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msgexymunson · 10 days

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The Ink Shop Part 2

Description: After your encounter with Eddie, things are beginning to get a bit more complicated; especially when you ask him for another little favour. But, will Eddie go for it?

Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI this ain't for you, angst, tiny bit of fluff, smut, fem oral receiving, male masturbation.

A/N: OK when I said this will be in 3 parts I lied, it's totally going to be at least 4, maybe 5! Thank you for the love you've shown the first part, it's incredible! You're superstars.

❤️ If you like it please comment and reblog, it really makes my day!❤️

7k words

Masterlist Part 1

For some reason, the shop seems more welcoming today than ever. It might be the fact that the sun is shining, it might be the radio seemingly playing all your favourite songs, or it might be last night. Either way, you feel loose and free, laughing at jokes, smiling at everyone, and genuinely just happier.

Eddie saunters in thirty minutes late and you barely notice, apart from flashing him a bashful smile.

“Well hello there sweetheart, you seem chipper today.”

You roll your eyes at the obvious insinuation, but your smile is warm. “I had a good night's sleep, that's all.”

“Bet you did,” he grins, “you look real pretty.”

Looking down, you consider your outfit; you'd decided enough of the corporate clothes, this is a tattoo shop after all. So, you'd paired a roll neck sweater with a short jean skirt and sneakers. A more relaxed outfit to go with a more relaxed attitude. Before you can say anything in reply he strolls over to his station.

Right, so a few jabs, but he's being nonchalant. So put it out of your mind.

The morning moves quickly, a messy blur of clients and phone calls. After a fast lunch, the shop finally calms down a little. When you're focusing on sorting the mess of the heavy bookings tome in front of you, Eddie approaches, mischief glinting in his eyes.

“I see London, I see France…”

You follow his bowed head and cross your legs in sheer embarrassment, realising a sliver of your panties must be on display.

“Eddie!”

He simply laughs, throwing his head back far enough that your gaze drifts to his Adam's apple.

“Sorry, I couldn't resist, I'm a big fan of this skirt,” he says, drinking you in with his eyes, “anyway I wanted to ask-”

His sentence is stopped however by the loud ringing of the old corded phone. You and Eddie share a look, yours begging and his smug. Before you can grab it, he picks up the phone, putting on a ridiculous British accent.

“Good Afternoon, London Underground Airways, this is your captain speaking- Oh shit Mac- Yeah she's- I know I'm not supposed to answer- Sorry I- Fine, here.” He brandishes the phone at you.

“Hello? Oh, of course I'll let them know- I understand- It'd be my pleasure- see you soon.” replacing the receiver, you make a note on the pad at your side.

“What'd he say?” Eddie asks, hovering over you.

Not giving him the satisfaction of a look, you continue to make your note, however perfunctory it may be. “Mac's going to be a little late, he told me to tell his next client.”

“He said my name, I heard it. What'd he say?”

Placing your pen down with a loud click, you turn to him.

You tell him as you smile smugly. “He told me to hit you for answering the phone.”

If anything, his grin grows broader. “Oh? Go on then princess, I'd hate for you to break the rules.” He turns his face, no doubt expecting a cuff to the back of the head.

Spinning on your stool, you slap him right across the cheek; not with all your strength, but certainly hard enough to remember. Eddie's face is a picture of shock, pink handprint already flushing his cheek.

But that just makes his smile wider.

“Harder.” He asks, eyes flashing arousal at you.

“Eddie!” you shout, pushing him away, but his laugh echoes through the shop. Before he has a chance to continue, a burly biker type walks right in the door.

“Good afternoon, can I help you?”

“Yeah, It's Jimmy, I'm here for Mac?”

“He's running a little late, but he'll be with you as soon as possible. Can I get you a coffee or something while you wait?”

You can't help but hear a huff from Eddie, but before you can question it he's drawing in his book, entirely oblivious to the outside world.

At the end of the day, you're tired, but still in fairly high spirits. It's the first time you've seen everyone in the shop at once. There's an edge to the air though, as if an expectation hangs over everyone.

So… bar?” Mac asks in a defeated tone, although he's smiling. Everyone reacts; Eddie woops, pumping his fist, even the usually reserved Miranda is clapping quietly. You smile and nod, finally understanding what the atmosphere was about.

As you all enter the dimly lit bar, chatting and laughing, you hear a low huff.

“What did I do to deserve this?” John is standing behind the bar. An imposing figure, his arms crossed and face surly, but there's a kindness in his eyes. Mac leans straight over and hands him a card.

“Easy John, I got this,” he chuckles. The card is accepted gratefully, the gruff demeanour lessening with the promise of payment.

You accept a bottle of beer and slide into a nearby booth, the rest of the group filtering in. Mac walks over, eyes the space next to you, then grabs a stool to sit at the head of the table. It throws you for a minute; surely he knows he can sit there? Before you can tell him so, Eddie waltzes across the room with a tray of tequila shots and all the fixings with a cheeky look in his eyes. He slides right in next to you, tray and all, and places it on the table with exaggerated care.

“Ladies, gentlemen.” He says, gesturing to the tiny glasses like an old timey butler. There's a succession of groans from the party, but despite this they all grab a shot. All except you.

“I don't think I-” you begin, but he's waving a hand in the air.

“Come on, you drink. It's a shot. Never had tequila before?”

Fixing him with a sharp look, your cheeks begin to redden of their own accord. Eddie smirks and tosses his head back, hiding his eyes with one hand.

“Shit princess, what did you do at college?”

“Study.” You say primly, but take a glass tentatively and place it in front of you.

“Right, so for the new guys…“ Eddie smiles right at you and licks his hand between his thumb and pointer finger. That hint of silver mesmerises you, the ball of his tongue piercing catching the light. It's almost sensual the way he does it, your eyes automatically following the movement of his tongue. “salt right here…” he sprinkles some on the spot he moistened, “then, lick, shoot, suck.”

In a few fluid movements he licks the salt from his hand, downs the shot, and sticks a wedge of lime in his mouth. As your brain finally engages after that display, the little show that shouldn't have heated your insides up, you follow along, and take your shot with everyone else. It's easier than you would have thought, the lime easing the burn somewhat.

Eddie squeezes your thigh under the table and whispers low enough for you to hear.

“Good girl.”

Shooting daggers with a simple look, he just smirks, leaving his hand on your bare leg as if challenging you. Dimly, you hear the echoes of a conversation in front of you; it's Julio, arguing about good tequila not needing salt and lime, but you're lost in the deep pools of Eddie's chocolate eyes.

For a moment, your body flashes red hot and you regret your choice of the high necked sweater. Tearing your eyes away you look at something, anything, but Eddie.

The conversation drifts between all manner of subjects and you start to relax, the beer and tequila swimming in your belly loosening your tongue. It's nice, having a chance to chat and giggle with your coworkers in a setting not interrupted by the constant buzzing of tattoo machines.

Julio and Chloe end up in a full scale argument about the karaoke machine in the corner. Before you're subjected to the horror of having to sing in public, you get up to grab another beer. Perching on a stool by the bar with your purse in hand, you're waiting patiently to be served.

Eddie strolls over. You see him in your periphery; that confident walk as if he owns the very ground he walks on. Casually he hops up on the stool next to you, making no effort to hide the way he undresses you with his eyes.

“Quit staring Eddie,” you say testily as you knock the bar with your bank card.

“Now I can't look at you?” He asks with an amused grin.

“I said quit staring, not quit looking,” you huff out.

“What's the difference?” He asks, shrugging his shoulders and scrunching his nose at you.

You groan, turning on your stool to face him. “You are impossible,”

He sticks his long tongue out childishly, flashing his piercing at you.

Thankfully, John's voice cuts through the squabble. “What can I get you?”

“May I have a beer, please?”

“You certainly may.” John cocks his thumb in your direction, addressing Eddie, “I like this one, she's polite. Don't scare her off.”

Eddie dramatically holds his chest. “You wound me, sir!”

Two beers are placed on the bar and John waves your card away. “Don't worry about it, Mac's treating you guys tonight.”

As you swig your beer, you contemplate for a moment, trying to work out something.

“You're staring, sweetheart.” Eddie grins, as he gulps his drink.

“I wasn't staring, I was thinking! I know that's a foreign concept to you.” It's catty, you know that, but he just seems to bring it out in you. No one else has annoyed you so much in your life just by… being.

“That was rude. I thought we were playing nice?” he pouts playfully.

“Sorry. I- Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, shoot.”

Turning to him, you speak what's on your mind. “Why do people get their tongues pierced? No one really sees it. I get like, nose and eyebrow piercings and stuff, but the tongue one I don't understand.”

Eddie's grin is wide as he bites his bottom lip and stares at you. Well, you couldn't call it a grin. It's a flash of teeth, almost wolfish in its delivery.

“Oh princess, you are too cute.”

Staring at him with your brow furrowed, you try to work out what he means, but the longer you take, the more amused he looks.

“What? What is it?”

Sighing, he leans closer, the scent of aftershave, cigarettes and man clouding around you. “It's got a purpose, sweetheart.”

“What, like, kissing?”

Shaking his head, he looks you up and down. “Kinda. Kissing somewhere… specific.”

Realisation breaks across your face, followed by a fierce blush that you can feel to the roots of your hair. Laughing, Eddie pulls away a little and takes a mouthful of beer.

Voice an airy whisper, you lean over to him as you speak. “And girls like that?”

His laugh is so loud it reverberates around the bar.

“Yeah, a lot, in my experience.”

“Oh.”

Well, the thought is there now, and you're pretty sure it won't ever go away, not without some sort of mind bleach. Eddie's head between your legs, his long tongue exploring your sex. The image is burned into the back of your brain, playing on a loop.

“You're looking a little hot there,” he says, as if he can read your thoughts. It's fair to say it wouldn't take a psychic to know what's rattling around your head right now.

“I'm fine, this sweater is too warm,” you shake out, pressing your thighs together.

“Liar.”

Mouth opening and closing like a fish, you finally snap it shut with a crunch. Curiosity is eating away at you, and it's too easy to say what's on your mind after a couple of drinks.

“Eddie, could you… tell me, what- what it's like?”

He chuckles lightly and scoots closer to you. “you know I can't, I've not exactly had the pleasure.”

“I know that, I mean…”

For a second he just gapes at you.

“Wait, princess, are you asking me to tell you or… show you?”

