#fall down the stairs at your job
Text
Neighbors Alpha Ghost except he’s extremely polite for a man who is the biggest scariest alpha you’ve ever met. Alpha Ghost who’s lived beside you for years and has developed a rapport of trust with you, the sweet omega that lives next door. Ghost, who trusts you to watch over his place when he’s deployed and in return he helps you repair the various odds and ends in your place. Ghost who routinely asks you if you need anything from the store, and in return you give him baked sweets to take to base.
Ghost who’s gone for weeks at a time for work and you try not to entertain the idea that he may not come back, that one day you’ll wake up to your landlady emptying out his apartment and learning the hard way that you’ll never see him again. Ghost who always comes back, and feels a warm flush of fondness at the relief on your face when you see him again.
Ghost who once came home to find you cornered in the stairwell by an alpha you’d rejected, your face horrified at the things your would be suitor was snarling at you. Ghost who bodily hauled the smaller alpha down the stairs and threw him into the street with a snarled warning to never return, fangs bared beneath his mask. Ghost who returned to make sure you got home safe, and the next day helped you install a secure deadbolt for your safety.
Ghost who allowed himself a rare encounter that night when you hugged him in thanks, swallowing down tears and apologizing for the hassle. Ghost, who’s thought of the moment ever since, of how nice you smelled, how the feeling of you in his arms felt right.
Ghost, who hears you through the thin wall you two share a few weeks later, crying your eyes out. When you answer his gentle knock your face crumples. You confess that said rotten alpha showed up to your job and made a scene, and you were reluctantly let go because of the disturbance. Ghost, who for all his cold hearted demeanor and apathetic nature, feels only anger when you tell him this. Silently, Ghost vows to track down the fellow and discreetly ensure he’ll never hassle another omega again.
Ghost who stays at your request despite himself, allows you to put on old TV reruns and sniffle into his shoulder before you fall asleep there on the couch. Ghost, who’s instincts swell with pride at this omega who deems him safe enough to let into your den, to keep you safe while you rest against him.
Ghost who hears from you a week later, when you knock on his door embarrassed but standing strong with your fists clenched at your sides. Ghost, who is amused at your demeanor and listens as you tell him you have money for rent and groceries this month, but not for your suppressants. Ghost half expects you to ask for money, but is floored when you instead steel yourself and ask him to help you with your coming heat because you trust him. Ghost who freezes where he stands and finally tells you he’ll consider it, unable to shake your pleased smile for hours afterwards.
Ghost who sits on it for a few days, ignores the possessive, prowling thing in his chest as he weighs his options but agrees to help you. Ghost, who watches Price raise an eyebrow when he puts in for leave- his lieutenant who never seems to stop working, but approves it anyways. Ghost who researches what omegas need during heats, from nesting supplies to physical touch to…everything else and tries to remind himself it’s just a favor. It doesn’t mean anything, even if you asked him out of everyone else you know.
Ghost who gets a text on a lazy Sunday morning and is in your flat five minutes later willing but oddly nervous. He expects to find you in a state of debauchery but instead pads into your bedroom to find you curled under the covers sweating and glassy eyed, still coherent to smile and offer a weary thanks. Ghost who supplies a bag of scent laden clothes that has you curling into his familiar smell with a pleased whine. Ghost who tries his best at making you food while you arrange the clothes into a nest with sluggish limbs.
Ghost, who stiffly sits at your bedside and dabs at your sweaty brow, ignoring the flare of base instinct at the sweet, hypnotic smell of an omega in heat. His omega, his instincts purr. Just not yet. Ghost who cedes to your demands to cuddle, watching you go pliant and soft in his arms with a sigh, drinking in his scent as you drift off to sleep.
Ghost who wakes up hours later to you squirming and whining against him, panting and hazy eyed as the telltale scent of slick clouds his nose and draws an answering, primal growl from deep in his chest. Ghost who, with great restraint and gentleness works to prep you with large, calloused fingers, taking more time that he should just to make sure you’re ready. Ghost who firmly hushes your complaints and instead allows himself the selfish act of being completely involved in you, far beyond that of a clinical touch. Ghost who smears your tears of desperation with his thumb, murmurs a dark and heady “pretty omega” before finally, finally sinking into you.
Ghost, who maneuvers you as he pleases, watching the awareness fade from your eyes only to be replaced by heat-addled lust and your lips begging for more. Ghost who braces his full weight on you and rocks with slow, powerful motions that have you hiccup and writhe under him, pushing back onto his cock. Ghost who’s fangs pop out as he carefully refuses the instinct to bite the gland of the mewling, whimpering omega underneath him, but failing to restrain the instinctual growl of MINE that thunders in his chest.
Ghost who makes you come so slick dribbles down your thighs and you fist the sheets with a whimper of his name. Ghost who coos praises into your ear and grinds his cock into you so your eyes roll back into your head. Ghost who has you come twice more before he finally empties himself into you and silently feels the instinctual hope that it takes. Ghost who has no need to measure his stamina, ready to go again in minutes as you reach blindly for him, presenting oh so prettily for your alpha.
Ghost who takes all the time in the world for the days that follow, allowing himself to cave to the alpha instinct of providing, protecting, caring for the perfect little omega in his care. Ghost who watches you like shark as you fall asleep in the bath, sitting you in his lap after and making you eat before sinking you on his cock again. Ghost who coos at you as you go slack jawed and glassy eyed as he mounts you once more- ruining the sheets he just changed as you gush around him.
Ghost who wakes on the third day sore in all the best ways, noticing the way you cling to him like an octopus as you sleep. Ghost who pets at you fondly and noticed the scent of your heat finally ebbing away, blissfully shortened by his attentions. Ghost who watches your peaceful face and once more purrs happily at the thought that you’re his.
Ghost who can’t help but think about the next time he’s due to rut, about stretching you out on his knot and feeling the sensation of you clench down on him in climax. Ghost who reminds himself that it’s only one thing to look forward to, that courting is a careful process and that you deserve to be treated well in the duration of it. Ghost who now lays a palm on your scent gland and rumbles deep and primal, fulfilled at you being soaked in his scent, warding off any other alphas. Ghost who promises you and himself to do this right, to be the mate you need him to be.
Ghost who drifts back off thinking how beautiful his claiming bite might look against your throat.
#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x you#omegaverse#a/b/o dynamics#drabbles#I wrote this last night on my phone in the ride home bc I couldn’t wait to get to my laptop#random but enjoy
7K notes
·
View notes
Text
High Demand
ꕤ- Pairing: Dealer! Jungkook x Reader
ꕤ- WC: 2.6k
ꕤ- A modern day Romeo and Juliet
Content: college student! reader, grumpy jk, brief texting! au, jk is lowkey whipped, drug use (marijuana), reader is his special customer, vaping, opposites attract, suggestive themes, minor jealousy, idiots in love (but they won't admit it), shot gunning, grinding, fwb?
Other Content: thigh riding, high sex, jk titty appreciation, unprotected sex (no.), hand job, soft dom kook, reader is a little needy, brief switch! koo, hickeys, pet names, spit, biting.
Shaking your head with a small giggle as you looked at your phone before tossing it aside. You're totally his favourite. You know he's stubborn and he would never admit it but deep down he loves delivering to you the most.
Looking around your sad and dimly lit dorm, all the lights were off and your roommate was gone for the weekend doing god knows what with her weird ass biology major boyfriend who would collect rabbit tails in jars for 'science'.
You were looking at one right now actually, it seems they left one behind, on the coffee table. It was just fermenting in... you actually weren't sure and didn't want to know.
Your eyes felt like they were on fire the longer you looked at the stupid philosophy paper you were writing. The bright light from your laptop was beginning to drill into your head. Your head lolled to the side glancing at the time on your phone.
It was almost 11:30, and time for a break. Abandoning the device on the couch for a quick wake-up shower; by the time you'd gotten changed and returned to the living room, you could expect Jungkook any minute now.
Except, this is Jungkook we're talking about. He's always late.
That's why when you heard the familiar rattling of the rusty fire escape you were startled. It was a little past midnight. Climbing through the window in nothing but your basketball shorts and a white tee.
Pleasantly surprised to see Jungkook scaling the platform with a bag of takeout pinned in between his teeth. The sight of you looking down at him from where he climbed made his eyebrows raise but of course he couldn't say anything.
Not until he was finally close enough for you to grab the bag from his mouth and he stands up. You climb back inside first with him following behind with a pained sigh. "I'm so sick of coming here. Got me climbing walls like its fucking subway surfers." He curses while you place the food down on the table.
Completely ignoring him, practically drooling as you slowly peeled open the bag. "And I thought you said you weren't gonna bring me anything." He snatches the bag.
"I didn't."
You let yourself fall onto the couch, arms crossed and unbelieving. "Oh yeah? So you just coincidentally craved Wendy's and decided to haul it up three flights up a ladder from your mouth when you could've just eaten it in the car?"
"Yeah exactly." He shrugs, obviously lying.
"Give me the bag, Jungkook."
"Fine. But I'm charging you extra for the delivery and the labour of bringing it up here." He hands it to you and you roll your eyes knowing it was nothing more than a bluff.
"It's not my fault you're out of shape," you mumble unwrapping the burger. "Oh yeah? Is this what out of shape looks like to you?" He says it almost offended but challenged.
Choking briefly on your food as he lifts up his shirt, revealing the defined abs that you have such lewd memories of. "Yeah, that's what I thought. You try climbing 3 flights up a ladder and tell me it's easy." You shrug,
"Not my fault you're banned from the campus." He drops himself down beside you, reaching for the bag of fries and taking some for himself. "But it is, if you hadn't called me to drop off a stash for Angelica's dorm party maybe I could still take the stairs."
You drop your half-eaten burger with apologetic eyes, "How was I supposed to know they were doing random security checks in the lobby? At least you didn't get arrested." You pout and he scoffs.
"Bare minimum." He says via grumpy mutter under his breath so you offered up the rest of your food to him as a peace offering. A little sad that he actually took it but you were getting full anyway.
As he finished up the rest of your food you couldn't stop yourself from asking, "So do you still do drops with Angelica?" He nods with his mouth full of the last bite, stuffing the wrappers back in the bag.
"How often does she call you?-- for deliveries I mean." He chuckles, licking his lips, "Jealous?" You take the trash off the coffee table and bring it to the kitchen to toss it in the garbage. "You're delusional."
"I can't help it if I'm in high demand." He manspreads, his arms stretched over the back of the couch. "Just shut up. Do you have my pen?" He reaches for the pocket inside his leather jacket, pulling out the slim box.
Already knowing that you were going to use it now, he began to unbox it while you collected the cash you needed. "40 right?" You say handing him the small spread of bills, "Yeah, but for you, I guess I could make it 30." He shrugs conceitedly.
"Because I'm your favourite." You say and he shakes his head, "No. Because I ate your food." Which he paid for but you didn't dare to say that out loud, you were getting cheap weed.
"So who's your favourite then Jungkook?" He hands you the pen, "Listen. I don't climb up the fire escape when I do deliveries for Angelica, I make her come to me. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
Trying to tug the pen out of his grasp but he holds it firm until you respond, "I guess I can work with that." He smiles softly, letting you take the first hit as his arm wraps around your shoulder.
