is nod your head vigorously as he gently puts the ring on finger. a perfect fit. and it glistens just perfectly in the dimming sun.

fiance!toji who then fucks you into the sunset like a stupid romantic.

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random-thot-generator · 10 months

Text

Try a Little Tenderness

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem Reader

Summary: Simon has just returned home in the middle of the night from a mission in less than stellar condition. Understanding that he was in desperate need of some TLC, you put aside the ‘frenemy’ dynamic the two of you usually operate within to take care of him, instead. Your gentle ministrations elicit a reaction that neither of you expect, but perhaps have been yearning for all along.

Warnings: Language, explicit sexual content, touching of naughty bits - Simon gets a helping hand in the bath, fluff and feelings, no Y/N

(A/N: This is a thot connected to an idea I had for a series. Still not sure about the series, but what ev.

This is just me exploring the intimate relationship between the characters. It is minor smut compared to what I usually write, meant to be a vulnerable moment for Simon, and for reader as well. I dunno, I feel like a certain amount of trust needs to be established before Simon allows himself to be with someone in an intimate way.

For a little backstory, Reader is Simon’s housekeeper/roommate/frenemy. It’s been platonic up to this point, but there have been some charged moments leading up to this. This is the turning point in the relationship, the first time Simon allows himself to really indulge in reader’s attention and care. Reader and Simon have been living together for about a year by this point but have known each other for almost two. Simon’s pet name for reader is ‘Doll’; reader’s pet name for Simon is ‘Grumpy’.)

Word Count: 2777

It was almost midnight by the time Simon shuffled through his front door. He was dead on his feet, still wearing the same clothes he put on three days ago, covered in filth and stinking to high hell. He would normally have stayed on base, cleaned up, ate and retired to his quarters to rest, but for some reason, he’d texted you mid-flight to tell you he was on his way back. He hadn’t been expecting an immediate answer, but he got one.

[DOLL]: What’s ur ETA? I’ll wait up 4 u. Have u eaten?

Simon had hovered over his phone, glancing about the plane, not sure how to respond. He supposed he didn’t have to stay on base. He’d just never had a reason to return home before. He knew he should tell you not to wait up, to go to bed, that he would see you tomorrow, but instead he found himself tapping out a different message.

[GRUMPY]: Landing in twenty. Be home approx 2hrs.

[DOLL]: I’ll be waiting. C u soon.

He re-read the message several times. ‘I’ll be waiting.’ This was new for him, having someone to go home to, having someone there expecting him, waiting up to see him. Sure, he had come home to you before, but not like this. This was... premeditated.

As he closed the door behind him and locked it, he heard your feet padding through the sitting room and turned. He couldn’t help the smile that spread under the balaclava when he saw you. You were dressed in one of his old T-shirts, a pair of flannel sleep shorts peeking out beneath the hem, and a pair of those ugly fuzzy socks on your feet. Your hair was loose and hanging down your back, not quite dry yet from an earlier shower, and your face was free of makeup. He liked seeing you like this better than any other way.

You were looking at him in that direct way that always got to him, assessing him, checking him over. He waited for one of your customary snarky greetings, but instead your brows furrowed.

“You look exhausted, Si. C’mere. Sit down,” you instructed, pointing at the entryway bench. Simon didn’t even hesitate, just did as he was told. He watched you kneel before him and start unlacing his boots.

“Ya don’t got t’do that, Doll. I can―“

“Si, hush,” you murmured, your voice soft and gentle. “I got this, okay? You’re home. Relax.”

He didn’t have it in him to argue, so let you have your way. You removed his boots and stuck them under the bench by his trainers, then stood and held your hand out. “C’mon. You need a bath.”

He let you lead him up the stairs, but instead of taking him to his ensuite bathroom, you led him down the hallway to the bathroom that you used. You motioned for him to sit down on the toilet while you stoppered the tub and turned on the taps. He watched with curiosity as you opened the cabinet below the sink, taking out a glass jar filled with some sort of pinkish granules, sprinkling a generous portion of it into the filling tub.

“Wha’s that?”

“Epsom salts with lavender and eucalyptus. It’ll help ease your sore muscles,” you told him, replacing the jar in the cabinet. You turned to look him over again. “Let’s get you out of those dirty clothes. I’ll get you some clean ones once you’re in the bath. C’mon. Arms up.”