Flustered, you turn away a little. “Sorry that's- that's too much isn't it. It's just you… did such a good job with the, you know, the other thing, I was just curious.”

Eddie bites his lip, puffing out a little breath. “You know, flattery works with me. I did a good job, huh?”

“Well, yeah. I can imagine you'd be really good at… that too. I could, owe you a favour?” It's bold, especially from you, but the way he's looking at you, the slight flush to his cheeks, you'd put money on him agreeing.

Eddie stares at you incredulously. “Wait, you're saying you want me to stick my tongue in the holiest of holes and then you owe me a favour?”

“Yeah? Like a little… arrangement.”

He rubs his face with his hand, his voice muffled as he speaks. “I'd feel like I was taking advantage of you.”

That confuses you for a moment. Surely you were the one who asked him? Hesitantly you reach out and touch soft fingertips to the back of his hand.

“Please?”

“Fuck.” He looks around, and turns to you, gazing into your eyes for a moment.

“Fine. Right now.”

“Oh I didn't-”

“Listen, before I change my mind. Meet me out back. I'll tell the guys you're not feeling well and I'm taking you home.”

Wordlessly, you grab your purse and head to the back door, heart hammering in your ears. It's a little dank out here, with the sound of a dripping pipe and moss covering the cement. Eddie comes out a moment later looking more serious than you've ever seen him.

“You sure about this?” He asks, searching your eyes.

‘Yeah, but…” you look around the small yard, gesturing vaguely.

“Oh. Oh! You thought- oh Christ no, not here. I'm not a complete asshole. Come with me.”

Letting out a relieved breath, you follow him. He walks over to a gate in the fence and opens it, which leads down a narrow alleyway, a little shortcut between yards. That eventually opens up to another road with a couple of apartment blocks. The one he moves towards looks mostly clean, if a bit lifeless, with a creepy looking van parked out the front.

“This way sweetheart,” he says, leading you through the courtyard and to the stairs.

For a second you stop in sheer surprise.

“Wait, you live this close and you still manage to be late for work?”

He chuckles, looking at you over his shoulder. “I have a condition, you know. Chronic tardiness; I'm afraid there's no cure.”

You bat him on the arm playfully and he grasps your wrist, stopping on the stairs briefly, giving you a look that is wickedness personified.

“If you're gonna hit me, do it properly.”

“Eddie!”

He laughs loud and grabs your hand, holding it in his until he reaches his door. That alone is enough to shut you up. It's warm and rough, and the feeling of his skin on yours, no matter how tiny, sends bolts of sensation through you.

“Right, here is my castle,” he says as he opens the door and lets you inside.

Chaos. That's the first word that crosses your mind. It doesn't look dirty, there's just things everywhere. A bookshelf stuffed with books and weird little trinkets placed any which way dominates one wall, and another on the other side with a huge music collection. There's a poky little kitchen with a couple of pots still in the sink, and a big couch with mismatched cushions takes up the remaining space. A tower of board games is precariously leaning next to it, and on the wall over the TV is an honest to goodness sword.

“It's nice,” you say as you walk in, as if you're not mentally organising it in your head.

“You hate it.” He scoffs, pulling his boots off and dumping them by the door.

“No, no, it's very… you.”

“I stand by my previous statement.” He grins at you, clearly indicating he wasn't being entirely serious.

“This is the bedroom.” He walks over and nudges the door open with his foot. Surprisingly, apart from an open clothes rail, an overflowing laundry hamper, and an enormous bed, there's not much in it. The wallpaper is a pretty purple colour, and looks oddly familiar.

“Eddie isn't that the same wallpaper-”

“-As the shop? Yeah. Mac let me have the leftovers. I was broke and this room was fucking pink.”

You snort out a laugh; the thought of Eddie with a pretty pink bedroom was rather unbelievable.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I can live with purple.” He roots around and grabs a pair of sweats. “Make yourself comfortable, I'm gonna change real quick.”

Then he walks out into another doorway, you assume the bathroom. The urge to snoop is real, but you resist. It looks like he spends less time here anyway.

The question is, how comfortable are you supposed to make yourself? Nerves start settling in, the thought of what you've asked him to do is finally sinking its way into your mind and down your jangling spine. What if he doesn't like the underwear you're wearing? God, you've been at work all day, what if you smell bad? Or taste bad? What if-

“You can sit down, princess.”

Eddie saunters back in, shirtless, a pair of grey sweatpants hanging so low on his hips you see his cut groin. A little squeak hiccups out of your throat at the sight. You stay standing, ready to make your excuses and leave, but the signal hasn't reached your legs just yet.

“What's wrong?” his eyes are brimming with concern as he steps toward you.

“No I- I was- maybe this-”

“Hey, look at me,” he says, grabbing both of your hands. You stare up at him, his face gentle.

“Whatever you're worried about, I'm sure it's nothing.”

“But i haven't showered-”

“When did you last?”

“Well… this morning.”

“You're fine. Trust me.”

He backs you up onto the bed, your knees folding as you flop down. The air around you feels full, humid with anticipation. He's so close, your bodies almost pressed together.

“I wanna kiss you.” He says softly, stroking a lock of your hair out of your face. Heart leaping into your throat, you try to suppress the urge to lean forward. The last thing you need is to fall for this man. Chloe's words echo in your head; he's not boyfriend material.

He'll break your heart.

“That's not part of our deal, Eddie.”

A frown flickers across his face. It's just for a second, a flash of vulnerability, before his usual cocky smile returns.

“That's not where I wanna kiss you.” He winks and tugs at your top, “can I take this off?”

Nodding wordlessly, you help him and wriggle it up and over your head.

“God damn.” Eddie props up on an elbow, running a finger between your breasts, before following the edge of your black cotton bra.

He looks up at your face, grinning wide, and points at your neck; little purple marks adorn it. “That why you wore that sweater today?”

Flushing crimson, you run fingers across your neck.

“Yeah, you marked me Eddie. Not exactly discreet.”

He chuckles, stroking the side of your neck. “Sorry sweetheart, I won't do it again. Well, not anywhere that anyone can see.”

Heat floods your stomach, the stark realisation that you want him to mark you clings to your insides. If he notices your reaction he doesn't say, instead he leans toward you pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek.

“You're really pretty. I don't know if I said that before.”

Awash with a new heat in your cheeks, you smile bashfully. “Thanks, I don't get told that very much.”

Staring at you, he shakes his head.

“You should. You should be told every fucking day.”

You open your mouth, but before you can reply he kisses your jaw, running his tongue down your neck, before he presses his mouth to the top of your breast, sucking roughly. A gasp flies out, and your hand makes a decision entirely on its own to grab his hair.

It seems it was the right thing to do, judging by the deep groan that comes from him. It seems to spur him on, and he yanks the cup of your bra down, taking your nipple into his mouth. His tongue teases it, rubbing his piercing over the pebbled nub.

“Oh Holy fuck!” Back arching with the foreign sensation, you revel in it, wriggling underneath him. He smirks against your skin, and takes your nipple between his teeth. Moaning loudly, you pull his hair.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” He looks up at you, pupils blown to black, “can’t hold back if you do that.”

It's not a dare, but it tastes like one, and before you can think you're tugging at it again. Eddie's eyes roll back, and a hard look crosses underneath his eyes.

His actions turn a little feral, pulling you up so he can unhook your bra, practically ripping it off you before his mouth is all over your chest, firm fingers digging into the flesh of your hip.

“Fuck, Eddie” you stutter it out, voice laced with need.

“Yeah?” He whispers out breathlessly between urgent kisses, making his way down your stomach. Suddenly he takes the flesh of your hip in his mouth and bites down little before sucking a bruise as you writhe under him.

He reaches your skirt, hooking fingers into the waistband as he looks up at you, his tone urgent. “Can I?”

As you nod frantically, he reacts immediately, yanking it down along with your underwear.

“Fuck, look at you.”

The urge to close your legs is real, embarrassed at the way he's ogling you right between your thighs. They quiver with tension, but Eddie forces them open with his large palms.

“Don't hide from me. You still want this?”

You nod, and his head snaps up to look at you. His voice is hard, swirling around your insides with an intensity you're not used to from him.

“Say it. You need to say it.”

‘Yes, please Eddie.”

That satisfies him. He leans forward, breath ghosting over your clit. You're waiting for his mouth, his tongue, but that's not what happens. He inhales you, nose so close it's almost touching your sex.

“Jesus Christ, you smell so fucking good.”

“Eddie!” you cry it out, cringing at his words as you bury your face in your hands.

“Relax princess, it's a compliment.”

Before you can retort that it's not a compliment, it's weird, and he's a freak for saying it, it no longer matters. He's licking a fat stripe up the length of your pussy, long tongue pushing against you hard in an animal-like gesture.

The noise that expels from your chest is inhuman, a choked, guttural breath that belongs in a cave somewhere, not a bedroom.

He doesn't relent, his mouth exploring every inch of you with a ferality that has you tingling all the way to your toes. His fierce movements, accentuated by the bump of his piercing, have you nearly leaving the mattress. You're not sure if you're trying to get more, or move away. Not that it matters. His hands are holding you so firmly that all you can do is wriggle helplessly like a fish on a line.

Fingers trace the outside of your entrance before they slide in, beckoning your release. Whimpering, you grasp the bedsheets in a need to keep contact with something real.

“Talk to me,” he says between mind numbing messy kisses to your clit, “good, yeah?”

“Eddie, f-fuck, its incredible, please, oh God, k-keep going!”

You can practically feel the smirk on his face as he dives back in, suckling at your clit with an unmatched fervour, his tongue piercing flicking expertly as he does so. Suddenly, you're not creeping toward your release, you're being hurtled toward it, thrown into the depths of absolute pleasure.

Hands finding their way into Eddie's hair again, you hold on tight, buckling up for the ride. It's almost violent the way he pulls your climax from you, and you scream loudly, almost folding in half before you fall back onto the bed.

Eddie sits up, hands placed on your thighs, as he grins proudly, face shining with your slick.

“You OK princess?”

OK doesn't seem to cover it. You're panting wildly, each breath shallow and ragged, brain melted into soup.

“Think you can go again?”

That gets your attention. You sit up, gaping at him. “Again?”

Chuckling, he runs a finger up your slit and circles your clit in a teasing manner. The slight touch has your thighs trembling.

