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notmyneighbor · 23 days

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Let Me in ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 3

Word Count ~ 2.5k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ blood and gore, body horror, character death, minor violence, dubious consent, sexual content

Also available on AO3

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

You sit on the side of the bed that had once belonged to Francis Mosses.

The comforter and top sheet have already been pulled down. You lean over to slide out of your low heeled pumps, tucking the pair of navy leather shoes neatly under the bed.

There’s a bible on the nightstand. A worn looking copy. Beside it a glass with a shallow amount of water resting in the bottom, the remnant of a late night attempt to quench thirst, perhaps.

The doppelgänger watches your movements. How methodical each action is. Slow and deliberate. You’re stalling.

He settles beside you and the mattress creaks as the springs are compressed. That odd sort of shimmer you’d noticed earlier outside the security booth outlines his frame for a brief moment. A surge of light and color as the skin ripples before settling. They still weren’t completely able to disguise what they were. All hope was not lost.

Your own fate, however, seems sealed. You lie down slowly, carefully. You feel as if you are laying yourself to rest in your own coffin. Turning your face ever so slightly to see if there is any trace of the man that had once slept here, some lingering scent or an indent from his face. Nothing but the fragrance of clean linen. The imposter moves as if to join you but you halt him, your fingers closing over his forearm. Your first time touching him and not the other way around. “Take your shoes off.”

The creature snickers, glancing down at the scuffed oxfords he’s wearing. Overdue for a shine. “What possible difference does that make?”

“It’s respectful. You never put your shoes where someone sleeps.”

“He won’t be sleeping here ever again.”

You inhale sharply, wincing. “Please just do it.” You can’t say why you’re so hung up on this. Only that it seems the right thing to do. A small thing in a sea of wrongs that you’re clinging to like a life preserver.

“Fine.” He acquiesces, bending to unlace them. There is no care in his actions. Just brisk, impatient pulls to undo the knotted ties. Then he is lying beside you. Your heads sharing the same pillow. Francis only used a single one, apparently. Preferring to slumber lying with his head and neck rather flat. You always used two fluffy pillows, minimum.

You can hear the sound of music starting to play, emanating from the resident’s apartment next door.

Mia Stone, perhaps. The blonde teacher who was Dr. Afton’s fiancée. You instantly recognize the musical artist crooning through the walls: Billie Holiday.

I say I'll move the mountains

And I'll move the mountains

If he wants them out of the way

You would have loved to play this record for Francis. You envision trying to dance in the cramped space of the living room, twirling around in his arms. “Did he really like my fragrance?” You know the creature could lie, of course. He’d say anything to manipulate you and get what he wanted. But you have to ask. Your heart won’t let you avoid the query.

The dark eyes of the pretender regard you. You detect no malice or dishonesty there. “Yes,” he says simply.

You close your eyes, sighing. “What else did he like about me?”

“Your smile, gifted once you were certain it was really him. The way you covered your mouth when you laugh, making some little relieved joke when you passed his identification and entry request back to him each day. The strands of hair that came loose around your face as the day wore on into late afternoon when he returned from his route. The—”

“—Stop. Please.” Tears well in your eyes. They didn’t sound like the kind of details the deceiver would create on his own. There was a note of truth to them. Genuine recollections. He truly was all that remained of Francis Mosses. A man that had been fond of you. You could have been with him, if only you’d been a little braver.

“You asked me to tell you.”

“I know. It’s just overwhelming.”

Like the wind that shakes the bough

He moves me with a smile

“Your kind is so fond of music. Your milkman was always humming. I don’t see the use for it.”

The your wrenches your heart. He wasn’t yours. Never would be. “It’s a way to expression emotions. When words alone aren’t enough.”

“Hmmm.” He reaches out and you flinch. “Why are you fighting this so hard? This is what you wanted.”

“I didn’t want Francis to die.” You pause, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Why do you want this?”

”Curiosity. An experiment of sorts. There has never been a union between our kind. Not of this nature. A desire to know what it feels like. To see what might result.”

You shudder. An experiment. Using you like some kind of animal for breeding. A mere whim.

He reaches again and this time you force yourself to hold steady, your chin lifting with a short jerk of defiance. Your hair is his goal. Tucking it back behind one ear. Maybe something the milkman had wanted to do. There’s a sudden softness in the doppelgänger’s eyes. As if the human he’d once been was peeking through at you. You find yourself melting again, your defenses coming down.

I say I'll care forever

And I mean forever

He moves closer to you. Inching over across the white fitted sheet. A thumb strokes away one of the tears that has escaped its prison. He captures the other from the opposite cheek, bringing it to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste the droplet. “Salt,” he says, recognizing the mineral.

He kisses you.

You’re not sure if it’s better to think of the man you had loved or not. Was it dishonoring his memory or was it a way to keep him present in some vague capacity? There’s no clumsiness this time. He knows the feel of your mouth. The way to shift against you. Tongue mapping past smooth cheeks and dragging along the carpet of muscle at the base of that maw. Maybe it was better to pretend this was Francis after all. You cup the back of his neck, fingers teasing the edges of his milk chocolate tresses. Curling slightly on the ends. It would be time for a trim soon. Would have been. The illusion you’ve created is crumbling again. Your lips falter, your hand dropping away.

Crazy he calls me

Sure, I'm crazy

Crazy in love am I

“Sweetheart,” the invader murmurs, tasting along your jaw, your neck. “I like the way you smell.” Speaking for himself, not Francis. You hear the sharp intake of air. The hand that had been casually laid across your shoulder slides down until it reaches your breast, gently kneading that globe through the layers of your bra and blouse. “Does this feel good?” His voice is octaves lower than you’d ever heard from the milkman. Slightly raspy and sultry, not unlike the singing voice that permeates through the wood and plaster behind the bed. You don’t dare answer, merely whimpering a little and he seems to take this as an affirmative response.

His hand leaves your breast and finds the top button of your shirt. Always sensible, pure white, part of the uniform standard the company requires. Another threaded plastic disc is pushed through the hole. He works his way down until all those that are exposed have surrendered, the remainder still tucked within your skirt. His fingers part the edges of the fabric encasing your torso, peeling them back to reveal the white satin brassiere beneath. He caresses you briefly through this slick material before tucking inside the cup until he brushes across your areola. Your nipple peaks beneath his ministrations as his lips move back to yours. He is surprisingly gentle, lightly pinching and rolling the aroused tissue. Your body betrays you, responding to the creature’s touch. You should be ashamed, disgusted. Instead you find yourself wanting more.

“Off,” he murmurs impatiently, plucking at your bra before his hand departs your chest. You struggle to sit up and he allows it, watching you pull your blouse free from your skirt and unfastening the cuffs before sliding it off your arms. With a swift gesture borne of long practice you easily pinch and release the hook and eye closures resting along the center of your spine, the cups immediately folding down over the underwire, the straps drooping over your shoulders.

The doppelgänger assists you now, sliding the brassiere off the rest of the way, exposing your chest to him. Your cheeks are pink, flushed like the nipples he’s toying with again, his head bending to suckle at one and a lick of flame sears your core. This is part of the invasive species’ learning process, you think. Taste as important as touch. His mouth moving not with the sole purpose of your pleasure in mind, but as a means to explore flavors and textures. Cataloguing. More of humanity’s secrets unveiled.

There is a song you don’t recognize playing next door now. Muffled voices. You’d had no idea the walls were so thin. Francis had never complained.

You’re shoved back down onto the pillow. His mouth wanders, back up to sample a collar bone, the hollow at the base of your throat, then dips in between your breasts and tastes the skin of your abdomen. You wonder if he can detect the floral soap you’d bathed with that morning, the traces of lotion you’d applied during your hygiene routine.

“I like this,” he says, his breath warm on your body. “You’re so soft. Smooth. Not like…I’ve never taken…” It had often been debated if there were sexes in their species. How they propagated. There was still so much unknown. Was there a reason he’d only chosen men to replicate? Was it simply because he was male himself? You could not explain how you knew it, but there was something distinctly masculine about him. Authoritative. Blunter than a woman would be. A lifetime of being raised to respect decorum had been firmly ingrained in you. Society valuing a woman who knows her place. Taught to be demure, deferring to the wisdom and guidance of their male counterparts. Serving and obeying, like you’re doing now.

The imposter returns his attention to your face. Licking your mouth back open. He likes this, you think. All of what you’d shared thus far, but perhaps the kissing best of all.

The background melody silences and you think you detect the front door opening and closing. You wonder if the couple will be going out to an early dinner. Curious when they find there is no one guarding the building. But not alarmed. Not yet.

Your skirt is being lifted, polyester dragged upward after the copycat’s hasty reach downward to gather the hem. Immediately sliding back down, stroking over your exposed thighs that are clad in nylons that stop midway across each of your upper legs. Nothing fancy, just utilitarian features in a shade of nude slightly more tanned than your own complexion. He nudges against the seal you’ve created by pressing your legs close together. “Let me in, sweet girl.” An echo of what he’d said earlier in an attempt to gain access to the building, now seeking entry into you. You feel your limbs parting for him nearly as promptly as you’d opened the door.

The pretender works his way back up to the fork of your body, teasing along the crotch of the white panties. You gasp and he smiles against your lips. His palm drags over the fabric until his fingers find the elastic waistband and he dips beneath it, running overly the neatly trimmed hair on your pubic mound, following the curve of that padded flesh until your sex is palpated.

Another gasp and a moan escapes you. “So wet,” he remarks, fondling the pink lips, parting the petals with his middle finger to slide through the slick arousal your body is creating, working the lubricant up and down, passing over the hooded nub and then delving back towards your entrance, where more fluid escapes.

It feels good and yet it doesn’t, his fingers too rough and just shy of where you need him. You squirm and wince at the harsh handling of your clitoris and he pauses, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Show me. Show me how you like to be touched.”

You reach down cautiously, guiding his fingers to one side of your sensitive bud, lightly pressing and rolling a fingertip so that your clit is ground slightly against the bone beneath. Alternating now, reaching back down to gather more of your slick before spreading it over that hooded button, a few direct strokes applied before beginning the process again. He replicates your actions and your body responds immediately, a hum of pleasure heating you. You close your eyes and you think of the milkman, the real one, with his kind smile and his tired eyes.

“Francis.” The name escapes your lips and you freeze, the rocking motion of your hips against the imposter’s hand abruptly ceasing. You hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Alarmed by how easily you’d allowed yourself to give in to the desire, accommodating this make believe passion.

“It’s alright, love. It’s me. I’m here.” His tongue laps at your ear, at the sensitive patch of skin behind it. You shiver and resume grinding against his fingers, letting yourself be deluded once more, your hand curling over his forearm.

“Francis,” you say again, hoping he can forgive you, in whatever form he now occupies, if he is saved as his faith professes he would be, finding redemption and peace, somewhere far from your sinning body that writhes in pleasure from his murderer’s touch.

You push against his hand and he allows it, applying force against the hollow cavity that leads to your womb. “Let me in,” he breathes, and you feel a finger invading your body, shoving through the narrow confines of that muscular tunnel. Withdrawing and spearing again, the digit saturated with your arousal. You moan and lift your pelvis to meet him. Curling inside, massaging that dip of spongy tissue. Crooking each time he enters as if he is leading you forward, beckoning, his thumb drawing circles over your clit. You feel as if you’re on the edge of a chasm, teetering on the rim, about to drop forward into heat and darkness. Keening now. Thighs tremoring violently. Your face turns and your teeth sink into the pillow. “There you go, love. Give it to me. Give in to me.”

The coiling pressure within you snaps and you find release at last, the fabric clenched in your teeth doing little to muffle the sound of your orgasm. You’re drenched in sweat, the aftershocks of your appeased nerves still sizzling through you. The doppelgänger cradles you through all of it, holding you as you ride the waves that exhaust your limbs, making you feel boneless and limp.

“Francis.” It’s a yearning plea, a futile prayer, answered by the thing that is not him, but masquerades as such, crooning to you, whispering false promises, draping you in synthetic affection, a lie you want so desperately to believe.

#thats not my neighbor #francis mosses #milkman #francis mosses x you #francis mosses x reader #milkman x you #milkman x reader #doppelgänger

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channelrat · 1 year

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Me: I hate people who milk their content until theres nothing left

Also me: Sabrina better release Nonsense v3: Sad version. And I want ALL of Bo's alt audios for inside

#the goodbye alt from the outtakes??? give me all of it #dont even go thru production #just release it as is #idc if its scuffed or shit i want it #same w/ sabrina #put her in front of a piano and give her a phone and record the whole album again

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woso-dreamzzz · 2 months

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Day In The Life

Hardersson x Daughter!Reader

Natalia Guijarro (OC) x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Natalia offers the fans a snapshot of your life

"Hola," Natalia says, beaming at her phone," I'm going to take you all on a little journey today." She grabs some of her skincare from the bathroom cabinet. "It's my day off today and my girlfriend and I are planning to spend the day together."

She winks at the camera as she finishes her skincare routine.

"It's pretty early for her. Nine in the morning. She likes to sleep in."

There's scuffing at the bathroom door and Natalia rolls her eyes and opens it. She picks up her phone and angles the camera downwards.

"This is the lovely Prins. He came with my girlfriend."

Prins' tail wags at the mention of his name and walks around in circles.

"He speaks Danish," Natalia continues," And Swedish when he's being nice so I've no idea how to tell him how to do anything." She laughs from behind the camera. "Sometimes, I think he only tolerates me because I live with him and his mami."

Prins barks once before scampering further into the apartment.

"So, my skincare is done, I've already showered so all I've got to do is change into my day clothes and-"

The screen cuts for a moment.

"There. This is my fit for today. We're not doing much so I've gone very casual."

The camera cuts again and it's set up on what must be a bedside table. The angle is slightly slanted and the sun streaming in through the curtains is just light enough to see it reflect across your face.