Simon thought about objecting. He was a grown man, he could undress himself, but as soon as he felt your hands on him, all complaints went right out the window. He held his arms out so you could pull the tail of his shirt out of the waistband of his jeans, shivering when he felt your fingers graze his lats as you peeled it up and over his head.

“I smell like shite,” he grumbled, embarrassed for you to be this close to him when he was in such a disgusting state.

You huffed, the sound low and amused. “You smell like a soldier who just got back from deployment. Believe me, I’ve smelled worse.” You motioned for him to stand again. Once he regained his feet, your hands went to his waist, undoing the belt and pulling it free, then you undid the button and fly of his jeans. You pushed them down until they bunched around his knees, then instructed him to lean on you while you tugged them off his legs.

And he just... let you. He had not had anyone care for him like this since his last stint in the medical bay, and that had been a male nurse with hands rougher than his own. He’d not had a woman care for him like this since he was a small boy, when his mother would get him ready for his bath. He felt his chest constrict, almost told you to stop, but your hand on the back of his calf silenced him.

“Foot up,” you said, letting him lean on you again as you stripped off first one sock and then the other. Once you straightened, you placed a hand at the small of his back and gave him a gentle push towards the tub. “I’ll go get you some clean clothes while you get in,” you said, then stooped to gather up his dirty things. “Be back in a minute.”

You left him staring after you, disappearing down the hallway. He turned back to the tub, eyeing the hot water lapping at the sides. Aromatic steam rose from its surface, too tempting to ignore. Pushing his underwear off his hips, he let them drop on the floor and stepped out of them, then climbed into the tub.

He groaned long and low as the hot water enveloped him, certain he had never felt anything better in his whole life. Closing his eyes, he dropped his head back on the edge, only then realizing that he still had on his balaclava. He hesitated for a moment, then reached up and pulled it off as well, dropping the dirty hood on top of his underwear. Fuck it. You’d seen his face before and hadn’t made a big deal out of it, didn’t even comment on it, really, just took it in stride like you did everything else.

He cracked an eye open when you re-entered the room, watching as you placed his clean clothes on the counter next to the sink. You opened another cabinet and removed some towels and a washcloth, glanced over at him, then opened a drawer and took out what looked like a pack of wipes and a squat, plastic jar with a pink lid. You brought it all to the tub with you and knelt by the side, near his head. You held up the pack of wipes and pointed at the black paint around his eyes.

“Figured these would help take that gunk off. I’ve got some cold cream, too. Can I...”

You wanted to touch his face. His mouth dropped open to say no, but then he closed it and swallowed. You were looking right at him, a normal expression on your face, not flinching away or averting your eyes. If it didn’t bother you, then he would allow it. For now. He gave a slow nod of assent.

You opened the pack of wipes and set them beside you, then opened the cold cream. “Lean your head back and close your eyes for me.”

Simon did as he was told, though his brain was sounding a klaxon alarm in his head. He was exposing his throat to someone, was closing his eyes and leaving himself vulnerable to your mercy. Did you see how tense he was? Could you see the muscles spasming as he fought not to move, to push you away, to fend you off like an enemy? Did you understand what this was doing to him right now?

Apparently, you did, at least to some extent.

“Okay, Si. I’m going to put this cream around your eyes. It will feel cold, so don’t freak out. If you need to stop, just say the word. Alright?”

“Yeah,” he croaked out, waiting, steeling himself for the contact.

The first touch had him flinching, but he forced himself to remain still as you spread the cream around his eyes, working it in with your fingers in small circular motions. When you finished, you set the jar down and picked up the wipes. “I’m gonna clean all this off with these wipes. They’ll feel cold, too.”

This time, he only nodded, more relaxed now. Your touch had been soothing once he’d gotten used to it. It was... nice. He didn’t even twitch an eyelash when he felt the cool pressure of your fingers against his jaw, letting you tilt his head towards you. Your other hand began wiping gently at his face with one of the wipes. They smelled slightly floral, similar to the cold cream; he liked it.

It took several minutes to clean his face, neither of you saying anything. You were patient and methodical, cleaning away all the paint until none of it remained.

“Okay. Done with that,” you murmured, fingers moving from his face to his hair. “I’m going to wash your hair next, okay?”

