#borderline illegal things to me
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Jedediah Shine x female reader smut
Summary: You’ve just given in the inspector's invitation to accompany him home to.. do things..
Genre: (Reader) Smut, PWP
Warnings: Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, non-negotiated choking, dirty talk
Word Count: 2,899
A/N: Just Porn. No introduction or anything we dive right into the smut. No beta. Plus, I wrote this one my phone because my notebook broke.
I shouldn't have given in so quickly to the inspector's invitation to accompany him home. But here I was now, sitting on his lap, his large hands rubbing warmth back into me, after walking here through the cold rainy breeze that was London's weather.
He had already peeled me off one layer of my clothing. Now only dressed in my under skirts and corset, I ran my hands over his chest, unbuttoning his waistcoat, while his hungry mouth was on mine, kissing me greedy.
I peeled him out of his waistcoat, before pushing off his suspenders. My fingers nervously started to fiddle with his trousers, feeling him hard as a brick underneath the fabric.
He broke the kiss, a snorted chuckle escaped his lips. “Someone's being a little impatient.”, he said, but I could tell by his smirk that he actually liked it. His large, calloused hands went under my skirt, grabbing my thighs and working their way up, before I felt two of his fingers rubbing over my cunt. “Is that little cunny so desperate for my cock?” I answer him with a moan and a quick nod.
He stroked over my hot and wet core a few times, before impaling me on two of his long fingers. I arched my back, throwing my head back, moaning again. “C’mon, girlie. Say it.”, he demanded, but I felt myself unable to form any words.
I tried to push myself more onto his fingers, to make him understand how much I needed him, but the inspector withdrew himself from me, leaving me whimpering and mourning the loss of his fingers inside me.
His hand came up to grab my chin, forcefully, to make me look at him. “I don't like repeating myself.”, he said impatiently.
I moved on his lap, desperate for some friction to ease the itching between my legs. “Please..” I feel him between my legs, hard and huge. “Please, fuck me, inspector Shine.” A hungrily glint sparkled in his eyes and his jaw worked with pleasure.
He pushed me off of him and got up with me, his hands caressing my arms, before pulling me against him, his lips kissing me roughly. My hands slid through his hair, before they rested in his neck.
The kiss didn't last long before his hands ripped open my corset, ruining it to my horror. “Who’s being impatient now, inspector?”, I teased, grinning up at him. “I hope you consider replacing it.”
“Depends on whether you will be a good girl, or not.”, he cooed, cupping my left breast and pinched my nipple between his index finger and thumb.
I hissed slightly and bit my bottom lip. “What will you have me do to prove to you I'm a good girl?”, I breathed seductively to him. His lips curled into a smirk.
“You can start by getting down on your knees, girl.” He really didn't have to tell me twice. Submissively I sank to my knees in front of him and heard him drawing a sharp breath.
I caught his gaze briefly before my eyes focused on his breeches. I could tell it was time to rid the inspector of them. I could see his incredible length apparent under the fabric. Excitedly I gasped for air before my fingers opened his fly and I found myself licking my lips.
As his cock sprung free into my hand, I was actually whimpering with excitement and felt my cunt clenching around nothing at the mere sight of it. Hell, yes. I was desperate for this cock.
“You just gonna stare at it, or are you actually going to suck me off?”, I heard him say with a dark chuckle. I was sure he took enormous pride in his remarkable manhood.
I looked up at him as I closed my hand around his shaft to gave him a few gentle strokes, before I leaned forward and closed my lips around his tip. I work my head and hand together for a while, as I work my way to fit his entire length into my mouth. His musky smell filled my nose, as I inpale my throat on his cock, my nose brushing his pubic hair and I get a low groan from him.
“That's it, girlie.”, his voice reached me, low and praising, sending a shiver down my spine. Both his hands grabbed my head now, keeping me right where he wanted me, before he started to thrust into my mouth until I gagged on him.
I felt tears welling up in my eyes and tried to breathe through my nose as best I could, while he was bruising my throat with a brutal pace. After a short time my hands came up to his waist to push him away from me so that I could gasp for air.
He growled, somewhat in disapproval, but let me catch my breath. He then grabbed my hair and pulled my head back so I was looking up to him. I gasped a little in pain. “You better learn to hold your breath while I fuck your throat.” I felt like I disappointed him, so I nodded quickly. The look he gave me told me he wanted my word on that.
“I’ll be better next time.”, my voice sounded quieter than intended, but the inspector nodded satisfied.
“Good. Now get up.” I felt like a puppet, he said something and I hopped to it. For a moment I was afraid that this might bore him in the long run.
Even though Jedediah Shine seemed like a man who didn't tolerate getting denied anything, I still believed that a little challenge here and there, a little back talk even, would certainly arouse him. Perhaps I’d try to challenge him in the future. For now I got up and rid myself of the underskirt I was still wearing.
Now totally naked and exposed for Shine’s hungry eyes, I felt my heart beating in my throat as his eyes roamed greedily over my curves. Then he peeled himself off his own shirt and trousers. I watched him impatiently and surreptitiously bit my lower lip as more and more of his body was revealed. He was so well built and my fingertips itched to explore every inch of his body.
“You look like you’re hungry for dinner.”, he said, stepping closer, before he wrapped one arm around my waist and pulled me flat against him.
A whimpering moan escaped my lips, feeling his muscles against my curves and his hard cock against my belly. “Sure am hungry.”, I admitted whispering. My gaze darted back and forth between his eyes and his lips.
“Then, scoot, to bed.”, he said, placing a slight slap on my behind, before we headed to his bed, where he lay flat on his back and pulled onto his lap.
I was a bit surprised to find myself seated on top of him, since I had the feeling that Jedediah Shine was a man who loved to be in control of things. Not that I thought I had any control as he roughly grabbed me by the hips and pulled me deeper into his lap, pressing his hips against me so that I could feel him hard and throbbing against my cunt.
I bit my lip at the attempt not to moan, even if I was extremely aroused. “No need to hold back, luv.”, his deep voice whispered to me. “It's not like anyone would hear you here anyway.” To me it almost sounded like a threat and perhaps it was meant to frighten me, but honestly it just made me feel more aroused.
I rolled my hips against his and let out a lovely moan for him, my hands resting on his chest, his hands tugging on my hips.
“Come here, girlie. Sit on my face.”
I do as he commented, my cunt weeping with excitement of what was about to come. His deep voice once again sent a shiver down my spine. I move on top of him, my knees left and right of his head.
“Yes, get your pretty ass up here.”, he growled almost impatiently, bringing his large hands up to cup both my buttocks. His fingers grabbed my flesh rough, almost brutally.
Pulling me closer to his hungry mouth like that, I gasped when I first felt his hot breath caressing my inner thigh, followed by his lips on my hot and aching core.
I felt how I immediately melted against him. My head went dizzy and my legs started shaking. Closing my eyes, head leaning back, my hands rested on his forearms for support. His tongue licked down to my entrance, warm and wet and wonderful. His beard scratched tenderly between my legs.
My breathing got heavier. My breasts rose and fell and a moan escaped my lips at the wonderful work the inspector did between my legs. I started moving my hips, but Shine responded with a disapproving growl and a smack to my ass, that had me jumping slightly.
I understood that I wasn't allowed the pleasure of riding his face, not yet. So I tried to keep my hips still even as he thrusted that devilish tongue inside me. I moaned with a shiver. He hummed darkly, his hand kneading my ass as if he wanted to tear me apart. The pain along with the pleasure was indescribable.
Then another smack to my ass made me cry out, leaving my skin sore and bruised by his rough hands. “Please..”, I begged him and his lips moved to suck on my clit, his tongue circling the small bead. “Oh, yes..”
He started eating out my cunt with vigor, sending shiver after shiver through my body. Shivering hard under the bulding pleasure that spread from my arousal through my whole body I started to move my hips, having his tongue and lips right there where I needed them the most. And this time he allowed it with an approving low growl which vibrated against my clit.
I feel another gush of arousal dripping down my cunt. His pacing was perfect. I felt my chest tighten almost painfully as the pleasure was building up inside me.
It came too soon; a bodyshaking orgasm, that have me moaning, screaming even. I press my cunt firmly onto his face, his tongue overstimulating me to the point that my brain went blank for a few seconds. It was pure bliss.
I was panting heavy when my climax wore off slowly. If my ears weren't ringing so much, I might have heard the inspector gasping for air himself. When his hands released me, I slipped off him and sank onto the bed next to him.
While I was still catching my breath I felt him moving next to me. Exhausted, I blinked slightly and saw him wiping away my wetness out of his beard. And just like that he was on top of me. My body almost limp from the heavy orgasm I just had.
With expert hands he spread my legs, positioned himself between them, taking hold of the base of his cock, before he forced himself all the way inside me.
Whimpering I took him, still too exhausted from what he just did to me. I wished he had given me a bit more time to recover from the first climax. My cunt was still too sensitive and tightened around him, when he started thrusting.
My hands came up against his firm chest, and as if he needed to prove his strength, I felt him flex his muscles in a boastful manner. There was not a single soft spot about this man.
His manicing eyes were fixed on my face and my breast, that bounced with each of his mighty thrust. My hands moved into his neck for an attempt to pull him down for a kiss, which was denied. For a moment I thought I saw a small, teasing smirk on his face. A pleading whimper escaped my lips, which only seemed to amuse him even more.
“What do you want?”, he teased me like it wasn't obvious and started thrusting harder and faster inside me, which made it difficult for me to form any words, since I was moaning under pleasure.
With my eyes closed and my head leaned back into the pillow I couldn't quite tell if it was pain or pleasure that drove me insane. He pounded inside me so heavy that my inner walls were clenching around him.
Suddenly I felt his large hand around my neck. His long fingers began to choke me, bruising my skin. An almost animalistic groan escaped his throat as he increased his pace again and I thought he was going to tear me apart like a hungry animal.
At first I was aroused by his hand that was wrapped around my neck. But the arousal soon gave way to fear when I couldn't breathe anymore.
Both my hands came up to his lower arm to try to take the pressure off my throat. When I realized that this didn't help, panic spread through me. He squeezed the breath right out of me. My eyes widened and I felt tears welling up in my eyes, running down the sides of my temples.
Then I hit his chest and upper arm with the palm of my hand to make him understand that I couldn't breathe anymore. When he finally loosened his iron fist around my neck, I gasped for air that was burning in my lungs. He stopped completely and watched me catch my breath.