You're still sleeping and the camera picks up Natalia creeping up from behind you, pulling you closer to her by the waist.

It's with great ease that she holds you there. Her hand is splayed over your hip and your previously frowning face relaxes even though you're still fast asleep.

"Amor," Natalia says, her nose nudging at your sensitive neck," Mi vida, it's time to get up."

You fidget a little, trying to escape the touching of your neck. You shift your shoulders too and one of your hands moves to rest on the one that's holding you.

"Talia?" You ask, voice thick with sleep. You refuse to open your eyes. "It's early."

"We have plans, amor," She reminds you," You have to get up now if you still want to take Prins out this morning."

You pry your eyes open after Natalia lays several feather light kisses to your cheeks. You notice the camera instantly and the tiniest of smiles pokes at your lips.

"I look a mess, Talia," You say as you stare at the camera in amusement.

"You look beautiful," Natalia replies," My beautiful, beautiful girlfriend."

You laugh. "I hope you keep that in when you post this. It'll get my moster Frido off my back about being the sappy one in this relationship."

The camera cuts off just as Natalia rolls you over onto your back again.

"Look at my girlfriend," Natalia says from behind the camera," Taking our son out for a walk."

You're sitting on the ground, pulling on your shoes. You smile at the camera.

"Prins," You say, shaking his leash," Kom her (come here)!"

Prins approaches, his tail wagging furiously when he finally notices what you're holding.

"She's leaving me," Natalia whines jokingly," My beautiful girlfriend, leaving me here, all alone."

You roll your eyes. "She's so dramatic!"

"You love me for it."

"Of course I do. I'll see you in a bit."

The camera flips to Natalia's joking pout. "I miss her already."

When the camera cuts in again, it's a shot of your joined hands, swinging. It cuts again and Natalia's behind you, pressing a kiss to your sensitive neck as you try to squirm away.

The video captures a few more things. A little hole-in-the-wall coffee shop and a table with two coffees. A shot of you recording in the mirror, giving Natalia heart eyes that has the whole internet going feral as she browses through clothes at a store.

There's a romantic meal too. The camera cuts in on you with your hand lying on the table, reaching across it to hold Natalia's. It's dark out now and the restaurant looks like one of those fancy, upscale ones that people spend months on a waiting list to even book a meal at.

You're smiling, not at the camera but just behind it where the viewers know Natalia is. The actual video is suddenly muted and you're saying something that people can't quite lip-read.

The camera shakes like Natalia's been caught off guard and starts laughing.

You smile even wider.

When the camera cuts again and the audio returns, you're both curled up on the sofa together.

Reina is stretched out along the back and Prins lies mostly in Natalia's lap with his head resting in yours. The tv is on low in the background as Talia drops a quick peck on your lips.

"And that was our day," She says to the camera as you rest your head against her shoulder," Did you have fun today, mi vida?"

You nod, closing your eyes as her fingers gently scratch at your scalp.

"She's sleepy," Natalia says," She's a homebody so she doesn't go out much but she did it for me today because she loves me."

"Love you," You murmur, just audible enough for the microphone to pick up.

"Love you too," Talia whispers back before raising her tone again," We're probably going to watch a movie now. There's-"

She cuts off when the front door opens and the viewers are treated to the image of her eyebrows shooting all the way up to her hairline and a look of pure terror.

"Surprise!" The recognisable voice of Pernille is audible.

"Natalia Guijarro!" The equally recognisable voice of Magda snaps," Get your hands off her! There'll be no funny business where I can see it!"

It's like Natalia hasn't even realised the camera is still running because she puffs out her cheeks in annoyance and says back," You don't even live here! How did you get a key?"

You sleepily push off from Talia's shoulders and rub your eyes.

"Momma? Morsa? Did I forget you were coming?"

"It wouldn't be much of a surprise if you knew we were coming," Pernille says. Her hands come into frame as she cups your face and presses a kiss in greeting to your forehead.

"I mean it, Natalia!" Magda continues after giving you your own soft greeting," Hands where I can see them! You will not defile my daughter in my presence."

Natalia splutters. "I-I don't defile her! I...We..."

"Morsa," You groan, your cheeks flushing red," You're embarrassing me."

The last shot captured is off Magda's fingers reaching out to pinch your cheek.

"Good," She says," One of has to."

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #The Big Adventures Universe

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xythlia · 6 months

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⎙ — 𝐉𝐎𝐘𝐓𝐎𝐘.𝐓𝐎𝐑

› WELCOME TO THE RED ROOM... RESERVED FOR GUESTS OF PARTICULAR TASTES

› toji x f!reader

› word count : 2k+

- ̗̀໒ warnings : sex work, on camera, choking, my spit kink shining thru again, biting, backshots, (1) ass smack, fingering, cervix fucking, reader has hair long enough to pull, squirting, rough sex, full nelson, creampie

You take a drag of your cigarette, bleary sleep deprived eyes doing their best to focus on the obnoxious flashing neon sign. WE'VE GOT A DOLL FOR EVERY TASTE. It makes you scoff as you grind the but out beneath your scuffed shoe, that's all they think of you all as, dolls. Props that just so happen to moan and squirt.

For the most part you keep your complaints to yourself, money is money. Not that this was what you ever pictured you'd land on as a career but it could always be worse.

Exhaling the last of the crisp night air from your lungs you pull open the sleek silver backdoor to Cloud Nine. The back hallways are made up of dim, twisting corridors. Some lead to the back offices, to security, but as you hook a left to brush past a tinkling bead curtain you're met with the large open dressing room you all share.

You prefer to spend as little time back here as possible, doing the bulk of your prep at your apartment before you're on for the night. You can't stand their mindless, giddy chatter. It also prevents you from getting attached to any of them, or taking on a puppy so to speak.

Before you can finish tucking your bag and coat away in the dingy locker your floor manager is waving a piece of paper in your face.

It makes your stomach flip.

"You got swapped, Angel can't do the red room and you're the only other experienced girl in tonight."

The red room was only ever offered on nights an experienced doll was on the floor, since the people reserving red rooms always have a... particular taste in mind. Newer girls wouldn't be able to handle it. As much of an annoyance as it is to be switched with so little notice, you don't mind. It can get dull shaking your ass for run of the mill patrons all night, plus the red room is where the real money is.

"One or-?" You ask vaguely.

"One guy, don't keep him waiting alright?" She says dismissively.

You grab the piece of paper, the list of what you will and strictly won't do for a red room service. It was standard fare: creampie, light sadism, degradation, ect. Since it wasn't too extreme you didn't bother filling it out, it's easier to just tell the guy.

It's not far to the private rooms, and part of you is more than a little eager to see just who reserved one of these eye wateringly expensive sessions.

Even bathed in the dim red lights you could tell he was attractive, dark hair and eyes that held something elusive even though he kept contact with your own.

"I didn't bother filling this out, nothing you requested is off limits for me." You smile as you let the paper flutter to the floor, taking the seat beside him on the plush lounge.

Out of the corner of your eye you see the blinking light on the camera, he already set it up to record. It makes you quirk a brow at him, usually even the most gutsy ones are a little camera shy.

He smirks at you. "I'll be gentle."

With the way he says it you know it's a lie.

With a grin you lay back, propping a pillow under your head and trying not to focus on that little green recording light in your peripheral. The worst part is being filmed, but that's part of the rooms appeal. These guys pay for the ability to record the entire session not just for being able to fuck someone with no holds bared, but the catch is the club also gets to upload it.

The feeling of his skin brushing against yours cracks your train of thought. His fingertips are calloused, hands rough but he doesn't have the look of a working man. As those fingertips caress a trail down your inner thighs you shiver, letting out a quiet gasp.

"Puttin' on a show?" He purrs.

You give a breathy giggle, winding your arms around his muscles back as he leans over you between your legs. "Isn't that what you paid for?"

He pushes against you, lips brushing experimentally against yours, and deepens it to something harsh and hungry when he feels you start to squirm beneath him. His touch feels like fire, scorching a path across your skin with every grope and fondle of your body. You feel a familiar sensation of dizziness, of lightheadedness; every movement is skilled and purposeful, a deliberate attempt to steal the breath from your lungs and leave you choking on your own spit.

His lips begin to make their way down your neck, sucking hard against the delicate skin and making you groan with every nip of his teeth. In a daze you help him undo the straps of your barely there top, head tipping back when his mouth finds one of your nipples. They get the same rough treatment as your throat, and he gives a particularly sharp graze of his teeth clearly just to hear you yelp.

Your hands cup your breasts, kneading them, as his mouth dips marks a path down your stomach. Caught up in your own eagerness you wiggle your hips slightly, anticipating what's coming only to feel him grip your legs and yank you down further. The suddenness makes you wince, propping on your elbows to see just what he has in mind.

The way he's looking at you, with such debauched hunger it sends butterflies off in your chest. You don't even know his name but you know this is the kind of man a red room was designed for. As he leans forward again between your legs you feel his erection press hard against you, making the fabric of your panties slide against your clit with delicious friction.

Before you can ask, beg, for more his thick fingers glide up the column of your throat and press hard against the sides. Squeezing against your carotid artery and making your mouth drop open. As soon as your lips part you see the shimmer against his bottom lip, watch in fascination as a thick clear string of spit comes down to meet your tongue.

Sucking his lip he brings his face barely an inch from yours, through the fuzz of your restricted blood supply you notice a scar on the corner of his mouth.

"I didn't pay for you to look at the fuckin' camera." His voice is low, gutteral.

The second he lets go your body is automatically sucking air into your lungs, hard and sputtering as you lift your hips up to grind against him. In one smooth movement, before you can even process it properly, he's got you flipped on your stomach and pulling your ass up and back.

Your cheek presses against the plush fabric, eyes squeezed shut feeling his fingers run over your damp panties. There's not even enough time to relish in the contact before two fingers have the fabric pulled to the side, his knuckles sliding past the ring of muscle makes you moan against the lounge seat.

Hearing the soft shuffling of clothes you know he's undressing, even while his other hand is occupied with keeping his fingers scissoring against your slick walls. The sudden emptiness of his fingers withdrawing was quickly replaced by the head of his cock sliding through your arousal, making you suck in a sharp breath.

Just from that little contact you can feel he's got girth and heft, excitement makes you dig your nails into the lounge and press your chest down against it, keeping your ass higher.

You hear him scoff and the sting of his hand coming down hard against your skin makes you cry out, but it's nothing compared to the biting pain as the swollen head pushes against your soaked hole. The stretch is agonizing, you're not sure any amount of prep would've been sufficient. You groan, bottom lip caught in your teeth as you feel the fabric against your face getting wet with the spit seeping from the corners of your mouth.

He doesn't wait for you to adjust before slamming his hips against your ass, hard enough to make your breathing hitch in your throat, and you can feel him brushing against your cervix. The pace is brutal, making your body jostle and shake with each thrust.

Slick squelching mingles with the sound of skin smacking skin to form a perverse melody that only heightens the tension building in your gut. Frantically you slide one hand down to rub you neglected, aching clit but before you can make contact he's got you pulled up by a fistful of your hair. The sting of pain makes tears prick in your waterline as blubbering moans spill from your lips.

The way your body rocks forward with every brush of his cock against your cervix, the way his girth makes your cunt feel overstuffed, it all makes your head spin. His grunts join the obscene cacophony of sounds along with your whines when he lets go of your hair to support your body with one arm while his other hand catches your jaw in a bruising grip.

You squirm, feeling the hot tracks of tears slipping down your cheeks but his hold is steadfast. If you had more presence of mind you'd swear you could feel your heartbeat not just through your entire body but in your cunt too.

As you dissolve in his hold, a crying whimpering mess, he pushes you back down face first into the lounge, holding you by the scruff as he repositions to hit deeper. Your moans fracture into gasps and hiccups as you clench down around him, finally able to rub frenzied circles around your clit and feel that compressed coil snap inside you.

The lounge becomes incredibly damp around your knees and your brain feels as if it's coated in sticky, thick honey.

You whimper pathetically as he yanks you up again, never breaking his pace, forces you to look straight into that ever blinking green light.

"Not all you can take is it?" He sneers, hooking fingers into your mouth and whatever reply you had gets lost in the garbled sounds you choke out around them.

When he suddenly pulls out you groan, body feeling exhausted and boneless on the comedown from your orgasm but he isn't done with you yet. He lays on his back, supporting you on top of him as he makes sure your pussy faces the cameras lens and slips back inside you.

Your eyes roll back as you struggle to help support your own weight. It catches you off guard when pulls you down so your back is pressed against his chest, both of your bodies slick with sweat and various other fluids. His arms loop beneath yours and his fingers lock together behind your neck, making your breaths come in wheezed yelps and your legs automatically rise up.

The muscles in your thighs are screaming from the strain and your lungs burn again, you feel yourself camping around him, walls throbbing and sucking his cock back in with every thrust.

You can't help but sob and blubber hoarsely, begging to cum again with every sharp upswing of his hips. His pace breaks up quickly the tighter you squeeze him, devolving into sloppy thrusts until you feel his cock throb inside you. Warm, sticky heat spreads inside you and you sigh brokenly in his hold.

The cameras unfeeling, fish eye lens catches the creamy white rings forming on his cock, the way his cum drips out of your sore pussy when he slides out of you with a throaty, satisfied groan.

You grin, slow and lazy up at the ceiling. Red room sessions aren't just about the money, they're the most... fulfilling.

#inspired by talking about cyberpunk & toji with anesa this is for youuu <33 #& before anyone says anything ik thats not how tor addresses work but i ain't making the title 56 numbers so #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji smut #toji x you #jjk fic

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plainemmanem · 2 years

Note

Can you do a Steve Harrington request about to kiss trope with the dialogue “you’re staring” “so are you”?

stevie in his silly little family video vest with his silly little name-tag, answering his silly little calls with his silly little customer service voice <3

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

You’re so fucking pretty.