“Hm,” he hummed in consent, not even bothering to open his eyes.

You wet his hair and then poured shampoo into your palm, working your hands together before placing them on his head. As your fingers curled and began to work his hair into a lather, Simon couldn’t help the low groan that rumbled out. It felt like heaven, the way your fingers massaged his scalp and neck. He could have whined when you stopped, but his breath hitched when he felt your fingertips under his chin, tilting his head back.

“Just need to rinse your hair, Grumpy. Keep your eyes closed.”

Again, he did as you instructed, not offering so much as a grunt of complaint when you rinsed his hair and then used the washcloth to dry his face. You raked your fingers through his hair, noting how choppy and uneven it was. Maybe he’d let you cut it some time, but for now, you would stick to what you knew he would allow.

“How ‘bout I wash your back for you and then I’ll go downstairs and make you something to eat while you finish your bath?”

He blinked his eyes open and stared at you. The steam and trapped heat from the bath were making you sweat, a light sheen making your skin gleam in the warm light. He had the sudden urge to run his thumb up your throat, collect the moisture beading there and taste it. He felt his cock give a twitch of interest below the water and brought his bent knees closer together. Grasping the edges of the tub, he pulled himself in to a sitting position, back bowed towards you.

Pleased to see him so cooperative, you dunked the washcloth in the water and grabbed your body wash, squirting out a couple of dollops. Working the cloth in your hands until you had a good lather, you rested one hand on his shoulder and used the other to slowly scrub the cloth over his back in large circles. You could feel the tension easing out of his shoulders, watched his head tip forward until he finally crossed his forearms on his knees and rested his forehead against them.

When you were done with his back, you didn’t stop, moving up to his shoulders and then down his arm. He leaned back, studying the way you washed each finger, working the cloth between them. You glanced up at him. “Other arm?”

He twisted around and held his arm out to you, resting his wrist on the edge of the tub. You washed it with as much care as you had the other, leaning over the tub to reach his underarm. When you went to slide the cloth away, he caught your wrist and pulled it to the center of his chest. He then closed his eyes and leaned back, letting his head rest against the edge again.

Slow circles worked the lathered cloth over his broad chest and collarbones, and you smiled when he tipped his chin up to let you wash his neck. A soft breath hissed between his lips as your hand dipped below the water’s surface to wash his sides and stomach, his brows ticking together when you brought the cloth back up. He shifted, his knees going wide to lean against the sides of the tub.

You were beginning to feel heat simmering in your lower belly that sent a blush creeping up your neck. “Do, uh... I can wash your legs next. If you like.”

He caught your hand in his, eyes still closed, and pushed it beneath the water again. “Wash here,” he replied, his voice like gravel in his throat.

You held your breath as he guided your hand down to his cock, let him wrap your fingers around its swollen girth and hold them there. His chest was rising and falling, chin tipping forward to rest on it when he felt you grip him tighter. Your lips parted as you gave him a tentative stroke, your breath puffing out in little pants as you watched him let out a shuddering breath, his eyes rolling open to reveal a lust-dazed expression before sliding closed again.

Your hand slid up and down his shaft in slow, even strokes, working him gradually, wanting him to enjoy what you were doing to him. His pleasure incited your own, and you could feel your panties grow damp with your arousal as you watched him slowly fall apart. He was panting now, head lolling back once more, hooded, hazy eyes staring up at the ceiling, his knuckles going white as they gripped the edge of the tub.

Your thighs squeezed together when a wrecked moan tore from his lips as you worked at him beneath the cloudy water, wishing it was clear enough for you to see him as well as feel him. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, the feel of his hot length pulsing in your hand almost too much to bear.

“Ah, fuck...” he huffed out, his back beginning to curl forward. He lifted his eyes to yours, mouth open and panting, a look of near desperation on his face. His hand came up to grip the nape of your neck, drawing you close until his forehead rested against yours, holding your gaze. His nose brushed against yours in an intimate caress, lips almost touching, the two of you sharing the same air. “Don’t stop,” he husked out.

The speed of your strokes increased, your hand slipping up to focus on the head, making his knees draw up as he tensed. You could feel him swelling in your hand, growing bigger and harder as he neared his release. His eyes grew wide, mouth falling open as his jaw went slack.