I blinked up at him. His predatory eyes were trained on me. His hair was slightly disheveled and a few drops of sweat beaded from his forehead.
“You fucking..”, I reached out to give him a hard slap across the face, but he caught my wrist with almost perfected ease.
He pushed both of my wrists over my head, which I acknowledged with a whimper. His whole body pressing down on mine now, his face a few inches away from mine. I braced myself to get punished for attempting to slap him, but instead his lips were brushing against mine. I wanted to deny him the kiss, I wanted to be mad at him, but instead my lips were opening to him like a flower to the sun.
His tongue slipped inside my mouth, kissing me deeply, almost as if he wished to devour me. I could still taste myself upon his lips. Suddenly all the pain was worth the outcome of this perfect kiss.
His hips rolled against mine and I shivered, whimpering inside the kiss. By now my cunt felt so sensitive and sore that I didn't know how much more I could take. The kiss lasted another moment, before he broke it.
He started moving again, thrusting slowly.
“No.. I can't..”, I wasn’t sure if I could take any more.
“Oh, yes, you can.”, he said imperiously with a long and hard thrust. “I’m not finished with you yet, girlie. And you don't want to disappoint me, do you?” His words were like a dark promise that this was only a mere foretaste and that he could get much crueler when he was to be denied what he longed for.
I wondered if this man's hunger could ever be satisfied.
“You ain't gonna tell me that this little cunny already had enough of my thick dirty cock.” His vulgar mouth made me shiver once again. I wanted to give him all of me. I wanted to completely commit myself to this devilish man.
I loved the slow rhythm with which he now moved inside me. I pressed my hip against him, moved with him. “Good girl.”, he groaned next to my ear and thrusted hard into me again. I scream in pleasure.
Wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders, my nails digging into his skin for support. It drew a hiss from him and I’m almost a bit proud since he had bruised my throat so brutally before. But in exchange his pace became faster and more relentless.
“Fuck..”, I moaned. My lips formed his name as he pushed me over the edge again, moans turned into screams, as he continued to fuck me in a brutal pace, chasing his own release.
He was grunting, his hands bruising my wrists, as he still held them above my head. Then an animalistic groan rose in his throat, as he finally reached his climax and spouted his load into me.
After a few more lazy thrusts he collapsed on me. As I felt his weight on me and his hot breath on my neck, I ran my hand through his sweat-drenched hair, breathing heavily under him. His hands let go of my wrists and I felt his fingers gently tagging up in my hair, before he looked me in the face.
As he placed a soft kiss on my lips, I was a bit surprised, even shocked, how gentle his treatments now were unlike just a few moments before, when he was fucking me like a goddamn force of nature.
I was just about to melt into the kiss, when he withdrew. “I’m still not finished with you, girlie. So don't even think about walking away from me.”
Did he not know that I'm already completely devoted to him?
#jedediah shine#jedediah shine x reader#smut#pwp#plot? what plot?#i want this man to do gross#disrespectful#unspeakable#borderline illegal things to me#ripper street#joseph mawle#smut fic
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me seeing literally any Lewis Pullman character:
#i want this man to do gross disrespectful unspeakable borderline illegal things to me#i want us to be done and him not to be able to look at me after#i need him#i need him biblically#i need him in a way that is concerning to feminism#lessons in chemistry#top gun maverick#outer range#the strangers prey at night#calvin evans#bob floyd#robert floyd#rhett abbott#lewis pullman
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I am so totally normal about this man until I see him with a knife I promise
#but also he could do borderline illegal things to me#like fuck#how is he real#hes so perfect#i can't tell if I want to fuck him or be him#ice nine kills#iceninekills#spencer charnas#spencercharnas
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I don't think you guys understand.. I want Wakasa to ruin me
#the things I would let this man do to me are borderline illegal#my family would dis own me if they found out what I want him to do#he could do whatever he wanted to me and I'd thank him after#imaushi wakasa#♡~mazie is talking~♡
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angy again
#actually borderline#actually bpd#actually bipolar#actually traumatized#roofers came at 8am no warning#woke me up after only 4 hours of sleep#so of course i did the reasonable thing#and had a wholeass meltdown#.....may have threatened the company/owner#in my defense i need my sleep and we've told them - AND gotten confirmation - that we are day sleepers and they are not to come in or#make noise before noon#but nope they pull this shit#plus they've - multiple times - just decided to unlock our front door and waltz right into our apartment while we're sleeping#no warning ever either#which is literally illegal but whatever who cares right#like who cares that we're too poor to find somewhere better lmao get fucked poor people i guess fjeiafjoej;af#gonna commit
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I sent an email to my senior manager on Saturday morning (a little after 11am) about shifts being scheduled outside of my availability and my hours being cut. It is now Wednesday morning. I have yet to hear back.
The plot hasn't thickened, but my disappointment sure has.
I'll be messaging said manager on Slack once my shift ends to say, "Hey, did you get my email?" I'm not going to accept if she wants to move it to a phone call. I want a damn paper trail this time. I want records.
And I think my company knows that, so they're avoiding the issue.
Anyway, good morning. I don't need coffee to be bitter. I hope you're all doing well!
#thewriter; post#tbd#[ they were pulling similar shady shit back during the holidays ]#[ and we were told not to keep records of certain things ]#[ certain people going over certain hour amounts ]#[ it pissed me off to no end ]#[ so of course I took screenshots of the slack convos ]#[ because it felt borderline illegal ]#[ anyway here's wonderwall ]
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could you do some drunk Eddie blurbs or oneshots? Thanks! I love your stuff btw
✶ ┄ DRUNK IN LOVE !
summary: "you're drunk, eds" / "yeah, super drunk. and in the morning, when i'm sober, you’ll still be beautiful… i’m just gonna be too chicken shit to tell you."
pairing: best friend!eddie munson / f!reader
word count: 3.8k
warnings: talks of alcohol, getting drunk, and taking care of a super drunk eddie! barely proofread so pretend any typos are nonexistent <3
a/n: i'm learning it's next impossible for me to write blurbs. i get an idea for one and boom. it's nearly 4k words. thanks for the request, anon! hope you like it xoxo
( MASTERLIST )
Eddie didn’t realize until he was halfway through his fifth beer, that he probably should’ve stopped at his fourth.
He’d stumbled upon that finicky little fork in the road at the crux both drinks, a line he was toeing all night between blissfully tipsy and borderline obliterated. You can only really maneuver it if you’re smart about it, and in true Munson fashion, Eddie opted for the exact wrong decision.
It wasn’t like he’d ever prided himself on being a man of self-control. He was gluttonous to a fault, green and greedy at times, especially when there was free alcohol involved.
Eddie had been a grumpy little stick in the mud when you and him first got to Steve’s place. He didn’t feel like partying that night or sharing you with people he could barely stand. They were your friends, after all, not his. He only tolerated the bunch of them because you did. He spent the entire drive lamenting about how illegal it was — to be his best friend and have other people in your life you cared about the same way you cared about him.
“That’s obviously against the rules,” he joked.
You only scoffed in response. “Obviously.”
Undeterred by his complaints, you drug him halfway across Hawkins with you like a storm cloud on a leash.
When you arrived, he found that it wasn’t a party at all. It was just Steve and Robin drinking together on the couch while Nancy and Jonathan stirred around in the kitchen and scolded Argyle for rifling through all the cabinets.
Music spilled lowly from the radio, a platter of snacks were laid out on the coffee table, and everyone smiled at you when you walked in. It wasn’t nearly as loud or as overwhelming as he’d dreaded it might be on the drive over.
Didn’t mean he was any happier about it, though.
“I don’t know about this,” he cautioned in your ear from where he stood behind your shoulder, seeking a familiar refuge in you once all the greetings were done. “We talked to everyone, can’t we just, like… go? I don’t think I’m gonna have a good time here, babe.”
Babe, he calls you, a nickname that’s left half of Hawkins believing the two of you were really dating. You stopped blushing about it some years ago, when the novelty of it wore off and it ultimately replaced your actual name.
You shrugged, grasping for a reason to make him stay. “Steve said he had a keg.”
The big silver thing next to the kitchen island didn’t catch his eye until then. You peered up at him, finding a sudden sparkle in his gaze. His bushy brows bounced and his pink mouth fell soft agape at the sight of it. Something swelled in his heart then, a distant and boyish happiness.
“…I’m gonna try.”
He was pretty much a goner after that.
The beer was pretty stellar, but more than anything, the keg kept it cold. Eddie could barely drag himself away from the damn thing — the red solo cup hadn’t left his right hand all night. And when Steve let him handle the music, that was even better… Well, technically, he let you handle the music, but you sifted through his tapes and picked only what you knew Eddie would like — just like you always did.
Any other time, Eddie might’ve asked what the hell King Steve was doing with so many KISS cassettes, but he was already too drunk to think logically about anything by the time “Detroit Rock City” started playing. He stopped caring and let all the beer and music coursing through his system do all the work for him.
And while stumbling for his sixth refill with Robin, he concludes that he is, in fact, completely and utterly and unabashedly drunk. He’s still sober yet, enough to make such an admission to himself, but too far gone now to stop drinking.
He crouches slightly to bring the nozzle to the rim of his cup without much resistance. His tongue pokes through his tingling lips as he pours all of his concentration into aiming the beer into his plastic chalice and not completely toppling over onto the kitchen floor below him.
That’s when he spots you and Steve sitting on the couch, a little too close for his liking.
The brunette boy has his arms sprawled over the back of the sofa like he owns the place (Eddie’s too drink to remember he does, in fact, own the place) and your legs are delicately crossed and turned towards him, too enraptured in whatever conversation you were having to notice that your best friend had run off (you’d been trying to look after him all night, it wasn’t your fault he kept dodging you).
And it wasn’t his place to be jealous, he knew that. You didn’t belong to him. You could do whatever the hell you wanted to.
If he wasn’t so sloshed, he might’ve been able to recall that you don’t have a thing for Steve — that you’ve never had a thing for Steve, because you’ve spent your entire life in love with your best friend.
But you were too chicken shit to tell Eddie and Eddie was too oblivious to see any of it and it left the both of you in a permanent limbo of unsaid feelings.
So much so, that he once encouraged you to conquer the feat of King Steve one night, many moons ago. He thought he’d noticed the two of you being overtly touchy in the back of a dimly lit club.
Eddie was sober enough then to make fun of it all while still feeling every ounce of his misplaced jealousy as he playfully promised you that “you had his blessing to screw Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.”