“I think you've got at least one more in you.”

Without a further word he presses his tongue against you. On instinct you grip his hair once more, bucking your hips up.

“Fuck, that's it sweetheart, ride my face.”

This time he slips his tongue inside as his nose nudges at your clit, the thick muscle curling and writhing. Holding on tight, your hips know what to do, your body reacting and rolling to meet him.

You're yanking his hair hard as you grind against his face, pulling deep grunts and moans from him which vibrate inside of you. It feels primal, sheer need clouding your mind, a fog that rolls into every limb and leaves no part untouched.

“Eddie, fuck!” You moan loudly as your walls clench around his tongue, another climax bubbling its way to the surface. He doubles down with his efforts almost as if he needs this as much as you do.

With one final thrust of his tongue you whine out your orgasm, back finally touching the bed once more. There are no thoughts, only your heavy breath and beating heart keeping you in the moment.

After a few seconds that seem to stretch on for a year, he hovers over your face. He's wiped off your release, but nothing could wipe that smug grin.

“So? Good?”

It's not like he doesn't know. You pat blindly at his arm, words stuck in a puddle on your tongue. In an unexpected tender gesture, he swipes his thumb over your chin, his gaze pensive. You stare back, fingers reaching out to gently touch his cheek.

“Are you going to kiss me?” You whisper, the words pooling from you unbidden.

For a split second you think he's going to lean in and close the gap, but he flashes his teeth at you and flicks the tip of your nose.

“That's not part of the deal.”

Disappointment leaks into your stomach. Which is entirely unfair. He's using your words after all. Fighting the feeling, you force a smile.

“I think I'll need a wheelchair to get home.” You chuckle, indicating to your still twitching legs.

“Stay here. I'll take the couch.”

“Oh, no, Eddie, I couldn't kick you out of your own bed thats-”

“Hey, it's fine, honestly. I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it.” He shrugs and rolls off the bed and onto his feet in one quick movement like a cat. “Here. If you want something to sleep in.” He hands you a faded t-shirt. Hesitating for a moment, your hand hovers over it, but he stuffs it into your grip.

“Honestly, it's fine. I can drop you home before work so you can get changed and stuff. No big deal.”

“What about your chronic tardiness?” You joke, smiling softly at him.

“You're here, I'm sure you'll whip me into shape.”

“You'd probably like that,” you tease.

“More than you know.” He winks again, and walks to the doorway. “Night, princess.”

“Night Eddie.”

When he's gone you shrug the shirt on. It's clean, but there's an undercurrent of pure Eddie still there that's more comforting than you'll care to admit. Then, you lay there, staring at the ceiling.

Well. You certainly weren't expecting to end up in Eddie's room, in his bed, but here you are. You're not sure what this all means just yet and processing it is just hurting your brain. A part of you is saying that you should get out now whilst you can. Another, louder part is telling you this is where you should be. The only problem: is this message coming from your heart, or much lower down?

Chloe drifts into your mind whilst you lay there. Did they hook up in this bed? Are you in the same place she was? And how did that end? Clearly it was on good terms, considering how friendly they are, but how many girls have been where you are right now? A few? A dozen? A hundred?

After a while your thoughts just start to ache, leaving a migraine behind your eyes. Shifting on the bed, you try to get comfortable, but it's no use. You wonder if Eddie is still awake. After all, he's the only one that can answer your questions.

Sitting up a little, you listen intently for any signs of life from the next room, but no matter how hard you strain your ears, you can't hear anything.

As you quietly get up and creep to the door, you press your ear to it. Maybe that was a word you heard, a loud breath, or the signs of an overactive imagination. Turning the doorknob like a safecracker, you inch the door open ever so slightly to peek beyond.

There he is, laying on the couch, eyes tight shut and face contorted in concentration. Odd. You slowly guide the door open a little more and your eyes nearly bug out of your head.

Eddie's laying there, hand down his sweats, tugging at himself like there's no tomorrow.

You almost cry out in shock but manage to swallow the noise just in time. For what feels like a full minute you stand and stare, mouth gaping open. It's like you're hypnotised, unable to tear away from his urgent movements.

A particularly good stroke has him bucking into his hand, and he lets out this strained whimper that shoots directly between your legs.

Right, stop. This is wrong. How would you feel if he caught you? …OK, bad example.

Reluctantly, you close the door again as quietly as you can before climbing back into his bed to stare at the ceiling once more.

It looks like it's going to be a long night.

********************

“You look really great,” Chloe says as she strolls into the shop, handing you a coffee, “like, happier, more relaxed.”

It's a few days after your impromptu sleepover at Eddie's place, and she's absolutely right. You do look more relaxed, even you've noticed the change. There's more confidence in you, and a smile that was once a little forced is warm and genuine.

“Thanks, I think I'm getting more comfortable here.” It's not a lie, exactly, but it's certainly not the whole truth.

“Good, glad to hear it!” She beams at you and heads to her table.

The bell over the door chimes once again startling you. Miranda and Mac are already here and it couldn't possibly be Eddie this early.

“Um… Hi.” A gangly youth walks in, all arms and legs and bright blonde hair. He shuffles over to the counter awkwardly.

“Morning, can I help you?”

“Y-yeah, you do walk-ins today, right?” He asks, brandishing a crumpled flyer at you.

Face lighting up, you fix your best smile.

“Why yes we do, it's walk-in Wednesday. It's a little early though. Can I see some ID?

He hands it over. The guy's freshly 21 and knows it, puffing out his little pigeon chest with pride.

“Excellent. It's about 10 minutes until we open, but Miranda will be with you. Miranda, you got a book for this guy?”

Confusion paints Mirandas's face, but then she smiles.

“A walk in? Wow.” She strolls over and hands him her portfolio of designs, introducing herself.

When Eddie finally turns up, there's another guy waiting.

“You're not my 10:30.”

The poor boy looks at him nervously like he did something wrong.

“Eddie, he's a walk-in.” Mac says, calling over his shoulder.

Eddie smirks at you and leans over the counter.

“Well well, bet you're happy. Atta girl.”

Blushing profusely, you move to tap him on the arm in warning, but he grabs your hand and kisses it. Heat flies straight to your belly at the gesture.

“Let me know when my 10:30 is here, alright sweetheart?”

He's still holding your hand, brushing his fingers over your knuckles. Weakly you nod, gazing at him as your toes curl in your shoes.

Shooting you a wink, he ambles over to his station as you watch him, eyes drawn to the way he moves.

There's three more clients asking about Wednesdays; granted, one didn't have an ID, but the other two were seen and inked, and one even booked a follow up with Miranda.

Buzzing with job satisfaction, you're grinning when you nip to the restroom, walking through the narrow corridor. As you exit, you're immediately accosted by Eddie. He stands close, a hand loosely holding your wrist to keep you there as he bends to whisper in your ear.

“Now, you're not supposed to touch fine art, but someone's gotta pin you against the wall and nail you right.”

“Eddie!” You whisper shout at him, only serving to make him chuckle low in his throat.

“Sorry, couldn't resist. I have an idea, for that favour you owe me?”

Body tensing of its own accord, you look up at him, your cheeks flushed and mouth slightly parted. Before you can ask what it is, a voice cuts through the tension.

“Hey, keep it at home guys.”

Mac's standing at the other end of the corridor with his arms crossed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Pursing your lips, you wriggle from Eddie's grip.

“It's not what it looks like Mac, I promise.” You say, shouldering past Eddie.

“Come on sweetheart, don't get all shy on me now!” He shouts, walking after you.

You ignore him, giving Mac an apologetic look, and sit back down at the counter. God, that was embarrassing. Seems like professional and discreet are out the window.

“So, as I was saying-”

“Eddie, stop, not now.” you say, cheeks bright red.

“I was only-”

“Eddie please! I don't want to get into trouble!”

Eddie scoffs and rolls his eyes, but backs off finally.

You make a very clear point of being busy until the rest of the day, completing any ad hoc tasks you can think of. Tidying the stock cupboards, refreshing the consent sheets, and even organising the sparse counter. Anything to avoid further comment from Mac.

When six rolls around you turn to talk to Eddie, but he's already leaving without a glance at you.

Sighing, you make your way outside and home, trying to ignore the little sting in your chest.

********************

It's Saturday before you see him again. Your day off was mostly spent worrying about how you upset him and thinking about everything you could have done differently.

By the morning you're an emotional wreck, anxiety having done her job and left you a bubbling mass of maybes. When Eddie storms in the shop with a proverbial rain cloud over his head your heart pangs in your chest.

He's such a big character, and you didn't realise until now the influence this has on this place. Usually he's energetic and upbeat; however, with this melancholy energy coming from him, everyone seems to stoop a little more, eyes a touch downcast, movements more shuffled and broken. It's like a black hole has descended on the shop, pulling joy from your soul and sucking everything into its gravity.

The tattoo shop is quiet for a Saturday. Not from lack of customers; it's just a more hushed and sullen atmosphere. By the afternoon you decide enough is enough and you grab Eddie's arm between clients.

“Eddie, can I talk to you?”

He gets up, stretching his back in a feline movement, and walks with you slowly to the stockroom.

“Listen, I'm really sorry about what happened on Wednesday, I didn't want to upset you and I can't stand seeing you like this and-”

“Woah, sweetheart, slow down. You been worrying? About me?” He tilts his head, giving you a small lopsided smile.

“Yeah? I thought you were mad at me.” You mumble out.

“Oh, princess, come here.” He wraps you in his arms, holding your head close to his chest. A relieved breath puffs from your chest as you melt into the hug.

“That's not what I'm upset about, I promise.”

You pull from the embrace to look at him, a hopeful smile tugging at your lips.

“Really?”

Stroking your cheek softly, he presses his lips together. “You're adorable,” he moves his hand away and starts waving his arm about as he tells you what's wrong.

“You know I'm in a band? Well we've got this regular gig at Hatters, which is great and all, but I found out they're looking for more bands at The Pit. That big rock club on Main? I've been trying to get hold of the damn owner but he's ignoring all my calls and I'm pissed off.”

Grinning, you grab his arm. “Eddie, I can totally help you with that.”

His gaze is soft and warm as he asks “Really? You'd do that for me?”

“Of course I would. You got their number?”

He digs around in his pocket and passes you a wedge of shiny paper. Unfolding it, you look at the details, smiling even wider when you see they're attempting a ladies night. There's a telephone number at the bottom, the contact listed as William.