“It’s okay, Simon,” you whispered to him, “I got you,” and that was all the prompting he needed.

His grip turned into a vice on the nape of your neck as he erupted beneath the surface of the water, and he growled against your mouth, teeth gritting into a snarl as he pulsed in your hand. You didn’t stop stroking him until his eyes closed and grip loosened on your neck, his breaths puffing out in exerted gasps over your lips.

You let him rest against you, not bothering to move or say anything, wanting him to have this quiet moment, to just relax in the knowledge that he was home and safe, that you were here for him. You closed your eyes and let yourself enjoy the moment as well, relishing the quiet, the peace.

Simon’s eyes flickered open, not sure what to expect, only to find your eyes closed, lashes shadowing your cheeks, a gentle smile on your face. You looked so calm, so at peace. You looked... content.

You blinked your eyes open, startled, when you felt the hesitant press of his lips against yours, but you didn’t shy away, instead letting him feel you smile against his lips before you tenderly kissed him back.

#simon ghost riley x fem reader #cod ghost x fem reader #simon riley x fem reader #ghost x fem reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod ghost smut #cod fanfic #cod mw2 smut #cod mw2 fanfic #soft smut

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ivysoul · 11 months

Text

♱ PROTECTOR. — simon "ghost" riley

when a random guy tries to hit on you at the bar, you’re thankful simon was there to help you.

warnings. — drunk creepo at the bar, harassment, price and gaz are oblivious but don’t get mad at them!, reader is a medic at the company but it wasn’t really mentioned.

notes. — based off of this request! thank you, lovely :) i’m not too confident in this one but whatever.

photo creds. — yumethefrostypanda.

This wasn’t usually your crowd; bar’s weren’t somewhere you spent your time at. You only really went when there was a successful mission. And it just so happened that the boys had done just that, once again. So of course, when they invited you to a bar that a few of them were well acquainted with, you couldn’t possibly say no.

That’s how you found yourself here—playing pool with Gaz and Price as the others chatted away somewhere nearby.

“Ha! I told you, Price: never fuck with me and pool. I’ll smoke you every time,” you boasted, making a dramatic bowing motion in Price’s direction.

Price rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth tugging up into an amused smirk as he brought his cue stick up on the pool table. “Okay, okay. Don’t get cocky, now.”

You stayed quiet as you watched Price line up the cue stick, silently praying on his downfall. Gaz walked up beside Price, sticking his head in his line of sight, smirking. “I dunno, Captain. Think that’s a miss, right there.”

You giggled as you watched Price straighten his back a bit before shoving Gaz to the side. “Sick of people doubting my skills,” he groaned playfully. “See who’s gonna be laughing after this.”

Just before Price takes the shot, a man walks up beside you. He stood awfully close to you, brushing his shoulder flush against yours and then putting a hand on your lower back. You look up at him, noticing the hazy look in his eyes as his gaze bore down on you. He was obviously drunk, and that added with the strange proximity made you want to move away from him, fast. Though you found yourself unable to look away from him, much less move. It was like your body was stuck. And not willingly.

As soon as the white ball collided with one of the other pool balls, you snapped out of whatever moment you were stuck in. You looked at Gaz and Price, who were too busy having a squabble about Price not making the shot to notice this man who walked up to you like he knew you.

Moving your hand to reach behind your back, you pried the man’s hand off of you, stepping back a significant amount to create distance between you two.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you spat, immediately getting a feeling of fear when his disturbing smile stayed plastered on his face. He took a step towards you and you took one more back. But when your back hit a chair, you stopped moving. “Fuck off, dude.”

He fake pouted at you. “Oh, come on… I’m much more interesting than some game of pool.”

You looked around the room to hopefully find someone who would help you. Your brain wasn’t really all there in the moment to just yell at him, instead, you were searching for someone. Someone who you didn’t even realize you were looking for specifically, until your eyes landed on him walking out of the bathrooms hallway.

“Ghost!” Within a second, Ghost’s eyes were on yours. And then on the man. You let out a relieved breath when he started making his way over to you, walking so fast you felt out of breath just watching him.

He pushed his way between you and the man and shoved him back roughly. “You okay?” he asked you. All you could do was nod.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, man? We were havin’ a conversation!”