It hurts, honestly. When Steve’s eyes trail over to you at work.

It’s painful.

You’re not even doing anything. You’re literally restocking the shelves and you look so fucking beautiful it hurts.

Light streams in from the front window, illuminating your skin. The beauty marks and imperfections up your arms, your wrists, your collarbones.

It takes everything in him not to reach out and feel your warmth every shift.

The front door opens with a ding, indicating a customer, but Steve can’t tear his eyes away from you. The door closes, letting in a gust of wind and ruffling the soft ends of your hair, shooting a shiver up your spine. His hand clenched the mouse a bit tighter upon seeing the slight goosebumps traveling up your arm.

He tears his eyes away for a brief moment to keep up appearances, glancing at the computer screen. His eyes are back on you a second later, his teeth nibbling at his bottom lip as he watches you scratch at an old sticker on one of the tapes absentmindedly.

Your uniform is a little tattered, your shirt hangs off one of your shoulders and a bit of your bra strap peaks out at him. A hand comes up to readjust your neckline as you crouch down to start on the tapes on the bottom shelf.

Old, scuffed sneakers adorn your feet, and Steve nearly loses his mind when he notices the socks you have on. They have a ruffled edge, hugging your ankle, and little hearts peak up over your shoe as you kneel down.

His eyes were back on the computer screen again, not even reading the words, just scanning his eyes across letters and hoping that his staring isn’t too obvious. He’s been harboring a crush ever since you started.

When Robin had mentioned a few weeks ago that one of her friends would be applying, Steve’s curiosity was peaked, and it was all downhill from there.

“What’s she like?” He leaned onto the counter right next to her suggestively, one arm holding him up and the other resting on his hip. A brow quirked up.

As she scribbled in 4-down, she glanced up at him. She caught his overly-interested gaze, immediately slamming her puzzle book closed.

"No! No, Steve, don't even give me that look," she scolded, a warning hand held up in his direction as she walked away from the counter and towards the back room.

Steve's face dropped to pure confusion.

"What?" he shouted at her retreating form. "What look?"

Robin spun abruptly, shooting him a stern look and an accusatory finger.

"That look you get anytime I mention anyone I know who's a girl." She was stalking back over to him now, angrily. "You get this, this... King Steve look all over your face and I will not be indulging you this time-"

She spun again, heading to the back room with much more purpose than before. Steve quickly followed after her.

"'King Steve look? Wh-"

Robin continued her previous rant, cutting him off over her shoulder.

“I am not letting you get your grubby little guy hands all over her. I actually like this girl; she's cool and funny, and way outta your league might I add-"

"Thanks-"

Robin swings the back door open, dropping it in Steve's face. He catches it with his palm, mouth pressing into an annoyed line.

"And I don't want our friendship to be ruined because you... tainted her."

She stalked towards the cart full of returns and white-knuckled the handle bar, once again shooting Steve a warning look.

"C'mon now, 'tainted' seems a little harsh-"

"And she could possibly be coming to work here, and I just don't wanna ruin the one good girl friendship I have right now."

She was still clearly annoyed, but her face fell a little in defeat, well aware of Steve's track record with the other girls Robin's introduced him to.

Ever since Nancy, Steve's been a bit of a player. A bad one, but a player none the less. The most recent girl was Louise — Robin's lab partner. Robin hasn't talked to Louise in a while, not after Steve's disastrous date with her last Friday. Chemistry has been particularly awkward.

Steve's face fell at Robin's concern. He really did feel bad about Louise, and all the other girls Robin's had to cut ties with because of him.

"Right..." Steve stuffed his hands into his jeans, sneaker scuffing the grimy carpet beneath his feet. "Yeah, right, I'm sorry." He looked up at her seriously, hoping to get across his sincerity without too many words.

"It's alright, Steve. I... I know things have been kinda weird for you."

Nancy. Everything led back to Nancy, and Steve was sick of it.

He took a tentative step towards her, arm coming out to grab onto her elbow, fixing her with a serious gaze.

"No funny business from me, alright? Nothing more than a handshake, I swear."

She gave him a half-hopeful, half-skeptical look, before letting out a breath.

"Promise?" she questioned, sticking her pinky up to him.

He latched his pinky with hers, squeezing just a tad.

"Promise."

Turns out, that promise would grow painfully difficult to keep.

——————————————————————————

You'd only been working at Family Video for about two weeks, and already Steve was a lovesick puppy around you. Of course, he always denied it, but it seemed to be obvious to just about everyone just how helpless he was for you.

Always offering you rides to work, even though you lived twenty minutes out of his way. Hiding any mistakes you make from Keith, even if it means staying an hour late to rearrange the horror section. Hell, he'd give you the shirt off his back if you asked.

But, today had been particularly challenging. It was just you, Robin, and Steve.

"Why don't you take a picture?" Robin huffs, dropping a stack of tapes on the counter next to the computer. Steve’s eyesquickly snap from you to the exasperated girl beside him. "It'll last longer." She mutters to him, turning around to peak over at you.

Steve's cheeks felt hot, but he tried to play it cool, eyes now locked with the computer screen.

"I dunno what you mean." His attempt to sound causal comes out a little stilted and he winced a little to himself.

"Oh, please," she grunts as she hops up on the counter. "You moon after her just about every time you see her. I'm surprised she hasn't quit yet."

A nervous chill runs up his spine and his blood runs cold, both at the idea of you quitting and the idea that you possibly know of his little crush. Sure, you’ve dropped a few sneaky hints — little remarks here and there that you may mirror his affections — but Steve was always too afraid to get his hopes up.

In his peripheral, Steve watches you gather up the rest of the tapes, now making your way towards the counter. He begins running through some lines in his head. How's it going? Too basic. How's restockin'? Too dorky. Have I mentioned I might be in love with you—

"Hey, guys." Your chipper tone rings out as you head behind the counter, your stack of tapes wobbling.

Steve drops the mouse immediately at your voice and turns to look at you — trying extremely hard to appear casual — when he spots the tapes slowly shifting in your arms. He rushes over, grabbing the stack and righting them for you, peeking around to give you a sheepish look.

"Heh, thanks." You shoot him a shy, grateful look as he takes the top half of the stack. "You'd think after working here for two weeks now, I'd get the hang of the whole restocking thing." You laugh nervously and set your half of the tapes on the counter next to Robin, shooting her an embarrassed grimace.

"Oh, don't worry. Stevie, here, has been working here for months now and he still has yet to learn how to hang a window display."

Steve shoots Robin a warning look from behind your back, but his anger drops upon hearing a small giggle leave your lips. You spin back around to face him with a warm smile, arms crossing over your chest smugly.

"That's funny, cause just the other day, our boy Steve said it was you who couldn’t figure it out."

A shocked gasp comes from Robin and you can hear her feet hit the ground as she hops off the counter, then her stomping towards the guilty-looking boy.

"Steve!" She hit him in the shoulder.

"Oow!" He said it almost like a question, like a “What was that for?"

"You." Smack. "Are." Smack. "Such." Smack. "A." Smack. "Dick." Smack.

"Jesus, Robs, could you-" his remark dies on his lips a tad at the sound of your cackling. He gives you a smarmy look as your eyes twist shut and your arms cross your middle in laughter. Quickly, he catches himself staring once again, and turns his annoyance back on Robin. "Could ya not hit me so hard?"

She storms off towards the back once again.

"Please?" Steve calls out after her, arms raised theatrically in the air. He turns his gaze back on you, fixing you with an exasperated look. But, he can’t stay mad for long when you're smiling so big at him.

"You just had to tell her, didn't you?" He sighs, a little to exaggeratedly to be genuine, and you chuckle as he turns back to the computer. "I bruise easily, ya know."

You shuffle a bit closer towards him as you peak at the computer screen. The warmth of your front seeps into his arm and his grip on the mouse gets a touch tighter.

"Sorry, but my loyalties lie with her." You tease, reading all the returns on the screen. "Oh, geez, we're not gonna get Dirty Dancing back in? Shit."

"You're telling me you'd pick Robin over me in a fight?" He peaks down at you with furrowed brows. Then he turns back to the screen disappointedly. "Yeah, it sucks. I really liked that one too; Swayze's so fucking cool," he mumbles to himself.

You chuckle at the duel conversations taking place and turn to lean against the counter next to him, a little close for comfort.

"I mean, I've known Robin longer, so yeah, I suppose I’d choose her... You like Swayze? The guy seems a little pompous to me." Your shoulders shrug as you look towards the back of the store, avoiding Steve's gaze. You’re well aware of Steve's love for Swayze.

"Wh— ‘Pompous?' That better mean, 'one of the coolest guys on the planet.' Have you seen him in The Outsiders— You know what— No, you cannot distract me with your distaste for Swayze." He closes his eyes and shakes his head to right himself before turning fully to face you. "You're telling me, just because you've known Robin longer, if I asked you who you liked better, you would pick Robin over me?"

You contemplate for a minute, exaggeratedly - holding your chin and squinting your eyes dramatically.

"Hmm, I dunno. I mean, what do you have to offer that she doesn’t?"

"What do I have— Ok." His hands go up, ready to give you the rundown. "One," he counts out on his fingers, "I'm extremely funny—"

"Well, I feel that goes without saying," you quip.

"Two, I have a car—"

"No explanation needed."

"Three, I'm unbearably generous. I give you half of my lunch every time you forget to bring something—"

"Even though I tell you not to."

"And four, I'm painfully good-looking. Have you seen the hair?"

"And modest, too."

You give him a smug smirk, and he returns it with an irritated look, a smile still creeping onto his features.

You're so smart. And quick-witted. And pretty. And sweet. And— oh god, where is Robin?

Steve breaks eye-contact with you and glances around the store, desperately searching for Robin. He can't be alone with you for this long.

He peaks at his watch. 4:58. Thank god. Two minutes until he can leave. Of course, he doesn't really want to leave. He'd spend all day here with you if he could, but he's been trying really hard to keep things friendly, and he really doesn't know how long he'll be able to contain himself if you keep being so... you.

"You ok?" you question, a touch of concern creeping onto your features.

"Huh?" He looks back at you, eyes wide. "Oh, uh, no, yeah, I'm all good, I think I'm just gonna head out now." He rambles, walking out from behind the counter, a little too quick to be just casual.

"Aren't you gonna clock out?" You ask humorously, tilting your head towards the computer, your forearms resting on the counter coolly.

"Oh," he spins back around, an embarrassed blush crawling up his neck. "Yeah, right."

He shuffles back to the computer and opens the timecard software.

"Duh," he utters to himself absentmindedly, still trying to appear nonchalant.

"Duh." You mimic, a touch of amusement slipping into your tone.

He hits a few stray buttons and clocks himself out, turning to face you one last time.

You're close — really close — and Steve starts to freak out a bit, running his fingers through his hair and taking a tentative step back, bumping into the counter behind him.

"Well, uh," he chuckles nervously, "I-I'll see ya."

A smile ghosts over your features, and you take a small step towards him, just an inch or two away from his front. Leisurely, your warm palm comes up to rest on his bicep, just above the elbow, right on his bare skin.

He goes a bit frantic, eyes snapping down to the spot where you two meet, then back up to your eyes, a touch of helplessness in his expression.

You lean slightly into his chest, dropping your voice an octave, your breath fanning over his neck.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Steve." A little smirk graces over your lips and Steve jerks into action, sliding out from the counter and all but jogging to the front door, your warm touch on his arm still burning his skin.

"Uh, yeah," he raises his voice, walking backwards towards the door to maintain eye contact with you. "Bye! I'll uh, see you tomorrow, ok? Bye, Rob!" He turns on his heel, lifting his hand in the air to wave goodbye to you over his shoulder before he shoves the door open, running out into the parking lot, hands rubbing over his face frustratedly.

Just then, Robin pops out from the back; you're still staring after the vest-clad boy as he hops into his car.

"Someone's in a hurry," she mutters, alluding to his hasty exit. "What was that about?"

You smirk to yourself, watching as Steve rakes another hand through his hair, peaking back at the store and locking eyes with you for a brief moment. He immediately looks away, starting the ignition and peeling out of the parking lot.

A chuckle leaves you.

"Think I make him nervous."

——————————————————————————

The next day is even worse.

With Keith hiding away in the back, it's been just you and Steve out front all day.

You definitely know. You have to know the effect you have on him, especially after his behavior yesterday.

Steve's usually never this jumpy, but something about your soft touch and your melodic voice and your sickeningly sweet smell sets him off.

It doesn’t help the store is completely empty.

Absolutely bored out of his mind, Steve gives himself a little shake before focusing back on the computer before him, scanning over the list of names.

The Terminator - 10/10 CHECKED OUT

Pretty In Pink - 8/10 CHECKED OUT

Dirty Dancing - NO LONGER AVAILABLE

Blue Velvet - 6/10 CHECKED OUT

He peeks at his watch. Still about three more hours, and he's already run out of things to do. A sigh rakes through him as he mindlessly turns his eyes back to the log.

Labyrinth - NO LONGER AVAILABLE

True Stories - 1/10 CHECKED OUT

Eyes beginning to glaze over, the words no longer hold any meaning. He's just scrolling and scrolling through the list now, aimlessly trying to appear busy, when some movement behind the screen catches his eye.

Bunches of tapes are being placed in a stack towards the front of the store by gentle, purposeful hands. Your hands.

Today you're wearing your vest over a band t-shirt that Steve doesn't recognize. His jacket is draped over your shoulders - he insisted you use it after he saw your shiver when you walked in today, claiming he wasn't cold, as goosebumps pricked up his arms. The light grey of the jacket pairs well with your dark, bell-bottom jeans, a staple in your wardrobe that Steve has quickly come to recognize. The back pockets have small, embroidered flowers and you love to stick the old stickers on the thigh once you peel them off old returns. New dangly earrings glimmer through your hair as you work. Steve been waiting to mention them; he was just thinking of a non-creepy way to bring it up.