You should’ve known you were screwed when you told him that you didn’t want to screw Steve because “you had your eyes on someone else,” and he completely missed the brave, longing look you shot his way.
Eddie spent the rest of the night pestering you endlessly about your crush, while you just sat there, red hot and embarrassed about the whole thing.
Now he’s the one feeling like a fool, watching his best friend make nice with the dowager king of Hawkins.
Being without you makes the distance feel somehow wider from where stands across the too big house, feeling like a stray puppy everyone adores but never actually choses.
Robin taps him on the shoulder to bring him from his stupor before he can waste the foaming beer rapidly filling his cup, though there was no stopping the drunken war path he goes on after.
You and Steve giggle to yourselves as you watch Nancy twirl drunkenly to the tune of the Joan Jett, louder when Jonathan fights to keep her from stumbling over herself. The boy leans over to you, whispering a joke only you can hear, and smiling when it makes you laugh.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Eddie scolds when he stumbles up to the couch. “What’re you two love birds whisperin’ ‘bout over here, huh?”
The two of you blink up at the boy, surprised by his sudden visit and how much drunker he’d gotten since you spoke to him last.
He’s all flushed out, cheeks glowing red with the alcohol in his system, and slurring something fierce — the kind of drawled out garbles that only sound clear to the one that’s speaking.
“We were talking about you, Eds,” you smile without missing a beat. “Been missin’ you over here.”
Steve nods with a dumb, tight-lipped grin. “Yeah. You’ve been making friends with that keg instead of the rest of us, man—”
“Yeah, right,” the boy scoffs out a laugh with a bitter nod. He less than gracefully squeezes between your legs and the coffee table. “Scooch over, Harrington. Make some room. ’S too damn cuddly over here.”
With no choice but to comply, the two of you part.
“Scooch?” you hear Steve mutter under his breath with a faint laugh that has you giggling too. Eddie’s not drunk enough to miss the glance that both of you share, seemingly having some sort of silent conversation that’s left him, yet again, out of the loop.
He’s got a full on pout on his numbing face when he settles between you and Steve, losing his balance briefly before landing in a clumsy pile between the both of you. The beer in his freshly filled up cup sloshes over the rim and splashes into your lap. The alcohol stains the belly of your t-shirt, leaving it cold and clinging to your skin.
And it’s not as dramatic as the movies make it seem, where a guy spills a drink on a girl and something terribly melodramatic ensues. You weren’t trying to impress anybody, least of all with your outfit — hell, you’d probably stolen it from Eddie himself a lifetime or more ago. You don’t get angry or rush out of the room for a good cry.
Actually, you smile sweetly at him, with the realization that it was time for you and your way-too-drunk-to-function best friend to head home.
Eddie gets all sad about it anyway, though, because to him it really does feel all that dramatic. His face screws up like he’s just done something irreversible. His umber eyes glimmer at you with a particular sadness only a drunk person could possess.
“Shit, babe… I’m so fucking sorry.”
“It’s okay, Eds—”
“No, it’s not okay. I’m sorry,” he slurs with the sloppy shake of his head. “Please don’t be mad at me, babe. I didn’t mean to.”
“No one’s mad at you, Eddie,” you affirm with a soft laugh, dabbing at the wet spot of your shirt with the bunch of napkins Jonathan (the only other half-sober person aside from you and Steve) haphazardly hands to you.
“I can give you another shirt, if you want,” Steve offers, already standing to retrieve it for you. “Might be too big but it’s—”
Eddie’s head snaps away from you and to the brunette boy. A cartoon-like anger coats his buzzing features. “Like hell you will, Harrington,” he tries to threaten, though the words come out half-jumbled together. “Won’t have my girl wearin’ your shit, Steven—”
You burn red hot at the new nickname, equal parts embarrassed and delighted as you stand from your position on the sofa. Suddenly eager to escape the situation, you reach for Eddie’s hand. “Alright, Eds. Let’s go.”
He accepts your touch without question, rising on swaying feet and forcing you to keep an arm around his waist to keep him steady.
He’s already forgotten what he just said. He has no idea that your heart’s just done a billion backflips for him. He focuses, instead, on the thought of a new adventure with you. “Ooh. Where we goin’ now?”
“I’m taking you back to the trailer, okay?”
Eddie rolls his eyes, suddenly displeased again. “Yeah, whatever… You wanna spend more time with King Steve, I see what you’re doin’—”
“I’m coming with you, Eds,” you laugh.
It’s like the switch flipped and he’s grinning all sloppy and stupid at you again. He tosses the smug look to the boy standing at his other side. “Suck it, Stevie—”
“Eddie!” you scold.
“You guys can just take the spare bedroom,” Steve offers despite Eddie’s teasing. “I don’t want you driving like this.”
“Oh, how fucking chivalrous,” your best friend grumbles under his breath.
“Are you sure it’s okay?” you press with brows furrowed in concern. “I don’t want to, you know, intrude or whatever. I’m good to drive—”
“No, it’s fine. Really. He should probably lie down anyway.”
“Yeah… Okay.”
“You know where it is, right?” he asks you and you nod
Eddie takes great offense to your affirmative answer.
“Wait, why do you know where it is?” he pouts down at you, figuring there’s something dirty hidden in the fact you’ve slept in your friend’s guest bedroom before. You shake your head and opt not to answer as you help him towards the stairs. “Why do you know where it is?”
“—Go upstairs, okay?” you shout over him, trying your best to stay patient. “I’ll check on you in a second.”
He lingers on the first stair and juts out his lip. His pointer fingers trails the intricate carvings in the wood of the banister while his glassy puppy dog eyes glimmer down at you. “…Promise?”
“Yes, Eddie. I promise.”
With that, he makes careful work climbing the stairs, hanging onto the railing for dear life as he goes. You watch attentively, prepared to rush to him if he stumbles, and able to breathe out a sigh of relief when he makes it to the top step.
You turn away from the hallway of the staircase and back to your friends, who — save for Steve and maybe Jonathan — haven’t yet bothered to acknowledge the situation.
Robin is rifling through Steve’s cabinets for food, Argyle’s at the keg pouring beer into his mouth straight from the nozzle, and Nancy hasn’t stopped dancing the entire time. You’re not even sure if she knows the song.
“I didn’t know you guys were dating,” Stevie remarks with a smile. “No wonder he was being so… like that.”
You shake your head and duck your gaze. “We’re not. Dating, I mean— he’s just, like, super drunk.”
“…Really?”
“Really,” you breathe out a laugh at the way your admission make this face twist in confusion.
“I’ve just— I’ve never heard a drunk person talk that way about someone they didn’t, you know… like.”
A part of you so desperately wants that to be true.
Eddie’s never been particularly shy about calling you babe or sweetheart or honey in front of people — sometimes he did it just to throw them off. But something about him getting jealous over a guy you’ve never liked, calling you his girl to bat the believed ‘affections’ away, has a foreign feeling swirling in your belly.
You force yourself to swallow your hopes down.
“Well, you’ve never met drunk Eddie,” you tell him with a shrug. “The freak’ll say just about anything.”
You make your way up to the guest bedroom and find Eddie slouched at the top step. He looks terribly sad, pouting with his elbows propped up on his knees and his hands on his chin. But he lights up like a christmas tree all over again at the sight of you.
“What are you doing, Eddie? You were supposed to be laying down,” you scold softly.
“I missed you,” he whines, gazing up at you with twinkling, red-rimmed eyes. “And I got lost… And then I forgot how to walk.”
You try your best to keep a straight face as you help him up again, trying to ignore the way your heart thrums like a hummingbird when he leans completely into your side.
You walk the staggering boy the short distance to Steve’s guest bedroom.
It’s as extravagant as the rest of the house, complete with large windows and expensive furniture and a thousand throw pillows on the freshly made bed. The entire room practically sparkles, there’s not a single crease in the bedsheets; it probably hasn’t been touched since the last time one of you spent the night there.
Eddie flops onto the bed when you urge him to sit down. He makes himself comfortable with ease, legs still hanging over the side as he throws his arms out, melting easily into the newly laundered blankets.
You navigate through the darkness, illuminated only by a subtle moonlight, to the seating area across the room. The newly granted privacy of the guest bedroom allows you to strip off your damp shirt. The wet spot sticks to your skin when you peel it off of you. The feeling makes you grimace.
You don’t think twice about being in your bra in front of Eddie — he’s not even looking at you now — and besides, he’s seen you in less. You’ve been friends for far too long to care. Being naked in front of each other stops meaning so much after accidentally catching each other changing a half a billion times.
Leaving your shirt in a crumpled pile on the arm of the couch, you make the silent decision to sleep there for the night. Many a bed has been shared between you and Eddie, but he’s going to need all the comfort he can get tonight — the hangover he’ll have tomorrow will feel like hell, no doubt.
You look across the dark room at Eddie and find he hasn’t moved an inch. “Take off your clothes, Eds. You’re not gonna be comfortable sleeping in jeans.”
“Mm,” he groans in the darkness, as though in protest, already half-asleep.
“You’re already gonna feel like shit in the morning, especially if you’re sleeping like that,” you advise with a soft laugh. “Come on, Eds. At least take off your shoes.”
“…Don’t know how,” he murmurs.
You roll your eyes at him, even though he can’t see you, even though you do it all for him anyway. It was second nature to you, taking care of Eddie, and you do it with an ease that makes his drunken little heart swell.
You start with his shoes, not having to untie them because they’re so loose on his feet. His jeans come next, a far bigger struggle because you do it with little help from the boy in the bed. His belt is strangely tricky and he claims his body feels too heavy to lift his hips for you.
But what he lacks in assistance, he makes up for in cheeky one-liners — “At least, take me out to dinner first, babe” and “If you wanted to see me naked so bad, you coulda just said" to name a few.
Once he’s clad in nothing but his Hellfire t-shirt, R2D2 patterned underwear, and hand-me-down socks that barely fit him, you maneuver him so he’s lying properly in bed.
You toss away all the pillows that are more for decoration than anything else, pull the covers down and over his body, and Eddie doesn’t do a single damn thing but watch.
He couldn’t do anything even if he wanted to because his heart is so far in his throat he can’t breathe.
You’re so unfamiliarly soft with him — sweet in your way than anyone will ever be to him in his lifetime, than anyone will ever be to anyone else.
The love you bathe him in half-sobers him and tosses him into a spiral of self-hatred. Why did it take getting drunk at Steve’s place to realize he’s been so head over heels for you he hasn’t stood up straight in years?