All you saw was Ghost’s fist collide with the man’s face before he was on the ground. The sharp sound of bone cracking and a loud thud as he hit the ground alerted everyone nearby, including Price, Gaz, and the others. Their eyes widened as they took in the scene, the surrounding area going far too quiet, save for the music still playing over the speakers.

It seemed like Ghost took notice of the staring eyes just as you did, as he turned and grabbed your arm to move you in front of him. He placed his hand on the small of your back, but this time you didn’t move it. He guided you two out of the bar and into the cool, night air.

“Ghost—”

“—The hell was that?” Soap asked, rushing out of the bar after you two barely a few seconds later. The others came out after him, the same look of confusion written on their faces.

Ghost looked at you, noticing the look you were giving him that pleaded for him not to say anything. He sighed, but complied. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it,” he said, turning to the others.

“Didn’t look like nothing,” Alejandro poked.

“It was nothing.”

He furrowed his brows, obviously knowing something was wrong. They all knew something was wrong, but they didn’t push any further when Ghost thankfully shut them down.

“I’m gonna take her home,” you nodded along to what Ghost said. You weren’t sure why, honestly. But you trusted him. “I was gonna call it a night for myself anyway.”

With quick goodbyes and worried glances, you and Ghost left the bar. You made it a point to let them know that bar was now completely off limits for mission celebrations when you were in a cleaner headspace.

#*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 📁 ꒰ simon ghost riley ! ⊹˚. ♡ ꒱#this is kinda bad ??#look away if it is oml #i’m a smut writer ok this isn’t my strong suit #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghost x reader #cod #cod mw2 #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #saintlulls

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svnarin · 4 months

Note

- so like maybe like a fic/drabble/whatever with suna when reader and him get in a fight and reader leaves to like cool down or sum- and reader gets hurt bad :3

idk man it’s cringy and wattpad coded but I like that shit 😞 feel free to decline! ((If rq is 2 weird maybe do a vulnerable moments with him))

Ty for reading ! (I dunno how to reqs I’m sorry💀)

୨୧⋆ ˚ — selfish

warnings!! angst, suna being a selfish asshole, open-ended 'cause it still ended in an unresolved argument, not proofread 😞

note! HI ANON!! this is actually my very first time taking such a request. tbh with you, i've never done that much angst and this is actually the heaviest angst i've done by far, but i hope this can satisfy your wants 😭🙏

FEEDBACKS ARE HIGHLY APPRECIATED!

“where are you? i can’t find you in the stadium.”

you don’t want to reply to his message. heck, you don’t even want to open the notification at all.

it’s been three hours since the match ended and it’s been an hour since you left the stadium, and he just realized that you left just now? ridiculous.

you stared blankly at the notification until he sent you another one just three minutes later.

“y/n where are you?” suna sent you another one. “why aren’t you reading my messages?”

you were literally about to space out from staring blankly at his messages when your phone suddenly vibrated. he’s calling you, snapping you back into reality.

you sighed before declining his call.

“at home,” you replied to his message. “i went home early then i dozed off, sorry,” you added.

he immediately replied with, “ok ig i’ll go home now.”

you’re aware that his reply was dry, but like, that’s all? some ok ig is all he can reply? but at this point, you couldn’t even care less anymore.

around 45 minutes later, you were lounging on the sofa when you suddenly heard the entrance to your and suna’s shared penthouse open. you already know it’s suna. he’s the only other one who knows the passcode to the penthouse after all.

“why did you leave so early? did you even finish watching the whole match at all?” that’s the first thing he told you when he went to the lounging area. so is that really how he’ll greet you? it made you laugh dryly.

“not even a hello?”

“i asked you first.” he’s clearly pissed off.

“why are you mad?” you stood up from the sofa, walking towards him. “i was there and i watched your whole match. i know you lost the match, but you don’t have to put your anger on me.”

“so why did you leave after the match was over?”

“what do you mean? i literally stayed there for two more hours before i left.” it’s true. you stayed for two more hours and waited for him. and for the whole two hours, you wanted to go and still congratulate him for his performance, but you couldn’t. why? because he got swarmed by his fans, begging to take pictures with him and getting his autograph.

you tried squeezing yourself in. you loudly called for his name through the crowd, but all you saw was him taking a glance at you before returning his focus to taking pictures and signing autographs.