With the display finished, you gathered up the rest of the tapes and extra signs and headed to the counter. Steve quickly made himself look busy.

"Workin' hard or hardly workin'?" You tease as you make your way behind the register, setting the extra supplies on a lower shelf, out of view of the customers.

"Oh, you know me. I just... love doing inventory." He gave you a playful smirk, which you return knowingly.

"I know its a passion of yours," you chuckle and crouch down a bit, riffling through the cupboards until you find what you're looking for.

Steve hums, turning back to the keys and clacking away, trying desperately to get a peek at what you have in his peripheral.

You toss a pen and Robin’s old crossword book on the counter and shoot him a look.

"Think she'll mind?" you ask, leaning against the counter and making yourself comfortable.

Steve shrugs, "We'll just tell her it was Keith."

You chuckle and flip the book open. Your tongue pops out quickly as you lick your index finger for a better grip on the pages. Steve swallows a bit rougher then normal.

"You good at crosswords?" you ask nonchalantly as you flip to an empty page.

"Not particularly. Robin's usually the brains of the operation."

"You wanna help? I'm awful. Maybe if we stick our brainpower together, we'll have one working braincell." You smirk at your own joke and start to read through the clues up the side.

A small hum leaves him as he slides into your side. He's touching you, but only slightly, his jacket brushing against his arm as he leans over your shoulder to read the book himself.

"Ah, 11-down," he points it out on the paper, "'Sunburn treatment.' Sunscreen, easy."

"Steve,” you snort, “11-down is only four letters." You chuckle, filling in the word. Aloe. Peaking over your shoulder, you shoot a smirk his way.

"Right, right. I was just testing you."

"Right, uh-huh. Sure," you mutter, giggling to yourself.

"Ok, ok, here. 26-across.” He’s a bit more confident this time. “'Waterloo singers.' ABBA."

You side-eye him. "You know ABBA, Stevie?"

"Well— I mean, I've heard a couple songs."

Your eyes glint at him. "Right."

"Just fill it in." He huffs, leaning back down over your shoulder to lock eyes with the book.

The smell of your shampoo fills his nose and it takes everything in him not to reach out and pull your hair to the side to get a look at your pretty neck.

Clearing his throat a little, turns back to the stack of things you shoved away earlier under the register.

"Ok, what about this one. 65-across. 'God of Love.'"

He stops and thinks for a moment, stumped.

"I'm terrible with shit like this,” he mutters. “I dunno… Aphrodite?"

"God, Steve, not Goddess. Four letters... Maybe Eros?"

"See. You're smart. Why would you need my help?" he asks, gathering up the supplies for the next display and heading to the front window.

"Cause you looked bored. Thought I might entertain you." You follow after him, crossword and pen still in hand.

Once you reach the window, you grab his arm and stop him, holding the book out towards him.

"Here, trade me," you say, shoving the pen into his hand and taking the supplies from his arms. "I'm better at the display stuff anyways."

Steve blushes just a tad, remembering Robin’s teasing from yesterday.

"Right," he drops his eyes to the puzzle as you start organizing your supplies. "30-across, 'Bubbles.'"

"How many letters?" you grunt, stretching up on your top toes to hang a sign. Your shirt rides up just a tad, your soft skin emerging. His eyes snap back to the book.

"Um, four."

"Suds." You bend down, grabbing the clear masking tape. He fills in the four boxes with the black ink and turns his gaze back to you. Looking down, Steve's stomach flips just a little, noticing the edge soft edge of lace peaking out from your jeans.

Suddenly, the monotonous ring of the phone snaps him out of his thoughts. After a few rings, you turn and glance up at him.

"Gonna get that?" you ask innocently, and he has to stop his thoughts from racing once again.

"Uh, y-yeah, right." He hands you the pen and book and jogs lightly over towards the phone.

Leaning over the counter, he grabs the handset, readying his customer service voice.

"Thank you for calling Family Video, this is Steve." Slowly, he starts extending the cord and working his way around to the back of the counter, keeping the phone clutched to his ear. "How can I help you today?"

"Hello, young man," the woman's old, raspy voice crinkled through the other end and Steve inwardly groaned. "Do you think you could recommend something for an old timer like me?"

Steve rests his elbows, preparing himself for a long conversation.

"Well," he grabs the slinky from the shelf below the register, "do you have anything particular in mind, ma'am?"

"Well… I'm not too sure..."

He sighs silently, shuffling around the slinky and looking back up at you.

You had been staring, and you shoot him a little smile when you lock eyes.

"Old?" you mouth to him exaggeratedly.

He rolls his eyes. "Ancient," he mouths back, much to your amusement. You spin on your heel and start grabbing more signs to hang in the window.

"Well, the first time I called, a young man recommended some war picture. Something about the air force? ‘Top of the Gun’ or something like that." That was most definitely Steve. "I just hated it... And the second time I called, a young woman pointed me towards a charming little picture about a young man in love with his boss's mistress. The one with Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine?" Definitely Robin. "Now, that one was just wonderful. Reminds me of something I would watch as a child. Way back when, movie tickets were only a nickel. A nickel! Can you believe that—"

It seems like the old woman was simply looking for some one to talk to. Steve started zoning out again as the old woman droned on through the headset.

Looking up, he spots you, kneeling down, grabbing the last of the signs and finally standing up a life size cut-out of Howard the Duck.

Steve was staring again.

He couldn’t help it. You were dynamic. He just couldn't tear his eyes off you, even as you crouched down to grab the crossword you set at your feet.

Studying the puzzle, you slowly brought the pen to your lips, nibbling on the end gently, before spinning it in your fingers to scribble in a word or two.

Your movements, your gestures, everything was mesmerizing about you.

Tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, you lean against a nearby shelf, continuing your pondering. Your foot bounced on the ground mindlessly as you tapped the pen to your lips, humming some tune to yourself that Steve struggles to make out. Prince? Bananarama? He couldn't quite tell.

As he strained his ears towards you, the old woman's voice slowly started drifting back to him.

"And then, once the price of oil went up in the 70's, no one was prepared for inflation by the time the 80's rolled around. How old are you, young man? You can't be more than, what, 17?"

Too busy staring after you, he quickly jerked back into the conversation.

"Oh- um, uh, I'm 19, ma'am. 20 in April."

"Right. So you've never known what it's like to live through something as scary as the Great Depression. Well, lemme just tell you-"

And she lost him again, his eyes creeping back over to something more interesting.

You were hunched over the crossword, hair draping over your shoulder and hiding your face. Your scribbling was much more intense now. You must be nearly done.

Quickly, you stuffed the pen in your book and gathered up the tape gun and the extra signs and headed to the back of the store. You gave Steve a small scrunch of the nose as you approached and he silently held up his hand, making it talk as he mouthing"Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah," earning a giggle from you.

You held up the spare supplies in your hands and nodded towards the backroom, checking to make sure that was their correct storage place. Steve gave you a little nod in confirmation and you shot him a small smile, heading off.

Just as you walked past the counter, a page from your crossword fluttered from the book to the ground.

Still on the phone, Steve was unable to call after you, so instead he lengthened the cord again, shimmying around the counter again, phone still clutched in his hand.

"Uh-huh, right, of course," he mindlessly indulged the woman on the other end as he tucked the handset between his shoulder and his ear, kneeling down to collect the dropped page.

Curious to see if you solved it, he flipped it over, inspecting the small boxes.

The puzzle was certainly complete, but it definitely was not correct.

Every word, down and across, was filled with the words "QUIT STARING" over and over again in your perfect script.

A blush crept up his neck and slithered over his cheeks.

He's been caught.

Nearly dropping the phone, he looks up after you.

There you were, peaking through the break room window, smirking back at him.

——————————————————————————

A couple weeks later, and Steve felt like he might pass out.

Tonight's the first night you and Steve would be closing together. Alone. No Robin, no Keith. Just you and him. All afternoon.

He's tried not to think about it — a slow Tuesday night, no one else in the store but you and him, no one else to stop him from doing something rash. Instead, he's been trying all day to keep things as platonic as possible.

But you keep pushing it.

A subtle brush on his arm as you clock in next to him. Your fingers grazing over his as you take a stack of tapes from his hands. Sneaking in between him and a shelf, your back pressing against his front just a bit too hard to be accidental.

He's been really trying to keep his promise with Robin. But his self-restrain was wearing thin.

Somehow, he’s made it all the way to close, only had a few tasks left before he could finally escape your watchful eyes and your sweet perfume and your accidental touches.

Steve quickly locked the doors and you two got to work finishing up any miscellaneous tasks you couldn’t complete earlier.

You were both in the horror section, shelving a plethora of Chopping Mall tapes in a comfortable silence, the soft music over the store's speakers deafened slightly by the rain tapping against the store’s front windows.

"Did you have lunch today, Steve?" you shatter the silence, not turning your attention away from restocking.

He peaks over at you, trying — and failing — to mirror your casual tone.

"Uh… No, I don't think so."

"You don't think so?" you turn to him, and he simply shrugs.

"Forgot it at home," he turns to face you, catching your baffled expression.

"Why didn't you say anything?" you ask, a little hurt.

Another shrug. "Didn't wanna bother you with something stupid like 'I forgot my lunch.'"

You squint your eyes at him a little, expression becoming unreadable. Clasping your fingers into his, and you spin towards the real room.

"C'mere," you huff, pulling him behind you.

Not only is he confused, but now his brain's turned to mush from your hand molded into his.

God, why does he get butterflies just from holding your hand? He's gone soft.

You push open the back door and haul him inside, pushing him gently towards the chair in the back. He sits reluctantly as you spin to grab the brown bag you brought for lunch. Riffling through it for a moment, suddenly you pull out a plump, uneaten orange, waving it beside you with an excited grin.

Taking a step towards him, you nudge his knee with your own.

"Scooch. There's only one chair back here and I do not wanna sit on the ground. Who knows what Keith gets up to back here," you mumble quickly, starting to peel the citrusy fruit, the scent already filling the room.

He scooted over a little, offering half the seat to you, and you plopped down beside him, thigh flush with his. Your fingers work deftly as you finish and discard the peel in the wastebasket next to your feet. Gently, you begin to break apart the slices, offering him the first wedge.

"Listen, I don't wanna eat your lunch," he begins to shove your hand away, much to your annoyance. "You have it."

"We’ll split it, ok.” You give him an adamant look, hoping to persuade him. He still looks skeptical. "I won’t be able to finish it by myself. I’d hate to throw it away," you insist.

Deflating slightly, Steve folds, taking the slice and popping it in his mouth. The zing of the fruit makes his lips pucker a tad and he swears it's one of the sweetest oranges he's ever tasted.

You take one of your own, humming at the taste, before proffering another. He takes the next, another comfortable silence blanketing over the two of you, the slight sound of rain overhead.

The heat of your thigh mixed with the combined smell of you and the orange had him in a tizzy and he was struggling to come up with any topics of conversation.

Only one thing came to mind, and it was a little risky. But, hell, now was as good a time as any, right?

"You're my favorite person, I think," he mumbles around a bite of orange, breaking the silence. He can feel you tense just a bit beside him and he panics, backtracking. "In the store. My favorite coworker."

Smooth.

A small hum leaves you, and he waits for a response.

"Oh really?" you question humorously, something else hiding behind your words. "Even over Robin?"

"Yeah," he shrugs, inspecting the slice of fruit in is hand. "Well, for right now, at least," he teases, earning a light shove from you.

"Shut up," you laugh, no real heat behind your words.

Another silence. Still facing forward, you both smile to yourselves, munching on the orange contentedly. Not having to look you in the eye was bringing Steve some newfound confidence. He took a few more bites and swallowed roughly, choosing his next words carefully.

"You've been my favorite person for a long time. Ever since you started, actually." His voice was soft, timid in a way you've never heard before.

Simultaneously, you both turn in towards each other, a heated stare shared between you.

A beat. You both can’t pull your eyes away from each other.

“Steve?” You speak so softly, Steve thinks he may have imagined it.

“Yeah?” he breathes out.

“You’re staring again.” Your gaze darts down to his lips for a fraction of a second, then back up to his honey eyes.

“So are you.”

Your tongue pops out in a flash, wetting your lips alluringly.

Another beat. Then Steve throws caution to the wind.

Before he can think, he’s leaning into you and pressing a soft, sweet kiss on your plush lips.

He relishes those brief few seconds, eyelids fluttering closed, but he pulls back just as quickly, looking a little panicked.

Had he ruined everything?

You blink, then take in a shaky breath before your grabbing his face with two hands and crushing his lips to yours once more. His nose bumps your cheek and your let out a miniscule whimper at the feel of him. He can taste the orange on your lips, acidic and sweet. Slowly, his tongue presses between your lips, seeking entrance. With a light pull on your jaw, you open up to him.

God, you taste like a thousand oranges, a million sweets, the yummiest thing he’s ever tasted.

Slowly, your hands come to rest on either side of his neck, pulling him closer. Still not satisfied, you desperately shuffle around on the tiny desk chair, knees brushing with his as you attempt to keep your lips locked while closing that last bit of space between you.

Steve leans back just slightly, your face still in his hands.

His eyes scan yours rapidly — making sure this is real — before another brief kiss, then a mumble against your lips. "God, I'm so fucking into you."

You kiss him deeper, smiling against his mouth, before pulling back with a snicker.

"Well, I would hope so, seeing as we're swapping spit in the break room."

He scrunches his nose jokingly at you before pulling you in for another light peck, this time on the corner of your mouth, then another on your cheek, then your nose and your eyebrow and your chin, and suddenly you're giggling and squirming against him, trying hard to pull away and failing miserably.