“I gotta idea. Just roll with it, OK?”

He looks confused but nods at you. Skipping to the counter, you pick up the phone and dial the number. When it's answered by a young woman, you speak with a nasal voice, sounding almost bored.

“Is Bill there?- Tell him it's Barb- oh trust me he's gonna wanna take this call honey.”

Eddie's staring at you with an amused expression; you look back at him, flashing a smile while you wait.

“Bill! How long has it been! Oh, don't say you don't remember me… oh, you do!- I'm good, I'm good- I'm managing this band, yeah, you've gotta book them- Corroded Coffin- yeah, yeah- They are hot right now, selling out their shows- look I know you're struggling getting the ladies in, but that's about to change. Their lead singer is- well lemme tell you, if I were a younger woman- haha yes, sounds great! Next Saturday?- Nine- Great stuff- I'll speak to you soon.”

Placing the phone down with a little click, you cross your legs and look at Eddie smugly.

His jaw may as well be on the floor, eyebrows so high that he resembles a cartoon character.

“Barb? Selling out their shows? If I were a younger woman? Where the fuck did that come from?”

You giggle, “I thought he'd listen if he thought I was a business connection. I took a shot, a little bullshit can take you far.”

He swoops over to you and grabs you in his arms, lifting you bodily from your seat and swinging you around as you squeal helplessly.

“Saturday? Not even midweek? Princess I owe you big time.”

“Eddie I already owe-”

He's not listening, running over to Mac and bouncing on the spot like a child. “Mac, Mac, did you hear? I'm playing at The Pit!!”

You watch as he explains what just happened; he's so animated, gesticulating wildly as loose locks of hair fly from his bun. Mac beams at him and hugs him in a fatherly motion before Eddie springs back over to you.

“Who the fuck is Barb?”

“I dunno, she sounded worldly.”

He grins, shaking his head, “I can't believe you lied for me. You seem… different lately. More confident. It suits you.”

Blushing, you thank him. For a second you stare at each other, both lost in the other.

Eddie shakes his head, and looks at the time.

“Fuck, right, I got 20 minutes, I'll be back!” He grabs his coat and runs out of the shop shouting “personal errand!”

Chuckling, you sit back down at the counter. Mac approaches, smiling softly.

“You did good Miss, he's really happy.”

“Thanks, I couldn't bear the sulking.”

He laughs and touches your shoulder, “he cares about you. In case you didn't notice.”

He walks away nonchalantly as if he didn't just drop a bomb at your feet. Eddie cares about you? You're still pondering it when he returns a half hour later looking sweaty and dishevelled.

“Princess, I got you a present,” he whispers, brandishing a nondescript black bag at you. You peek inside and shut it immediately.

“Eddie what the fuck!” You whisper, face flooding with blood at the sight as you hide it under the counter. There's a sex toy in the bag, well at least one, but you were so shocked at the sight you didn't get a good look.

He chuckles and leans in close. “Thought you'd like it.”

“Eddie I don't know how to- to use this stuff,” you mumble quietly, looking around to make sure no one's listening.

He smirks at you in response.

“You free tonight? I can show you.”

Taglist

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#ms gexy writes #ink shop eddie #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie x you #tattoo artist eddie munson #tattoo artist eddie #eddie x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female!reader #older eddie munson #older! eddie #older!eddie #stranger things imagines #stranger things #stranger things smut

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rene-spade · 23 days

Text

miss louisiana i | c. leclerc, a. saint mleux | chase landry

poly! | fem! reader x obsessive! exes! charles leclerc, alexandra saint mleux (+chase landry and f1 grid)

synopsis. your obsessive exes refuse to accept your new relationship with a man completely different from them. maybe they should move to louisiana? jk!. . . unless?

note. ok so reader is from louisiana and has cajun roots for context. chase landry is from swamp people 😭✌️ I loved that show when I was younger & I rewatched some recently and it reignited my crush on him sorry

WARNING(s); obsessive/possessive behavior, toxic/creepy exes (I make is as fluffy as I can tho trust), ooc Alex and Charles being a rich and out of touch, a spec of classism, stalking oops, (everyone Loves you)

miss.y/n📍belle river, la

liked by charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, jacoblandry, carlossainz55, and 1,006,349 others

miss.y/n back where I belong ☀️🌷🐊🐝🐍🌿🐠

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mariene.y/l/n be safe in the water my baby 🤗

miss.y/n yes maman 🤞😊 you know I’m protected

user oop who’s protecting you miss ma’am

user omgggg how did Charles n Alex fumble so baddd 😩😩🙏 I’ve needed y/n’s cajun french baddie ass since DAY ONE 🗣️

charles_leclerc so beautiful mon ange 😍 but that water is dark and might be dangerous. ta maman a raison!

see translation | your mom is right

user stopp didn’t y/n break things off with them???

user2 currently losing it my fav throuple might be back 💪🗣️

carlossainz55 hope you’re doing well mi dulce ❤️

alexandrasaintmleux yeah no this isn’t happening

user carlos sweetie delete this comment while you still have hands <3

user SHE’S BACK IN LOUISIANA RAHH

user2 how did I not know she was from the middle of nowhere 😭 what is pierre part??

user3 how didn’t you know!!! her dad literally used to hunt alligator before he died and her mom remarried and moved back to France . Her dad was cajun

user this might be a reach but y’all think she knows anybody from swamp people? Love that show 🤣🤣

liked by miss.y/n

♤ ♤ ♤

Alex’s leg bounced up and down nervously as her call went to voicemail for the 7th time in a row. She’d been calling your phone nonstop since hearing the news, anxious to know if it was true or not. It was always something that ate at her; her and Charles’ inability to relate to your childhood in Louisiana. They’d grown up among a higher class than you and in foreign countries. You would just giggle and wave off her concerns, insisting that even though they couldn’t understand your upbringing, that at least you could understand theirs.

“No answer.” She muttered, teeth gnawing at her bottom lip. It was a habit she’d had as a child, one that you disapproved of and had trained out of her before you left them.

“She left us for a swamp man.” Charles pathetically finished Alex’s thought as they sat in his car, waiting to meet some other drivers and wags at the high-end restaurant Carlos chose.

“Don’t say it like that!” Alexandra turned her body towards the passenger window, “She didn’t leave us— not in that way! I told you she was homesick!”

Your father was a Cajun man who definitely took his culture to heart, doing a lot of hunting and fishing before he passed away suddenly when you were 12. Your mother was from France originally, and she remarried a rich Frenchman who’d ended up funding your modeling career after your success in pageantry. You moved straight to France at age 14 and found yourself in a completely different culture from how you grew up. You’d visited France before during summers with your mother, but it wasn’t home to you like Louisiana. You’d met Alexandra when the two of you were 19, and instantly bonded. Despite only really meeting briefly, it was love at first sight on Alex’s part and she supported you all the way to when you won Miss Universe after starting out Miss Louisiana.

When Charles had come along and had the same feelings that she did for you, it felt perfect, like everything had finally come together.

“With us is her home.” Charles replied, sucking his teeth.

“I can’t even—” Alex didn’t have to finish, the two had the same thought. They can’t even fathom the idea that you were with someone else.

Daniel was practically cackling in joy while Carlos at least tried to hide his amusement by covering his face. It was no secret that most of the f1 grid was praying for you to leave Charles/Alex so they could get a chance— but this wasn’t what they were expecting.

Bickering around the table ensued, only a few seconds before Alex was rolling her eyes with a groan and putting her face in her hands, “He doesn’t have any recent social media so I can’t even stalk him.”

“So we will just go there!”

“And what? Become swamp people?” Daniel was laughing so hard he was tearing up.

“Cha, that’s so ridiculous.” Alex mumbled.

“It is—!” Kika agreed suspiciously fast, “I just mean the split was recent, so maybe me and Pierre should visit her before you guys?” It’d only been a few months, but that had been enough to drive Charles and Alex a bit off the rails.

They’d only ever been apart from you for just over two days in the last year, up until you ghosted them. Well— it wasn’t technically ghosting when you left a note; a very brief letter in your familiar handwriting that told them you needed some space. They didn’t take it as a break up, although they did panic. Their numbers weren’t blocked, so they naturally took that as a good sign. This was probably because you wanted their attention since all their calls and messages were going through. The finality of it didn’t hit until it reached two weeks of no-contact from you and their photos were removed from your Instagram. The public noticed and so did the rest of the grid despite Alex and Charles’ now 3-month-long denial stage.

“le lieu s'appelle Pierre Part, yeah?” Pierre grinned and Charles sneered at him. (the place is called pierre part)

“They might have a point,” Daniel winced with a wide grin, “I think you’ll just look crazy if you show up. At least, one of us would just look like a friend who misses her, ya know?”

“None of you are visiting our girlfriend!” Alex frowned.

“Ex,” Carlos gently corrected into his fist with a cough before straightening up, “She jus’ is homesick maybe so give her some space and she will come back in no time.”

“I knew this would happen.” Alex slumped with her chin in her hand, “cet endroit est sa maison.” (that place is her home)

“You’ve never heard ‘if you love something, let it go’? If it’s meant to be, she’ll come back.” Daniel tried to reassure, but his face was almost a wince.

“We just wanted her close to us is all! We travel so much, we didn’t mean to take her away from her home—”

But Daniel gave them a look, knowing about their behavior with you. As in love with you as they are, Alex and Charles are intense about it. Endearing on one hand for awhile, but then the jealousy got worse and they were pretty delusional about their tendencies. He could understand it honestly— you were lovely. He imagined he’d be in the same state as Alex and Charles if you were his and you left him. Which is why he cut them so much slack, the rest of the table too.

“I don’t understand why she ran away like that!” Charles finished with a huff, running his fingers through his hair. He was starting to sweat. This felt like a cruel joke on your part— a mean way to get their attention.

“His ears are a little big.” Alex whispered, staring into her phone with a pout.

“et cela! regarde nos oreilles!” (and that! look at our ears!)

Pierre lost it at that; Charles pulling at his ears to make a point, “Maybe he’s just a nice guy, man!”

“We are nice!”

“Let me see.” Carlos walked around the table to see Alex’s phone.

She’d googled the name of your alleged new boyfriend— Chase Landry. He had starred on some Southern US reality show ‘Swamp People’; it mainly surrounded cajun alligator hunters in Louisiana. They had known you liked the show, but had never seen it themselves.