Drunken words sit impatiently on his tongue. He lacks the self-control to keep the hidden.
“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles tiredly.
Your hands almost immediately still where they bunch the covers up at his chest. Your eyes dart to his face and it takes everything in you not to duck away all over again, when you see the way he’s looking at you.
Eddie looks so soft, basked in a soft moonlight streaming in through parted sheer curtains.
His brown eyes twinkle with stars of their own. He gazes up at you like you put them there.
He doesn’t miss the shock that coats your features. Your eyes widen in surprise of his words at first, before your brows furrow and you shake your head to yourself in denial — like you’re not deserving of them. Like you’re not standing over him in your baggy jeans and five-year-old cotton bra after he spilt his beer all over you, taking care of him because he’s too drunk to take care of himself, doting on him like it’s second nature to you.
As far as Eddie’s concerned, there’s never been a sight more beautiful than this one.
“Stop,” you manage a laugh, still swallowing down that glimmer of hope that lingers on the back of your tongue. “You’re drunk, Eds.”
“Yeah. Super drunk,” he nods unabashedly. A distant smile hints at the corner of his lips as he gazes up at you like he’s trying to commit your features to memory — the angle of your nose, the shape of your jaw, the softness of your lips, and the way you’re looking down at him like you’re wondering if he’s real or not. “And in the morning, when I’m sober, you’ll still be beautiful… I’m just gonna be too chicken shit to tell you.”
You never thought Eddie would say something like this — not something so profound it makes your heart stop and especially not to you. You always dreamed that he might. And you had nightmares that it wouldn’t. That he would utter them to someone who wasn’t you.
But here he is now, loving on you and calling you pretty and hating himself for not being able to tell you that, and you don’t know what to do.
“…Okay,” is all you can say in response, nodding your head like an idiot. You force yourself to move on quickly, focusing instead on tucking him further into the unfamiliar bed.
It’s easier than concentrating on your racing heart that ticks like a time bomb seconds away from going off.
“Thanks for taking care of me, babe,” he murmurs quietly, blinking slow and heavy up at you. “I’m sorry… I know I don’t deserve it—”
“I’ll take care of you forever, Eds. You know that,” you interject without thinking. “And you don’t ever have to apologize to me.”
Eddie lets your words settle over him like the cozy blanket you cover him with. They bathe him like warm water, prickle his skin like they’re cleansing him.
The intent behind them means more than he could ever comprehend, half-drunk or sober still.
He rises abruptly, disrupting the cocoon you’d just tucked him into, as he works with disoriented hands to peel off his shirt. “What are you doing, Eds?” he hears you laugh when his head and arms get caught in the fabric.
You help him out of it anyway, tugging the cotton over him and gaping at him when he hands the bunched up t-shirt over to you.
“Here,” he offers like you’re supposed to know what to do with it.
“…What?”
“Want you to wear it… And to go downstairs so Steve will see you in it.”
You roll your eyes though a smile plasters itself on your mouth. You slip the thing over your head and pretend it's just to appease him. It isn’t the first time you’ve worn something of his, but this time feels so much different.
“Better?” you tease.
Eddie nods with a childlike happiness.
You’ve always been his, in your own special way, but wearing his shirt? It’s like you’re waving a big, brightly-colored flag — a lit up I’m with stupid sign with a flashing arrow pointed right at him. It makes him grin like an idiot.
“Now, go to sleep, alright? We’ll talk in the morning. When you’re so hungover you wanna die,” you joke, still perched at his bedside.
Before you rise, you lean over and press a quick peck to the tip of his warm nose.
You want to do more than that, so much more than that, but you know that he’s still half-drunk — and that he might not mean a single word of this come sunrise.
You’ll revel in this softness now, either way it goes.
“And, for what it’s worth, I think you’re beautiful too.”
#published by bug#eddie munson x reader#stranger things x reader#stranger things imagine#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fic#st oneshots#eddie spaghetti oneshot
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oneshot in which reader is drunk and desperate for sex but james feels like she'd give her consent drunkenly so it wouldn't be proper consent, but she's begging, and he eats her out and she's babbling out thank you's
hi love, thank you for sending in the request. i quite literally am in love with it.
meddle about;
pairing- fdad!james potter x reader
warning(s)- age gap (nothing borderline illegal), 18+ content, mention of alcohol. (let me know if i should add more)
a/n- might make a part two if ya'll want to.
ps- okay so for better understanding, reader is harry's friend and is as the same age as oliver wood.
the slut club
early winter event
'cause it's not just a figure of speech
you got me down on my knees
you're warm. you don't know whether it's because of the alcohol stimulating every inch within you, or because you can feel your friend's dad's toned thighs underneath yours. either ways, it's a nice feeling that fills you up. to be on a motorbike, your shoulders clad in a sweater that isn't yours, riding under the stars under the lucent light of the streetlights. it's blinding you think, how your heart beats with how tightly pressed you are against his back.
it wasn't supposed to be him picking you up. you had called harry, and somehow his dad was there, a few moments later. you were drunk, and similarity of their features had fogged you for a few moments. you'd successfully stopped yourself from hugging him like he was your best friend. he'd smiled at your dumb found expression, before his eyes raked over your figure, the skimpy dress upon your body. mid november, you stood, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. he took of his sweater and made you wear it.
you remember yourself asking what he was doing with sirius' motorbike. you remember his grin while he elaborated his explanations, slowly so you could catch up,
'i'm learning how to ride one. and besides my car is at the mechanics. the broom wouldn't exactly be okay if i just carried it to a muggle bar, and well disapparating is really complicated when one is drunk.'
so that's how you ended up here, on the warm couch of james potter, exhaustion dripping of your body.
'hi,' you blink, as he appears with a bunch of things on a tray. he offers you a subtle smile, setting the tray on the coffee table. his hands cup your cheeks, while he makes sure you're watching him, and your subconscious is with the moment.
'hey, dove. i'll wipe your makeup off okay?' he asks, the question tearing off softly from his lips. you stare at his lips longer than you intended to, longer than it was appropriate,
'yeah, yeah,' you nod. his hands work with the packet of wipes, slowly rubbing the cleanser soaked sheet over your face, wiping off your unsettled makeup.
your mind swirls south. his hot breath is fanning over your face, hand holding your face in place while his tongue prods out from between his lips. you inch closer to him, your knees touching with his. you feel the edge of his nose almost touch yours and you shudder. it's a weird feeling of warmth that pools in your stomach when you think how his lips would taste against yours. you wonder how his strong hands would grip you, while he'd rut his cock into you. you wonder how his voice would sound while he'd whisper sensual words in your ears.
with utmost adoration, you look into his hazel eyes. the moonlight beams through the window, enlightening the softness of his eyes. you feel his breath hitch as you move closer to his face, tilting your neck. he gulps, his heart beating against his throat.
'we shouldn't do this...' he whispers. but he doesn't let go of your face.
'but i want to. i need you mr. potter, so bad,'
your world collapses. his lips entangle with yours, as he pulls you closer to his body. he ravages your mouth with his tongue, exploring every bit there is left untouched. he sucks on your teeth, bits on your lip, and caresses your body as if he's got it memorized, as if he's got you written across his mind. he kisses you as if you'd flee if he left you. he devours with his passion, consuming you whole.
you think he might kiss you till you're lips are blue. he tastes of cinnamon and oranges. you're breathless by the time he leaves you, with a little shake. he grunts, trying to scoot away from you, but the beauty of your swollen lips and disgruntled sighs leaving your mouth leaves him mesmerized.
'fuck,' he says. you raise an eyebrow, moving towards him. he stands up.
'what's wrong?'
'no...i don't think we should do this-this is wrong-'
'i need you, please, please have me,' you beg. he's standing against the wall, your hands wrapped around him, pushing him towards the wall behind him.
'no no, you're drunk,' he says. you bite your lip,
'i maybe drunk, but i want you. i wanted you sober, i want you drunk,' you insist. he looks down upon you, contemplating your words. your fingers reek over his chest, trailing up to his neck. your finger entangle with his curls, and you bring his face down.
'feel my cunt, it's so wet, just for you,' you mumble against his lips. his breath shudders. he takes a deep breath, inhaling in you. his hands arm around your hips, wrapping your legs aground his hips. he dives into your mouth, pushing away things strewn across the hall, taking you to his bedroom. his hand fumbles with the door, as he locks it.
he pushes you on his bed, his hands not fast enough to get rid of the dress you're wearing.
*****
it's maddening, the pace his tongue works on your clit. you're over the edge of the bed, your legs spread apart, his face buried into your pussy. filthy moans leave your mouth, as his tongue dives into your cunt, devouring you better than your wildest dreams could ever. you'd dreamt about his face buried between your thighs, while he ate you out and made you scream till your throat was raw.
'ple-please,' you beg, rutting your hips into his mouth. you feel him smile against you, the frame of his metal glasses cold against your hot skin. his finger circles over your clit,
'you taste so good sweetheart,' he croons. you numbly nod your head, fondling with your breasts.
'thank you,'
he shoves his finger inside your sopping cunt, diving his mouth between your legs again. he licks a stripe up your slit, curling his finger inside you as he sucks upon your sensitive bud. he swirls his tongue, spitting on your cunt, rhythmically moving his fingers. your breathing rate increases, stomach rising and falling as you feel the coil of orgasm build within your guts. your hand reaches his head full of curls, pushing his face closer to your dripping cunt. your thighs wrap around his head, and you scream.
'fuc-fuck i'm so close,'
he hums, the vibration sending chills down your spine. he increases the pace of his fingers, feeling your walls clench around him.
'oh fuck, fuck, thank you, thank you-' you slur, as your toes curl, and eyes roll backwards. your hips rise, and he growls,
'god cum on my tongue,'
you vigorously nod your head, moving your cunt against his splayed out tongue, letting your orgasm grip you. you release your juices on his tongue, and he devours you, lapping up every inch of your juices on his tongue.
'thank you, thank you, fuck, thank you,' you babble, mindlessly.
he stands up, his cock erect and huge in all its glory. he holds you by your neck, making you sit on your knees, the fabric of the carpet digging into your skin.
'now you're gonna return the favor won't you, love?' he whispers.
#james potter fluff#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter#marauders#james potter x reader#james potter imagine#marauders era#marauders headcanon#the marauders#james potter x you#james potter smut#james potter one shot#james potter fic#james potter x regulus black#marauders fanfiction#james potter fanfiction
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Here, have a casual glimpse into my thought patterns and creative process:
*just scrolling about Tumblr and vibing to "Too Much Wine" by The Fratellis*
Too much wine?