"St-Steve, stop! You're getting your gross spit all over me," you urge, pressing a hand to the side of his face and pushing him away gently, fondly.

He chuckles a little against the palm of your hand, acquiescing to your protest with a smirk. "Oh, please, you love it."

An unladylike snort leaves you and you stick your tongue out at him mockingly.

His eyes scan over your face again, this time really indulging himself now that he no longer has to hide his affection.

Then, realization hits him.

His face drops and you can't help but mirror his worried expression.

"What are we gonna tell Robs?" he asks, concerned.

He promised her he wouldn't do anything this time. But you were different than all the other girls Robin was friends with. You weren't just some girl asked out for a superficial make-out in the backseat. You were something more than that. Someone special.

Slowly, a smile creeps over your face, confusing Steve all the more. A small giggle bursts from your lips and Steve starts to contemplate again if this is all some dream, some cruel prank.

"Steve," you grab his jaw gently, like he were a clueless little puppy. "She already knows. I told her I liked you last week and she told me to go for it."

His eyes go wide.

"But— But she told me she didn't want me going anywhere near you," he mutters in disbelief, still not understanding.

"Yeah." Another giggle leaves you. "She just wanted to see how long you could last."

Of course. Robin loves to make his life difficult.

"She told me to really lay it on thick, really pull out my charm," you laugh. "You lasted pretty long, too. Longer than we expected. She bet you'd cave in about a week, so look at you! You exceeded her expectations! Robin's gonna be so proud."

A cocky smile graces your lips at his adorable expression. You ruffle his hair unabashedly, planting one last peck to the corner of his mouth, before hopping out of the chair, leaving him in disbelief.

"C'mon, pretty boy, let's lock up and get outta here. We got some catching up to do."

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 2 months

Text

Negan glanced over as the door opened and then slammed shut, expecting to see Daryl again with another lecture for him. But when he saw it was you, and especially when he saw the conflicted look on your face, the glassiness in your eyes, he sat up straight on his cot.

He gulped and waited to see if you would say something, but after a long moment you simply paced in front of his cell. He gulped, his eyes following your figure across the floor and back... across and back... "Daryl said she's gonna be okay."

You stopped, your shoes scuffing in the dried silt on the floor. You looked at him for a long moment and then nodded, gripping onto one of the cold iron bars. "Yeah. She'll be alright. Eventually." Your expression softened as you thought of Lydia.

Negan swept his tongue out over his lower lip, his eyes still fixed on you. "So—"

"You're a fucking asshole, you know that?" you snapped at him, but your tone wasn't exactly angry, at least not entirely. "I mean, seriously. What the fuck are we supposed to do with you?"

His hazel eyes simply stared back at you, bathed in confusion. "I—"

"No, honestly, Negan." Your other hand came to grip another bar of his cell and he saw that your knuckles were white and you seemed to be slightly shaky. "People are talking about executing you out there. "

He nodded and tilted his head. "Well... People want a villain. Who am I to disappoint them?" he said.

"For fuck's sake! Can you be serious for one moment! I know it was an accident. I know that!" There was almost a wild panic in your eyes. "But they're going to kill you! So, what am I supposed to do here? Please, if you have an idea, tell me!"

Negan felt a pang in his chest as he realized you were genuinely fearful for him. It was more than he ever expected to get from you. Was it possible that you actually—no. That couldn't be... "I'm not your problem, doll," he said. His voice was measured and calm. "Maybe it's just time that I pay for my past sins. Lord knows there's a fucking steaming pile of 'em."

Your jaw was set as you looked at him and then you swore under your breath and suddenly dug a ring of keys out of your pocket.

"What are you doing?" Negan asked, his brow furrowing as he watched you unlock his cell. He was on his feet the next moment.

"Saving your ass," you said, pulling the door open. "You have to leave. Now."

Negan drifted over to you, perplexed, and stood at the threshold of his cell. Freedom was one step away. But instead of rushing out, or heading for the door, his eyes flickered over your face. "You're letting me go?"

You nodded once, your eyes avoiding his. You were afraid if you held them any longer... well, you didn't know what, but something would happen. "Yeah. You need to get out. Go somewhere else. Find new people. Start over."

Negan gulped but still didn't move. His eyes traced the graceful line of your neck and curve of your jawline in the flickering light of the lanterns. "What if I don't want to leave?"

Your stomach flipped and your eyes shot up to meet his again. You swallowed down the bubble that was expanding, almost ready to burst, in your chest. You shook your head. "You have to. I'm not sure Michonne, or Daryl, or me can save you this time... You have to go. while you still have a chance."

Negan thought about arguing, thought about trying to convince you to leave with him, but he knew you wouldn't. You had too many roots in this place. He turned back to his cell and hurriedly gathered the few meager possessions he had. He stopped beside you at the threshold again. "Just for the record, you are the best fuckin' thing about this place."

And then he was gone, breezing out of the room, and you were surprised by how empty you suddenly felt.

Prompt: "People want a villain and who am I to disappoint them?" Happy Wicked Wednesday, ya'll!

#negan smith #negan smith x reader #redeemed!negan #negan smith x you #negan x y/n #the walking dead drabbles #twd imagines #gif imagines #twd #my gifs

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yukimiyaz · 1 year

Text

INSUFFERABLE

todoroki touya x gn!reader

includes: dabi is a shameless flirt lol. brief dire mention bc he’s a dumbass. you fall for his antics

notes: he’s so. dumb. i hate him lol

Sometimes you envy the students whose professors’ lock their doors as soon as class starts.

The ones that provide that immediate punishment for the students who don’t care enough to show up on time, not giving them so much as a minute past the beginning of lecture to slip in. If they’re late they miss, it’s nothing more than a product of their carelessness and they deserve it.

Sadly, your biology professor is not one of those people.

Which is fine for your peers who rush in only five, ten, hell—even fifteen minutes late. Their hair wet from just getting out of the shower or clothes wrinkled from having just rolled out of their cramped dorm bed because they forgot to set their alarm. You can understand that; empathize with the plague that is eight a.m. classes.

Who you absolutely cannot empathize with is the guy who sits next to you. The one who walks in not ten, not twenty, no—thirty minutes late at the very least into lecture, and doesn’t give two shits about not being disruptive. Lets the door slam shut behind him and his scuffed combat boots stomp heavily down the aisle and shuffle with an unneeded amount of noise before plopping down in the chair next to you.

He’s simply insufferable, truly. With his box dye black hair and chipped fingernail polish and the intricate canvas of tattoos that sweeps from his jaw down his arms and disappears somewhere below the ridge of his perfectly carved collar bones that look absolutely—whatever. He’s annoying. That’s the point here. And today is, of course, no different.

“Hey, dollface,” Dabi smirks as he sits down, then immediately scrapes his chair over to you. You think today is a new record, a whole forty-one minutes late. You wonder why he even bothered to show up at all.

You don’t address him, not at first. You merely send over a half assed side glance as a form of acknowledgement. That is, until something glimmering catches your eye. (Something that isn’t the piercings or rings you’ve become accustomed to over the past month).

“Why do you have that?” You half whisper-half hiss at him, staring down at the object twirling around his fingers.

“What? ‘S just a lighter.” He flicks it open to show you, as if you couldn’t tell before, then snaps it right back shut.

You roll your eyes, turn your attention back to your professor. Just fifteen more minutes and you’re out of here and far away from him. “Obviously.” You sigh, bounce your leg subtly. “Don’t light that in here.”

And you don’t think you should really have to say that, and you don’t know why there’s an unease bubbling in your stomach due to his presence—but you do and it’s there. And it only increases as you catch the smirk slicing deeper across his face out of the corner of your eye.

“Or what?” Dabi questions, scrapes his chair even closer to you, opens the lighter again. “Whatcha gonna do about it, doll?”

“Seriously don—“

“Oops,” he grins, wide and cheeky as his thumb flicks the lighter on. He’s holding it up, like he doesn’t give a shit whether the professor catches him with it or not. Like he has no worry for the trouble it could cause.

“What’re you—stop that.” You can’t believe him, seriously, and the audacity he has for disregarding basic rules. “If you get caught with that inside you could get fined.”

“Pfft, please.” And this time it’s his turn to roll his eyes at you, scoffing under his breath. “You have to be a student here to get fined.”

You blink at him. Once, twice. “Huh?”

“What?” He hums, waves his finger over the flame disinterestedly, not even looking to make sure he doesn’t hold it over it too long and burn himself. “I don’t have to worry about stupid ass fines.”

“Yeah, but—what do you mean you aren’t a student here?”

Your lecture is long forgotten, your professor’s voice fading out into static as you stare at the man beside you. That uneasiness in your stomach is twisting, stirring around in a way that’s a little uncomfortable. Because sure, you knew the guy was a little odd. But not being a student? Showing up to your classes all the time? Hanging around campus? What if he’s some sort of creep, or stalker, or—

“Woah there, sweetheart. It’s not what you’re thinking, I'm not some freak or anything. My dad’s the uni president. I get to sit in on whatever classes I want for free. No need to alert the authorities.”

Oh.

Your cheeks heat up, a flush rising so fast as well as the want to hide under the table. Silly you, of course he wouldn’t be some creep. I mean, he might be a tad creepy, but that’s not necessarily a crime.

(He’d be a cute creep, you think. Then mentally tell yourself to shut up).

“I wasn’t going to do that,” you huff, still looking at him. You aren’t sure why, but his eyes look particularly blue today; more than normal. Maybe it’s because you’re finally allowing yourself to look, a full proper look at your—sort of—peer. “For the record.”

“Sure,” Dabi chuckles, leans a little closer to you. His fingers mindlessly play with the necklace dangling around your throat. You don’t know why you let him. “So that wasn’t a total how do I discreetly call 911? expression then?”

“Definitely not,” you dismiss, tapping your pen to your notebook. “It was a man this guy’s so lame he goes to class in his free time expression.”

Dabi winces, an exaggerated thing that you hate to admit is a little charming. “Ouch, lame? You wound me, dollface. Right in the heart.”

“You’ll live.” And it’s minute, a little twitch of your lips before you can catch yourself, but it’s there. And Dabi catches it, pointing a finger annoyingly close to your face.

“Was that a smile, hm? Did I just make my little doll smile?” He teases, prods his finger into your cheek. If you had any idea where it’d been you might lean forward to bite it off.

“One,” you tut, pinching his digit between two of your own and pulling it away from your face. “I’m not your doll. And two, not a chance. You’re imagining things.”

“Oh no no, definitely not,” Dabi presses, devilish tilt to his mouth. “That was a smile. Finally falling for me, that it?”

“Uhm, excuse me—“

“Not now,” the man in front of you cuts off the person’s voice from behind, giving them a cold look, “We’re busy, thanks. Anyways, as I was—“

“Sorry, it’s just—“

“I said we’re busy,” Dabi grits, brows cutting deep as he snaps his head back over his shoulder. “Or did you not hear me?”

“I did, but—“

“What?!”

“Their jacket’s on fire.”

Whatever snark Dabi might’ve wanted to push out at your fellow classmate dissolves immediately as the both of you snap your eyes down. And sure enough, right where Dabi has his lighter open—the one you told him not to light—the edge of your jacket has just caught on fire.

“Oh shit,” Dabi curses, snapping the lighter shut and tugging it back from your jacket as he watches you frantically pat it out with a sleeve covered hand.

You’re successful—thank god you don’t burst entirely into flames—but the corner of your jacket (your favorite one, mind you) is now very obviously scorched. Your eyes snap up to meet cerulean blue and what little bit of uneasiness left in your stomach turns into a boiling fit of rage.

Completely disregarding the lecture (that you admittedly weren’t paying attention to anyways) you shove everything into your bag and get up from your seat to leave. You make your way out of the lecture hall absolutely fuming and don’t miss a single beat as you turn on your heel to yell at the man behind you as soon as the door shuts.

“You’re absolutely unbearable!” You grouse, jabbing your finger into Dabi’s chest. “Seriously! I can't believe you.”

“Oh c’mon. ‘M sorry! I didn’t mean to, it was just an accident—“

“I told you not to light it. But no,” you groan, and you seriously want to rip your hair out, or punch him, or something. “You just had to act like a tough guy. Mr. Too Cool To Be A Student Here. You lit me on fire!”

“I didn’t mean to! I said I was sorry!”

“I don’t care! I could’ve been burnt up in a crisp!”

“But you weren’t!” He defends. “It's not a big deal.”

“It is to me, this was my favorite jacket. You know, just because you’re hot and have some big shot dad doesn’t mean you can just do whatever you want!”

“Well obviously, because if I could do whatever I wanted then I'd be doing you!”

The both of you pause for a moment, catch your breaths through slightly labored pants as you stare at each other. It’s like the gears are turning in both your heads simultaneously, cogs clicking into place and smoke clearing in the workshop.

“Did you just admit you think I'm hot?”

“Did you just say you want to do me?”

A part of you wishes your jacket was still on fire, because at least then you could try to justify that as the reason your cheeks are suddenly burning. You turn your face away from him, adjust the bag slung over your shoulder. You’re thankful you’re the only two in the hallway, or else you’d probably die from embarrassment right now.

“Well, how ‘bout I make it up to you then?”

You let your gaze drift back up to meet Dabi’s, staring into tattoo and mascara framed eyes suspiciously. You narrow your vision, tip your head to the side as you watch that shitty (read: thigh clenching) smirk make its way back to his lips.

“And how do you plan on doing that?” You tense up a little as he takes a step closer to you and digs a pen out of your bag. Then he grips your wrist—gently, despite the firm hold—and scribbles across your palm.

“I’ll be outside your dorm at eight,” he grins, dropping the pen back into your bag when he’s done. “Wear something hot. ‘N I don’t mean the burnt kind.”

You shove his shoulder at the remark, glancing down at your palm to see what you’re guessing is his phone number. “Asshole.”