“Eh,” Carlos shrugged, “his ears aren’t that big. He is a little old for her though, no? 34?”

“Exactly! He is a pervert! I’m calling her again, actually.”

♤ ♤ ♤

miss.y/n 📍pierre part, la

liked by jacoblandry, carlossainz55, francisca.cgomes, danielricciardo, and 1,014,108 others

miss.y/n me and my dirty swamp man foreva 🤞💛🌷🦆

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user STOPPP SHE SAID THAT’S MY MAN N IMMA STICK BY HIMMMM

user2 stfu 😭✋ the fact that this man most likely has no idea that this is going on

user3 his brother liking her posts and filling him in

miss.y/n jokes on y’all Jacob doesn’t know what’s going on either

bellahadid beautiful lily faery and her dirty swamp bf <3

miss.y/n <3 literally

user BELLA⁉️

arthur_leclerc beautiful view of the water, ma sœur!

see translation | my sister

user THEY SENT Y/NS FAVORITE LECLERC BROTHER IN TO PLAY DAMAGE CONTROL

user2 not “my sister” 😭😭😭 leclercs let her go challenge

user y/n’s harem coming to her defense like the mighty morphin power rangers 😭😂🤣

this is part 1 of perhaps 3. I plan on making part 2 much longer and more writing than social media like this one, just for some balanceee

taglist; @alliwantisadonut @splaterparty0-0 @charizznorizz

Ren

#f1 fanfic #f1 fic #dark! f1 #f1 grid x reader #obsessive f1 #charles leclerc x reader #poly f1 #f1 oc #obsessive charles leclerc #ex! charles leclerc #Charles leclerc fic #carlos sainz x reader #alex saint mleux x reader #alexandra saint mleux #f1 reverse harem #swamp people x reader #chase landry x reader

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anissapierce · 1 year

Text

Sofiane boufals inbox was probably on fire last night so its nice to see him recognize he made a mistake when he said how important a win would be for moroccans,arabs and muslims across the world.

#also thisbis confirmation i guess tht hes arabized #possible even Arab but an arab meknesi ? yeah tht doesnt make a lot of sense lol #i think in france n else where overseas if ur family is not super connected to being amazigh you Kinda just glom onto arab idenity #but esp in France i guess as like ... well french are so racists to wana ppl ....like identifying as a part of tht group... neway im not #making a lot of sense bc i cant move my neck #sofiane boufal #my french is v passing so i cant offer a comprehensive translation of wht he said #but basicallly wht he said was 'sorry i didnt talk abt how important this was to africans too '#morocco nt #world cup 2022

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anyroads · 2 years

Text

OK you know what, if we're gonna talk about Bake Off then fuck it, let's do this.

It used to be this wholesome, lovely show! We used to watch it for the bakers! And the learning! And the light banter and occasional bit of coy innuendo! What happened?

Channel 4 happened. When they bought the show they made a number of changes, most of them Not Good™️. Not just in the sense of them resulting in a lot of 😬 and 🫠 moments, but in the sense of how they changed the show's purpose, atmosphere, and brand.

Look, I know most people are just like, "whatever, it's just a baking show," and yeah, sure. But it's one of the UK's most successful TV exports, and where it once shifted the tone of reality competition to being wholesome and supportive of contestants, it's since moved towards creating tension at the contestants' cost. So aside from the fact that most people watching it signed up to watch a nice show, it has also shifted the goalposts of what that even means. And that, lovelies and gentlefolk, is some bullshit.

I decided to break my rant analysis into four main parts: theme weeks, the hosts, the judges, and the bakers. Let's get to it!

Theme Weeks:

If you watch Bake Off, you know the show's always had a specific theme for each week. The staples that come up in most seasons are:

cake

biscuit

bread

pudding/dessert

pastry

patisserie

Less common but consistent are things like caramel and chocolate week.

Then there are the fun episodes! When GBBO was on the BBC, this started out with things tea week, tarts, pies, tray bakes, basically little tangents still focused on emphasizing specific baking skills. In Series 6 (still on the BBC) they had their first nation-focused theme week with French week -- fairly innocuous given that a lot of patisserie is French, France and England share much more culture than either cares to admit [Norman Flag dot gif], and it was a nice change from watching Paul make the bakers do recipes that involved boiling things while talking about how wonderful boiled doughs are (are they, Paul? Are they?).

The show kept mixing it up with innocuous themes like advanced dough and alternative ingredients weeks, European cakes, Victorian week, batter week, and botanical week. And while it was frustrating to watch Paul Hollywood mispronounce things like the Hungarian Dobos Torta and lecture bakers on babka when he clearly knew nothing about it (or about Jewish baking in general, go off Past Me), the show's general attitude was that the judges had their own opinions, which were separate from the immutable facts around the chemistry of baking (more on this later) and shouldn't affect how bakers are judged.

After the show moved to Channel 4, the number of themed weeks increased and more of them focused on specific countries. In 6 seasons on the BBC, there were only two country-focused theme weeks, and in 5 seasons on Channel 4 there have been five. And while they've also had themes like vegan baking, roaring 20s, the 1980s, spice week, etc. the show has really started to go hard on exoticizing other cultures in outright disrespectful and racist ways. There's been Italian and Danish week, German, Japanese (it wasn't, it was East Asian week), and now Mexican week (which doesn't touch on interspersed Jewish bakes that didn't get a theme week, like versions of bagels and babka set as technical challenges that were borderline hate crimes and mansplained by a guy who has no idea how to make either and once wrote in a cookbook that challah was traditionally eaten during Passover). Each time the hosts played up the theme with racist bits and jokes that can be used as evidence in court if your case is "why should shows with scripted content have a professional writing staff."

Which touches on other issues the show has now...

The Hosts:

When GBBO was on the BBC, the show was hosted by ✨Mel Giedroyc✨ and ✨Sue Perkins✨. They encouraged the bakers! They'd hold stuff for them sometimes! They were interested in them! If a baker had a breakdown, they would start singing copyrighted material to render the footage unusable! When the show moved to Channel 4, they left, though I'm not unconvinced that Channel 4 offered them impossible to accept contracts to force them out so they could rebrand the show. They replaced them with Sandy Toksvig and Noel Fielding. Sandy was a lovely host in the vein of Mel and Sue, and she and Noel had a relatively sweet rapport, but she left a few seasons ago and was replaced by Matt Lucas.

Noel Fielding is mostly known for his quirky brand of comedy, a sort of British Zooey Deschanel who's goth from the neck up, an upperclass British gay divorcee from the neck down, and basically an early 60s Beatle re: trousers. Matt Lucas has almost definitely never watched a single episode of GBBO and his most redeeming quality is his thinly veiled contempt for Paul Hollywood.

The two treat the baking tent as their personal playground. Far from the supportive attitude of Mel and Sue, they tend to get in the bakers' way during the most stressful moments, especially when they try to do hilarious "comedy" bits (I can't not put that in quotes) like Noel's talking wooden spoon thing, or Matt talking over Noel to do time calls. During theme weeks like Japanese and Mexican week, they do culture-specific bits that are both racist ("just Juan joke" and "is Mexico a real place?") and unsurprising, given that both Matt and Noel did blackface on their respective sketch shows and absolutely could and should have known better because it was already the current fucking century.

All this to say, there's now a separation between the bakers and the hosts, as if they're on different shows. The hosts are doing their own thing and the bakers are doing GBBO. The show has gotten meaner to the bakers, and the hosts aren't there to support them anymore, they're just there to be comic relief. Because when you refocus your show on stressing the bakers the fuck out, you need a forced laugh I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

The Judges:

First of all, a sincere congratulations to Paul Hollywood who managed to squeeze I jUsT cAmE bAcK fRoM mExIcO aNd YeT sTiLL pRoNoUnCe PiCo De GaLLo As 'PiKa De KaLLa' and I aM aN eXpErT oN s'MoReS wHiCh aRe MaDe WiTh DiGeStiVe BiScUiTs AcCoRdiNg tO mE, aN eXpErT oN s'MoReS, just two in a giant pile of astoundingly wrong hot takes, into a short enough time span that they all aired within Liz Truss's term as Prime Minister. A true man of accomplishments.

In the interest of fairness, I need to preface this with a disclaimer that, due to the fact that I've been watching Bake Off for most of its run, I'm biased. Specifically, I can't stand Paul Hollywood's smarmy, classist, egomaniac ass because he's proven time and again he's more interested in looking smart than actually knowing what he's talking about. Since the show moved to Channel 4, they've changed the occasional handshake Paul would give bakers to the HoLlYwOoD hAnDsHaKe™️. It's gone from being an emphasis of someone's skill to a goal, a reward, and one that emphasizes the judges' place above the bakers.

The judges used to function as teachers, imparting their skills and insights to the bakers. When the show was on the BBC, the voiceover leading to a judging would focus on the bakers' work being finished, saying how it will now be evaluated based on their skill and how well they met the brief. The voiceovers now, on Channel 4, focus on the judging (literally saying something along the lines of, "the bakers will now be judged by Prue and Paul"). There is a clear distinction Channel 4's producers have made, to mark that the show is now about whether or not the judges approve, not whether the brief was understood and executed well. On the BBC, it was irrelevant whether the judges liked a particular flavor, as long as the bake was well-made. Now, the bakers are expected to know the judges tastes and cater to them, which is frankly bullshit. A judge doesn't have to like a flavor to know whether or not it was executed well, ie. is it carrying a bake and was it meant to etc.

The judges have been turned into a brand. Cynically, Channel 4 knows that by building them up and focusing the show more on them, they can exploit their image more for profit. In the process, they've become much more biased and their own biases have come out as well. Most recently in the flaming dumpster fire that was Mexican Week, Paul Hollywood tried to intimidate a baker by telling them he had just gotten back from Mexico (which must have been a fruitful learning trip if he couldn't even learn how to pronounce pico de gallo correctly). Where do I even start with this? Here's an amateur baker from England (the show specifically casts middle and lower middle class bakers for the most part??) who likely can't afford trips to Mexico, who lives in a country with incredibly limited access to Mexican cuisine, who is expected not only to understand the cooking and baking traditions of a completely different culture but to do so well enough to play with it and do something creative with it. On top of which, one of the judges is now using his privilege of traveling halfway around the world as some kind of leverage, as if this were a bar that any amateur British baker could clear.