Mihawk?
Mihawk drunk??
Wait wait wait WAIT what are they all like drunk?
GASP s h i n y h e a d c a n o n s
BLANK DOCUMENT HERE I FCKEN COME—
So anyway here's some headcanons about drinking too much (insert adult beverage of choice) with the OPLA boyos.
Implied that Reader is already in a relationship with each character in question.
I shall call it.......
HAMMERED
OPLA!Zoro, Sanji, Shanks, Mihawk, Buggy X AFAB!Reader
NSFW Headcanons
Kinda Kinktober I guess? Borderline shitpost, I had way too much fun with this.
♫♬♫ Too Much Wine - The Fratellis ♫♬♫
I'll take the mead from the table
Talk straight while I'm able
Until I'm nothin' less than a crime
Zoro
"Y'know, I actually have four swords, but we're gonna have to go somewhere more private if you wanna see the other one."
Rum, sake, beer, wine, whatever you're down for drinking so is he.
Zoro's got incredibly high endurance and stamina—it's going to take a while for him to show that it's affecting him at all, but once it does, he goes from zero to one hundred faster than you can say "onigiri."
Literally no in between, no tipsy or buzzed. Just sober and then stumbling over his own feet and swearing he absolutely is not drunk the whole time.
All those repressed emotions that he hides behind a mask of dry sarcasm on a day to day basis are coming out in full effect.
That means you're getting one of two Zoros—goofy Zoro or sad Zoro.
Goofy Zoro's going to have his arm around your shoulders, laughing his ass off about that time he caught that idiot Marine brat swinging his sword around bare-ass naked so he chopped off half his hair.
He's likely to get pretty flirty in this state, even downright playful, especially if you initiate it, and it's almost definitely going to end in him dragging you somewhere private to fuck your brains out, because his restraint is totally out the window at this point.
If you end up with sad Zoro, he'll be laying his head in your lap and slurringly asking whether or not you think he's ever really going to be the best swordsman in the world, probably still beating himself up over losing to Mihawk.
Just comb your fingers through his hair and do your best to reassure him that you love him and genuinely believe in him. Whether it works or not, he's going ti end up falling asleep in your lap, so be prepared to be stuck there for a while.
"But like...you really think, like, I can beat that bird-eyed bastard? I mean he fucked me up with a goddamn butterknife."
Sanji
"There we are—a beautiful drink for a beautiful woman."
Turbo Flirt Mode: activated.
Sanji is all for pairing wine with food, but if you're looking to get a little sideways, he's going to want to show off his mixology skills to impress you—and he's going to be making some dangerous concoctions, the kind that taste like there's not a drop of booze in them.
The more lit he gets, the less subtle the flirting. If you thought he was clingy sober, you are in for a surprise, because that's just the tip of the iceberg.
Head on your shoulder, puppy dog eyes, telling you how pretty you are and how much he adores you every thirty seconds, with a big silly grin like you're the most amazing thing he's ever seen.
Brushing his lips along your neck and murmuring all the things he's going to do to you once the two of you are behind closed doors later—and he means every one of them, because you're utterly irresistible to him in this state.
He wants you giggling and blushing just as much as he wants you moaning and trembling under his touch.
Super playful once you are alone, even moreso than usual. He's definitely going to suggest doing body shots, he will beg if he has to, but honestly who in their right mind is going to turn him down?
"You're just...just so—so beautiful—honestly, it should be illegal."
Shanks
"Hold—hold my rum—no, no, just for a moment, I wanna see if I can do a backflip off the railing—"
Spoiler alert: he can't. Now he's lying on the quarterdeck alternating between hysterical laughter and "Oh God that hurt—"
Probably the most fun drunk in the world, but he can be a hazard to his own health as his judgement begins to lapse so someone's going to have to keep an eye on him.
If you're at a tavern or otherwise public location, do not under any circumstances let the man out of your sight for more than two seconds. He turns into a straight-up child, he can and will wander off, and you'll find him a mile away on top of a building, likely half-naked and singing sea shanties at the top of his lungs, with no clue as to how he got up there...or how to get back down.
He's developed quite a high tolerance over the years and tends mostly toward dark rum, though he won't turn down a stein of ale or beer.
Total life of the party energy—telling jokes and stories, he just wants to see everyone laughing and having the absolute best time.
Super, super flirty, he may as well have written the book on pick-up lines; and he doesn't care that you're already together, he's going to drop every single one of them on you just to see how much he can make you giggle or roll your eyes.
He's very likely to pull you onto his lap at some point and make out with you like no one's watching—he already doesn't really care who sees when you're both sober, but he really doesn't care after a little too much rum, so it's probably best to coax him to bed at this point.
He's perfectly happy with cuddling up, laying his head on your chest and draping his arm over you, just humming in contentment and falling asleep together...but if you want more, don't expect to get much sleep, because he wants you lasciviously.
To taste every inch of you, to suffocate between your thighs until you're screaming, to pull you onto his cock and watch you ride him until you're both too breathless and exhausted to do anything but tangle yourselves together in the sheets and drift off to sleep between slow, sensual kisses.
"Oh, princess, just when I catch my breath, you make me lose it all over again."
Mihawk
"If you insist on being such a brat about this, you're going to get what's coming to you."
Mihawk has a strong drive to be in total control of himself and everything happening around him at all times, which means he doesn't tend toward getting drunk.
But...he also has this wee little problem with his ego being larger than the entire volume of every combined ocean in the world. If you imply that you could drink him under the table...he's probably going to sneer and tell you to quit being a brat, but he's also going to be quite driven to prove you wrong.
He does love his wine, but it's generally only a glass or two to wind down and relax—he's definitely got a nice bottle of aged bourbon or eau de vie tucked away somewhere that's going to be coming out, because he's got something to prove now.
Unfortunately for him, due to the fact that he so rarely drinks heavily...he's a bit of a lightweight. Which he won't admit even to himself.
But it barely takes a single lowball of harder liquor to get that pale complexion of his a little flushed.
Perhaps just over three for him to start blinking a bit harder than normal in a futile attempt to get his vision to focus, to start speaking a bit slower to attempt to hide the slight slur in his words as you taunt him about it—which honestly only makes it more pronounced, and more amusing.
You had best enjoy it, because it's probably the only time you're going to hear the words, "Fine, you win," come out of his mouth—as well as perhaps the only time he won't be miffed about conceding. The alcohol in his system has him loosened up just enough that he can't pretend he doesn't find your boldness and sass at least a bit endearing...and even more alluring.
That being said, you're still getting punished for it, teased within an inch of your sanity, and he's going to enjoy every single second of it.
Setting his glass aside, plucking yours from your hand, pinning your hands above your head with a devilish smirk and slowly undressing you, his eyes on yours the entire time.
Trailing his fingertips across your bare skin, drawing closer and closer but never quite giving you want you want, his lips barely brushing against your neck, reminding you in an amused murmur in your ear that he could easily do this all night.
You did have the audacity to challenge him, after all—he has no choice but to remind you who's in charge.
"What is it, my little bird? Did you think you were going to get a consolation prize? You're still going to have to beg."
Buggy
"Bet you two thousand Berries I can shotgun two beers at once, watch this—"
And he basically ends up halfway drowning himself, but hey, you're two thousand Berries richer!
Honestly, there's no party like a Buggy party, because a Buggy party doesn't stop until someone loses a limb—probably him.
No, really. Don't let him use his devil fruit abilities. Keep a bucket of sea water on hand if you have to, because he may literally misplace one of his limbs and you're going to have to go on a Chop Chop Scavenger Hunt to help him find it while you're both completely smashed.
If Buggy's drinking, everybody's drinking, and everybody is getting completely fucked up. This is non-negotiable, he thrives on chaos and that's what he's intent on creating.
Anybody who passes out before him is getting something obscene drawn on their face in permanent ink. He can definitely hold his liquor, so if you can keep up with him then you can expect to be the last two living souls left conscious on the whole ship.
That being said, he doesn't care who's awake—things are going to get kinky, and he's really not bothered about anybody watching. Or joining in, for that matter. This whole operation very well may devolve into a drunken orgy if he has any say in the matter.
Then again, it may also devolve into him flopping dramatically across your lap and divulging absolutely all of his trauma in an emotionally-charged alcohol-induced rant. He won't remember it in the morning, so please do him a favor and don't remind him.
"Hey, uhh...I los—I lost my foot again. .....Sor—*hiccup* sorry."
#opla#dracule mihawk#mihawk opla#one piece fanfiction#mihawk#one piece#opla fanfiction#opla headcanon#sanji opla#sanji#sanji one piece#one piece zoro#zoro opla#one piece shanks#opla shanks#one piece buggy#opla buggy#buggy x reader#mihawk x reader#shanks x reader#zoro x reader#sanji x reader#smut#headcanon#shitpost#kinktober
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Omg its me, you've all been blessed
Heya Pookie
👉👈 can I request some headcanons of Adam, Lucifer, and any third character of your choosing with a male or gender neutral reader who CANNOT SIT STILL EVER.
Like I'm talking, rocks in his seat at the dinner table, shifts from leaning on one foot to the other every two seconds, restless legs in bed, hands fidgeting and fiddling even if he's mid convo (distracting as all hell for the other person) etc etc
pppPpSSHHHHH I'm not projecting my adhd what are you talking about
- kotte
˚✧₊⁎ Adam ⁎⁺˳✧༚
• Heaven is not supposed to be a frustrating place, the very word is borderline illegal!
• But you make him want to pull out his fucking hair
• Compared to Lute, always standing stiff like she has a pole up her ass, you’re relentless
• Your foot taps like you’re killing ants when you sit or you find the weirdest positions to make a chair remotely comfortable— only to get up after .8 seconds!
• It’d be fine if it was just that but your eyes wander when he talks to you
• Adam wants to have your full attention and hates that you can’t provide him with that
• He beat himself up for a week straight when he snapped at you for it, making you think he didn’t want you around when, in actuality, it was the opposite!
• Coming second place to a boring wall or the rips in your pants of all things!? Not gonna work for him
• He used to snap his fingers in front of your nose to win back your focus
• Buuut, by now you’re more than aware that he invades personal space like it doesn’t exist, so he’s long since tried to stop himself from grabbing your chin, pulling it back towards him with a soft growl, “Babe. Wasn’t done.”