“you literally looked at me when i called your name after the match, you just didn’t bother walking towards me.”

“wait, yeah, i did see you earlier. sorry.” suna doesn’t sound sorry at all. “still, you could’ve waited for me.”

“rin, i tried waiting for you. i tried calling for your attention because i still wanted to congratulate you even if you lost, you just didn’t bother because you were too busy taking pictures and signing autographs.”

“me just only taking glances at you and not walking towards you as i was clearly,” he emphasized. “taking pictures and signing autographs is already an act of not bothering?”

“so their attention matters more than mine?”

“i did not say that, y/n. don’t make things complicated.” you can feel the tone of his voice getting sharper and sharper.

“then why are you making it sound like their attention matters more than mine? you don’t have to take pictures with everyone. you don’t have to sign every autograph they request. you always do this but you literally don’t have to do everything they want. they’re just your fans, they come and go.”

“wait, are you fucking jealous over the attention i gave them? when we literally live under the same roof?” suna laughed dryly, his words making your blood boil.

“of course i’m jealous!” you snapped, shouting at him. “we live under the same roof but you’re out almost 24/7!”

“don’t you get it?! i’m a volleyball player, so what do you expect?!” suna snapped back. “are you even aware that you’re being selfish right now?”

“wait, selfish? me?” you scoffed. “can you hear yourself right now, suna?” you pointed at your ear. “so i’m the selfish one when all i did was sacrifice everything just so that i could choose you?” you pointed to his chest. “when i literally left my family, closest friends, and career on a different prefecture just so that i could live with you here in tokyo to support you on your own career? when i literally had to skip work multiple times just so that i could attend all your matches? when all i wanted in return was the unconditional love that you promised me when we were in high school?”

the suna that you’re facing right now isn’t the suna that you knew back in high school. he changed. he changed after being a part of the volleyball national team. but despite the change, you stayed.

choosing him over everything caused you some damage. you waited and are still waiting until those damages healed. you know it hurts, waiting for the damage to heal for so long, but you also think that if you manage to get it healed, you can consider it as good damage. so, if you will leave him midway through healing, then all the damage will be just damage. but now you know better than this. you need to stop choosing him, you need to choose you.

all the things that you’ve been wanting to tell him just spilled as if a dam burst broken. you can feel tears now streaming down your face. “so suna, let me ask you again, am i the one who’s being selfish?”

that was the last thing you told him before picking up your purse and then walking towards the penthouse to leave.

suna just stood on his spot, silent the whole time. realization immediately kicked in when he heard the entrance to the penthouse shut close. he couldn’t move even though he wanted to. he wanted to chase after you, kneel after you, and beg for your forgiveness but he couldn’t move. he knows he fucked up big time. he knows he’s been fucking up for years.

𝐒𝐕𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 | repost, modification, and translation of my works on any platforms are strictly prohibited.

#⋆.˚ 𝐒𝐕𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍 : 𝐇𝐐 #suna x reader #suna rintarou x reader #suna angst #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyu angst #hq angst #suna rintaro x reader

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andersonsgirl · 9 months

Text

better boyfriend !

abby anderson × fem! reader

a/n: hello, hello, yes, yes… another late night inspiration. hope this isn’t tmi, but i was having a little fun in bed by myself iykyk and once i finished, i was laying there and boom. this idea hit me like a train🚂

warnings: cheating, r!has a shitty ex boyfriend, dirty talk, use of strap, r! receiving, fingering, r!receiving, praising,

masterlist

“fuck, look at you. taking all this. i bet your little boyfriend couldn’t make you feel this good, mhm?” abby chittered out, the feeling of her strap slowing sinking into your desperate cunt had her turned on beyond belief.

you lay sprawled out on your bed, your cute little stuffed animals long gone on the floor, your fluffy flower comforter pushed down to the edge of your bed— you and abby taking up the main space of the matress, both raw on the sheets.

you couldn’t even respond to her words, your throat dryer than a desert, eyes watering from the pleasure.

she grabbed your hips, quickly flipping you over to your stomach, causing a moan to escape you, landing in your soft pillow.