The two of you passed the pen back and forth, with little giggles here and there and wide eyes on the episode of SpongeBob that was playing.
By now the dark living room is illuminated by nothing more than your roommate's lava lamp and a strip of purple LEDs' taped behind the TV. You could see the smoke as it floated past the few sources of light.
"Open." He directs, taking a particularly long hit, leaning into you and blowing the pungent smoke into your mouth, sucking it in from his lips.
The pen is now forgotten as it rolls between the cracks of the couch. Straddling Jungkook's muscular thigh as he flexed it every now and then, taking hits from his blueberry Ice vape and blowing it to the ceiling, giving you a prime view of his sharp jaw under the soft purple lighting.
The sight made you shake, gyrating your hips almost desperately as you chased the feeling of friction on his denim-clad thigh. "You like that? You feel good fucking yourself on my thigh?" The question was rhetorical, you were too dazed to answer him anyway.
Your heavy-lidded gaze slowly rolls up to his pretty face once you feel his hand move from your hips to gently wrap around your neck, not applying any pressure, just there to let you feel the weight of his hand. "Answer me," He says, and you fall forward "Yess, feels so good." You moan, and Jungkook has danced this dance with you enough to see you were close.
But of course, he couldn't let you cum so soon, not yet. His hands flew to your hips and pinned you down on his thigh, restricting your range of motion. "Please," You beg and he wishes he had a little more willpower but he couldn't say no to you, not when you looked so fucked out when he's barely touched you.
"Fuck. Take your shirt off." Leaning back and crossing your arms over the base of the shirt, you pried it off your body desperately. Leaving you in your black lacy bra and it pulled out a guttural groan from Jungkook's chest.
"You little whore." he grits through his clenched teeth, grip tightening on the arm of the couch nearly ripping the fabric.
This position was no longer giving him what he so desperately craved. Shrugging the jacket from off his shoulders and taking off the tank top underneath letting your eyes roam over his built upper body, oh how you wanted to just...
Without thinking your tongue striped up the expanse of his bulky pecs. This was new, but Jungkook was so high out of his mind anything and everything you did felt like he was on cloud 9.
Your mouth dropped down to wrap around his rosy nipples and you could've never anticipated the worked-up reaction you got from him. "Oh shit, shit shit." He gasps, hands gripping your waist tight enough that you're sure there will be bruises by the morning.
Letting your tongue lap around his nipples with pure hunger, an inexplicable flame burning in your core as you were finally the one who got to watch the other be reduced to a moaning mess.
His once soft moans turned a little breathy and high-pitched, His hips bucked causing you to jolt in his lap, he was getting close.
"Didn't think you'd like having your tits played with so much?" You tease him but he didn't find the humour in it. He holds you by the throat once more, this time applying a generous amount of pressure, pushing you off him.
Unbuckling his belt and you knew what that meant. He slides out of his pants, followed by the boxers that were the last barrier between your moistened lips and his throbbing cock. "Let's put that smart mouth of yours to good use, yeah?" He hums, watching as you sink to your knees, hand carefully wrapped around his base, starting with slow pumps.
"Spit on it." Doing as told, you let a wad of spit fall from your pretty, plush lips and coat the shaft of his dick, you worked your palm up his length. Already satisfied with the way his head was thrown back.
"Just like that," Reaching for the vape, he takes a few good hits, the head rush mixed with the pleasure had him seeing stars-- the object falling from his hands immediately the moment he felt the warm heat of your mouth wrap around his sensitive tip.
"Y/n-" He breathes out, almost scared, he was so close, too soon. He's never struggled to hold himself back this badly before. What were you doing to him?
The obscene sounds of you choking as you struggled to take all of him in your mouth, letting your nose touch the soft, trimmed hairs near his base. Focusing on breathing through your nose before you felt a heavy hand on the back of your head, pushing you lower.
You were quite literally slobbering on his dick, gagging with every buck of his hips. "That's it, princess. You're doing so well--Shit. Mouth feels like fucking heaven." His praise rushes to your core and has your left hand trailing down to rub yourself through your lace underwear.
The rough friction being more than enough to get you there, "I'm gonna cum, baby. Where-- Shit!-- Where do you want it?" He gasps, his hips snapping, pushing his length down your throat almost erratically. You don't answer, only hollowing your cheeks to take him deeper, making your desires clear.
Your own fingers quickening their pace, your own sounds travelling through his dick in vibrations and pushing him right over the edge with you, filling your mouth with his warm cum.
Swallowing as if it were second nature. "Stick out your tongue," He says softly. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he tries to regain his composure from his overwhelming climax. Your tongue was out and cleared of any of his cum and it made him crazy.
He remembers the first time he'd brought an order to you over 6 months ago. He thought you were nothing more than a cute little philosophy major, never did he think he'd have you beneath him like he does right now.
Looking up at him, daring to give you an almost angelic gaze while the two of you ruined each other. Tainting each other with your own touches. "Kiss me?" You ask it so cutely, tempting him with the pout on your lips. You weren't being fair.
His body didn't give him a choice before his lips were on yours, his hips grinding into yours. The feeling of his solid dick rolling against your skin making the butterflies go ramped in your stomach.
The way you licked over his bottom lip with your own made Jungkook weak, stumbling on his elbows as he held himself up over you. Soft groans could be heard the deeper the kiss became.
Messy and intimate. Your hand crept up the back of his neck to tug at the dark locks of hair on his head. There was a loud pop and the two of you paused.
With Jungkook between your legs and with you under him, your heads turned slowly towards the coffee table where the jar was, dedicated to the fermenting rabbit tail. "What the fuck is that?" Jungkook slowly sits up, "My roommate's boyfriend's weird biology shit. I dunno, it freaks me out too." You sit up, now remembering what the two of you were in the middle of doing.
"That shit's not gonna blow up or anything right." You gently peck him on the lips but his brain seems preoccupied by the jar, "who knows," you say, kissing right under his ear and that seemed to get him to zone in on you.
Catching his bottom lip under his teeth as your kisses became more eager, suckling on a certain spot on his neck, his head falling back against his will. "Fuck, Y/n-- Don't you dare." You pull off his soft skin with a soft pop, admiring the burgundy bruise left behind.
"Oops." Your apology was ingenuine and bratty, and Jungkook hated brats.
Tearing you out of your final pieces of clothing before manhandling you into his lap. "Sit on it." He demands and you follow without question. Moaning out loud as his dick spread your lips apart like butter.
Sliding down with ease and a stretch of your velvety walls that were currently squeezing Jungkook for everything he's got and he's got nothing left, everything was yours.
"I-Shit! You feel so good, Kook!" He couldn't bother to correct you on the annoying nickname you were incessant on using. "Yeah? You like that- fuck, you feel so good." He curses, bucking his hips up into you as you raise your hips trying to match his thrusts.
He was fucking you so good, so ruthlessly, your head falls onto his shoulder and you needed more than just the couch to hold on to, your teeth sank into the muscular meat of his shoulder and his pace faltered.
"Shit shit shit! Do that again." He groans, picking up an inhumane pace that had you bouncing all over the place until he stilled you in his arms. His grunts and breathy moans came out right beside your ear only pushing you to your orgasm faster.
"J-jungkook-!" You pant, unable to speak, feeling like your insides are being rearranged, "Me too, baby. Cum with me." You finish first, and with a few more unsynchronized snaps of his hips, you were being filled to the brim with his cum.
The room is filled with nothing but the sound of muffled music playing from your neighbour's next door and laboured breaths. Jungkook gently lays you down on the couch beside him, staring into your eyes.
This felt so intimate. You felt his gaze deeper than just behind your eyes, it was as if he was looking into your soul. His eyes were tinted red as he looked at you with an adoring gaze. "You're cute." He says it casually as though he hadn't just fucked you.
Your eyes roll before they close, feeling the sleepiness begin to kick in. "Bet you say that to all your customers." Mumbling the words into his chest while he began to grin a little.
"Nope. Only to my favourite." Your eyes shoot open.
"I knew it."
#jungkook#bts#jungkook fic recs#jungkook ff#bts jungkook#jungkook smut#bts one shot#jungkook x reader#jeon jungkook
4K notes
·
View notes
Note
hellooo!! im not sure if your requests are open so feel free to ignore this but i was wondering if you could write for tasm!peter where the reader just got her wisdom teeth removed and she’s all loopy on anesthetics and forgets peter is her boyfriend? i saw this video where this girl got her wisdom teeth pulled and forgot she was dating her boyfriend and fell in love with him all over again😭😭
https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPR7sGQo5/
thank you for your request! ♡ fem, 1k
"Here she is," the nurse says gently, walking you out with his arm behind your back. "Alright, say hi to Peter."
"Hi, Peter," you mumble, eyes on the floor.
Peter grins at you, worry warm at the back of his throat. "Hey. Is that everything?" he asks, nodding at the nurses paper bag of aftercare.
"Everything you'll need." The nurse helps Peter take over, hoisting your arm over his shoulders before stepping away. "Alright, feel better, okay? And don't hesitate to call if something comes up. We're here to look after you."
You seem appreciative in your fog, but it's hard to tell. Peter curls his arm around your hip and gives it a soft rub as he leads you to the stairs. Whoever devised the floor plan here had murder on their mind —the second floor is completely inaccessible. Luckily, Peter has a lot of strength at his disposal.
You can feel it. "Woh, you're strong," you murmur.
"You know that already." His grip on you tightens, pretty much carrying you down the tight staircase.
"Do I?" you ask. You make a sound like you're hurting, a squeak.
"I'd hope so." At the end of the staircase, he sits you down, worried you're not feeling well. "You okay? I can princess carry you if you need me to."
You look at him with wide eyes. He turns to check there's no one standing behind him, but you're really looking at him. "What?" he asks, touching your knee, imploring. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"You're Peter?" you ask.
Ah, the amnesiac effect of anaesthetic. His touch turns comforting, stroking your thigh with as much care as he can drive into his palm alone. "That's me. Hey, if you're forgetting me, does that mean you're not mad at me for last Friday anymore? 'Cos I know you said you forgive me but I can tell it still pisses you off–"
Your eyes fall to his hand. "Why would I be mad at you?" you ask.
"I finished the milk and put the carton back in the fridge, even though I promised I'd stop doing it. You see the jug and think there's milk left. We were gonna have macaroni and cheese..." He nudges your fingers with his. "Are you okay? You don't look like yourself."
"What do I usually look like?"
"Not so, you know. Daunted."
"You're really handsome," you whisper, refusing to meet his eye.
"Oh, you think so?"
You nod like your head is too heavy. You're embarrassed, you sweetheart, oh my god Peter could cry into your lap.
"Let's get you to the car, baby."
"Where are we going?" The gauze gives you the world's most adorable lisp, and it turns your gasp into a hum as Peter stands you up.
"Home."
"Together?"
"Yeah, we live together. It's a nice place, and you're a great decorator, you know? It's cozy."
"Thank you," you say shyly.
You're not not shy with him, but it's been a long time since you got so quiet over a practically innocuous comment. He wants to see how you'll react to real compliments, over the top stuff that he one hundred percent means. It's a little mean, but when will you ever be like this again?