He simply catches your wrist again, tugs you close enough that he has perfect range to dip down and kiss your cheek. And if you weren’t flushing before you certainly are now, eyes going wide against your will as you watch him let go of you and take backward steps away. He throws you a wink, chuckles when he sees you snap out of it and scoff at him.

“Insufferable!” You call after him. And you don’t try to hide your smile this time. Don’t try to veil your expressions.

“Irresistible!” He corrects, sticking his tongue out and making a corny call me gesture with his hand when you flip him off.

And you wonder if you should wear your scorched jacket tonight simply to spite him.

#yukimiyaz writing #dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader

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maddie7writes · 5 months

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DONT WORRY, DARLING

summary: harry doesn’t ever want his darling to worry, and she doesn’t

warnings: this fic isn’t for everyone, y/n is a housewife (no i don’t hate women’s rights jack chambers is just really hot) also sorry this is short! mentions of smut

she would be a liar to say she hated it. she could lie and say she wished to work, wished to go outside the town they lived in. truth was, the only part she hated was harry leaving in the morning. she loved doting on him, making him his favorite breakfast in the morning, making sure the house was clean for him when he got home, making sure he had dinner on the table, making sure the mini bar was fully stocked. those were her second favorite moments of the day, the first of course being the moments she gets to spend with harry.

she always woke up first, mainly out of habit. the clock on the nightstand read 6:23, and the tattooed arm around her waist tightened at the different breathing pattern. she let herself close her eyes and breathe in harry’s scent. it was cruel to think that in three hours he’d leave her, and not return for another eight.

“your thinking is waking me up.” harry whined in her ear, she yawned out a laugh and turned in his arms to look up at him, her chin against his chest. “go to bed baby, you don’t want to be exhausted all day.” she tucked a unruly curl of his away from those deep green eyes glancing down at her lovingly. green was her favorite color.

“don’t worry, darling.” he whispered to her, pulling her impossibly closer. “it’s worth it, a little more sleepy, for a little more time with you.” he kissed the top of her head as she snuggled into him.

he would always whisper that phrase to her; don’t worry, darling. she never had to worry, not about him, not about her, not about them. all she had to do was exist and love. then harry would take care of the rest. it was blissful, why would she ever want anything different?

—

8:45 rolled around, all the husbands and wives began to step out of their houses, to either wish them off, or go to work. harry always followed behind her, wanting to bask in the sweet little dresses she would always wear for him. though she didn’t always find that fair, especially when he was wearing her favorite navy suit.

“do you have to go?” she whispered, blocking the handle to the car door, he leaned down and kissed her, her hands finding his jaw. “yes love, but i’ll be back. don’t worry, darling.” he repeated the loving phrase to her again. she sighed and let her forehead rest against his chest, taking in one more breath of his cologne before her senses were filled with the sweet smell of cleaning supplies. he kissed the top of her head before opening the car door, “i love you.” he told her, she kissed him one more time before reciprocating the sentiment and watching him drive off. their goodbye was always the longest in the neighborhood, not that they cared.

she spent the rest of the day cleaning. washing the suit harry wore the day before, cleaning the bathroom, making sure the wood wasn’t scuffed, dusting their photos, organizing harry’s record shelf, all of the daily things that needed to be done. she started on dinner at two, and when harry walked through the door at five, dinner had been set, and she had touched up her hair as she opened the door for him.

“god you look divine.” harry sighed, letting his briefcase drop to the polished floors, and using y/n’s back to close the door as he kissed her into it. her heels shuffling trying to keep herself up, to be met with harry’s hands to support her. she giggled at his enthusiasm, “i made lasagna.” she told him. harry nibbled her lip instead, “i’d much rather have you.” he told her, she felt the breath get knocked out of her at his words.

“you have to eat your dinner first baby.” she laughed, she felt like a mother scolding her child to eat their vegetables before they were allowed ice cream. now she was telling harry he needed real food, before he could have the woman he loved. “i like my idea better.” he picked her up bridal style and began carrying her to their bedroom. she whimpered as he set her down gently, “i worked so hard to cook for you.”

“don’t worry, darling. your food won’t go to waste, but i need to thank you properly for the care you take of me and this home.” his kissed her softly, before kneeling in front of her, and thanking her properly.

#harry styles flufff #harry styles #harry styles x reader #fluff #harry blurb #harry #harry styles fluff #jack chambers #don’t worry darling #housewife!reader #domestic

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collinnmckinley · 1 year

Photo

Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II - gifs 10/?.

#cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mwii #cod mw2 #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #codedit #codjay #edits*#gifs*#gamingedit #dailygaming #again... scuffed recording #ghost you're a national treasure

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inkyquince · 8 months

Text

Niki with gray streaks at his temples. Niki with crows feet lining his eyes. Niki, who got to expand his business beyond the photography, into being a man of the pictures. The prettiest pictures. Racks in more money than even his best photo shoots.

characters. Niki. (Degrees of Lewdity)

cw. older niki being a pervert. legit wrote this while watching pearl and then x and had a flash of inspiration. nothing too bad, just niki being an older pervert, filming, its... hinted that its coerced but there's no words spoken. body worship. its HINTED niki is into musk lmao. anyway, this is for all yall very patient dol lads while i've been having a lil brain melt over miguel and then bg3 :3

Niki who still has his white stick balancing on the bow of his bottom lip, tongue stroking the end as he squints at one of his scuffed lenses. Sometimes he’s surrounded by people whose names he doesn’t care to know, shooting some boring scene that gets the old timer’s panties wet and peckers to stiffen. That’s for the crowd that likes the vanilla stuff. “Vanilla” he ruminates, watching the two women in animal masks ride that poor sod’s entire body. Yeah. This is the shit that gets sold at the checkout line in the grocery store. He prefers his other work. The type where he’s no longer surrounded by people fiddling with equipment and lousy actors rehearsing their lines. The type that brings him back to his younger years of filming in the quiet barn.

His muses came and went. None of them lasted much longer than two months. Except his little assistant. Fuck, he never had one before, when all he needed was his camera and his own sharp eyes. Except he fucking pulled something in his back and had to lie on Harper’s examining table, listening to the doctor chastise him on not taking care of himself, his own blond hair flecked with grey too.

So, he had you. Lift the heavier equipment, hand out shit so he didn’t have to. Then, when it was just the two of you? You stayed quiet when he needed it. Filled the silence when he needed it. Helped him… When he needed it.

When the actors and actresses bored him, when the hopeful bright eyed thing getting paid to get fucked in the ass struggled to hold his attention, Niki goes looking for something real. The club, recording as people groped each other breathlessly. To the park, to catch the odd streaker.

Then there’s something special. Stuff he doesn’t let himself indulge in too much. But when he had a block, where all of his shots look stilted and wrong, when nothing is coming together like it should do, he can’t help it. He needs something real, nothing like the acted out sex, or the lapdances, or anything. Nothing for an audience, but something just for him.

Even he didn’t know how it started.

Sharing a room for a good price, with you quietly cooking at the stove while Niki huffed and grumbled, looking at the extensive amount of filming he had to do the next day. He thinks you might have burned yourself. Maybe nicked yourself with a knife. Just a soft swear from under your breath had him looking up at you, his graying strands dipping into his eyes as he saw you in the way he was meant to.

The lighting was perfect. You loose tank top showing just enough skin by your ribs. The pretty way you were wholly unaware of his gaze going from disinterested, soft, to sharp, intense. An artist who finally had a muse again.

Without you noticing, Niki quietly resticks his white stick back into his mouth and gets up. Moving around behind you as you made sure the two of you ate that night. The radio whining out a tinny little song masked any sound made by his movements.

You turned around to ask your boss if he wanted something to drink with his meal but stopped short, seeing his camera up and rolling. Pointed directly at you. Making the soft whirring noises as Nikki fiddled with the equipment a bit before looking straight at you.

There were no words for you. Just his gaze, fixed on you, with the camera whirring.

It was the first time you had ever been on the other hand of the lens. You always stayed by his side during the filming, fiddling with the audio equipment or going over the notes Niki had prepared. It felt like you were bare. Being captured exactly how Niki saw you in this moment. Immortalized. Seen. Even though you still had all your clothes on, you felt bare. Because of not how he currently saw you, but you knew in what way he wanted to see you.

Niki’s expression didn’t change as you slowly raised your hands and slipped yourself free of your shirt. His eyes remained steely and glinting but behind his relaxed lips, just barely open, his teeth were biting through his lollipop stick, breaking it.

Soft, perfect nipples hardening in the cool air, perking right up under his gaze. It felt more real than anything else he filmed for a long while. All for him. His breathing kicked up as you watched him right back, quietly seeking his approving gaze as you slowly dragged a hand over your chest, pressing your fingers down into your skin. It looked so soft, so easy and malleable for his tongue to ruin it with bruises and bites. He noticed the blemishes on your skin, everything that made you imperfect, but real. Nothing fake, not like his other productions with the actors. He knew you wouldn’t force your moans for him. Niki knew he caught you unawares, so you hadn’t had time to spend the last hour shaving your pubes, or shower after a long day of hauling things for him. Authentic. Saliva pooled on his tongue.

With a little jerk of his head, he motioned at your shorts, necessary in the cloying heat. Your chest hitched with a shuddering breath and Niki’s dry lips curled into a smile at long last. Nervous. Unaware. Shy. Real.

So, your shorts pooled around your ankles, which you kicked to the side. Underwear was still on, but he could see everything, outlined perfectly. You motioned to slip those off but Niki shook his head. He made a circular motion with his finger and you flushed. A bit clumsy, almost slipping on the discarded shorts, you slowly did a charming little pirouette, leg lifted. He chuckled and then made his particular motion for you to bend over for him.

Underwear snug against your body, he made sure to zoom in to where your hole would be. Waiting.

You heard the click of the camera turning off before you heard Niki’s voice.

“That's enough. We’ll get up early tomorrow morning.”

You stood there, stock still for a moment, face too hot before scrambling for your clothes, almost mortified by what just happened. It felt like a snub. It wasn’t, but it felt like one. You expected the next day to be full of filming the cute cow-girls with tits too big for them to know what to do with, but Niki didn’t head towards the farm, instead driving out to the farmlands and hiking to the coast.

He filmed you swimming. Sunbathing. Just existing as if you weren’t being paid by the hour for this.

It wasn’t always like that. Niki still filmed other things, with his hand slowly rubbing circles into inner thigh as the camera rolled. The longer time passed in between your private shoots, the more times you caught him watching you during the shoots, eyes seeking out skin.

Your personal shoots became lewder. Niki wanting to capture every inch of skin, as you invited him in, both his attention and his camera.

Older Niki, having his personal assistant double as his muse. He’s twice their age, with gray streaking his temples. He grits his teeth when younger men chat you up. He grinds them when you can’t come around in the evening, just to pose for him. Lie there for him, naked and sinful and good. Forced to watch some of your films instead. Niki and his favorite muse.

#dol #nsft #quincewrites #niki the photographer #degrees of lewdity

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liminalpebble · 6 months

Text

Stray (A Lokitty Tale): Part 3

Masterlist link

Stray: Part 3

Loki was beginning to fall into a pleasant sort of routine with the human. He enjoyed the soapy smell of your freshly showered skin as you cuddled him against yourself each morning before rushing out the door. No matter how tired or stressed or how much of a hurry you were in, you never failed to tell him good morning and hug him goodbye, and it thawed his icy heart. It seemed so strange to him; that a being would simply selflessly care for a creature who could offer nothing at all in return except companionship...and yet you did.

He noticed other things about you; that you had scuffed up one specific patch of the wall from grumpily kicking your shoes off each day (the closest to angry he ever saw you), that when you came home you always made a cup of coffee and curled up with a book, that you'd put a record on and hum along as you made dinner and did the dishes, that you especially liked The Velvet Underground, that you winced whenever the phone rang but, without fail, spoke so kindly to whoever was on the other side, that you'd go to see movies by yourself and stack the little ticket stub into a tidy collection as you gave him your film review. He learned that your favorite color was purple, that you would buy little bundles of fresh herbs and set them out in makeshift jam-jar vases just to smell them and enjoy the little pops of color in a gray world. All of these things gave him an irrepressible fizzle of warm feelings for you...feelings he couldn't quite define.

I'm...used to her? I find her pleasant? She...doesn't bother me...not like Thor and Odin do, anyway. He thought to himself, uncertain of how else to explain it.

On more than one occasion when you left for work, Loki would transform himself back into his smart black suit with the crisp white shirt. He would straighten his tie and check his slicked-back hair in the mirror as he summoned up the green glow of his magic, preparing to transport himself away to the next step of his fugitive journey. And yet...each time he stood there, staring at his perfectly polished shoes, simply unable to make the feet within them move. He couldn't leave when he thought of how sweet and sad and panicked you would be, calling his name over and over in vain, holding the little green makeshift collar, totally devastated. It wasn't like him to stagnate like this, and the fact that he was getting comfortable was...well...uncomfortable. Each time he was ready to go he would turn the little leather band in his large palm, reading his name in your handwriting over and over again. With a sigh of resignation, Loki would finally loosen his tie, sit back down, and settle into being your house guest for a little longer. Just a few more days, he kept telling himself.

Life sailed along this way until one day you seemed markedly...different. As your heels clicked down the hall and Loki transformed back into a cat, he happily anticipated curling up in your lap as you'd stroke his back aimlessly while reading. He wanted more than anything to enjoy your humming to your records and the savory smell your cooking, but today wouldn't go that way.

As you came in the door you slammed it shut behind you, and this time when you kick your shoes off you cursed loudly and etched a darker scuff in the wall. Loki's eyes wondered to your face and he was distressed to see your eyes wet and red-ringed. You had obviously been sobbing hard. You dropped your things and made your way straight for the couch, flopping down with the palms of your hands against your eyes, weeping inconsolably.