“I’ll take that as a yes..” she said deeply, her voice dropping. You let out a soft squeak when she began to move her hips— her big, purple strap slowly pumping in and out of you.

you grabbed the sheets, soft hums of pleasure escaping you, but that wasn’t enough for abby.

she suddenly jerked her hips up, dick clashing down on the certain spot inside you that you hadn’t known you had.

You gasped, the sudden feeling you’ve never experienced overflowing inside you.

“I want you to be loud, baby. as loud as you can be. your stupid little boyfriend isn’t here; remember? it’s js’ me an’ you, ‘kay?” she huffed out, her hands gripping your hips in a bruising way.

“i.. i dunno, abs.. i..” you tried to reply, the pleasure causing your voice to dissipate.

“if you aren’t louder, i won’t fuck you.”

her hips jerked up again, and you obeyed; a loud, gargled moan escaping your pretty little lips. The sound abby wanted to hear oh, so badly. she continues to jerk her hips up, but also down— pumping in and out of you at a different angle every few fucks.

The moans coming from your mouth were enough to make her cum just from the sound— and the strap rubbing against her needy clit.

“ahh— abby… i…” you’re words barkey made her ears, so low due to be covered by your pillow. “yes, baby?” she cooed, continuing to thrust herself in and out of you; her hands still grabbing your waist for stability.

she could tell that by your shaking body, the way your face was settled and the way your cunt was desperate squeezing abby’s dick i’m further, you were gonna cum.

but, not on her watch. She sped up her pace, keeping an eye on you to make sure your orgasm doesn’t hit— not yet, anyways. you haven’t had the best part. stop and go.

abby’s favorite thing was to lead you to the tip of an orgasm with her strap, than stop and fuck your cunt with her tongue. she loved it, and, for first times with you, she was gonna do it.

Your breaths were shaking— and right as you were about to flow over— any halted her movements, quickly causing your pleasure disappear.

you gasped, frowning like a child. “abby? w-wha—”

“shh.. it’s okay, pretty girl. don’t worry, i got you.” she shushed, flipped you over to your back, smiling at the displeasure upon your face.

“abby.. something was happening and you stopped.. did i do something wrong?”

“no, of course not. i just… wanted to try something.” she murmured, slowly pulling out the strap, causing a moan to leave your mouth.

she kept it around her waist, her body moving down to where her head is between hour shaky thighs. “abby? what are you doing?”

you’d told abby your boyfriend had never eaten you out, and seeing as how he was your first boyfriend, she wanted to take the privilege he tossed away.

“j’ trust me, okay?”

you nodded, your eyes watching her closely. her head ducked— and something warm touched your puffy clit. you gasp, not sure what to think. you couldn’t exactly.. see what she was doing down there, but the feeling of her, what you assumed to be, tongue, was enough for you to not care.

you gasped again as she licked once more, quickly shutting your eyes and allowing the gasps and whines to leave you.

abby loves the sounds, she knew you’d like this. She started off with kitten licks, trying to adjust to your comfort— than, she moved her hand up and began to tease your hole, poking the tip of her finger in and out of it. Every light motion of her finger had your cunt trying to suck her in, desperate trying to get her to touch that spot inside you. so she did.

abby began to lightly suck on your clit, her fingers effortlessly slipping into your soaking cunt. Your moans were loud, louder than when she was fucking you from behind.

her nose brushed your clit when she dragged her tongue through your folds, fingers beginning to fuck you deeply.

“angh— abby, oh.. oh my god.. i..” you couldn’t even get out a sentence; the feelings of her down there enough to make you cum a thousand times.

her tongue rolling itself on your sensitive nub once more made the familiar full feeling come back again, as if you were going to pee. and that’s what it felt like.

your boyfriend never made you cum, and you never had the guts to touch yourself. so all this was new.

“ahh.. abby, i.. i..”

“mhm?”

her persistent in and out of your cunt with her fingers and the sucking of your clit with her tongue made you unsure of everything.

“abby.. i.. im gonna..”

“you gonna cum?”

“abs.. i feel like i’m gonna pee..” you moaned out, tears bringing at the edges of your pretty eyes. abby stifled a laugh, “go ahead, baby.”

your orgasm over came you, and you swore you were in a different dimension, silence followed for a moment— only the sounds of abby eating your cunt the noise in the room before a loud, high pitched moan left you.

“oh.. oh my gosh.. ab-abby i.. holy..” you threw your head back, hands coming to cover yours eyes.