He helps you out past the desk and onto the street to your car where it's parked a half a block down. "Don't worry about all this, okay? I'm gonna take such good care of you, sweetheart. There's an ice pack and a brand new comforter with your name on it waiting at home." Peter smiles at your starry eyes as they flash to his, amazed at his simple plans. "How does that sound, beautiful? Is there anything you want before we head home? Anything that would make you feel better?"
"You're gonna take care of me?" you ask breathlessly.
"That's my job. That's my number one boyfriend duty."
"You're my boyfriend?"
"I am!" he says happily, laughing as he speaks. "For a while. I've been trying to take things further but you're always really shy about getting married–"
"You want to get married? To me?"
Peter presses a soft kiss to your cheek. "You're the only person I'd ever want to get married to. We already picked the flowers–"
"We did?"
He laughs again, all your questions. He loves regular you but loopy you is especially endearing. "Last time I got super drunk, yeah. You never let me forget it."
"So you love me?" you ask, stopping short.
"I love you so much," he says immediately, hugging you into his side. He dots another kiss against the top of your head. "You should remember that even if you don't remember me."
"I love you," you say quietly.
Peter doesn't know if that's your memory returning, or if you've fallen in love with him in the last fifteen minutes. He could easily fall in love with you that quickly, and yet he's still amazed at your confession.
"That's good. That's great. Thank you, sweetheart," he says, desperate to hold your face in his hands but weary of causing you future pain. "There's your car," —he points, lowering his head to yours to make sure you can see it, hand now protectively held between your shoulder blades— "let's go home now. Yeah?"
You start walking again at his requests. He can pretty much see the steam rising off of your face, giddy with happiness at these revelations. You're together, you're in love, and you think he's handsome. He wonders what you'll have to say about his biceps in this state of delirium; you go crazy for his arms sober.
Which reminds him.
"I totally have another secret to tell you," he says, unlocking the car as you approach and helping you into the passenger seat.
"What is it?" you ask.
Peter closes you in and skirts around the door, climbing into the driver's seat. He's glad that New York is as ridiculously loud as ever, because not even the closed doors or your sodden gauze can smother the way you shriek.
"My boyfriend is Spider-Man?!"
#tasm peter parker#tasm peter x reader#tasm peter parker imagine#tasm peter parker x you#tasm peter parker x reader#tasm x reader#peter parker x reader#tasm!spiderman x reader#tasm!peter x reader#tasm!peter imagine#tasm!peter parker#tasm!peter parker x reader#tasm! peter parker x reader#spiderman x reader#peter parker oneshot#peter parker blurb#peter parker imagine#peter parker x you#peter parker x y/n#spiderman x you#spiderman fanfiction
6K notes
·
View notes
Text
home is where the heart is ★ n.r
— 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ;; 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐘𝐒 & 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒
in which your married life with natasha romanoff is depicted through this comedy-drama series. with your dream job, three kids, and a plethora of friends, each day is blissful but all the more chaotic and unpredictable. (and ultimately, very horny.)
pairing ★ sub!wife!natasha x beefy!butch!reader
chapter summary ★ natasha wakes you up with a pleasant surprise, your gremlin kids are the life and death of you, tony stark is annoying, marital sexting is pretty tough, and you're homesick for your wife's pussy.
warnings ★ (MINORS DNI) - explicit content, some pretty heavy kinks: blowjobs, marital sexting, breeding kink, daddy kink, probably more.
word count ★ 3.1k (feeding yall)
SERIES MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST
You slept like the dead.
Or at least you did, on most mornings, oblivious to the waking world in your sweet slumber.
Today was different, though. There was a distinct feeling of pleasantness swimming in your subconscious, one you couldn’t quite pinpoint. It urged you awake, a certain type of wet heat that insistently tugged and pulled.
It wasn’t until a jolt of arousal shot through you like a nine-millimetre shotgun that you jerked awake with a start.
“Shit!” you gasped, yanking off the blanket from your lower half, to reveal your ethereal wife perpetrating what could only be described as a wet dream.
Natasha’s head was obediently lowered in the midst of sucking your erect shaft, her viridescent gaze trained unto you with a twinkle of mischief. Wandering hands were sheathed under the front of your sweatshirt, painted nails mapping out the expanse of your tensed abdomen.
“Way to wake me up, baby,” you say breathlessly, a hand flying to the back of Natasha’s head in hopes of speeding up your ever-approaching high. You buck your hips once, effectively propelling your hips further forward, guiding your shaft into your wife’s mouth.
Natasha hums mindlessly, palming at your torso like it was second nature. Her mouth moves languidly, relaxed and slow, tongue trailing over the hefty length of your cock in a teasing manner.
Like the devil incarnate, Natasha’s hand glides a broad stroke from your abs to the base of your cock, and starts working her hand in firm strokes. “Fuck,” you groan, a hand twisting into soft locks of your wife’s hair.
The joint stimulation on the head and base of your cock have you barrelling towards a preordained high at a frighteningly fast pace, and the absolutely criminal way Natasha’s head bobs up and down is no help at all.
“Fuck, baby, m’so close,” you gasp, throwing your head back and letting your eyes slide shut. Your big hand guides Natasha’s head with a certain type of tacit power, unwritten but distinct. Natasha feels herself get wet, and in turn eagerly plunges her mouth down with a renewed vigour.
When Natasha lets out a filthy moan from the back of her throat, stifled by the sheer size of your cock in her mouth, pleasure overwhelms your every sense.
You groan, hips snapping up for the entirety of your cock to be buried in Natasha’s warm and velvet throat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”
“Mama! Mommy!”
The undeniable sound of little feet scampering across the wooden floorboard and down the stairs, unceremoniously hauls you out of your heaven-like ascension.
Natasha pulls her lips off your cock with a satisfying ‘pop’ sound. “Time to get up, honey,” she says with the arch of her eyebrow, smoothly turning over in practised motion and leaving you hung and sprung.
“Baby,” you whine, pitifully throwing your head back. Your words fall on deaf ears and you grumble and pull up your sweatpants, just in time for the door to swing open and release the incoming wave of chaos.
“MAMA!!” Emilia shrieks, leaping onto the bed with fearsome aggression, her younger twin brother in tow.
Your five-year olds didn’t let you catch any breaks, Emilio roaring into your ear while dragging his toy pterodactyl across your face. “Rawr! Rawr! Wake up, ma!”
You leap up in a haze of bedsheets and screaming kids, all your previous indiscretions quickly faded at the sight of your bundles of joy.
Emilia squeals as you easily hoist her up with one arm, the little girl getting thrown into the air. Emilio receives much of the same treatment, getting dangled in the air by one leg.
“Mommy! Save us!” The boy cries out with a delighted grin and a hearty attempt at hitting your side. You swing them around with fake growls that incite laughter and squeals, steering clear of any sharp corners or wayward objects.
Natasha is more preoccupied with hugging your sleepy ten-year old, and cooing softly into her ear.
Marina is the oldest of your three, quiet and reserved, with brilliance sparkling behind her soft eyes. “Hi, mama,” she greets you with a small smile, and your heart melts a little.
“Hi, darling angel,” you reply with a big grin of your own. “Where’s my morning kiss?”
At the prospect of the feared morning kiss, Emilio yells and wreaks absolute havoc, the toy truck forgotten in favour of escaping your clutches.
“No mama! No kiss!” Emilia protests, the Russian determination behind her set eyes a splitting image of her mother’s. Emilio is long gone, visibly hidden under your bedside table.
You hoist Marina up onto your hip, smiling at the sweet kiss she pecks on your cheek. “It’s mommy’s turn now,” you say easily, sliding up to Natasha with a mischievous grin.
“Ew!” Your little girl giggles, hiding behind her hands as you share a chaste kiss with your wife, one that is far too short for your liking. Either way, the morning kiss routine was a success.
The attention in the crowded room is drawn by a simple clap of Natasha’s hands. She stands arms akimbo, rocking her bed hair, sleep still half-written in her eyes — but the whole look is so endearing that you can’t help but fall in love all over again.
“Okay, kids. Time to get ready for school! Who wants breakfast?”
The cheer that arises from your children is nothing short of pure jubilation. Emilio starts a chant of ‘Frosted Flakes! Frosted Flakes!’ that has them marching in line out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen.
Natasha laughs, following their trail, but you drag her back expectantly.
With one arm hanging off the top of the doorframe and the other wrapped around her waist, you pull Natasha into that long sought-after kiss.
“Mhm,” you hum contentedly, inhaling her sweet scent. “I love you.”
Natasha slowly slides her hands up your arms, savouring the kiss. She presses her palms to your cheeks, adoration dancing in her eyes.
“I love you too.”
*****
The Frosted Flakes do not end up on the breakfast table, after all, because Natasha reasons that the kids had eaten it for three breakfasts in a row and their teeth would rot and fall off.
Toast and scrambled eggs, courtesy of your little handiwork in the kitchen, is the eventual outcome. Food is food to a bunch of hungry gremlins, either way, and the breakfast gets scarfed down in no time at all.
“You’re gonna go soon?” Natasha asks you in the kitchen, giggling at your teddy-bear patterned apron. You make a non-committal hum against your wife’s chest, wanting to stay in her arms for an eternity.
“Mama, we have to go to school,” Marina calls from the front porch, the door clicking open. “I need help with my shoe!” Emilio cries out, hopping into the kitchen with a singular shoe. “I got my shoes done on my own!” Emilia chimes in proudly, tugging on her backpack straps.
Natasha laughs, stroking your hair affectionately. “No rest for the wicked,” she says. “Be a responsible parent and send Marina to school, then go to work. The twins’ school bus will be here anytime.”
You exhale with a smile, pulling your wife in for a kiss that is a tad too long. Tugging off the pink apron, you’re glad you already changed into your work attire — a collared white shirt rolled up to your elbows, a grey-patterned tie, and matching slacks.
Natasha looks you up and down approvingly, then her eyes glimmer with an incited flame as she straightens your tie. You definitely don’t miss the way her hands glide smoothly across your chest to straighten out the wrinkles, and you resist the fluttering sensation that blooms under her touch.
“What a handsome young woman,” Natasha comments, tip-toeing to peck your cheek. You smile widely, preening under your wife’s attention. “Only for you,” you reply happily. “I’ll be off, then.”
“Mama, let’s go,” Marina probes, head poking into the kitchen. Her eyes soften at the sight of Natasha, proceeding to wave cutely. “Bye, mommy.”
Like little ducks, your three children follow you out of the house, with their miniature backpacks and shoes. Natasha watches adoringly from the porch, blowing kisses to Emilia when she yells one last “Bye, mommy!”.
Your Audi SQ7 peels out the driveway, engine revving. Marina is looking out the window, humming ‘American Pie’ with a little smile. As your home fades away in the rearview mirror, you think that this life was all you’d ever need.
***
“Fury, tell Tony that not sponsoring the coffee machines in my building is frankly, quite rude behaviour,” you comment, sitting next to the aloof man who’s snacking on a packet of dried fruit. Steve steals bits of the snack when Tony’s not looking, much to Fury’s chagrin.
“I don’t give a fuck,” Tony replies hotly, snatching back the piece of fruit in Steve’s hand. “You literally leaked the photo of me in a maid outfit, for the whole world to see. You know how many sleazy men have slid into my DMs since then? Pepper hasn’t let that go!”