Loki was alarmed, having never seen you so upset. He was afraid to come near you in this unpredictable state, but he longed to be close to you so much more than he was afraid of you. Slinking carefully, he made his way to lay on your stomach. Gingerly settling and watching your face, he waited patiently for you to move your hands and meet his eyes. When you noticed him your angry demeanor immediately melted away as you gave him a pacifying stroke along his spine.

“Oh sweetheart, I'm sorry,” you said, gravely-voiced and sniffing. “I didn't mean to scare you,” you soothed. He purred, trying to let you know that he was fine and comfortable, as long as he was with you. You gave a comprehending wan smile, looking into the jewels of his irises as your fingertips combed through his fur. As your breath stilled you said, “Loki, you know, sometimes I think I'm going crazy because I could swear you understand me...that we're having conversations...that you follow along when I read to you. Insane, right? Totally insane.”

You chuckled, saddened yet amused by the absurdity of life and human emotions. Loki, however, was shocked at how close you came to the truth, and that you seemed to have connected more than he planned. He desperately wanted to know what was going on to upset his 'dear mortal' so much (this is how he designated you in his own mind) and it frustrated him more than ever that he couldn't simply talk to you and ask.

Loki had an idea. He could enchant you and use his power to see inside your mind for himself. You would be none the wiser, but he was still reluctant to invade your privacy. In the end, curiosity got the better of the cat and he gave in. Of course...curiosity...that's all it is, he told himself again.

-----

He reached into your mind, traveling with you as you stepped into a large building with the sign saying Mullen Department Store. It was interesting to him, seeing what you did all day (endlessly stocking shelves, dealing with customers, cleaning the shop, preparing the products). He began to wonder if they ever let you sit down.

Around noon, a coworker approached you saying, “Hey, good luck with that interview with Mr. Mullen! This could be your big break!”. You thanked them and trudged up to the office on the top floor.

Before you knew it you were handing a paper to a balding man behind a large tacky desk. Loki felt his heart ache seeing that your hands were shaking. His darling mortal was so nervous! This must be important to her, he thought.

“...so as you can see here, Mr. Mullen. I have my Master's degree, fluency in three languages, and background in academic writing and journalism. I think I'd be a perfect writer and translator for the office team. I work very thoroughly and...”

The older man huffed, “Let me stop you right there, sweetheart. I'm sorry but we really don't need some dame doing that kind of work.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don't get me wrong, on paper you're impressive, but we have a...professional image...here. Our ladies in the workforce have to look the part.” He shrugged, “Now, if you worked on your appearance a little, maybe lost a few pounds or wore a bit more makeup you could be be Johnny's secretary. Do you make a good pot of coffee?” He said the last part with a chuckle, clearly pleased with the pitiful thing that passed for his sense of humor.

Your voice rose. “Excuse me, but I fail to see what my appearance has to do with my competence. You have plenty of men as writers on staff who were hired without being told to lose a few pounds first. This is absurd! It's 1971, Mr. Mullen, not 1950!”

He stared you down with his beady little eyes, “Now listen here, young lady, don't give me that feminist horse shit. You are very very lucky to have the job you do have with this company! I wouldn't expect you to understand the standards we have up here, and that just goes to show you're not what we're looking for.” He checked his watch with a sigh, “That's all the time I have today, and you need to be back on the sales floor.” He dismissed you, not even with a handshake, but by simply waving his hand toward the door and using his other one to crumple your resume and drop it in the trashcan.

You didn't say a word, too stunned and disappointed to react to this rejection. Loki felt the sting of your thoughts as they churned around in your head the rest of the day. I'm never going to go farther. This is my life now...my stupid fucking life....not even pretty enough to type or pour coffee for a living...Jesus Christ...I wanted so much more than this. I worked so hard to have more than this. I wanted to see the world. I wanted to learn so much. I barely even have friends.”

Loki thought to himself, and wished he could tell you, oh darling, how dare he make you feel this way! You're so clever and unique and kind....and beautiful. Sweet moral, I think you're the most beautiful creature I've ever met.

He floated back out of your mind then, shocked by the return to reality and to his sudden swell of feelings for you. The god of mischief realized in that moment that he wanted something he had never wanted for another person before. He wanted you to get all the good things you deserved even if he had to forgo some for himself. He wanted to avenge and defend you, putting the fear of God (or rather, a god) into the idiotic and insulting little man. Most of all, he just wanted you to be okay, and safe...and loved. Loved...he finally allowed himself to think the word.

He watched your lovely face as you began to nod off. Your wet lashes closed, and your brow furrowed with worry, even as you drifted off holding him against your heart. He could feel it pulsing in your chest, and sense the slowing of your breath. He finally dared to admit that he wanted to give you love...all the love everyone else wasn't giving you but you so sorely deserved. Loki darted out his little pink tongue to lick your arm where it rested around him. He tried to say, sweet dreams, little mortal. Just rest. We'll find a way. And though it only came out as a contented purr, he was surprised to hear you murmur “thank you,” in return, as you sank further into dreams.

@mischief2sarawr @ladyofthestayingpower @acidcasualties @unlucky-number-13 @goblingirlsarah @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokihiddleston @chokeanddagger @lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @marcotheflychair @smolvenger @alexakeyloveloki @littlespaceyelf @little-wormwood @loopsisloops @joyful-enchantress @eleniblue @loz-3 @the-haven-of-fiction @sweetsigyn @muddyorbs @icytrickster17 @holdmytesseract @thenerdyoldersister @thedistractedagglomeration @sailorholly @peachyjinx @coldnique @sarahscribbles@peaches1958 @infinitystoner @mischiefmaker615 @jennyggggrrr @tripleyeeet @itsybitchylittlewitchy @mochie85 @huntress-artemiss @madi0987 @buttercupcookies-blog @annoyingsweetsstranger

P.S. Thank you all for reading and liking and sharing and requesting to be tagged. You're all so sweet and it means the world to me.

Peb.

#lokitty #loki fanfic #lovely fanfic friends #loki fluff #loki x reader #d.b. cooper loki

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wannab-urs · 7 months

Note

For the sleepover

Do me a favor

My baby boy, Dieter

Congratulations again babe! I love you!

Thank you bb I love you and I'm really excited about this fic

For the Record

Pairing: Record Shop Owner!Dieter x f!Reader

Summary: You go to a record store looking for something specific and end up on a date with the owner.

Warnings/Content: Dieter Bravo being Dieter Bravo, excessive name dropping of bands I like, grungy Dieter wearing Doc Martens and covered in tattoos, reader going to a strangers house like an idiot, kissing, fingering, oral f!receiving, unprotected piv (this is not real life. Don’t be dumb), one tiny little ass slap, praise, creampie, no use of Y/N, WC: ~2900

Notes: Bravo Records is based on Grimey’s in Nashville, TN which you should absolutely visit if you get the chance. Unfortunately it isn’t owned by Dieter Bravo. Thank you @theywhowriteandknowthings for the beta read and the encouragement <;3

Dieter Bravo Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

You’re on the hunt for a Replacements' album, Tim, specifically. Ironically, you’re replacing it in your collection, having lost it to your ex boyfriend. Note to self: never combine your record collection with anyone ever again.

This morning you’d googled “record shops near me” and scrolled past Walmart and Target, no thank you, and settled on Bravo Records. The blurb advertised it as a “Laid-back music shop specializing in vintage, pressed recordings, CDs & cassette tapes,” and mentioned a bookstore in the basement and a consignment shop out back.

Pulling into the gravel parking lot, you take in the building. There are murals depicting perfect recreations of album covers on the brick walls of the store. If you couldn’t see the brushstrokes when you got up close, you’d think they were somehow printed on. The bright yellow of Metallica’s 72 Seasons, the hands reaching for the sky on Boygenius’ The Record, both newer releases. But there’s also The Clash’s London Calling and The Stooges’ Fun House.

Whoever owns this place has taste. You step into the shop, eyes immediately drawn to the oddly curved ceiling and the exposed brick walls, covered in posters and random paintings. There are 6 sets of shelves running almost the entire length of the store up to a small clearing in the back. There’s a surprisingly large stage beyond that, someone playing the guitar and reciting poetry, a smattering of people leaned against the shelves, listening.

“Welcome to Bravo’s,” a deep but cheery voice rings in your ear. You let out a small yelp and turn sharply to face the source. “Oh! Didn’t mean to scare you. I was just downstairs and heard the door… I’m Dieter, by the way.”

You take in the man now standing in front of you. He’s wearing a very faded Nirvana shirt stretched within an inch of its life across his broad chest and shoulders. It probably used to be black, but now it’s a bit gray, and there are holes in the seams of the collar. His wide legged pants are black and flowy, you almost mistake them for a skirt until he leans against the counter and crosses his legs. His Docs are scuffed, clearly worn in, maybe vintage. You trail your eyes back up his body, noting the various tattoos on his hands and arms, all black ink and thick linework. You settle back on his face and find his eyebrows arched over deep brown eyes, plush lips in a pout. His beard is scruffy, patchy, and his hair looks like he just rolled out of bed.

“Find anything you like?” He smirks at you and you suddenly realize you just silently checked him out for a good 10 seconds. Your cheeks heat and you clear your throat.

“Um… I’m looking for Tim? The album I mean, not the guy, I don’t even know a Tim. By the Replacements? Do you know it?” You sound like an idiot oh god.

He barely restrains a chuckle, mirth dancing in his eyes, “Yeah, I know it. I only have a first pressing in the original sleeve… is that okay?” He crosses his arms over his chest and holy shit. His biceps are huge. You bite your lip and nod.

“Yes! Er… um. How much is it?” You wince. There’s no way it’s gonna fit in your pitifully small budget.

Dieter tilts his head to the side and scrunches his eyebrows up, two lines forming between them. He brings a hand to his unruly hair and tugs. So that’s why he looks like he just got thoroughly fucked. He perks his head up suddenly, almost like he heard your thoughts.

“Do you wanna go out with me?”

“What?”

“Oh! I mean go out for coffee with me and you can have the record.”

“I can’t just take it for free, Dieter!”

“Of course you can. I’m the owner. It’s my record. Do you not want to go out with me?” His face scrunches up again and fuck. He’s really cute.

“Of course I want to go out with you,” you splutter, shocking yourself.

“It’s settled then. Let’s go!” He turns and walks out the door and you scramble to keep up with him.

“Now? Don’t you have to run the shop?”

“Nah, Chrissy can handle it,” he waves his hand like it’s no big deal and heads for the street. “It’s just right down the road.”

–-

Coffee with Dieter is amazing. He orders a sweet monstrosity, frozen, topped with whipped cream and 3 kinds of syrup. You try to order your favorite drink, but he insists you get the same thing as him.

“Just trust me!” You’ve literally just met the man, but you think you do trust him. There’s just something about him. He learns your name when you give it to the barista and you apologize profusely for being too flustered to properly introduce yourself.

He just laughs and guides you to a pair of armchairs in the corner, kicking off his boots to reveal mismatched socks – one a dark purple tall sock with embroidered grapes on it, the other an ankle sock with a print of Starry Night on it – and settles cross legged into the chair. You tell him you like his socks.

He asks you about what you do for work, where you’re from, what your favorite movies are, an endlessly easy and flowing conversation, peppering in his own answers and arguing with you when you tell him that Judd Apatow movie about making a movie during covid was awful. He asks you what your holy grail album is, the one you’d kill to have in your collection. You don’t even have to think about it.

“The Velvet Underground and Nico, original pressing, with the sticker still on it. I’ll never be able to afford it though. I’ve never even seen one in real life.”

“Do you want to?” He looks at you with a shit eating grin and a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“What? Want to see one in real life? I mean… yeah?”

“Let’s go then!” He jumps up, pulling his boots back on and heading for the door. You’re again hustling to keep up with him. You follow him out onto the sidewalk.

“Dieter! Go where?”

“To my house!” You grab his arm and pull him to a stop.

“Why are we going to your house?” You’re exasperated.

“To show you the record. You wanted to see it right?”

“You do not have it. Dieter, there’s no way… One of them just sold for 25k.”

“I do have it. My dad bought it when it came out and now it’s mine.” He takes off walking again, grabbing your hand and pulling you along with him.

“Is this some sort of ploy to get me to go home with you? You could have just asked.”

“I know! I mean… fuck. I’m being serious. I have the record upstairs.” He suddenly comes to a stop in front of an apartment building. “If you want, you can wait here and I’ll bring it down. Just promise not to rob me, yeah?” You huff out a frustrated breath.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll come in with you.”

His face lights up and he threads his fingers through yours again. It feels nice, holding his hand. He pulls you up the stairs with him and unlocks his door, and you step into his living room. His apartment was clearly supposed to be one of those industrial chic, modern type spaces, but he clearly didn’t care for that style. There are paintings and posters covering every square inch of wall space. “I take it you decorated the shop then?”

“Yep! I do all the murals too.” Fuck, he can paint too? The concrete floor is covered with rugs of all different shapes, sizes, and textures. There’s a blue couch and some clearly thrifted armchairs off to the left. The right side of the room is absolutely dominated by his record collection. There’s a shelf running the length of the room, standing taller than you and absolutely stuffed with records. On the floor around it are milk crates filled with even more records.

“Jesus Christ, Dieter, how many records do you have?” You wander over to a crate and start flipping through, finding that he’s organized them by genre. This one is folk punk you notice as you flip through albums by AJJ, Violent Femmes, The Mountain Goats, and more.

“I genuinely have no idea. I stopped counting back when I was a teenager.” He goes to the shelf, and you decide it must be more organized than it looks because he quickly pulls two albums out and presents them to you. One is the album you asked about in the shop. The other one…

“Holy shit.” You stare up at him from your crouched position. “Holy fucking shit Dieter you actually have it.”