Prue, meanwhile, has openly asserted her biases against cultural flavors and textures, prioritizing her own personal preferences over them, as if they were in any way relevant to the skills and knowledge necessary to execute the tasks she sets to the bakers. She has also been consistently elitist, criticizing bakers for choices they made that were clearly informed by their experiences within income brackets that are too low and foreign for Prue to comprehend. She once had a go at a baker on a Christmas special because his Christmas dinner themed bake didn't have a turkey, even though it was clear from the stories he shared of his own Christmases that his family likely couldn't afford one. "It's not really Christmas dinner without a turkey," Prue said into the camera angrily while sitting on a chair made of live orphans and telling the ghost of Christmas Future to come back when he had another museum gift shop necklace for her to round out her collection.

The show is no longer about which baker has the best skills. It's become about which mortal can appease the gods of Mount Olympus, ie. the judges.

The Bakers:

Remember when the show was about them? Channel 4 doesn't! Because this is a reality competition show, the bakers are chosen both based on their skills, as well as cast-ability. They're cast as characters, distinct from each other, from different areas, age groups, ethnicities. All of them are amateurs. All of them are middle or lower middle class. They've ranged from college students to supermarket cashiers to prison wardens to scientists.

Something I noticed when the show moved to Channel 4 is that the baker who goes home in the first week is always wildly behind the rest in skills. I have no proof of this other than my eyeballs and deductive reasoning skills, but I think that Channel 4 deliberately casts a ringer each season who they think will be an easy send-off in the first week, just to get the audience's feet wet.

Anyway, like I said, this show used to be about the bakers - about them building skills and learning, and having walked into the tent with a self-taught foundation and understanding of the processes and chemical reactions involved in baking. When the show was on the BBC, the end of each round had some (often brief) moments of tension - will they finish in time? Will they get their bakes on the plate before time is up? Did they forget to add sugar to their batter and only remember at the last minute? In the end, they usually managed to finish and we'd all breathe a sigh of relief and think, yeah! You go, Bakers Who I'm Rooting For!

Now, on Channel 4, the end of round drama has been stretched to be so much longer that they've composed extra music for it. The bakers often seem out of their depth, whether because the instructions for the technical challenge are too vague (bake a lemon meringue pie??? As if anyone in the UK under the age of 60 has had one in the last decade???), or because they were expected to bake something that required a more than a basic foundation they weren't told of. Often it seems like they just aren't given enough time, a tactic used by reality competition shows to manipulate contestants into giving the cameras more dramatic content. On top of all this, the hosts get in their way, instead of helping them plate their bakes. As has been pointed out before, when everyone fails the challenge, the real failure lies with whoever set it.

In conclusion:

The show no longer exists to teach the bakers - and the audience - skills or knowledge. It now manipulates contestants for dramatic effect and prioritizes showing conflict over wholesome content. Channel 4 sees the bakers as social media content they can churn out season after season, and don't care about them because in a few months there'll be a new batch to exploit. Meanwhile, the judges are also out of their depth, co-opting recipes from other cultures and butchering them horrendously, while the camera gives them nothing but status as they hold bakers to the expectation that they learn how to make things very much the wrong way. If you saw any of the tweets about Mexican or Japanese week, or read my post on how Paul Hollywood isn't allowed to go near babka ever again, you'll understand.

So what would fix all this? Scrap the current judges and the hosts altogether. Bring back Mel and Sue, and replace the judges with expert bakers who have a love of their craft and want to share it with others. The draw of GBBO used to be its warmth and comfort - if Channel 4 isn't going to start its own version of Master Chef For Bakers, then it needs to stop trying to find a balance of how it can insert that vibe into GBBO. It can't. That's not a thing. Stop trying.

#GBBO #paul hollywood #prue leith #the great british bake off

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singmyaubade · 1 year

Text

No Longer Yours

James Potter x Female!Reader

IB: In The Cold November Rain by @sweetsweetjellybean (Make sure to check it out, it’s incredible and one of the best I’ve ever read !)

A/N: First, I wanna say thank you to @sweetsweetjellybean for letting me be inspired by her story even though I am stupid, lol, but seriously (not kissing ass), check her series out; it is fantastic. Thank you to everyone for the kind comments, reblogs, and likes. I'm overwhelmed with love, and I'm so thankful that people actually want to read more of what I write but anyways, enjoy!

Summary: James had disregarded you for multiple years, but when you have an epiphany in your final year, how does it feel to taste his own medicine?

Warning: It may contain swearing and soon-to-be smut.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

"Are you sure you don't want me to walk you all the way?" Your mother asked, squeezing your hand.

"I'll be fine," You caressed her hand, "I'm still your baby, though."

She laughed lightly, "Make sure to write always," She held your face with her hands, "Have fun; it's your last year."

You touched her hand on your cheek, "I will."

You hugged her one last time, taking in her scent. Every time you said bye to her, it was as sad as the first, without you crying and begging to stay.

"Okay," She smiled, taking her hands off your face, "Are you still sure you don't wanna wait for James here? I mean, you've done it all these years."

Little did she know, you had been ignoring James's letters, all 128 of them. He had been persistent, asking you what was wrong and begging for a reply to know you were safe.

You even received a letter from his mother, Euphemia Potter, asking how you were and everything was in Paris. You would never have it in your heart to ignore Ms. Potter, so you replied dutifully and happily.

And then you got a letter from him saying,

Dear Y/n,

Are you really going to reply to my mother and not me?

Sincerely,

Your BEST FRIEND, James Potter.

You didn't reply, scoffing at the bolded best friend. The last letter you received was last week, him telling you he couldn't wait to see you and wanted to talk as soon as he got to you.

Bullshit.

"Yeah," You gulped, "I'm just gonna meet him inside."

"Well, I'm sure he misses you," She started fixing your coat, "I mean, you have been in Paris all of this time, and I just think it would be good for you to-"

You cut her off, pecking her cheek, "Love you!" You yelled, going towards the train.

She shook her head, "Be safe!"

You smiled at her, going through the wall to the train. The feeling still felt the same, nostalgic. This was the last time boarding the train, and it felt sad.

You remembered the first time you ever boarded it. James was practically high on excitement on his first day at Hogwarts. You were scared out of your bloody mind, not wanting to leave your mum and dad.

When you had finally stopped crying and holding onto your mother's leg, James was the one to hold your hand and tell you that he would take care of you.

Maybe that was the first time you had realized James was more than a friend to you, or perhaps you were a naive child.

But either way, he was the one that you needed protecting from. You realized he hadn't been your friend since the fourth year.

But this year wasn't about James; it was about you having the best last year of Hogwarts that you could have ever had.

You boarded the train, moving through the compartments to where Marlene, Mary, Dorcas, and Lily usually were.

Compartment 222.

It was pretty lucky; it is where you guys first met.

You opened the compartment, "Did you guys miss me?"

They excitedly cheered, "Now tell me, Y/n, how many French boys did you end up shagging in France?" Marlene asked.

"I would say about thirty, oui oui." You joked in a French accent as they all started laughing.

You sat down next to Dorcas, giving her a side hug. You saw Lily and Mary whisper something to each other, to which Mary said, "Just say it!"

You could see Dorcas in the corner of your eye, shaking her head no aggressively. Apparently, Marlene was the only one not in the plan, continuing to look at her newsletter.

Your eyebrow raised, "Am I missing something?"

"It's really nothing," Lily nervously said.

"Okay, so what is it?" You laughed.

"Well," Lily fiddled with her fingers, "You know how you specifically requested that none of us tell James that you were replying to our letters and not purposely ignoring him."

You said, "Uhuh." Already knowing where this going.

"Well, I accidentally let it slip out over the letter you had spoken to Marlene and me." She admitted.

Your mouth agape, "Lily."

"I know, I know," She groaned, "It was a total accident."

"How do you accidentally slip something out over letter?" Marlene snorted, earning a glare from Lily, but she still looked at her newsletter.

"What did he say after?" You asked, kneading your forehead.

"Why is she ignoring me?" Lily answered, "I just said it was none of my business, nor was I involved."

The group stayed in silence, waiting for you to reply.

You sighed, thinking about how much James would bother you more now that he knew you ignored him.

"Are you mad at me?" Lily asked quietly.

"No, of course not," You smiled, looking at her, "I just don't want to talk to him and explain everything,"

"Who says you have to?" Mary asked.

You looked at her confused, "I just can't ignore him." You said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"And why not?" Marlene asked, now looking at you.

You opened your mouth to reply, but nothing came out. You thought about it harder, and why wouldn't you be able to ignore James? Maybe it was hard because you have never done it before.

"So I just don't reply when he tries to talk to me?" You asked.

"Well, I don't support this, but," Lily started, "You could always just walk away when he says something to you."

"Wouldn't that be mean?" You asked.

"What did I tell you in person and in the letter?" Dorcas asked as you looked at her.

"Give him hell."

"So do it." She said.

They were right; you couldn't keep explaining to James what he did wrong; you just had to be done with him. You missed your friendship, but it took a turn years ago; you never said anything.

And you had to start not caring about him.

"So, how was your guy's summer?" You changed the subject, grinning as Marlene went on about how she perfected her Quidditch skills and would finally be the best chaser at Hogwarts.

Then Lily talked about her poetry that she started over the summer and how her sister had ripped a few of them, but she fixed them with a single swish of her wand and appreciated magic more.

Mary talked about how many soap operas she had seen and how she might even go into it after she graduates from Hogwarts.

Lastly, Dorcas talked about how this year was her year to be a seeker and how she got a whole book collection from her sister in New Zealand.

You began talking about how you tasted so many new foods and learned a bit of French, showing off your knowledge of the profound language.

You were interrupted by someone opening the compartment doors, "Hello," Remus greeted as you stood up to hug him immediately.

He caught you as you almost made him fall over by the movement, "Remmy, how much I have missed you," You said, kissing him on the cheek.

"And Y/n, how was France?" He asked, smiling.

"Quite a bore; every man was all over me; I was getting exhausted," You exhaled, sitting back in your seat.

"Well, if you ever want to get with a real man, I'm here, Y/n," Sirius said, nudging next to you as you looked disgusted.

"Did you have to bring him?" Dorcas asked Remus, rolling her eyes.

"He insisted," Remus shrugged.