“What, are you mad that the public now knows that Pepper’s the one that does the dicking down?” you retort. “And Steve was one of those ‘sleazy men’!”
The accused blonde looks away quickly, suddenly very preoccupied with the tiling of the floor. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Steve mumbles.
“That’s enough,” Fury admonishes with an unamused look. “The three of you need to get your shit together. Regardless of whether or not Stark is a bottom, I can’t have the CEOs of my powerhouse companies making a bad name. You know how that reflects on me? Stark Industries, SHIELD, L/N-Corp Worldwide Media: The Desolate Downfall of Nick Fury.”
“Is this because I modelled for the gay sex toy shop company? Because that’s just homophobic,” Steve reasons, folding his arms. “And Bucky liked the advert a lot!”
Tony scoffs, making paper aeroplanes with the papers on Fury’s desk. “We literally bring in millions upon millions for you each year. I’m sure that forgives the one time I was high during Y/N’s media conference. The Minister didn’t even notice! He’s like 82, anyways. Close to your age, Fury.”
“And I’m not sorry for calling the Netflix director a bitch on live TV,” you add in. “They’ve got no reason for cancelling all the sapphic shows left and right! My wife and I were invested in Gentleman Jack, okay?”
Fury sighs, the scene before him a spectacle he was no stranger to by now.
You, Tony and Steve were the face of the up-and-coming generation of brilliant minds and creative thinking. He supposed your overwhelming success and proved greatness softened the blow of your discrepancies in maintaining an unblemished professional image.
“Moving on,” Fury continues. “I want to talk about Project Eagle. As you should know from last year’s report……”
Just then, your phone vibrates in your pocket, with a notification from Natasha’s contact.
You, indeed, were hard.
Upon reading Natasha’s last message, you shut your phone off so quickly that Steve turns and raises an eyebrow at you. You clear your throat and shift in your seat, evidently affected.
The heat that surges through your body pays no help in your focus on Fury’s briefing. You can feel the flush creeping on from the back of your neck, spreading down your body and rushing towards the area between your legs.
Natasha, why have you forsaken me? You think helplessly, the noises in the office fading to a low buzz. When your phone vibrates again, your finger clicks on the message before your brain can catch up to you.
The image that Natasha sends you has you choking on absolutely nothing, coughing up air like a woman possessed.
Lacy red lingerie displaying thick thighs and a soft tummy should not be this breathtaking, but Natasha pulls it off anyway.
Filthy images flit into your mind uncontrollably, searing images like a broken record player. Your dick has a mind of its own, pressing hot and tight against the seam of your pants.
“L/N,” Fury announces, voice booming and hauling you out of your trance. “What seems to be the issue?”
In the background, Steve and Tony giggle like schoolgirls, knowing all too well what had occurred. You clear your throat again, shoving your phone into your pocket, hopelessly trying to erase the blessed image of your wife from your memory, just for a moment longer.
“No issues here,” you say with a forced smile, fighting demons with your rock-hard erection you’re desperately trying to cover with a report file. “I’m all dandy, sir.”
“Right,” Fury says disbelievingly, his good eye flickering downwards for a fraction of a second. Embarrassment eats you up whole.
“Let’s hope your attention span is just as ‘dandy’.”
***
“Natty,” you pant, with your wife pinned under you, hot and tight inside of her.
“I can’t believe you did that,” you grunt, punctuating each word with a firm thrust of your hips. “Made me so fucking hard at work.”
Following your incident in Fury’s office, you had exhausted every fibre of your willpower not to lock yourself in a bathroom stall and jerk off like a nymphomaniac.
After a gruelling day of work and coming back to a house of sleeping children, you had wasted no time in claiming your stake.
“I’ve been blue balled for twelve hours,” you groan into Natasha’s neck, mouthing at the flushed skin with fervour. “Spare me some sympathy, darling.”
“Oh, my poor baby,” your wife teases, tracing a feather-light hand over your tensed back muscles and clutching at the back of your neck. “You’re so eager, aren’t you?”
“Mhm,” you growl, scraping your sharp teeth over her collarbone, leaving violet imprints at a respectable-enough level. You roll your hips into Natasha’s, drawing relentless waves of pleasure and a rocking motion that has her throwing her head back.
Natasha’s erratic breathing and badly-disguised moans are music to your ears, a sweet symphony you’d been missing all day. You groan as her velvet walls clench tight around you, hot and wet and all-encompassing.
“You feel amazing,” you pant, the clefted tip of your shaft bumping against her cervix with how deep you nest inside of her.
A high-pitched whine sounds from the back of Natasha’s throat, as her legs spasm in the air. “Wanna fuck you senseless, please,” you groan.
“Do it,” she challenges breathily. You lean forward, manhandling her deliciously thick thighs, pressing your wife’s knees to her head.
The arousal that builds in your lower stomach is pure white heat, fueled by the breathless cries of your wife under you.
“Fuck,” you cry out, reaching new spots you haven’t before. You surge forth, an unstoppable train, drilling your shaft into Natasha’s dripping cunt like it was your only reason for living. Because maybe it was, as you transcend earthly boundaries with her, only her.
Subconsciously, your hands fly to Natasha’s hefty tits, grabbing the shaking mounds. “Y’so pretty, babygirl,” you say, half-drunkenly, high of the white-hot pleasure that Natasha draws out of you.
She’s untouchable heaven, silky moans and raspy cries, a soft tummy with rolls that you greedily grasp in your hands.
“Daddy,” Natasha cries, crescent nails scratching down your arms, her suspended legs shaking in the air. The airy lilt of your title makes you leak. “Ugh, fuck,” you grunt, pounding her into the bedframe, sweaty and slick.
“Let me come inside, please?” you practically beg, wide eyes transfixed at the area your shaft meets her cunt. Natasha whines breathlessly, a hand moving to clasp at the sheets. “Yeah, I-I’m on the pill.”
That’s all the confirmation you need before pinning Natasha down with spread hands. You shift on the bed as you mount her, skin-to-skin with your shaft fully-lodged inside of your wife.
Natasha gives you this dizzy look, glazed-over eyes portraying complete submission.
Then you start moving again, and the world explodes in your hands.
“Oh, fuckkk,” you groan, shoving your fingers into Natasha’s mouth to stop her pleasured screams from waking up the whole house.
The speed at which you drive your hips into Natasha’s is downright sinful, smearing slick all over her rounded ass, dripping onto the bed.
You’re transfixed, as your wife’s big mounds bounce in time with your thrusts, making you drool with want. An animalistic growl leaves your throat as you push yourself in, even deeper than before, making Natasha arch above the bed with a muffled cry.
Just like that, with you buried inside Natasha, do you fall apart by the seams, an unwinding intricate tarp.
Your load gets buried deep inside Natasha’s womb, and you continue with shallow thrusts. “Mhmn,” Natasha moans, following soon after, spurts of slick coating your cock in waves of overarching pleasure.
“Babydoll,” you groan mindlessly, palming at her sides. You come so heavily that it flows out of Natasha, a dribble of thick white fluid, and your wife fingers it back in so desperately that you could get hard all over again.
You collapse unceremoniously onto the bed next to Natasha. “I want more kids,” you state. You grope your wife’s tummy like it would conjure new life, an expectant look on your face.
“Three is enough,” Natasha says breathlessly, skin shining with a sheen of fresh sweat. She locks eyes with you, hair tousled and lips curled into an adoring smile.
“Okay, fine,” you mutter your acquiescence, both of you knowing that statement wouldn’t hold up for long. “...Give me a minute, then I’ll clean up. You need some water, baby?”
Natasha lets out a pleased hum, snuggling into your chest.
She kisses your left boob affectionately, as you groan with sensitivity, playfully swatting at her arm. “No need. Just want you.”
“You have me,” you respond softly, running a hand through the brown locks of your wife’s hair, flattening it out with gentle strokes. “You always will.”
so that's chapter one of 'home is where the heart is!' i personally choose to believe pepper straps tony down every night. what are your thought on the kids?? mommy!nat?? butch!reader?? the incorporation of the texts?? there's so much feedback i require tbh
reblog or no more milf!nat
SERIES MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST
#⋆⭒˚｡★ home is where the heart is#natasha romanoff smut#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff x reader smut#wlw smut#gxg smut#marvel smut#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha romanoff fluff#natasha x reader#natasha x reader smut#sub natasha romanoff#bottom natasha romanoff#top reader#dom reader#butch4femme#butch reader#femme4butch
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Simon Riley who realizes how much he fucked up and that maybe therapy isn't such a bad idea
AN: Lil bit longer than usual, but it's been on my mind
Art credit to SubsurfaceChaos on Twitter
Something was off with him all day. It wasn't too noticeable until he began distancing himself, getting irritated at being around anyone. You confronted him, simply trying to see if you could help or maybe provide comfort, and fuck did that backfire.
He was sitting in the living room watching whatever was on the channel, but it's not like he was paying attention to it. Thoughts and feelings of the deployment he just came back from a few days ago build up, irritation filling him like water in a bathtub. He doesn't usually have flashbacks or anything like that, the military would discharge him if he had PTSD, but some days he thinks too much.
He didn't even notice you coming in until you were sitting next to him. He snaps out of his thoughts just to meet your soft eyes. You sat on the other end of the couch, not wanting to crowd him too much while he's like this.
"What." He deadpans, voice devoid of all emotion.
Yeah something's definitely up.
"What's wrong, Si? Somethin' been messing with you today?" You ask gently, not wanting to come off as if you're accusing him.
He gives you and irritated look, suggesting you drop it, "Nothin', 'm fine"
You're not stupid. He tends to need a little push in order to open up.
"I know you're not", tone still soft, "I'm not trying to irritate you or anything, I ju-"
"Well you certainly got an affinity for it" He snaps, "Drop it"
You inhale, trying to not take his words personally, "Si, I'm your girlfriend, it's kinda my job to check in with you"
The bathtub overflows.
"You can't listen, can you? I said drop it, fuckin' 'ell" He stands up from the couch and walks to the kitchen, trying to create distance.
"Simon I'm just trying to help, I'm not here to make things harder for you" You try to reason with him, swallowing the lump in your throat.
You follow him into the kitchen but still give him space. He doesn't say anything back, a small part of him knowing you're right but the larger part won't connect to that. Pouring a class of orange juice, he keeps his back to you.
"Si-"
"Can you shut up for once?! Can you? I said bloody drop it. It's not up for discussion!" He sets the cup on the counter with a thud and snaps at you, "You're always fuckin' naggin' at me, clearly not takin' a bloody hint. Jesus Christ"
That shuts you up. The lump in your throat intensifies, tears beginning to form in your eyes. He's never yelled at you like that before. Sure, he's had bursts of irritation during arguments, but he's worked hard to make sure he never treats you how you don't deserve.
"Why are you yelling at me? All I'm doing is trying to be there for you" You ask quietly, voice not really allowing you to speak louder. a couple tears fall down your face, and your nose begins to get stuffed up. You try to quietly sniffle but he still hears it. He hangs his head down and groans quietly.
"Now you're fuckin' cryin'. Great."
Not wanting to be around him much longer, you turn to leave, "Come find me when you're calmer", Your voice betrays you and cracks a little.