• Oh, and if you thought he was above pulling you into his lap… then you don’t know Adam at all
˚✧₊⁎ Lucifer ⁎⁺˳✧༚
• To say he understood the moment he saw you would be a lie. At first he thought you were nervous and, hey, who wouldn’t be in the king’s presence!?
• Understanding still prevails to be the perfect word for him
• Strangely, his quirks are much more endearing on you than himself
• Lucifer doesn’t mind when you fuss with his belongings when he talks, often forgetting what the subject was himself and jumping to explain to you what that item you’re holding does
• He made you a duck to fidget with! Looklooklook, it’s eyes bulge out when you squeeze!
• When not hyper-focused but trying to anchor himself to a project, the noise of your movement can drive him up the wall
• He suffers as long as he possibly can because he enjoys your presence
• The absolute last thing he would want would be to make you feel bad about something out of your control
• After all, you’re so compassionate when the tables are turned
• He damn near obliterated the last (and only) person to tell you to “be quiet and sit still”
• Shattered and hollow, curled up on his bed after retiring early that night, Lucifer’s heart beat with agony as you apologized for being too much, too annoying
• “Aw, my dove,” He kisses your knuckles before holding them to his chest like an award to show off on stage, “You’re like the planets; always in motion. How could I be annoyed when you’re just being you? You’re not too much, not for me.”
~
╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ doitdoitdoit, project! we’re the same person anyways!
#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel imagine#hazbin hotel headcanon#hazbin hotel adam headcanon#hazbin hotel adam imagine#hazbin hotel adam x reader#lucifer morningstar x reader#lucifer morningstar imagine#lucifer morningstar headcanon#poiboiwrites
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Disney's Robbin Hood marries Maid Marian at the end of the film. Since marriage between commoners and aristocracy were illegal in the time period, we can infer then that Disney's Robbin Hood uses the cannon from Richard Grafton's 16th century Chronicle at Large or latter, when Robbin Hood goes from a yeoman to a member of the aristocracy, either the Earl of Huntingdon, or the later lord Locksley.
This fox is, and always has been, a member of the aristocratic 1% defending his inherited wealth, power and privilege. His vendetta against Prince John and his denouncement of him as a tyrant is personal as Prince John infinged on the rights and privileges of the Nobles, which was illegal, and lead to him taking up arms abd leading a guerilla campaign, and as soon as a Absoulute monarch he personality agrees with returns, he bends the knee in exchangefor a pardon, the restorationon his estates, and a policaly benifical marrage.
Behold the friendly face of Absoulute hereditary power!
In DnD terms, this verson of Robbin Hood is Lawfull Evil, fighting to uphold his own legal power and staiuts against an usurper.
Sad to say it given, he gave me my sexual awakening, but this fox is, and always has been, a fascist.
I mean I'd still fuck both of them but the sex with Rob would be far angrier.
This fox, this guy right here:
He's just a depressed millennial with childhood trauma running a gig economy job. He's not even doing anything particularly illegal, as shown by the only thing Judy (a frighteningly effective cop) can find to charge him with is tax evasion. He's a high functioning borderline genius level guy running street scams due to racial profiling barring access to higher education and better jobs, and once someone gives him an in he proves very very good at solving crimes. He had no ideological stake in this, he's in DnD terms true neutral tending towards chaotic neutral, but he does risk his life to stop and actual fascist coup that was happening hidden behind a facade of public safety (looks at canera), which is something. He's an everyman antihero who sells out for a job with helthcare and/or bunny boobies at the first chance he gets, very relatable.
This Fox, is and always has been, Moray grey.
and he fucking knows it, the sexy beast.
In conclusion, Disney has always been a Conservative company filled with left leaning creators, and Sometimes thier furry kink critique of the current system leaks out and they are at their best when it does.
#disney#Robbin hood#Disneys Robbin hood#zootopia#zootropolis#nick wilde#Nicholas wilde#Nicholas piberius wilde#judy hopps#maid marian#ace attorney#fascisim#shitpost#humor#furry shit
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I need something borderline illegal. Like dark and twisted. Like I want to question my moral compass but read on.
Am I asking for dad’s best friend!Joel? pshhhhhh. Am I asking for bratty! reader?? Pshhhhhh. Am I asking for anything???
Am I asking for smutty smut?! Yes I am.
Ofc if you are uncomfortable with any of these don’t hesitate to ignore this and also no pressure ily ❤️
a/n: reader isn't bratty, im sorry! i forgot :((
sleep
pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!virgin!reader
summary: Joel can’t stay away from you any longer.
warnings: 18+ MDNI, alcohol, voyeurism/somnophilia + dub-con, dry humping, cum in pants
wc: 4.0k
a/n: i hope this is dark enough!! the only reason the ask is a ss instead of the actual thing is cus i formatted the whole story then realized i forgot to put it in the reply to the ask (loosely proofread)
It’s 2 am and Joel can’t stop thinking about you. How you’re sleeping soundly in his room, in his bed, in his shirt as pajamas because you had “forgotten to pack some”, something you both knew was a lie. He knows you’re toying with him, you started a bit before, but since you’ve turned 18? It's just been on rapid fire.
He pulls out his phone and scrolls through your text thread, scoffing at every other conversation. It was so apparent, in every text, how badly you want him.
Mon, Aug 16 at 4:41 AM
bbg: big man! text me when u wake up i have a joke
You: Why are you awake at this time?
bbg: wtf why are YOU awake 🤨
You: I have trouble sleeping, you know that.
bbg: aww poor joey 😢
You: Are you going to answer my question, darling?
bbg: im doing skincare and stuff
You: You have to wake up this early for that stuff?
bbg: can’t put a price on feeling bonita
You: Why are you speaking Spanish now?
bbg: nevermind lmao
bbg: so have u tried meditation
You: What?
bbg: for your sleeping troubles
You: I’m not that kind of guy.
bbg: what about getting off
You: Excuse me?
bbg: like masturbation n stuff
You: I know what you’re saying.
You: I don’t understand why you’re talking about this with me.
bbg: we haven’t even talked about it 😭
bbg: obviously we can end the convo if ur uncomfy but its a very good way to fall asleep
He remembers needing a pause after he read that text for the first time. It had only been four months since your birthday and you were already drastically different. Joel never expected it, he always thought your feelings had already reached their limit but it turns out you were holding back because you weren’t of age. Now that you are… He doesn’t know what he’s going to do. His morals may not be strong enough for the thought of “ his best friend's daughter” to hold him back. He’s already rationalized himself out of the “daughter's best friend” thought. You’re not even going to school together anymore. Sarah lives on campus so you guys never see each other and you barely ever text.
You: I have not.
bbg: what? literally how?
bbg: you should
bbg: it totally works
You: That’s good to know.
You: Get back to your skincare, honey. I’ll message you later.
Mon, Aug 16 at 5:03 AM
bbg: joel?
Mon, Aug 16 at 5:37 AM
bbg: are you masturbating?
You: Sweetheart. You can’t ask me things like that. It’s not right.
bbg: u didnt answer! i got curious
You: Still.
bbg: i dont see the problem we’re both adults 🫢
You: Barely.
bbg: dont be mean
You: Do you need something
You: I said I’d text you later
bbg: wow no punctuation?
You: Busy
bbg: getting off?
He remembers staring at your text, unbelieving that you’d send him something like that, so forward, so dirty. He remembers the thought that you were joking. Obviously, you don’t expect him to say yes, that’s why you asked in the first place. Maybe his perverted mind was interpreting your behavior as flirting but you’re just being yourself around him. All these thoughts were swirling in his head but the feeling of his hand flying over his cock, pretending it’s yours, that you're in his ear whispering to him... That thought was stronger, that feeling was stronger.
You: Yes.
bbg: good. have fun, joey
He gets up for his fourth beer, hoping to drown the impure thoughts, starring you, that plague his mind. It’d be so easy to have you, you’ve been throwing yourself at him since you turned 17. He’s been ignoring it, adamantly. It wasn’t right, despite the age difference, the fact that you’re his daughter’s best friend and his best friend’s daughter. On top of that, you only just turned 18.
You’ve been staying at Joel’s for a month. He takes the guest room because you say that his bed is better. You haven’t gone home because your dad is still working on your birthday present/room renovations and he doesn't want you to see it until it’s done. He offered up Joel’s house to keep you, knowing his best friend wouldn't mind, unknowing that his best friend was corrupt for his daughter.
Joel was trying to ignore the way his body was heating up, still scrolling through the texts. He remembers that conversation perfectly. He remembers the adrenaline that was coursing through him as he confessed. He remembers how hard he came at your response. When thinking about this conversation he also remembers the guilt, it’s the most vivid emotion he remembers, usually. But the alcohol seems to be drowning that part out, and Joel scrolls on.
He finds a patch of texts that he actively avoids, usually. It’s picture after picture of you in the most adorable outfits in the most suggestive positions. There are plenty of you lying on your back, some with your head turned to show off your perfectly curved, unmarked, un-bitten, neck. There are a few where you’re sitting down with the camera angled up, giving Joel too many situations his head can come up with. Then there’s the worst one, his favorite- he doesn’t even know how you took this one. You’re sitting on your knees, hands rested on your thighs and you’re looking up at the camera with a shy smile.
There are two things about this photo that really fuck him up.
First, your smile, the way it lets him know that you’re trying to fuck him up, you know what you’re doing with this pose, this positioning, you’re even embarrassed by it, a little nervous about it but you still felt the need to take the photo, for him.
Second, the height, and the way the camera is positioned shows him that these photos were specifically crafted for him because the height the camera is at is exactly how he’d see you if you were on your knees like that for him.
You made sure that he noticed because the very next day, you needed him to tie a bow in your hair and instead of waiting for him to get off the couch you placed yourself on the ground, between his legs, in this pose. He had to hide his erection until you left and then fight the urge to get himself off in your room for the rest of the night.
He glances at his room door, you’re sleeping so soundly in there.
She wouldn’t even notice if someone went in there right now. She definitely wouldn’t notice me… Hell, as if she’d mind either way… I mean- Would she?
The alcohol clouds his thoughts, gives him bad ideas, and then convinces him that they’re good- this one being one of them. He grabs his almost-finished beer and heads to the fridge to grab a fifth one, knowing he’ll be in there for a while.