"There needs to be some form of restraining order against him by all of us," Mary sighed.

"I thought his STDs were enough of a restraining order for us to keep away from him," Marlene teased.

Sirius interrupted before another insult could be made, "Ladies, this Sirius Black hate train is honestly starting to hurt," He pretended to be hurt.

"Aww, poor baby," You said in a baby voice, pinching his cheek as he swooshed your hand away.

"Now, Y/n, why are you ignoring poor Prongs?" Sirius asked as you wanted to throw him out of the train through the window.

"I thought he told you to dance around the question," Remus snorted.

Sirius disregarded, "What did my poor, stupid boy do this time?"

"I'm afraid it's none of your business, Black." You simply said.

"It is my business when my friend is sulking and bringing down my mood," He explained, "So why are you upset with him?" He asked.

Marlene abruptly laughed, "I'm sorry, but he really thought you would be the one Y/n would say something to,"

Sirius fake-laughed, "Oh McKinnon, I'll be laughing like that when you fall off of your arse on the field,"

Marlene mocked his facial expression as he did the same thing to her.

"May I please just arrive in peace without one word of James Potter? I'm begging." You reasoned.

"Well, at least I can tell him I tried and that Moony was no help." He glared at Remus.

"I told you I wasn't going to talk to her for him; it was all up to you," Remus said as Sirius went outside, and Remus waved everyone goodbye before closing the doors.

You could already tell it was going to be a long year.

After finally sorting the first year, everyone was allowed to dine. One thing you always missed about Hogwarts was the fantastic food; it was always incredible.

You were sitting in between Remus and Dorcas when Remus abruptly got up.

"Where are you going?" You asked, mid-laugh from a joke Marlene had made about Dumbledore and McGonagall in their secret chamber.

"Don't kill me," Remus stated before leaving. You looked confused, and James took the spot in front of you. You rolled your eyes, turning back to your meal.

"Please talk to me, Y/n," James pleaded.

You continued to stay silent, not even giving him a look as you looked at Marlene. She shook her head, and you continued to eat.

"I just wanna know what I did," James begged.

When you still didn't respond, he grabbed ahold of your wrist in an attempt for you to look at him.

"Don't fucking touch me." You spat before getting up and leaving the dining hall, telling your friends you were just gonna meet them in the dorm.

You tried rushing to the common room, but James was behind you.

"Y/n!" He yelled, speed-walking after you.

You continued to ignore him, going to the common room until you were stuck with the singing lady at the door who would not give it a rest.

"You have to talk to me," James demanded while the lady continued to screech.

"I don't have to do a thing you say," You scoffed, "In fact, I would prefer if you screwed off and stopped talking to me."

You went to one of the corridors, trying to escape him, but he followed you.

"Can't you just explain to me what I could've done for you to treat me like this?" He said roughly.

You turned to him, "There is not a single, simple explanation of what you could've done; there is a book of things," You snapped, "And treat you like this? Ever since I fucking stepped foot into your life, you have continued to treat me like shit." You stepped closer, "I stuck with you despite Lily, despite what other people said, and despite what you have shown me."

He continued to stay silent, "And now that I finally stick up for myself, I've done you horribly? Bullshit." You spat, "You have continued to show me exactly why I will never ever love you again, and yeah, for a matter of fact, I did love you, but you don't deserve me and never will."

Your words shocked him, not being able to mutter a word.

"Now you have nothing to say?" You manically laughed, "The smooth-talking and fantastic golden boy that shocked the century has nothing to say? What a pathetic-"

He kissed you suddenly precipitously, his tongue entering your mouth, entangling with yours.

For a second, you were drunk on his mouth, engaging with his kiss with as much passion as he gave you. His hand pulls on your hair lightly, making you moan.

His lips went from your mouth to your neck, sucking hard, red marks into your skin, knowing it would bruise.

Then you remembered everything. You remembered James's bitter words, his voice mocking you, and the boys laughing in the locker room.

You pushed his hard chest off you, breathing hard from the whole interaction. He looked at you, breathing as hard as you; realizing what he had done, he tried to touch your hand, but you pushed him again.

Tears brimmed in your eyes, "You're such an asshole," You cried, going to the Gryffindor common room.

You rushed up the stairs, immediately going into your bed. You couldn't believe what had just happened.

A part of you wanted to be grateful, grateful that you pushed him off, and realized that he only wanted to be with you when he felt convenient.

Another part of you wanted to continue kissing him, laughing with him, hugging him. You knew it wouldn't be easy, but you had never figured it would be painful.

What if you had loved James for so long that you didn't know anything but to love him?

It was stupid and pathetic.

You were tired of being stupid and pathetic, you just wanted to move on from James Potter and get away from him, and if that wasn't possible, you had to make him regret being friends with you in the first place.

So you did.

You got up fresh and early in the morning when all of your roommates were sleeping, taking a shower immediately.

You looked in the mirror, your mascara smudged and dark red and purple hickies wearing your skin. You placed a shit-load of powder and concealer to cover up the parts you could.

You tried several spells to cover it up as best as possible, changing into your uniform.

You slipped into the most showing tights you could and wore your skirt from the fifth year that you so obviously outgrew, showing almost your ass cheeks.

You would be thankful not to get a write-up from McGonagall.

You unbuttoned two buttons off the top of your shirt, showing a tiny bit of your bra. It wasn't the most rebellious or seductive, but it could work.

The first challenge of that day was Potions; all of your friends were there, including all of the Marauders. But, thanks to Merlin was also Jacob Carrow's class, the Slytherin Captain that James hated with a burning passion.

They both could not be in the same room without spitting a hateful insult at the other. James once had a dream that you and Jacob had gone out, and he refused to talk to you for an entire day until you convinced him you would never do that.

You never considered yourself a liar.

The only problem was that Jacob was a dickhead, but so was James. You were surprised they didn't get along, maybe in another life.

You went inside Potions with your friend group, and you spotted Jacob Carrow in the back with an empty seat next to him as you told your friends you were gonna sit in the back.

You were thankful none of his friends were around him; it would be ten times more unbearable.

You sat next to him with a wide grin painted on your face, trying not to show your pain.

"Sitting next to me, Y/n?" He smirked, "I thought you were Potter's little puppy."

You tried to ignore your annoyance, "Pets tend to lean away from their owner at points; I guess that's my case." You shrugged.

"I am no Potter; I don't like having little girls follow me and do my shit for me." You could tell he was insulting you, but you stood tall.

"Good thing girls don't like to be in your presence." You snickered.

He smiled, "Love a kitty with claws," He leaned into his chair, "What do you want?"

"Do I have to want something?" You asked, popping your chest out to show your tits as he looked down at your face.

"You finally trying to make your boy toy jealous?" He asked.

You dropped the facade, "Are you gonna help me or not?"

"Control the temper, baby; I just wanna know what's in it for me." His body faced you.

"Isn't James being angry enough?" You asked.

"Nah, I can piss off Potter by just existing." He replied.

"What do you want?" You asked, half-annoyed.

"Meadows on a date with me."

You laughed, "Dorcas would never go on a date with you."

"Then no deal." He said with a fake smile.

"Ugh, fine, I'll talk to her if you just make James's life hell for a few minutes." You said.

"Okay, deal." He smiled, "Do you want me to touch you or,"

"Sure, but don't overdo it." You warned.

"I love when you flatter yourself." He said as James walked in, laughing with the Marauders.

Jacob immediately placed a hand on your thigh, slightly higher than preferred, but you continued smiling.

You started fake-laughing at Jacob's joke, which immediately caught James's attention. You looked behind you, and James's head looked like it would explode.

You looked back at Carrow, touching his shoulder and admiring how much muscle he had.

"What else do you want me to do?" He said through his teeth.

"I'll scoot closer to you, and you can put your hand on my waist." You suggested as he nodded.

You faced the front as Jacob touched your waist, tickling you with his fingers as you laughed.

"Mind keeping it down?" James scowled, "Not everyone wants to fucking hear that shit."

"How about you piss off, Potter?" Jacob mocked as he gripped your waist tighter, which pissed off James even more.

Before James could say another word, Slughorn started the class.

Throughout the class, Jacob would squeeze your thigh or tickle you, almost rising to touch your tits. Whenever he did those actions, you would giggle, earning daggers from James.

Once Slughorn instructed everyone to look inside their microscopes at the different ingredients used in Veritaserum, you took the opportunity to sit on Jacob's lap, looking in the microscope as he bounced you with his knee, causing you to laugh.

This really pissed James off, him storming up to you both. He grabbed your arm, practically flying you off of Jacob.

"Mr. Potter!" Slughorn yelled as the class watched the entire thing.

"Don't you dare fucking touch her," James said brusquely.

Jacob scoffed, "What will you do about it, Potter?" He stood, going closer to James.

You rolled your eyes due to the amount of testosterone in this conversation.

James got closer as you grabbed his hand, pushing him back, "Stop it." You said to him as he looked at you.

He grabbed your wrist, dragging you out of the classroom to an abandoned bathroom.

"James, let go of me!" You yelled as he pushed you inside the bathroom.

He was fuming, and you could tell which scared you. You hadn't seen him this angry since he lost a Quidditch match against the very man's lap you were on.

"You dragged me in here, so is there something you have to say?" You looked at him angrily, hands on your hips.

"Us not being friends anymore doesn't allow you to be a slut," He ridiculed.

You slapped him, "Don't you fucking dare call me a slut; I can do whatever the fuck I want,"

He wiped his mouth with a smile, "You think he gives a shit about you? He would fuck you and then dump you." He said as he moved closer, and you backed up.

"You don't know a thing," You replied nervously.

"He wouldn't even clean you up after," He continued, "He would let you rot there like a slut," Another step closer, which you took backward. You didn't understand if he purposely tried to intimidate or lecture you.

He didn't stop.

"He would tell all of his friends after," Another step, "He wouldn't dare spare you a minute after," Another step, "You would mean nothing," You were backed into the wall now, "But it's okay because you can do whatever the fuck you want."

"James." You kept eye contact with him, his eyes beaming into yours.

His mouth lowered to your ear, "But I think you want me to give a shit; you wanna see me mad." His hand snaked to your waist, "I guess you win." His body left yours, storming out of the bathroom.

Did you really win?