You walk away and go upstairs to your shared bedroom. Once you close the door, the crying begins. His words cut through you like a knife, a deep pressure-like hurt seeping through your chest. Sobs rack your body yet you still try to be quiet, not wanting him to hear. You know he's gonna snap out of it and fuckin hate himself for what he did. You know he loves you, and if he were in his right mind he would have never uttered a single degrading word to you.
You slip into bed and lay there, crying. You guessed he would be up anytime soon and the smell of him on the pillows was both comforting and hurtful.
Downstairs though, Simon was fucking fuming. Seeing you go up the stairs, lip quivering, evaporated every bit of him anger. He groans loudly and throws an arm over his eyes.
'How fuckin' stupid can you be? How the fuck can you speak to her like that?'
He removes his arm and leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. You've stuck through with him since the moment you meet. Never once judged his off stand-ish behavior and learned to find ways to work with him. He cherished you so wholly, feeling what he thought he never would. You came into his life and slowly broke down his walls, allowing you to see him apart from his exterior.
He thought he was going to lose you. Sure, you had arguments before, but he had never purposefully tried to hurt you. Knowing that he did made his stomach churn, nausea kicking in. 2 years of the best relationship (not that there were very many before you) all to be broken down, at least what he thought, because he was pissed off.
'Maybe I should fuckin' go to therapy.'
Let's be honest, he could use it. He tried to go through it before but just quit due to how uncomfortable it made him. He figured he was on his own, all before you, and there was no one to deal with his bullshit besides him. Now he has someone who he cares about so much that it doesn't matter if he's uncomfortable. He'd rather be uncomfortable than never be with you again.
He gathers the balls to go upstairs and carefully opens the door. He's met with the sight of you curled up, your sniffles being the only sound in the room.
"Go away" You call out, although not too loudly. Your voice is wobbly and stuffy.
He'd think it was adorable, had he not been the one to cause it. He walks to the opposite side of the bed and gets in, spooning you. He kisses your hair so gently it would give you butterflies if you weren't so upset.
"I'm so sorry, love. I haven't a clue why I did that to you and you didn't deserve a single lick of it." He feels the small burn in his nose as he starts tearing up a little, "I promise it'll never happen again"
You sniffle as more tears fall, the pain sticking to you despite his words.
"I wasn't trying to piss you off" You whisper.
"I know baby, it wasn't you. I promise it wasn't. Could never be that mad at you" He says softly, a tear falling. He grips you a little bit tighter and kisses the back of your neck, trying to bring comfort to both of you.
"Then why did you yell at me? I've never heard you like that before."
He sighs, "Been thinkin' 'bout what happened while I was gone and it came out at you. 'M gonna go back to therapy 'n try to fix what ever the hell is wrong with me" He kisses your neck again, " 'M gonna do better, gonna be better"
He's not stupid, he knows his words aren't gonna go away overnight. He knows how much you love him, even if he doesn't understand it, and knows hearing that from him hurts more than it would anyone else. He knows you're gonna be affected by them for a bit and he's prepared to fix it. Anything for his love.
You turn around so you're both still on your sides but you're cuddled into his chest. Wasting no time, not even hesitating, he wraps his arms around you and holds you tight. He lets out a sigh of relief, knowing this is your way of accepting his apology. He softly kisses your forehead and cheek, whispering how much he loves you and how it's gonna be better.
He knows he can't run from his issues anymore and for once he's ready to face them.
#call of duty modern warfare#cod x reader#ghost cod#simon riley#cod simon riley#cod ghost#ghost mw2#ghost call of duty#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x reader hurt/ comfort#cod hurt/comfort#ghost x reader hurt/ comfort#cod angst#simon riley x reader angst#ghost cod angst
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
“I don’t think I’m straight.”
Steve had reached that conclusion exactly ten seconds before saying it out loud. Laying upside down on the couch of his house with his best friend draping her legs on top of him.
“Is that what you were thinking about?” Robin asked, not lifting her eyes from her book.
“Yeah, it just makes sense.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Steve hummed thoughtfully. Did he want to talk about it? Was it important enough? Did it change anything?
“I feel the same,” he said. “I thought being gay would feel different.” For a second, Steve was sure Robin would tell him that was a stupid thing to think.
“Are you gay?” Robin asked instead, because she is Robin. She was able to ask something in a judgemental tone without being judgy.
“I'm not straight.” he repeated.
“Pretty sure there are more than two options.” She explained with a joking tone. It was lucky, she thought, that she found a zine hidden in a library when she visited her aunt in Indianapolis.
“How do I know what I am?”
“I don't know, actually,” she said, putting her book down. “I've never seen what the big deal with men is.” Robin explained, crossing her arms. “That's how I knew.”
“I definitely see the big deal with women,” Steve responded simply.
“What about men?”
“I think I always saw the big deal, I just pretended it did not exist.” Steve explained.
“Oh, sweet old denial.” She teased. “How do you feel about this?”
“I would feel better if I had better taste.” Steve deadpanned, causing Robin to laugh and kick him. He slid out of the sofa dramatically to the floor. “Kicking me while I'm most vulnerable, Buckley? I see your game.”
“I have been bidding my time to find your weak spot, Harrington.” Robin joked lightly, jabbing Steve’s legs with her foot. “You will fall, Steven!”
Steve retaliated by pulling her into the floor.
“Look who's falling now?”
“Whatever,” Robin pushed herself to sit upward, sitting on the floor with her back against the sofa. Steve mimicked her with his back against the coffee table. “Who is the guy?” she asked.
“I don't wanna tell you,” Steve whispered, more out of respect for their tradition than anything else. “You’ll make fun of me.”
“Of course I will,” she whispered back. Steve reached for her hand to intertwine their fingers and she held him without batting an eye. “That’s kinda my job as your soulmate.” Steve chuckled. “I have to make sure whoever it is doesn’t mess up our vibe, you know?” He didn’t.
“I’m sure he won’t."
"Are you really gonna make me guess?" Steve lit up at the suggestion. Before he could speak, Robin continued "I'm not gonna guess, just tell me."
"Are you afraid of getting it wrong and looking like a fool?" He teased.
"It's Eddie." She answered less than a second later.
Steve did not respond, shocked at her quick response.
"Who's the fool now, Steve?" The smile on her face was infectious to Steve, who poker her with his foot.
"How did you do that?"
"By having eyes."
"What do you think?" She closed her eyes and hummed as Steve waited for her response.
"I think he looks at you the same way you look at him."
"I should ask him out."
"I can be your wingman!" She exclaimed.
"Oh, my god, yes!"
"We have to make a plan," Robin yelled. She jumped to her feet, letting go of Steve's hand, and dashed up the stairs. "I'm going to get some paper."
Steve stayed behind, sitting more comfortably on the floor, and removing the magazines they had on the coffee table off.
They made a plan, that ended in more of a disaster which is a story for another time. There is only one thing that is important.
Eddie said yes.
#stranger things#steve harrington#steddie#st eddie munson#st steve#st4#stranger things 4#fanfic#st fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#arin writes#platonic soulmates stobin#platonic stobin#stobin friendship#stranger things robin#st robin#robin buckley
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
— broken promises
pairing: earth 42 miles x fem!reader
summary: while earth 42 miles comes off a lot tougher than 1610’s based off his cold demeanor and his trauma induced apathy, somewhere under that hard shell, he’s still the sweet boy he used to be and wants love just like anyone else. miles is aged up to 17 in this, simply for the plot! wc: 2,640
contains: spoilers!!! angst to fluff
word bank: “mi vida” - my life, “mi amor” - my love
playing now: Wasted Love Freestyle by Jhene Aiko
You and Miles have been dating for 7 months now, and lately he hasn’t been around as much as he’d like to, for obvious reasons. Well, not obvious to you. You still don’t know that Miles is the Prowler, and he’s intent on keeping it that way.
It’s the third time he’s flaked on plans he arranged himself this month, and he can tell you’re beyond tired of it with the way you just blew his phone up.
— Miles POV —
Miles’ phone buzzes in his pocket but he decides against checking it, marking it off as something unimportant. He’s already accepted a job from his Uncle and a distraction wouldn’t do him any good right now.
8:03 PM
Mi Vida: please don’t tell me you’re doing this again bro.
Mi Vida: this is a joke, right?
Mi Vida: hello?? you were supposed to be outside thirty minutes ago.
Mi Vida: Miles Gonzalo Morales I swear to GOD if I don’t hear your motorcycle revving outside in the next five minutes so help me.
*buzz buzz*
Ignored.
*buzz buzz*
*buzz buzz*
He kissed his teeth, lashes fluttering in aggravation and air puffing through his nostrils at the continuous buzzing against his leg. His shoulder fell to the side a bit as he reached down into his pocket to grab his phone while he climbed up the stairwell, following his uncle. Seeing your contact name on his lock screen, his brow raised as he read over the message, then they bunched together in the middle of his forehead incredulously, the tone of your texts causing his strides to falter.
Miles was genuinely confused for a moment, trying to think back on if he’d done anything to upset you, until the memory of him assuring you he wouldn’t do this again slapped him across the face harder than his mom did that one time he’d cursed at her on accident. The two of you had a date planned for tonight, and he swore to you he’d be there this time, fifteen minutes early at that, even though he knew there was a big chance he wouldn’t be able to make it all. It was selfish of him to promise something he couldn’t guarantee, knowing how demanding the other factors in his life were, but he was so tired of disappointing you, and how happy you looked when he told you you guys would finally get to spend some time together really had him thinking he could make it work this time.
Eyes falling shut for a beat, a heavy sigh leaves his lips, tongue darting out to dampen them as he quickly tries to think of something to respond with that won’t piss you off more than you already are.
He texts you back: sorry Mami, something came up yk how it is. i got you tomorrow tho fasho
Yeah. Real smooth.
*buzz buzz*
Mi Vida: yk what, just forget it, Miles.
Damn, she called me by my first name? I definitely fucked up this time. He thinks to himself.
Mi Vida: whoever you’re with is clearly more important to you than what we got goin on, so it’s cool. stay where you at, i’m done
Shit.
His heart beats a little faster in his chest, the sensation a semblance of something he hadn’t felt in years. Fear. He texts back as fast he can, head snapping up to see he’s fallen behind his Uncle, and he hurriedly jumps a few stairs before he comes to a stop again.
Miles: done??? the fuck you mean you done?
You don’t respond fast enough for his liking, so he double texts.
Miles: baby stop playin. you trippin it ain’t even like that at all
Mi Vida: i’m deadass. don’t call my phone.
He utters a string of curses under his breath, alerting his Uncle who had already noticed he was falling behind when he heard the inconsistency of his nephew’s footsteps. He’s ample steps above Miles, turning his head only slightly over his shoulder to address the distracted teenager.
“C’mon man, get off the phone. We got business to tend to. You in or you out?” Aaron asks. “You know I can’t have nobody holdin’ me back.” There’s a hint of something deeper playing within his words, and Miles knows he doesn’t have a choice.
He swallows hard as he looks up at the older man. Taking one last look down at his phone, his jaw clenches in contemplation before he’s shaking his head with a quiet sigh and shoving it back into his pocket. He’ll have to deal with this later.