He does this sometimes, you look so peaceful when you sleep… it’s the only time he can admire you without putting all his relationships at risk. He reaches the door and turns the knob slowly to avoid creaking. He enters the room, his socks padding his footsteps, and the darkness gives him no shadow. He moves one of your tops off of his desk chair and turns it to face your sleeping figure while placing his beers down. You’re already bringing a smile to his face. You’ve got your face shoved into one of his pillows, your arm tucked under it, and your leg is pulled up to your waist, sticking out from under his tan comforter. You’re wearing one of his hoodies for sleepwear—
Fuck.
and it doesn’t look like you have anything on your bottom half. It’s a little cold in his room so little goosebumps have bloomed over your exposed skin. He takes a swig of beer, finishing his fourth as he examines you. Your face twitches for a moment, your eyebrows furrow, and your nose twitches like a rabbit before calming back down. He opens the other beer and fills his mouth with it, hoping that the alcohol stops the fluttering in his stomach while he drinks it down.
You shiver a bit but your leg doesn’t move, the goosebumps just become more prominent. His hand is reaching out for you before he can think, rubbing your calf gently to soothe and warm you up a bit. You let out a relieved sigh at his contact and your leg presses further into his warmth. He has to take a deep breath as his mind runs wild, convincing him that this is some sort of sign, that even in you’re sleep you’re trying to be closer to him, that he should just give in.
No, she’s your best friend's daughter. Sure she’s her own person now, legally an adult, an’ can make decisions for herself… an’ yeah she’s not owned or controlled by anyone and just cause I’m friends with her father ain’t a fair reason to completely rule her out from being a potential partner… Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad… maybe it’s actually more fucked up for me to avoid her just cause of who birthed her. That’s totally not fair to her! I mean I know I wouldn't want anyone judging me based on who my parents are y’know? Maybe I should put myself in her shoes.
His breathing speeds up as he breaks through his last piece of resistance. Now he’s just trying to figure out how soon he can have you.
I’ll have to court her first, flirt with her a bit before asking her out to dinner, then maybe she’ll accept my offer to be my girlfriend by the third date… From there maybe she’ll have sex with me for the three-month anniversary… she might be a bit more timid than that but we’re looking at a four- five-month plan… That can work- I can definitely work with that.
You whine and stretch your body, your legs straighten and your arms spread out, you turn and rest one arm on top of your head before you lift your leg, bending it above your waist but with the other one this time. The new position leaves the blanket covering nothing but one of your inner thighs and to add insult to injury your raised arms lift his hoodie, revealing a beautiful sliver of your stomach.
Or I could have her now.
The thought is too powerful to stop, his opportunity is too perfect, Ellie is out with whatever girl she’s currently entertaining, and Sarah doesn’t live here anymore. Your father would never be awake at this time and Joel is hard, wanting, and so so ready for you. He’s crawling into bed beside you after downing half his beer for the nerves.
He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t.
He settles next to you and your leg presses into him again, searching for him and his warmth. You slowly turn to him as he stares at you, watching how sluggish your movements are in your sleep. You snuggle into the pillow in front of him and take a long inhale of its scent, a little smile resting on your lips while you breathe out. Your face is inches from his, and his hand is down his pants in an instant.
The relief is heavenly, he’s been throbbing for you since he read those texts. He can’t help the way he reacts to you. He can smell your toothpaste on your breath as you gently snore in front of him. He wraps his warm hand around his cock and his soft lips part into an ‘O’. His eyes roll back for a second but he immediately focuses them back on you. He’s tugging at himself violently, not even thinking about savoring this moment, just needing to cum for you. He’s trying to hold in his sounds but you look so pretty, just seeing your face while he’s touching himself makes everything better, somehow you’ve turned his sensitivity as high as it can go.
Little whines and whimpers slip into your dream state. You’re confused by the sound, the rustling that coming from—? In front of you? Your brows furrow as you try to open your eyes. “Fuck” You hear someone say. It sounds like…
You open your eyes just in time to see Joel yank his hand out of his sweatpants and scramble as far as he can get from you before falling off the bed. You’re still confused as you take his form in. His shirt has ridden up a bit, exposing the salt and pepper hairs on his tummy. His hair is sticking all over the place, he stinks of beer, and his eyes are wide, focused on you. “Joey?”
Despite the horrid situation he’s in, his cock is still leaking for you, pulsing at the nickname. He can’t answer, he has to bite back a moan as he feels himself leak into the fabric of his pants. “Joel? What—” Your eyes flutter, almost falling shut but you shake yourself out of it and— Fuck.
You move closer to him.
You’re too snuggly when you’re sleeping, too cute, and too dumb. You’re not even questioning why your father’s best friend was in bed with you while you were sleeping. You don't want to risk him leaving and you don’t mind in the first place, you actually thought you were dreaming at first. Your heart almost stopped when your fingers actually latched onto his shirt after reaching out for him. He’s stiff as a board, deterring your touch so you pull your hands into your chest and bury your face in his.
Joel is almost shaking in exertion as you press your soft little body against his. It’s just your upper half, leaning into him and finding wam solace in his chest. He can handle this, he thinks. He can calm down, and be with you like this. He’s supposed to court you first anyway, he can’t believe himself. Was he really going to just get off with you in the same bed? What kind of pervert would even try something like that?
You hike your leg up over his waist, half asleep, not realizing your motions.
All his perverted feelings return with a vengeance.
You wiggle around a bit, trying to get comfortable but his cock twitches, flicking into your soft lips for a moment. At first, you really didn’t know what it was, all you knew was that the sensation felt good. So of course you chased it. Your hips grind into his cock arrhythmically, trying to find that same angle again, not realizing that you’re basically fucking him through your clothes. His hands have to come to your hips, gripping painfully for your eyes to snap open and your hips to freeze.
Your eyes widen further when you finally process the situation, and even in all your teasing and sensuality, at the end of the day, you’re still just a virgin. You never had any real intention of acting on your desires, especially if Joel wasn’t the one initiating.
Oh fuck. What did I do? What do I do? He’s just staring at me… Maybe he didn’t notice, I didn’t! But it felt so good. Will he let me? Maybe if I—
Your hips tilt into his before you can process whether this is actually a good idea or not. His hand tense over yours, like another shock of clarity through your bones. You shut your eyes tight, not wanting to see the disgust or uncomfortable pity in his face. “I’m so sorry, Joel. I didn’t… I-”
You try not to let tears well in your eyes as you whimper and pull back from him. But he doesn’t let you. His arms tense, his muscles flexing as he keeps your body pressed against his. You open your eyes, a bit shocked at his refusal to let you go but still too scared to meet his eyes. Your gaze is on his stomach, the way his gray shirt rode up, exposing the way his belly keeps tensing with every breath. “I-” He manages to get out before letting out a shuddering sigh. You finally look at him.
His eyebrows are pulled taut in between his eyes, his gaze is something you’ve never seen before, and he almost looks angry. It’s desperate, but sorrowful, with the added haze from his intoxication. He keeps biting at his bottom lip, worrying it red as he tries to form a sentence for you. His hands tense over your hips again but this time they tilt you into him again. His face is a hard grimace as he slowly presses you into his raging bulge. You watch him fight with his expression, it keeps breaking into something weak before he goes back to his angry pout. You can’t help the way you press into him, you want to feel it again, that fire in the pit of your stomach that spreads to your soaking pussy the more he pulls you in. You watch his face contort into something heavenly. His brows pull up, almost shocked at how good you feel as his eyes roll back and shut. His entire body shakes as he melts into the pillow. He’s breathing deep and slowly, trying to regulate the pleasure he feels.
Now he’s focused on savoring the moment. He wants this to last as long as it possibly can. You’re making him feel incredible, he’s so sensitive, it’s like he’s been edging himself for you. You whimper, high-pitched and muffled but it’s so beautiful that he forces his eyes open. You have one hand gripping the bedsheet like it’s your lifeline and you have the other bitten between your teeth to hold your sounds in. Your hips are grinding into him at an uneven, unsteady, desperate pace and he’s mesmerized by the sight.
He knew you wanted him. He didn’t know you needed him. You’re fucking yourself against his cock like you’ve been waiting for it your whole life. Your hand comes up to grip his shoulder instead of the bedsheet. He grunts and tilts his hips further into yours, a sadistic smirk coming to his face at the sound of exclamation that shoots from your mouth once you’re able to grind your clit against his shaft. Your thrusts start to stutter at that, your body constantly wanting to fold in on itself from the assault of pleasure but you try and will yourself to keep going.
Unfortunately, your pace is ruined by your pleasure. Your sensitive body can’t handle how good his clothed cock is making you feel. You lose your pace and your pleasure becomes rocky and teasing. He watches as your face changes from pleasured to pouty. Little whimpers and whines of frustration slip from your lips, growing in volume and frequency the longer you’re unable to grind against him properly. Joel’s watching you through hooded eyes, fingers digging into your hips painfully at this point and all he wants is to not cum yet. He wants to make you cum first, he needs it, he needs to see it, to hear it.
He’s been telling himself it’s fine because you’re grinding against him, not the other way around. You’re choosing this, there’s no way he’s manipulating you, or swaying your decision if he stays completely indifferent. But you’re begging him now. You’re gripping desperately at his shirt, removing your hand from your mouth to grip him harder and pulling yourself closer, wrapping your arms around and moaning right against his chest. He shouldn’t. He can’t. But he does.
His eyes shut tight as his hands leave your hips. You almost climb on top of him in protest, whining a loud “N- Please.” into his chest as your leg hikes higher onto his waist. One of his hands cradles your head, pulling you further into his chest, muffling the moans you’re already letting out at his touch. His other hand goes to the small of your back, pressing you against him perfectly and guiding your rhythm as your hips start up again. He dares to speak. “S’this okay, baby?”
Your reaction to his voice is visceral. Your hands shoot up to his shoulder and hair, pulling yourself up a bit to bury in his neck, getting a new angle from his cock, now fucking him against your leaking hole. “So good, Joey. Thank- Thank you s’much. Thank you, thank you.” Your gratitude is like a searing knife through him. His entire body is set alight as he tries to regulate his breathing. He can feel goosebumps break out on his skin, his pleasure filling every molecule in his body, ready to overflow for you. Fuck. He’s definitely going to cum before you.
“Mm. Good, good girl. Just- Keep going, sweetness, take what— Shit. Take what you need, darlin’.” His breathing quickens and shudders as your hips increase their pace against him. He’s leaking continuously now, he’s getting in his head, trying to stop himself from cumming but every thought that pops into his mind just brings him closer to the edge. He can’t focus on anything but you. You’re moaning for him, grinding against him, this desperate for him.