“I fuckin’ told you! Do you wanna listen to it?”

“Do I want to listen to it? Are you actually kidding me? Of course I do!!” He grins at you and walks over to his record player beside the couch. He slides the record out of the sleeve gently and places it on the turntable before dropping the needle. You join him on the couch as the first notes of “Sunday Morning” drift into the room.

“Dieter?” He hums and smiles at you again. “I could kiss you right now. Fuck. Can I kiss you right now?” He looks shocked for a second before taking your face in his hands and pressing his lips to yours. You kiss him back hard, licking into his mouth. He drags you into his lap, your knees settling on the outsides of his thighs.

You bury your hands in his wild curls and gently tug on them. He groans into your mouth and trails his hands down your body, pulls you even tighter against him. You can feel him getting hard under you, his soft pants doing little to conceal his arousal. You’re not much better off as his lips leave yours and trail down your jaw, your throat, his teeth catching skin as he goes. When “I’m Waiting for the Man,” starts to play, Dieter brings his hands back to your face and pulls you away from him, staring deep into your eyes.

“Do you wanna have sex with me?”

You stare at him, shocked for a moment, and then you laugh so hard you fall sideways off his lap. “You know what, Dieter? Yes. I’d like to have sex with you.”

“Cool,” he breathes out, turning and settling his body over yours. He presses another kiss to your lips and you tug on his shirt. He pulls back long enough to strip it off and you take yours off too. He lays sloppy, open mouthed kisses on your throat and chest, mumbling praises into your skin as he works your jeans and panties down your thighs. You kick them off as he makes his way down to your core. You’re wetter than you’ve ever been in your entire life. He’s so fucking gorgeous. All golden skin beautifully covered in black ink.

“I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” Dieter whispers into the space between your thighs. Your hands fly to his hair as he licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit, immediately closing his lips around it and sucking lightly. Your head falls back and a moan rips from your throat.

He presses a thick finger into you and it’s fucking bliss. He feels so good already. He curls his finger upwards, swirling his tongue in circles around your clit at the same time. Your hands drop to his shoulders as he adds another finger and starts thrusting them into you, curling on every upstroke into your g-spot.

“Fuck! Dieter… feels so good. Don’t stop.”

“Shhh baby, I can’t hear the song.”

You dig your nails into his shoulders, laughing and on the verge of coming at the same time. He slips his tongue down to join his fingers at your entrance and buries his nose against your clit and you’re gone. The shaking of your body from laughing at him quickly gives over to shuddering as your core tightens around his fingers. You cry out, pure euphoria washing over your whole body.

“That’s it baby. Fuck, you’re squeezing my fingers so tight. Look so pretty coming for me.” Dieter talks you through it until the haze of your orgasm fades. “Here or the bed?”

“Here. Get in me. Now.” You grab at his hair, pulling his face back up to yours. You kiss your own slick off his lips hungrily as he clumsily shoves his pants down far enough for his cock to spring out. He slides it through your folds a few times before notching it at your entrance.

You grab his hips and pull him into you, throwing your head back and arching your hips up into him. “Impatient.” He grumbles it into your neck, but thrusts himself into the hilt, clearly as desperate as you. He barely gives you a chance to adjust before he’s drawing back and thrusting into you again. His breath leaves him in a low growl that has a new gush of slick coating his cock.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him back into you every time he pulls out. His thrusts are shallow from this angle, but he’s slamming into you so hard it doesn’t matter. You slot your lips together, not really kissing, just breathing each other in.

“Dieter, I’m gonna come again,” you can feel your walls tightening around him, drawing him deeper into you. He shifts his angle slightly so that his pelvis grinds against your clit every time his hips meet yours. Your nails dig into the meat of his shoulders, dragging down to his lower back as your whole body tightens and spasms around him.

For a moment, as you catch your breath, you think your hearing must have gone out. Dieter is buried to the hilt inside you, torso pressed flush to yours, but you don’t hear the music anymore. “Want me to flip it to the B side?” Oh. He just fucked you for the entire A side of the track and he’s still not done.

“Yeah sure,” you huff a laugh into his hair. He lifts up, presses a kiss to your lips and pulls out of you with a groan. Your cunt flutters around nothing, missing the feeling of him inside you already. You get a good look at his cock now – thick, uncut, drooling precum and covered in your release. He’s so pretty.

He flips the record to the B side and then pushes his pants down the rest of the way, leaving them in a black puddle on the floor. He grabs your hips and flips you over onto your stomach. “Thought I’d get a look at your B side too,” Dieter says and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

“I think I hate you,” you mumble into the cushions. He just laughs and settles one knee on the couch, his other foot planted on the floor. He taps your ass cheek lightly.

“Up on your knees, pretty girl.” You shift to comply and he settles his hands on your hips, helping you up and burying his cock in you again in one smooth motion.

“Fuck!” Your arms buckle and you drop to your elbows as he rails you. The new angle is so good it almost hurts. He uses his grip on your hips to pull you into every thrust, punching the breath out of you and turning your brain to mush. You couldn’t tell him what song is playing right now if your life depended on it. All you hear is your own strangled moans and the praises he’s crying out into the air.

“So fucking beautiful. You’re so tight and wet, fuck. I’m gonna come baby. Can I come in your pretty pussy? Please?” You nearly come again at that. The thought of being full of him.

“Yes! Yes! Dieter. Come in me. Need it. Please!” He buries himself inside you and stays there and you can actually feel his cock jump inside you, hot spurts of cum filling you up. He curls himself over your back and you both collapse into the couch.

He rolls onto his side, pulling you with him and tucking your back to his chest. He doesn’t pull out of you, just tangles your legs together and wraps his arms around you. You both just lay there in a daze, listening to the rest of the album. When “European Son” fades out and the record starts clicking, Dieter finally slips his softened cock from you. He stands up and puts the record back in its sleeve, filing it back on the shelf.

“If I go to the bathroom, will you still be here when I get back, or are you gonna steal my record and break my heart?”

“Of course I’m gonna steal it,” you smile at him, still stretched out on the couch and not really planning on moving any time soon. He rolls his eyes, laughing at you and disappearing into the hallway.

Maybe combining record collections isn’t completely off the table. If it’s with the right person.

#gins1500sleepover #Dieter Bravo #Dieter Bravo fics #Dieter Bravo fanfiction #Dieter Bravo x reader #Dieter Bravo x you #The Bubble #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro fics #pedro pascal character fanfiction #dieter bravo x f!reader

135 notes · View notes

sykosomatic · 10 months

Text

kurt kunkle x male (amab) reader

potential warnings for: reader has amab genitalia, oral sex — male giving/male receiving, rimming, anal sex, car sex, voyeurism, being recorded, semi-public sex, powerbottom!reader… etc etc!

pre-killing spree. imagine it’s a test run for the real thing.

•••

it was late; you needed a ride home. you’d been out drinking with some friends. not enough to impair your driving per se, but you wanted to be safe. plus — well, you needed an excuse to see that cute spree driver again. he was a brunet, and you liked brunets. he had that weird sort of personality that sort of drew you in, in a strange way. he was kooky and you could definitely see him between your legs one day. maybe that day would be today; scratch that — hopefully today would be the day.

you were watching your phone, standing at the curb beside the bar, waving a lazy goodbye to your friends as you saw the notification pop up at the top of your screen, telling you that kurt had accepted your ride. you grinned a bit as you waited for him to arrive, scuffing your tennis shoe on the sidewalk. the car pulled up on no time at all and you climbed right in, smiling up at him.

“hey!” he greeted; his eyes were skirting around the car, twitching back and forth from what appeared to be cameras.

“oh, uh, hi —“ you responded back, a little surprised at all the equipment. “kurt?” you confirmed, though of course you knew it was him. before he could confirm it himself, you nodded knowingly. “yeah, i remember you from last time — i promise i’m not an alcoholic,” you chuckled up at him, choosing not to mention the cameras for now. maybe they were for security; couldn’t be too careful nowadays.

the driver seemed very pleased that you remembered him. “yeah! that’s me,” he said proudly, seeming to sit up a little straighter at the comment, riding high on the recognition.

“kurtsworld96,” the two of you said in unison, causing his eyes to shimmer.

a mild darkness set over his gaze after that, a moment of disappointment, before he sort of seemed to knock himself out of it. you saw him eyeball his phone, which seemed to be recording.

you didn’t mean to pry, but this made your cheeks burn with embarrassment. cameras made you a little bit nervous. “oh, uh, are you recording me?” you asked with a light nervous chuckle.

“oh, yeah — well, it’s sort of for my protection,” he excused with a light shrug. this seemed like a made up excuse.

“oh — you’re recording this for your channel, right?” you remembered, a deep pit in your stomach beginning to form. now it sort of started to come back; you’d checked his channel out a bit after last time, it was mostly regular stuff, a draw my life here and a let’s play there… but recently he’d been talking about. —“the lesson? is that right?”

he seemed to once again fly high on the recognition. “oh, well.. yeah, yeah, but.. well, see, i didn’t want it to be you — you’re one of my fans,” he sort of stammered out. he seemed to be figuring out what he should do.

the lesson, you’d managed to figure out, seemed to be a way to get a whole bunch of views in a short amount of time. he’d been planning on livestreaming his ridesharing adventures. you remembered he was trying something that seemed a bit ‘out there’ but you couldn’t quite remember what it was.

an idea began to form.

“the lesson — you wanted to get a lot of views, right?” you clarified; you wanted him to know you were also suggesting that you had a good idea for how to do that.

“yeah,” kurt confirmed. he glanced back at you in his rear view mirror, trying to see what you were getting at. “are you, like, offering to help me?”

you grinned up at him. “yeah! if you’re.. into that,” you chuckled. not awaiting too much of an answer, you nodded at an upcoming alleyway on the right. the two of you were still in a pretty brightly lit part of the city, with the party crowd still out for a long while to come — the only thing you’d have to worry about was maybe someone spotting the two of you from afar. “here, pull off over here, it’ll be safer to do while you’re not driving.”

he laughed a bit, softly, betraying in his expression that he was a bit confused. “i’ve kinda got a schedule to keep here..” he informed you.

“oh, i promise you, this will be worth your time,” you told him, flashing a wink in his direction as he began to pull off. he turned his mood lights onto a darker setting, leaving them purple so that the two of you could still see a bit, turning the car off and looking at you expectantly.

“okay, well, don’t.. don’t try anything funny, because i’ve got my whole setup rigged,” he half-warned. you gestured for him to climb into the backseat with you, waving him off in a playfully dismissive manner.

“oh, c’mon,” you chuckled at him, reaching up to move the passenger seat forward a bit, giving the two of you a little bit more room. “get back here so we can have some fun.”

kurt decided that you were worth listening to, and climbed into the backseat beside you. “so, you, uh, you’ve got an idea?” he asked, peering around at the cameras. there were enough so that all angles of the two of you were covered, not an inch left undiscovered.

rather than answering with words, you leaned in and captured his lips with yours, kissing him deeply. he made a grunt of surprise, and you peeked your eyes open to see he was still watching his cameras. you could see on his phone screen where he had comments pulled up. they were suddenly streaming in quick, offering suggestions.

you saw him close his eyes and sink into the kiss after a few seconds, and you wrapped your arms over his shoulders to pull him closer. “cmon, get comfy; it’ll get you more views~” you teased him. he relaxed a bit more, coming to a realization that sex sells — and, of course, he was about to get laid.

it got a little more hot and heavy after that, you climbing into his lap and grinding your hips down onto him, his hands exploring, your hands exploring.. until the two of you were naked in the purple lighting and he’d switched his stream to an adults-only setting. you had to teach him a few things, of course — he admitted to you he’d never gone down on someone with a cock before, but you assured him it wasn’t difficult.

you taught him how good a rimjob feels; and that wasn’t even for the stream, that was because you really liked the way he sounded when you had your tongue in his ass. then he tried his hand at it and sort of blew your mind a bit. then came the blowjobs. he was slow and reluctant, nervous to do it wrong or to look silly on camera, but he got into it soon enough; after all, he had the same equipment… and confidence gets more views.

eventually, you were lying on your back with a camera above you, and two of kurt’s fingers in your willing and aching hole. oh, it felt so good. and he was just so cute, wasn’t he? he had that sweet little dorky attitude and his facial expressions were just so adorable…

“oh, fuck-!” you whined as you felt a third finger go in.

“oh! you alright?” he asked, looking you over as you arched your back.

“oh… oh, im great…” you moaned, bending your knees a little more and opening your legs wider, getting into a better position. “can you fuck me now?” you requested, reaching down and taking your cock in your hand, stroking it to relieve some of the pressure building up.

he grinned and positioned his cock at your entrance, slowly popping the tip inside you and sliding in. it had been a while for you, and this guy had obviously never done anal before, so the two of you were both groaning out in intense pleasure, biting your lips and breathing heavy. “god, that’s good,” you moaned out as he went deeper. he took a pause, whimpering at the pleasure, before bottoming out in you. “so fucking good…” you whined out.

he looked back up over at the views he was getting, they were off the charts. more than he’d ever had. he grinned, mentioning it to you, but you were too pleasure-drunk to really retain the words. he started rocking his hips into you, gaining power and speed, and eventually starting to alternate the two depending on the comments he was getting — both from you and the viewers.

“oh, shit, im close —!” you whined out at him, holding your legs up against your chest as best you could, giving the world watching an insanely close view on your ass getting fucked. kurt took gentle hold of your cock and mimicked your stroking from earlier, and in moments your cum exploded out of you, coating his hand and your stomach.

kurt groaned as you clenched around him, emptying himself inside of you and holding there, spurts upon spurts of cum filling you up and spilling out onto the car seat. “o-oh, fuck…” he whimpered as he came, hands on your legs for support.

“bet that’ll make for some really good content,” you teased him, pulling him in for one final kiss.

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