“My fault. Yeah, I’m in.” He mumbles, doing a quick jog to catch up to the man.
His uncle’s lips quirk into a smirk, a heavy hand coming down to clap Miles’ back and squeeze his shoulder.
“My man. Aight, let’s roll.”
— Your POV —
8:05 PM
You: i’m deadass. don’t call my phone.
You watch closely as the three dots bubble at the bottom left corner of your screen, an indicator that he was typing. But instead, a quiet scoff slips from your mouth when they disappear, your shoulders slumping in disappointment at the word that appears below your last message.
Seen
You angrily toss your phone onto your bed, bottom lip quivering when you catch a glance at yourself in the mirror when you walk by. You’d gotten dressed up all nice just for him, because you knew the chance of him being free for a night to take you out was rare. You’d started your makeup early just to make sure he wouldn’t have to wait outside for you while you finished, and you’d even styled your hair the way you knew he liked. All for nothing.
You kicked your shoes off and dropped your purse to the ground, heading to your bathroom to undo all your work. You washed all the makeup off your face, the act feeling more humiliating than ever when you remembered why you’d even put it on in the first place. To feel pretty for someone who barely even showed up.
You closed your eyes and tried to calm down, hastily reaching back over to check your phone just one more time. Maybe he was thinking of what to say, and that’s why he’d left you on seen.
Seen 25 minutes ago
Maybe not.
You hated crying. And more than anything you were tired of doing it, especially when broken promises were the cause of your wasted tears. Your evening was basically wasted, and you weren’t in the mood to do anything else anyway, so you decided that you’d call it a night and head to bed early. You slipped on some comfy sleep shorts, tying your hair up for the night before grudgingly tugging a large t-shirt over your head. Your brow perked up at the scent that wafted past your nostrils, and pinching the shirt with your forefinger and thumb, you brought the fabric to your nose and immediately caught a whiff of Miles’ cologne. You then realized you’d put on a shirt you stole from him a while back, and the way your heart fluttered made you even more upset than you already were. You brushed it off to the best of your ability and crawled into bed, trying your hardest to keep your sniffling to a minimum as you pulled your blankets over your shoulder.
____
As soon as he’d gotten the job done and his Uncle gave him the okay to dip, Miles’ feet were moving at the speed of light down the stairwell. And while he had sort of rushed the plays he made with some of the city’s goons, he just had to pray that all his Uncle’s money was in the banded wad of cash he returned with, or it would be his ass.
Skipping a few steps he hopped down onto the platform before the next set, checking his phone for the time simultaneously.
10:15 PM
“Damn.” He groaned, pushing through the doors, cool wind hitting his face. Once he reached his motorcycle he shoved his helmet over his head, hopped on, and sped off with a “skrrrt”.
He sped through the streets carelessly, something you definitely would’ve scolded him for had you been riding on the back of his bike with him, with your arms tight around his waist to hold on like you always did. He bobbed and weaved through cars, lane splitting between a few of them and he may have even ran a red, but he wasn’t paying enough attention to remember. All he could focus on was that you said you were “done”, whatever the hell that meant, and he was adamant on making sure you weren’t.
____
You didn’t know when you’d dozed off, three steady knocks, a fourth one after a pause hitting against your window, resulting in your eyes snapping open at the disruption. You sat up on your mattress, the ball of your hand rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you peered across the room. Once they adjusted in the darkness and you recognized the familiar, lanky body of your boyfriend standing outside on the fire escape, the events of just two hours ago played over in your mind like a record.
With a roll of your eyes, you huffed and swung your legs over the side of your bed, pushing yourself onto your feet. Miles watched as you sleepily trudged over to the window, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, head slightly lowered and tilted to the side, as if he were already apologizing before you’d even made it to him.
Hooking your fingers underneath the edge of your window, with a quiet grunt you pulled it up, effectively lifting the barrier between your bodies. You instantly felt your yearning for him come back full force, and wanted nothing more than to throw yourself into his arms, but you restrained. Your eyes met his, the cool night air breezing into your room, and his heart clenched. Somehow he was able to feel the coolness in your demeanor, yet the cold weather hadn’t bothered him at all.
He was the first to speak.
“Hola, Mami.” He sized you up once, taking notice of your eyes that were slightly puffy from crying.
His voice was like silk to your ears, alluring and confident, almost hypnotizing, and it aggravated you that you felt yourself gravitating towards him off two simple words.
“Why are you here, Miles?” You sighed, arms slapping at your sides in exasperation.
He looked slightly taken aback, chin lifting a bit as if you’d asked something completely outlandish.
“What you mean why I’m here? You my girl, shit, this my crib too.” He shrugged, so nonchalant, as if nothing had happened. You wondered if it had even been him texting you earlier.
“You left me on seen, remember? Stood me up, too?” Your head cocked to the side to match the attitude in your tone, brows raising at him. What excuse would he use this time?
He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling heavily before he spoke up again.
“I was… busy. Look, my bad, okay? You gon’ let me in or what? Ian come all the way over here to stand outside.” He demanded with a gesture towards the opening, his hazel eyes glinting in the moonlight and thawing the ice that’d been temporarily encased around your heart. There was the smallest hint of a smirk on his lips, because he already knew the answer.
Your lips pursed and you stepped to the side, a laggard arm stretched out beside you, silently granting him access to your room.
He stepped through the window frame and you closed it after him, his hands folding around the collar then the hem of his jacket as he adjusted it and turned towards you.
“I can’t keep doing this with you, Miles. It isn’t fair.” You mumbled, hating the way your voice split your words.
His head dipped to the side a bit as he took in your solemn expression and the way your gaze was cast to the floor, as if you were trying to contain your tears. He wasn’t the best at this, he knew that, and showing affection effectively really wasn’t his strong suit. He usually made it up to you by bringing you a few hundreds he’d made from a deal, paired with some roses he’d picked up on the way to your house at the last second— but you both knew paper and flowers wouldn’t fix it this time.
“I’m sorry, I mean it.” He said, reaching for your hand to bring you close and grateful when your eyes finally lifted to lock onto his, although seeing them tear-filled wrapped him in a deep-seated emotion he didn’t even want to acknowledge.
Miles rarely said he was sorry. If ever. Did he apologize? Yes, but it was usually a ‘my bad’ or a ‘my fault’, or some other term that’d get the point across without him have to use too much emotion. Hearing the words ‘I’m sorry’ from him was an anomaly, it happened once in a blue moon, so this time you knew he really meant it. In your heart you knew he meant it, but that didn’t stop the tear you’d been trying to keep at bay from rolling down your cheek.
His thumb caught the tear almost instantly, swiping it from the soft of your skin. It didn’t belong there, and he hated to be the reason why you were crying in the first place.
“Where do you disappear to, Miles?” You sniffled.
He sighed, glancing back over at the window. He considered telling you the truth, but he knew he couldn’t.
“I’m just tryna keep you safe, ma.”
“You always say that!” You squeaked, making sure to keep your voice down, you had technically snuck him in. You ripped your hand from his grasp, turning your face away from him as another tear fell. “Do you not trust me or something? Is that it?”
“Of course I trust you,” His eyebrows knit together at your question and he stole your hand from your side again.
“So why can’t you tell me?” You pleaded, eyes big and glossy.
“I just-“ He paused. “I can’t let you get hurt. The shit I do…” You watched as he hesitated, like even speaking about the subject pained him. “It ain’t good.” He swallowed, a hand coming up to cup your cheek. “And I’ll be damned if I put you in the middle of my shit. I love you… okay?” He moved closer to you, and when you turned from him once again he brought your face right back to his, this time with both his hands. He wasn’t going to let you go, and while Miles was rough around the edges, and seemingly devoid of any emotion other than anger or resentment for the world—he always handled you with care.
“I love you, Y/n, I put that on everything. I’ll burn this whole world down for you, you hear me? Don’t think I won’t.” He stared into your eyes longingly, intent on making sure you didn’t just hear every word, but that you understood them, too.
You couldn’t help but lean into his hand, your own coming up to hold at his wrist as you inhaled shakily and gave him a bleak nod.
That wasn’t enough for him. He needed to hear you say it.
“Do you understand?” He articulated his words, bringing his head down slightly to match your height a bit more.
“I understand.” You said softly, looking up at him through your lashes before your gaze fell to his lips. He took that as his sign, leaning forward and bringing you into a kiss.
You melted into him immediately, like you always did, eyes fluttering closed as your lips moved against his, and as his hands fell to your hips to pull you in closer, like they always did.
You broke the kiss for air, your hand resting on his bicep and your lips ghosting his as you spoke, as you shared the same breath. “I love you too…” You breathed, standing on your toes.
“Good,” You felt him grin before he pulled away, his hand pinching your chin to make you look at him. “Cause you not leaving me, ever. I can’t let no one else have you, Mami, you know that.” He cooed.
You felt heat flush your cheeks, a smile you couldn’t hide finally spreading on your face.
“Yeah yeah, I know.” You answered, chewing at your bottom lip. “Can you stay?” You whispered, eyes shifting between his hopefully as you awaited his answer.
“Ah…” He rubbed at the back of his neck, piping up again before you could get disappointed. “What about your moms?”
“She sleeps in on the weekends, you just gotta be outta here by nine. Please, pa?” You whined, already reaching for his hands.
He chuckled to himself and shook his head slightly, having to look away from the adorable look on your face. He tried to remain in denial of the fact that he was so deep in love with you he could hardly think sometimes, let alone say no, but he was failing. Miserably.
“Of course I’ll stay, mi amor.”
Your expression lit up, a toothy smile brightening your features as he let you lead him to your bed.
He made sure to remove his shoes before he laid down, settling on his back. He extended his arm out to you as he tucked the other behind his head, motioning for you to join him with his fingers.
You crawled into his open embrace, getting comfortable on top of his chest and nuzzling your head under his chin. You began to feel drowsy the second he wrapped his arm around you, a yawn leading your eyes to water. His hand slowly moved from where it was resting on your back, dipping beneath the hem of your shirt, the warmth of his skin against yours comforting to you. His large hand rubbed up and down the expanse of your back, the tips of his fingers drawing lines along your spine— you always fell asleep easier when he did that. You listened to the steady beating of his heart, fingers idly toying with the gold chain he kept around his neck.
“I’m really sorry I ain’t make it tonight. I know you prolly got all pretty for me n’shit… and I wish I got to see it, but that’s on me.” He grumbled. He’d beat himself up over this for a while.
“S’okay.” You say it is, but he knows it’s not. He knows better. “I missed you.” Your quiet voice murmured from below him as you scooted in impossibly closer.
His jaw tensed as he stared up at your ceiling, a deep breath from his diaphragm raising you a little bit with his chest, and lowering you as he released it. “I know.” His response was hushed, and as sleep continued creeping in, you wondered if you’d imagined it.
But when you felt a long, drawn-out kiss press to the top of your head, his hand rubbing soothing circles between your shoulder blades, you knew it was real. The last thing you heard before you dozed off was his voice, mellow and gentle as he assured you.
“Ima do better, mama. I promise, for real this time.”
- do not copy, plagiarize, or post my works onto a different platform.
likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated!