The hand on your lower back migrates to the back of your neck, gripping you there, holding you in place as his hips begin to thrust into yours. “M’gonna cum, darlin’. Fuck, I wanted t- wanted to last for y- Mmm oh fuck.” His entire body starts to tremble as your nails dig into him so painfully he’s sure they drew blood. Your eyes are comically wide as your body tenses in his hold before breaking down into a shudder that overtakes your entire being. You’re cumming.
He explodes at the realization. In all his desperation, intoxication, and pure need… He was still able to make you cum first. He buries his face in your hair, huffing the scent as he floods his sweatpants. His eyes shut as tightly as they can as his orgasm tears through him. He’s been waiting so long for you to make him cum and now that it’s happening, it feels even better than he planned for. His low grunts turn into shocked moans when his orgasm doesn’t stop after shooting two ropes of cum against his sweats. You’re already coming down as he hits what feels like his second peak. You can feel his hands shaking over where they’re gripping you and you get an impulse that you act on without a second thought.
Your hand slides down from his shoulder quickly, over the sliver of stomach he’s showing off, and right down his pants. You don’t know what you’re doing so you just grip him, wrapping your hand around his shaft but it seems to do the trick. He lets out a sound that resembles someone getting kicked in the gut. His face is pulled from your hair as his head is thrown back. He arches into you a bit before his hips start thrusting into your fist, desperately prolonging his already overwhelming orgasm. It’s embarrassing; how long he was cumming for, the way his body was violently quivering for you, the ludicrously large dark spot spreading over his pants, showcasing how much he came for you.
He moans gently when he comes to. You’re stroking over his chest with a soft, sleepy, nervous smile. He pulls you in for a kiss before he can think about it. You guys haven’t discussed anything. Neither of you knows what this means for your relationship but you know that neither of you has felt more comfortable than when you’re in the arms of the other. So why question it now?
You fall into a deep sleep listening to Joel’s heavy snores, getting rocked to bed by the way his chest expands. It’s the best sleep of your life.
thank you so much for reading!! please please please give any feedback you may have! I want it all! also if you liked it please take a look at my masterlist!
psst psst. hey you!! i have a part 2 if u want 😏
#joel tlou#joel miller fanfic#joel miller smut#joel miller one shot#joel miller fic#joel miller fanfiction#pedro pascal last of us#pedro pascal#the last of us smut#the last of us#luvrxsmut#luvrxfics#smut#nsft#joel the last of us#sub joel miller#joel miller tlou#pedro pascal joel miller#joel miller x you#joel miller x y/n#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x female#joel miller the last of us#joel miller hbo
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Stolen Wife
Synopsis – Tommy Shelby is married to Grace but he becomes obsessed with Y/N, wife of Reuben Fitch, Tommy’s business partner in the U.S. who is unaware of his actual “business”
This blog supports Palestine.
Zionists are not welcome here.
As soon as the papers were signed for new consignment delivery and the ink was dry on the paper, Tommy decided to throw a curveball, to get to know his elusive new business partner.
“Grace is throwing a party for some charity. She asked me to invite you and your wife.” Tommy said carelessly.
“Party…?” Reuben asked in confusion, he had never mixed business with pleasure or even family.
“Don’t you Americans have over the top exuberant parties?” Tommy taunted the former soldier.
“We do, but I don’t believe in getting my family involved with the people I do my business with…” Reuben tried to reject the offer as politely as he could.
But little did he know, Thomas Shelby was not going to give it up so easily.
“It is a charity ball for orphaned kids nothing dangerous, I’m sure your Mrs can handle one night with the Shelbys” Tommy cajoled.
“Mr. Shelby, I don’t mix my work with my personal life. It is better that way and I certainly do not involve my wife in anything related to this side of my business.” Rueben tried to argue his way out this predicament.
“It is not going to be anything illegal or even borderline illegal, I have promised Grace that I will do no shady dealings at the ball.” Tommy reiterated.
“I really don’t mix my business and personal life and I would like to keep it that way.” Rueben did not budge.
Tommy lit a cigarette, giving himself time to think of any other way of getting insight into Rueben’s life, any pressure point that can be exploited if needed. Tommy’s other attempts had been in vain; soldiers in Rueben’s rank had been tight-lipped about everything, something he admired about Rueben and his tightly reigned empire.
Tommy took out the invite from his drawer and handed it to Rueben as a last resort.
“Take this, will you, I don’t want Grace finding it here. I will tell her you are busy” Tommy added defeatedly.
Rueben pocketed the invite not wanting to further prolong the conversation with the king of Birmingham.
Ruben got up and held out his hand to shake Tommy’s to read his temperament. Tommy shook Rueben’s hand with mild annoyance, annoyance that he hadn’t been able to pierce the armor around Fitch and his gang.
Rueben gave Tommy his charming smile, he was relieved that Tommy dropped the subject. He was never going to let his two worlds mix. You were too precious for him to be tainted with what his not-so-legal life is filled with, the grotesque violence, the depravity, the drugs among other things.
Tommy decided that he needed to find another way to find any weak spot in Rueben’s Gang.
What he did not expect was for Grace to get Rueben to the ball.
When he saw Rueben at the ball, he was astonished…Apparently, Grace had run into the loving couple at the marketplace and somehow convinced Rueben’s wife to come to the ball. Tommy could not describe the feeling when he saw you for the first time…There you were looking glorious and innocent like a princess in a purple dress. He gulped visibly, he now understood why Rueben kept you away.
#Dark Tommy Shelby x reader#Dark Tommy Shelby x Desi!reader#Dark Tommy Shelby x Black!reader#Dark Tommy Shelby x WOC!reader#Dark Tommy Shelby x Desi reader#Dark Tommy Shelby x Black reader#Dark Tommy Shelby x WOC reader#Dark Tommy Shelby x Y/N#Dark Tommy Shelby x You#Dark!Tommy Shelby x reader#Dark!Tommy Shelby x Desi!reader#Dark!Tommy Shelby x Black!reader#Dark!Tommy Shelby x WOC!reader#Dark!Tommy Shelby x Desi reader#Dark!Tommy Shelby x Black reader#Dark!Tommy Shelby x WOC reader#Dark!Tommy Shelby x Y/N#Dark!Tommy Shelby x You#Tommy Shelby x reader#Tommy Shelby x Desi!reader#Tommy Shelby x Black!reader#Tommy Shelby x WOC!reader#Tommy Shelby x Desi reader#Tommy Shelby x Black reader#Tommy Shelby x WOC reader#Tommy Shelby x Y/N#Tommy Shelby x You#Thomas Shelby x Desi!reader#Thomas Shelby x Black!reader#Thomas Shelby x WOC!reader
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reading supercut: disability, body image, and trauma
A glimpse into the clothes thrashing around in the washing machine of my mind, with apologies that it is still a wet lump and not an actual synthesis of ideas.
From Easy Beauty: A Memoir by Chloé Cooper Jones:
[This event] embedded a damaging idea in me, one I’d recognize deeply when I read Scarry years later: beauty was a matter of particulars aligning correctly. My body put me in a bracketed, undercredited sense of beauty. But if I could get the particulars lined up just right, I could be re-seen, discovered like the palm tree is discovered. To be deserving of the whole range of human desires, I had to be extraordinary in all other aspects.
In this new light, I started to see my work, my intellect, my skills, my moments of humor or goodness, not as valuable in themselves, but as ways of easing the impact of my ugliness. If only I could pile up enough good qualities, they could obscure my unacceptable body. [...] accepting the argument that beauty was malleable came, for me, with a cost. The Platonian view rejected me cleanly, but Hume and Scarry left a door ajar and I’ve spent a lifetime trying to contort my form to see if I could pass through it.
From Til We Have Faces: A Myth Retold by CS Lewis:
I now determined that I would go always veiled. I have kept this rule, within doors and without, ever since. It is a sort of treaty made with my ugliness. There had been a time in childhood when I didn't yet know I was ugly. Then there was a time (for in this book I must hide none of my shames or follies) when I believed, as girls do — and as Batta was always telling me — that I could make it more tolerable by this or that done to my clothes or my hair. Now, I chose to be veiled.
From Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy of Borderline Personality Disorder by Marsha Linehan:
Inhibited grieving is understandable among borderline patients. People can only stay with a very painful process or experience if they are confident that it will end some day, some time—that they can "work through it," so to speak. It is not uncommon to hear borderline patients say they feel that if they ever do cry, they will never stop Indeed, that is their common experience—the experience of not being able to control or modulate their own emotional experiences. [...] In the face of such helplessness and lack of control, inhibition and avoidance of cues associated with grieving are not only understandable, bur perhaps wise at times. Inhibition, however, has its costs. [...]
Volkan (1983) describes an interesting phenomenon, "established pathological mourning", which is similar to the pattern I am describing. In established pathological mourning, the individual wishes to complete mourning, but at the same time persistently attempts to undo the reality of the loss.
From How to Respond to Criticism by Danny Lavery:
Apologize, but don’t really mean it, and plant a seed of secret resentment so deep in your own heart that years later you can’t even remember that you’re the one who nurtured it and made it grow, it seems that much like a native part of you.
From Tiny Beautiful Things by Cheryl Strayed:
[After learning that state child protective services had made a budgetary decision to only intervene with children under 12, to one of the teenagers that regularly shared stories of abuse at home]
I told her it was not okay, that it was unacceptable, that it was illegal and that I would call and report this latest, horrible thing. But I did not tell her it would stop. I did not promise that anyone would intervene. I told her it would likely go on and she’d have to survive it. That she’d have to find a way within herself to not only escape the shit, but to transcend it [...] I told her that escaping the shit would be hard, but that if she wanted to not make her mother’s life her destiny, she had to be the one to make it happen. She had to do more than hold on. She had to reach. She had to want it more than she’d ever wanted anything. She had to grab like a drowning girl for every good thing that came her way and she had to swim like fuck away from every bad thing. She had to count the years and let them roll by, to grow up and then run as far as she could in the direction of her best and happiest dreams across the bridge that was built by her own desire to heal.
From Essays in Aesthetics by Jean-Paul Sartre:
Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you.
From "I Know What You Think of Me" by Tim Kreider:
if we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.
#mental health tw#trauma tw#child abuse tw#child neglect tw#staranise original#kinda#there's also a lot I've been reading about avoidant personality disorder that DEFINITELY needs a lot more baking#before it's ready to be unleashed onto the public
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