A/N: Y/n: 2, James 0??? There is also an alternate chapter to this because I couldn't stop writing two plots LOL.

taglist: @feast0nmeee @queerqueenlynn @diasnohibng @somebodys-enola @kiwichixta @queerpanickingrn @strnqer @virgogaia @ddddawson @lxriearxella @losa12308 @soosheee @lokifriggason1 @kenqki @volturissideslut @lmfaograyc @melllinaa @iluvfetuszarry @lovelywebber @violetbossler @moonys0chocolate @ourloveisforthelovely @stormymind14 @abq654 @cr1stinx @4-everm-0-re @icantwaittoliveandlearn @aceofheartzzz @ashkuuuu @i-dont-know-me-either @slayingqueenchal @hero-ically @mikeikax @extrainsanity @roryctrlshift @helloitsmeeeeeee @@dittos-blog-dylanobrien @drstargirl @17luvr @eviesmith1810 @fluffycookies22 @valencia-rou @watersquirtpewpewboomm @kentucky-criedfricken @lokisbitch13 @evangelinejxy @youroutdoorbf @ok-boke @madison-rebel @sunshineangel-reads @feast0nmeee @rey26

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ncroissant · 1 month

Note

I just read your Sub! Frances fic and OHMYGOD??? GORGEOUS. AMAZING. HOLY HELL THIS IS THE FIRST FIC THATS MADE ME FEEL THIS WAY I—A JOB MOST CERTAINLY WELL DONE 😭💕✨🙌

I was wondering if you were up to writing more of it? I had this idea for Sub! Frances where he’s a doppelgänger and reader is part of the DDD cleanup crew…except when Frances’s doppelgänger is sent over to them, they decide to initiate a so-called mandatory ‘procedure’ to ‘discipline him’ if you know what I mean…🤭🤭 maybe even throw in some overstim and mind break~

Buttt feel free to ignore this if you want to, no pressure :)

sub! doppelgänger francis mosses x d.d.d! gn! reader

summary: how the clean-up crew likes to deal with slutty doppelgängers

wc: 1.5k

content warning: nsfw, dub-con, spanking, ball play, mind-break, overstimulation, fingering, anal, cock can be seen as strap, cum play, dirty talk, nipple play

author’s note: hi guys! sorry for the wait, but thank u sm for 150 follows omg, u guys have been blowing up my blog ily all. thanks for the ask anon, i love this concept and i'm so happy u liked my first francis fic :') hope u enjoy this one too !! not proofread, minors please dni !!

the calls to the d.d.d. were slow today.

but when you finally got a call from the nearby apartment's security guard, you were quick to accept the job. what you weren't expecting was to find such a handsome man, awaiting his sentence, upon your arrival.

you soaked in the sight of him. his all too tight uniform and his dopey little hat that was a size too big, slipping over his brunette eyes. his sunken eye bags, long lashes and pleading expression.

the alarm was blaringly loud and the lights were blinding, but you still made your way over to the doppel, your breath fogging up with hazmat suit.

"i'm here for a mr. francis mosses?" you inquired, cautiously stepping closer to him. "is that you? or who you're impersonating, hm?" you tilted your head, driving him against the wall.

his eyebrows furrowed, back pressed flat against the wall in attempts to escape. he stayed silent, but you continued to stalk forward. "can't talk, huh?" you scoffed, shaking your head disappointedly.

your head turned to look at the aluminum sheet covering the security guard's window. you slipped your phone out of your pocket, dialing the security guard. "this might take a while. keep that window closed, yeah?"

you hung up, stuffing your phone away. your head quickly turned to look at francis with a glare. "turn around," you demanded, nodding your chin towards the wall.

"what?" the frown on francis' face deepened. you clicked up tongue, disappointed with his reaction. you gathered his wrists together, spinning him around and pressing his chest against the wall. his pants were so tight that you could see the outline of his balls.

"listen to me, slut," you growled, tightening the grip you had on his wrists. "when i tell you do something, you do it, yeah?" his back arched, rubbing the bulge of your cock against his ass.

"are we clear?" you glared down at him as he looked back at you with widened eyes.

"y-yes..." he shyly nodded with a huff.

you smiled at his obedience, moving back to create space between yourselves. "now, i know you've been a bad boy. messin' with the security guard, knowing you can't enter the building like this," you started, grabbing the fat of his ass.

he gasped, biting down on his lip to suppress the lewd sounds that were so desperately spilling out of his lips. "since you wanna be a brat. let me show you how we deal with bad boys like you." you spanked his ass roughly, kneading it gently afterwards.

"h-HNG!?" he panted when you slipped off his pants, exposing his bare ass. his cock twitched at the feeling of you pressing him against the brick wall, the ridges rubbing against his perky nipples.

"no underwear?" you chuckled, dragging your fingers down to fondle his balls. he squirmed in your gasp, little whimpers escaping his mouth.

he shook his head when he felt your thumb circling around the rim of his hole. "unnghhh...'s dirty down there, ooohh...!" your fingers slipped in so easily from the accumulation of sweat and slick, making him jolt at the thickness of your fingers.

"so deep, mmMNGH! y'keep hittin' that, hngh, s-spot..." he whined, leaning head back in bliss. the room was filled with the sound of francis' moans and the sloppy wet sounds of your fingers ramming into his hole.

you fucked your fingers into him, grazing them against his balls. and every time he got used to the thickness of your finger, you'd add another one to catch him off guard.

as much as he wanted to deny it, he was shamefully enjoyed the way your fingers pressed deep against his prostate. "ooOGHHH! m' g'na c-cum, HNGH! 'm c-cumming, cumming!" he whimpered, cum coating the wall.

his cum dripped onto his white uniform pants and rolled down the inner sides of his legs. he was shaking against you, slumping backwards into your arms.

"you think i'm gonna let you off the hook just 'cause you're cute, huh?" you shoved him deeper against the wall, the bumps flicking his nipples when you pulled him up. "who gave you permission to cum?"

his face paled as he shuddered at the look on your face. "'m sorry! needed t'cum s-so bad," he pleaded, shaking his head when you wrapped an arm around his tummy to arch his back more.

you dropped his wrists for him to ball his hands into fists against the wall to stabilize himself. "okay, be a good and count for me, then." he looked confused at what you meant then yelped when your hand came down on his ass.

"GHK!" he shrieked when you smacked his ass again.

"i'm not hearing any numbers, slut," you tsked, slapping his ass again. it was blooming pink, a stark contrast to the pale white earlier.

you spanked him again, prompting a moan from him. "hNGH! o-one, mnghh..." he huffed, he looked back at you with his cheek smushed against the wall.

you continued to torment his ass until it was bright red, throbbing when you brushed your hand over it. "you learn your lesson yet, or should we do five more, hm?" you cooed, rubbing the fat of his ass soothingly.

"n-no more, hnggh...learned my lesson," he begged, tears filling his eyes.

you laughed under your breath at his desperation, giving him a break. "alright, alright. quit your whining, needy boy." you caressed his cheek, wiping a tear from his eye. "c'mere."

you took him off the wall, leading him over to the aluminum covered window. he stood there in confusion, wondering if his punishment was already over. "are you letting me go now?" he furrowed his brows.

you laughed at his assumption. if only he could see what he looked like right now. his pants and underwear pooled at his ankles, his ass blooming red with cum splattered on his shirt with his nipples poking out.

the way he looked back at you with a flushed expression and tears lining his waterline made your cock throb in your pants. "i'm not letting you go for a long time, slut," you shook your head, unzipping your pants.

francis' heart thumped out of his chest at the sight of your bulge. "i'm not so sure how sound-proof this window is..." you stated, cock springing free from your underwear. "so unless you want the security guard to hear how much of a slut you are. i suggest you keep it down."

"m-mkay, i'll do my best," he nodded with a cute little pout on his lips. he looked so serious, wanting to impress you so badly.

"good boy," you stroked at your cock, inching closer to francis. "spread yourself open for me, yeah?"

francis' hands gripped at his ass cheeks, revealing his throbbing, dripping hole. his cheek was pressed against the glass of the window, looking at you for approval.

you slowly entered him, the tightness of his entrance making you grit your teeth. "hooHNGH! o-oh my god...haah," his mouth hung open, drool dripping down his lips.

he's never felt anything like this, nestled so deeply in his ass. the way you stuffed him so easily, kissing his prostate upon entry, made his cock twitch with pleasure.

"fuck. such a tight little thing, aren'tcha?" you grunted with a chuckle, you cock completely disappearing within him. "took me so well though, hm?"

you quickened your pace, thrusting into him with more ease. "n-nghhh! y-you're hitting that spot a-aghhhNGH, again..! 's too big, mmfph!"

you shoved your fingers into his mouth to silence him, rubbing your fingers against his tongue. "haaaaghnn! feelsh sho g-good, ahhnn..." he muffled out, even with your fingers filling his throat.

"told you to keep quiet," you grit your teeth, feeling him tighten up. "bratty boy isn't listenin' to me again. want me to stop?" you threatened, pulling out.

"n-no! k-keep fuh-ghh...f-fucking me, please! d-don't pull out, mnngh!" he begged, shaking his head furiously.

your tip teased at his entrance before fucking into him furiously. it's not like you could resist indulging him, especially with the expression he was making. eye rolled back, tongue sticking out with tears and drool spilling out.

he looked like a common whore, humping against you like a bitch in heat. "ooGHHK! r-right there! f-fuck, 'm close, hngh!" he nodded mindlessly.

your grip on his waist was bruising, as your free hand rubbed the buds over his shirt. "o-ooh, oh! c-cumming, c-cumming 'gain, h-HNGHHK!"

cum spilled into francis' hole, filling him up generously. his own cock was covering in cum as it had stained the window along with his fingerprints.

your fingers fucked the cum that was spilling out back into his hole as francis twitched in your hold. "feelin' alright, tiger?" you cooed, feigning innocence as if you hadn't just breeded his tight, little hole and filled him with your seed.

"u-uh-huh. wan' more...?" he nodded in a dazed, rutting his ass against your fingers. he cupped his chest, flicking his nipple with his thumb. "'again, ngh?"

the smile on your face was pure evil. he looked so desperate for your cock, your fingers weren't cutting it for him anymore. "fuckin' hell..." you cursed, tugging your cum-covering fingers out.

"again," you smirked, thrusting into him roughly.

#francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #sub francis mosses #that's not my neighbour #thats not my neighbor #smut #x reader #ncrescent asks

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