#miles morales fanfiction#42 miles morales#miles g morales#earth 42 miles morales x reader#earth 42 miles morales#across the spiderverse#across the spiderverse fanfiction#spiderman fanfiction#miles morales prowler#prowler miles#prowler miles fanfic#earth 42 miles fluff
6K notes
·
View notes
Note
bestfriend!Anton who puts you on his lap to give you affection, touches your hair, kisses you on the neck...being super clingy and fluffy :(
pairing; anton x reader
genre; fluff, best friends to lovers
note; i thought this was such a cute idea so i wrote something based on it.. hope u like it anon ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶
listen to your heart
while working in retail isn’t all that horrible most of the time, you despise it over the holidays. everyone goes crazy as they search for last-minute christmas presents for their loved ones, friends or anyone else.
today was one of those days when everything was so annoying that you really thought about quitting your job right then and there.
luckily, your shift has ended and you are now on your way back home. you seem to be forgetting what a terrible day it has been so far as you imagine yourself curled up in your warm bed while drinking hot choco and watching your comfort movie.
“*y/n*, someone is waiting for you in your room,” your mom says after giving you a big hug when you arrive at home.
you‘re confused as to who it could be, until you recall that your best friend anton texted you saying he‘d drop by later as you were spamming him with messages about that one costumer who was extremely rude to you.
you run up the stairs to your room. you’re not so sure why you’re so eager to see anton, but you can’t help yourself. being with anton after a tiring day makes you feel at ease. he just has that effect on you.
“ohhh, slow down,” anton sits up on your bed. you can tell he made himself feel at home because just a second ago he was laying in your bed as if it was his own. “why are you running? is the rude customer after you?”
since you can’t tell anton that you hurried up to your room because of him, you just throw yourself on your bed. “no, i just really missed my bed. it has been an exhausting day.”
“and here i was hoping that you were running because you couldn’t wait to see me,” anton pouts, leaning back on your bed.
you’re right, you think. but i can’t let you know..
“well, apparently you were missing me because how are you at my house when i’m not even there?”
anton shrugs. “so what if i missed you, is it so wrong to miss your best friend?”
you’re shocked at how casually anton can say things like this. does he truly not realise how much of an impact his words have on you? it irritates you that he's saying these things and acting so dreamy when you're already trying to shake the thought that you like him — much more than you could ever imagine liking someone.
you sigh, laying down on your back. “i just really need to rest.”
“hey, come here,” anton pats next to him. “we can rest together.”
for a second, you’re not sure if you should really go and sit down next to him, because your feelings are all over the place today and you don’t know what could happen, but you push those thoughts aside and just go for it.
“you can lay your head on my lap. i will give you a head massage. i‘m a pro,” anton softly smiles at you.
god, he really isn’t making it easy to not fall in love with him, you sigh. your head is telling you not to do it, but for once in your life, you decide to listen to your heart instead.
you place your head gently on anton‘s lap. you’re afraid you won't be able to resist kissing anton if you open your eyes and see him staring down at you, hence why your eyes are closed.
anton starts massaging your head softly and you’re surprised at how good it actually feels.
“i didn’t expect you to be actually good at this,” you say.
“i told you i‘m a pro,” anton chuckles. hearing him giggle put a smile on your face and usually you would try to hide that, but right now, you’re just letting it happen.
“there it is,” anton whispers softly as he touches your cheek, causing you to open your eyes immediately.
“what?”
“your beautiful smile.”
you start laughing nervously. what’s his deal? why is he being extra sweet today?
“don’t say such things, anton.”
“why not?" his hand returns to your head, but instead of giving it a massage, he plays with your hair, twisting it around with his index finger.
“best friends don’t say that..” what you just said has a sad undertone, but you don’t care. maybe if anton knows that he’s kind of playing with your feelings, he will stop being like that.
anton shakes his head. “no, they don’t.. but here’s the thing, *y/n*..”
the sudden change in the atmosphere makes you nervous so you sit up. still close to anton, but there’s a little distance between the two of you now.
“i‘ve been trying to tell you for the longest time that i don’t want to be just best friends with you,” anton blurts out. “i thought it was obvious that i like you.”
world stop. anton likes me?
“but everytime i try to make a move you put me back in the friendzone, saying things like ‘best friends don’t do that..”
with a sincere expression of sadness that makes your heart hurt, anton glances down at his hands.
“i guess you really don’t like me in that way and i was just stupid to to think that-”
refusing to let anton continue, you take hold of his hand and place it directly over your heart.
“do you feel this?” you whisper.
anton nods unsure.
“my heart beats this fast everytime i‘m with you.”
“is that a good or a bad sign?” anton pulls his hand away and looks questionably at you.
his question makes you laugh. “of course it’s a good sign.. it means that you’re the reason why my heart feels so alive.”
“oh,” anton nods, a little smile forming on his face. “so you do like me.”
now it’s you who’s nodding.
just a while ago you didn’t want anton to know how you really feel about him because you were so afraid that the feeling was one-sided, but now that you know it’s mutual, you’re ready to take the initiative.
you slip closer to anton and sit down on his lap. first he’s surprised at your sudden move, but then you feel his arms around your waist, holding you close to him.
seconds later, your lips meet his. not only was your heart racing faster than before, but because your bodies were so close, you could literally feel anton‘s heart racing as well.
you weren't expecting it, but as anton plastered kisses all over your face and neck, things heated up quickly. you didn't want him to stop, but knowing that your parents could walk into your room at any point made you want to go slowly.
“maybe we should continue this when we are alone, like completely,” you whisper as anton was kissing your neck.
“hmmm,” kiss. “maybe..” kiss. “you‘re..” kiss. “right.”
he stops, looking at you with the biggest smile on his face.
“this big smile looks good on you,” you put your arms around antons neck.
“and you know why i’m smiling like this? it’s because of you,” anton softly whispers before he plants another kiss on your lips.
#riize#riize imagines#riize fics#kpop#riize scenarios#riize drabbles#riize x reader#riize fluff#riize anton#anton lee#lee chanyoung#anton x reader#anton fluff#boyfriend anton#riize oneshots#riize short story#x reader#anton scenarios#sumi‘s requests ೀ
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Good, Good, Great
Ghost x Fem!Reader (And they were roommates)!
[nsfw] cw(s): Jealousy, alcohol consumption, references to smoking, strip club, rdr calls ghost ‘big boy’ several times, suggestive content, non-explicit sex (it’s mentioned), rdr is highkey a brat lol, mention of dumbification.
PART TWO
3.4k words I don’t understand how UK currency works so i guessed, ALSO! Reader is kind of a slut!! Because we don’t get enough readers that have BEEN AROUND TOWN (iykwim) and I am hellbent on fixing that :) ALSO ALSO this kinda sucks and it’s prolly OOC but I spent like four days on it so here u go <33
You’re not dating — but he’s not keen on sharing. He sees you serving another table drinks, scantily dressed, hips swaying with every step, and can’t help but watch with a glare as some other man sets a 20 between your tits.
How Laswell convinced both herself and Price that a strip club was the best place to meet and discuss information on a new mission was beyond Ghost. It wasn’t until two blocks away from the venue did he begin to recognize the surroundings, the streets, and damn it, even the people.
He forwent the skull mask and the skull-patterned balaclava for a plain black surgical mask that left him feeling bare and exposed. Only a thin piece of fabric was between him and his anonymity; two strings that held together the Ghost façade from falling into Simon.
He’d be damned if he told the others that he recognized the club — that he frequented it. Not for a certain stripper, no, not for the girls performing at all. He knew every staff member from the amount of times he’d come to pick you up after your serving shift.
You always smelled like alcohol and someone’s blueberry vape, sometimes weed; you claimed that just came with the job. He’d respond asking if he smelled like gunpowder and metal, if that was the case. He remembered how you shook your head.
“You smell like cigarettes and aftershave.”
He grimaces as they approach the shining lights of the club. Myth is a looming building; five floors, only two used for actual club affairs. The other three were offices or something equally as boring; even if you would prattle on about your outlandish suspicions of a mafia being run up there.
The first floor had the basics; a main stage that was across from the full bar, a plethora of sleek tables and uncomfortable leather chairs filling the space between the two attractions. On the far wall, a few booths with itchy velour couches separated by fake bushes. Doors sat on either side of the four booths, both led to some sort of VIP room that Ghost had never stepped foot in.
The second floor overlooked the stage section of the first, only the dancers could see the people decorating the steel railings. It was usually reserved for the rich people, the important men who had had wives and didn’t want to be seen in the public eye, the men who were desperate enough to pay extra to pretend they could get some, and the people staff liked. Ghost happens to fit into the latter category.
There was a second stage on the upper floor, it wasn’t often dancers were up there performing, they were usually lounging around with someone they knew would paid them well. The was a second, smaller bar which served the singular purpose of storing new bottles, which caused you to complain about having to go up and down the stairs every time you had to get another round for a table.
His constant presence had led to him “befriending” the bartenders (if getting a free drink counted as being friends) and getting half-hired as security (he was roughly the same size as the men they already had for the job), even the hostesses knew to assign him to your section each time he walked in.
It baffled him, to say the least. Even after he was gone for 11 months the one time, (what a god awful time that was), the Myth staff knew who he was.
Ghost didn’t even register Price trying to tell him to stop as he walked to the shiny glass doors of Myth. The thing that dragged him out of an absentminded state was Soap’s obnoxiously loud laughter, Ghost stopped dead in his tracks and spun around to face the rest of the task force.
“Yae walkin’ right in like ye own the place, eh, Lt?” He had a conniving grin on his face. “Didnae take you for that kinda guy.” Gaz looked like he was trying to picture Ghost in a club, Price only looked at him with mild amusement on his face.
Ghost glares at Soap, embarrassed. “I’m going where we were told to go.”
“Wasting no time, either.” Gaz manages to crack a smile from Price with his chide.
“Are we going in, or not?” Ghost’s eyebrows raise in questioning, his patience already running thin. He looked over his shoulder at the bouncer, who he wishes he didn’t recognize as Paul.
Gaz had already fished his ID out of his pockets, the graying white background of the Royal Air Force card reflecting the sign lights. Soap wasn’t far behind him, most people who see someone with a mohawk assume it’s a teenager who lost a bet. Anyone could look at the Captain and know he’s over the age of 18, no college student could rival the man’s facial hair.
And Ghost? All he had to do was look Paul in the eyes and he was let though without even a second glance. It was no different than if he were just coming in to pick you up, although it was considerably earlier than your usual 2 AM clock outs. Ghost forgot the club was even open at 5 PM.
He got an odd look from Soap at the lack of identification, but odd looks from Soap were a daily occurance.
The club looked the exact same as when he’d left 4 months ago, the same blue-purple lighting, same ugly silver bead curtains hanging over the walls, and the same Thursday night bartender. His name was something along the lines of Tony (Tim?); Ghost hadn’t particularly cared about him, he’s never at the club on Thursdays anyway. Your shifts are normally on the weekends, only the occasional Thursday if there was an event.
The hostess seems to be familiar, too. She’s either Camille or Angelica; he could never really remember who was who. The two have the same bleach blonde, blue eyes, and freckles; they’re practically the same person to Ghost. He really only pays attention to you when he’s at Myth.
The hostess stares at Ghost for a second, as if trying to recognize him. Before she could try to speak, Price cut in.