“yeah.. that’s it, pretty girl. i bet your boyfriend couldn’t make you do that, mhm? bet he couldn’t fuck you as good as i did.” she cursed, slipping her hands from your cunt, moving up to travel soft kisses from your pussy to your abdomen and neck.

you were huffing, breaths heavy and face red, eyes dazed. she smiled at you, grabbing your hip with her cum coated fingers.

“right?”

“yeah.. yes, my boyfriend could never do that.”

“good.” she pecked your cheek, hand traveling up to cup your perked nipple, quickly rolling the nub between her fingers.

“ready to do it again, baby?”

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iluvpjo · 2 months

Note

HII !!

HEAR ME OUT. Charlie is definitely a thigh guy,he loveeeees to just lay on ur thighs and kiss them and theyre js so squishy and UGH.

I think he'd be very sweet in general like if you had scars (Sh or just normal scars) he's definitely kiss them and tell you how beautiful they are

REMEMBER TO EAT ENOUGH AND STAY HYDRATED !! 🫂

-🌻

𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓰𝓱 𝓖𝓾𝔂

Synopsis: Charlie being a thigh guy, basically headcanons but also not rlly ??? Idk what this is tbh

Warning(s): IT GETS NSFW! MDNI, thigh stuff, talks abt scars, talks abt sh (in its own seperate bit so ur able to avoid it, I’ll put a warning there)

Pairing: Charlie Bushnell x fem reader (could be seen as GN except for one part where he calls u a sweet girl but you can just imagine otherwise if u wish!)

Word count: 528 words

Notes: I tried to write this n tumblr closed on me n didn’t save my draft ARGH 😭 but I’m so sorry I been away for a moment.. on an unrelated note last night I dreamt abt cuddling w Charlie n omfg

ALSO I’m so sorry it’s a lil short ahhh

Come find me on AO3!

Send me a request! Here’s my req rules!

(NSFW-ish!) Charlie whenever he sits beside you will always have a hand on you wether it be on your shoulder or on your knee, or other times where he’ll be squishing you’re thigh under the table in public somewhere. He of course does this at home too, and occasionally if he feels like it sometimes his hand will wander upwards. He still likes to do it nonsexually though, squeezing softly whenever he wants your attention.

(NSFW!) He would love to kiss your thighs while laying between your legs, often using it to tease you and not touch you where you need it the most. He also gets a little distracted, the feeling of your warm cushy thighs near his face can easily make him lose time. Charlie will kiss softly at your thighs, but he will also nip them gently too between his teeth just to watch you yelp and whine.

He would definitely get super hard from eating you out, I mean just in general, but especially when you cum undone and you squeeze your thighs around his head. Fuckkk he’d be in heaven, and he’d let you know that too when he dives back in for round two and has you repeating the same actions over and over. He will do it until you tell him to calm down, but if you don’t then I’m sure he’d be going on forever and ever until something inevitably disrupts the two of you.

(Scar stuff, more specifically sh) If he noticed you had scars on your thighs he wouldn’t be quick to point them out, maybe he’d spend a little extra time kissing over the marks or trailing them gently with his finger tips if they were healed. If they weren’t healed fully though maybe he’d ask about them, cooing softly for you to talk to him about what happened to make you do it. He’d leave it if you didn’t wanna talk about it though, simply comforting you with gentle kisses and cuddles.

“Don’t look at them..” You’d say, perhaps being a little insecure about them when his eyes would linger a little too long on your thighs, and Charlie would smile up at you dumbly before placing soft pecks to them and saying “Why not? Your thighs are so beautiful.” And you’d grow a little flustered. “No, they’re not, my scars-“ he wouldn’t even let you finish the thought about them, because he’d butt in and say “Your scars are beautiful sweet girl, I ‘dunno what you’re talking about..” and then his voice would get muffled n a lil quieter as he gets lost in the feeling of ur soft plushy thighs and he keeps leaving kisses all over them, his hands gripping at them like they’re his favourite thing in the world (and they are, after you as a whole of course.)

#luke castellan smut #luke castellan x reader smut #percy jackson smut #percy jackson x reader smut #charlie bushnell x reader #charlie bushnell x reader smut #charlie bushnell x you #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #charlie bushnell #🌷 anon

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