“We’re meeting someone here. Blonde hair, a little older.” His eyes scan the half-empty floor of the room. “She might be upstairs?”
The hostess perks up at the mention of a woman. “Right. Follow me, please.”
The blonde led the group of them upstairs, two of the 20 tables had people at them. Only one of them had a Laswell-looking woman at them. The other was a group of seven men; each in a suit, and each with a glass in their hand.
Once the hostess set a few menus on the table, she spoke a final time. “Your server will be right over.”
Ghost let the others sit down before him, eyes lingering on the group of men across from them before they slid over to Laswell. She looked as comfortable as any other person in a strip club by choice, lounging back in her chair with a cocktail in her hand.
“You look disgruntled,” she notes, eyes resting on Ghost.
“You had us meet in a strip club,” Ghost mutters. “This isn’t my usual scene.” It was quite the lie, really. He’s spent more time here than any other pub in the Manchester area at this point.
“It’s close to home.” She takes a sip of her drink, completely at peace. “And it’s unsuspecting. Who comes into a strip club to talk about top secret information?”
Ghost looks at her, unamused. “Us.”
Laswell ignores the distaste in his voice. “You don’t have to worry about that group,” her head tilts in the direction of the rowdy group of men. “They’re all drunk or too focused on the girls to even bother listening to us.”
The distant sound of heels against the floor catches his attention, his eyes fly towards the staircase. And there you are, flouncing up the stairs with three glasses in one hand and a bottle of Blue Label in the other.
You make your way to the group of men, a customer service smile plastered on your face. Ghost can’t hear your words, but he watches you set the bottle down in front of the most important-looking man, along with two of the glasses you were carrying.
He watches as your shoulders bounce when you laugh at something he says, though it looks like the fakest giggle you can muster.
He watches as the man takes a 20 pound note from his pocket and tucks it right between your tits. On instinct, Ghost’s hands tighten into fists and he glares. It’s a sharp glare, one he’d give to some idiot recruit that tried being cocky. You gasp, then smile brightly at the man, he can tell you’re saying thank you profusely from the way your mouth is moving.
You step away from the man and Ghost’s eyes fly from him to you, and his glare drops into a normal enough look, but his fists are still tight; his fingernails dig into the palms of his hands.
Ghost’s eyes roam your body, how the little black skirt you’re wearing rode up just enough that it would be considered a tease, how the black shirt you’re wearing is just a little too tight around your tits, and the 20 pound note that was stuck right between the two of them. He had to consciously unclench his fist before anyone would notice.
Then you come prancing over, hips swaying almost hypnotically as you walk, a glass of bourbon nestled in your hand.
You smile sweetly as you bend down in front of him, showing off both your tits and the note right between them, and set his glass on the table.
“I believe that’s for you, big boy.” Fuck, he missed hearing your voice, the nickname flies over his head through his stupor. Even if it was the faux, sultry version of it you used for work. “Can I get the rest of you anything? A beer? Whiskey?”
It was almost impossible for Ghost to tear his eyes away from you, rather, that damn note between your breasts. He wanted to pluck it out and throw it right back at the other man, replace it with something bigger, better.
When he notices Gaz’s disturbed stare, his eyes avert from you.
Gaz’s eyes trail from his to yours, “I’ll take a Manhattan.”
You smile at him, “of course, is Sazerzac okay?” Gaz nods shortly, glancing away from you to avoid Ghost’s stare. “Anyone else?” You pivot towards Price, shifting your weight from one leg to the other.
Price angles his head to meet your gaze, squinting through the LEDs of the club. “Gin and tonic,” his eyes don’t leave yours, “Hendrick’s.” An offhand comment from Soap entertains the liquor’s Scottish origins.
You nod along with his words, then tilt your head towards Soap. “Can I get you anything?”
“I’ll have a Coke.”
“I hope you mean the soda,” you muse. You didn’t get any reaction out of the group, not a single smile — how disappointing. “We have the cherry kind, if you’re into that.”
Soap shakes his head, a small frown on his face. “Just normal Coke’ll do.”
You hum absentmindedly, “alright.” Your eyes flicker to Ghost, the smile on your face contorts into a little mischievous one. “Are you going to be wanting the bottle, Simon?”
You really are a vixen, aren’t you? Through grit teeth, Ghost spits out, “no.”
“Alright, then. I’ll be back with those drinks, boys.” A single wink, and you were off. Low heels clacking against the tile floor, hips swaying side to side. Ghost was all too aware of every detail of your retreating body, from the way your hair bounced with each step you took, how the skirt you wore rode up just slightly enough to make his grip on his bourbon tighten.
Ghost fights the urge to get up, grab you by the waist, and pull you onto him. Both his experiences and his logical reasoning say it’s a terrible idea, yet the idea of reminding you who you ultimately belong to is so enticing he could be drooling.
He’s seen you cockdumb; it almost always comes after you pull a stunt like this. Of course, he knows you do it just for the sake of getting him bothered and getting fucked stupid. But he also likes the idea that you do it just for him. You put on a little show.
He finally put it together years ago. Back when you would bring over some pathetic-looking hookup just to see his reaction. When you’d fake moan loud enough for the whole damn neighborhood to hear, then look at him the next morning through your eyelashes all innocent.
At some point, the hookups ended, and you began flirting with customers right in front of him. Just like you had done a moment before.
When your head disappears from view, Soap is the first to attack him vocally, almost gawking after you. “You’re on a first name basis with the bottle girls at a strip club?” He looks incredulously at Ghost, almost jealous.
“Is that why you were in such a hurry to get inside? You knew this was where your flings worked?”
Soap leans in closer, “how often do you come here, LT?” It was question after question from the Scotsman, and despite his inclination towards him, Ghost was getting slowly more fed up.
Ghost set his glass down, “I’m going to the bathroom.” He put his hands to his knees and stood up from the plush seat, eyes scanning the other group one more time before he left his teammates at the table.
It doesn’t take long for him to find you, leaning up against the doorframe to the server’s closet while you wait for another cocktail server to put in a ticket, twiddling your coworker’s Elfbar in your hands until she reaches behind her for the vape.
You hand it off to her and turn to face Ghost, a catty smile adorning your lips. “How can I help you, sir?” Ghost stops a few inches before you and a hand darts towards your cleavage. He tugs the 20 pound note from between your tits, your hands following his to grab for it.
You give Ghost several noises of grievances as he holds the note away from you, a look of slight disgust evident in the ways his eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed.
By the time you gave up trying to reach the banknote, he’d begun digging in his back pocket. “I’d like my tip back, asshole.”
Ghost says nothing in return, no noise or gesture to acknowledge he had heard you. Instead, he tugs a 20 and a 50 pound note from his pocket and tuck the two bills into the space between your breasts. The money from the other man was crumpled and shoved back into his pocket.
You don’t stop him, you’re a bit too turned on to even think of stepping away from him.
“There,” he mutters. “your tip.” He steps back from you, like he was going to leave and go back to his table. You, however, were having none of that.
“Hold on.” Your hand twitches, stopping before it could shoot out to grab his wrist (but you’re smarter than that, you know him). “You didn’t call or anything.”
Ghost frowns under the mask. “I’m not home.” It was a clipped reply, not one you wanted.
“What?” You match his frown, annoyed.
“I’m here for work. You saw the others,” his hand gestures vaguely to the upstairs, “they’re my coworkers.”
You raise an eyebrow, “you work with someone who has a mohawk?” Disappointment flickers in Ghost’s eyes, if it was from your question or just the thought of Soap’s haircut, you didn’t know. The poor man isn't even there to defend himself.
“Is it that hard to believe?” Ghost knows that, yes, it is hard to believe that he worked with a Scotsman with a terrible haircut while continuing to be the infamous Lieutenant ‘Ghost.’
The look on your face screams ‘yes.’
Ghost relents, “listen.” His voice has a certain sadness in it that makes you calm down a bit. Truthfully, you’re pretty damn pissed at him for just showing up out of the blue from God-knows-where, but your expression softens after a few seconds.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, Riley.” Your coworker nudges your shoulder to let you know it was your turn to use the kiosk. “Go back to your friends,” you wave your hand in a dismissive fashion. “I’m working.”
Ghost doesn’t budge, even after you’ve ducked between the bead curtains that dangle at the top half of the doorway. You pop back out of the doorway, an unsurprised look on your face.
“Don’t flirt with him.”
Your eyebrows fly up, an incredulous tone flooding your voice. “What?”
“Don’t flirt with him,” Ghost repeats, his eyes boring into yours.
You set a hand on your hip, annoyed. “I’m making money.” The look in his eyes doesn’t change, he’s utterly serious about some random man you’re flirting with for extra cash. A thought crosses your mind, and your annoyance melts into mischief.
“You’re jealous over him?” The way his eyes widen a bit is enough to tell you that, yeah, he is. “Really, big boy?”
And fuck, if you didn’t have him wrapped around your finger by the way you walked, you had him now. All it took was one stupid nickname and Ghost is crumbling into Simon.
“Not jealous,” is his defense. You just soak it in with a grin on your face. You step towards him a little, shoulders forward and leaning down ever so slightly so that your cleavage is a little more obvious, so that the money he stuck between your tits is poking right out at him.
“You sure?” You look up at him, still grinning like your coworker once had when she got a free vape from a customer. “Seems like you’re a bit jealous.”
All he can do is stare down at you, clenching his jaw shut lest he say something he really shouldn’t. But God, does he wish he could.
Really, if it weren’t only 5 PM, he would’ve let you get to him. Let you drag him into an empty VIP room and fuck your words right out of you, leaving you a whimpering, babbling mess. But Ghost — Simon — knows better than to incapacitate you when you’re working.
All he’s left to do is watch as you give him little smirks from across the room, as you adjust your clothes to be just a bit more revealing, as you get close enough that he can smell the remnants of your perfume when you ask him aimless questions. And that’s just what he’ll do once you prance off to get his teammates drinks.
You pat him on his covered cheek patronizingly before you slink away, outstretching your hands for the three drinks cluttered at one side behind the bar. You pass him by, drinks in hand.
“If anything,” you look up to his eyes as you pass him, “it’s the guys you’re with you should be jealous of. You know I like older guys.” That’s enough for Simon to be reclaimed by Ghost.
He follows after you, glowering at your back. You don’t have to look back at him to know he’s scowling at you, but it brings you a slight bit of satisfaction.
“C’mon, big boy,” you hum, “I’ll get you another drink if you tell me his name.” You look back at him once you reach the staircase and climb a few steps ahead of him.
Ghost stares into your eyes like a dead man, you almost think you’ve gone a bit too far. “No.”
You give him an exaggerated pout and turn back to the front to see where you’re going. “If you aren’t jealous, you shouldn’t have a problem with it.”
“No,” he huffs, irritation growing steadily. “Ask again and I’ll have your head.”
You quicken your pace on the last few steps, skirt bouncing from the motion; Ghost doesn’t bother to look away. He follows you back to the table where Laswell and the others are chatting quietly.
You lean down to set the drinks on the table, and Ghost takes his chance. His hands hover around your hips, bulge brushing against your ass as he moves behind you to sit down in his seat.
“Sorry,” he muses in the most unapologetic tone you’ve ever heard from him. It’s Simon’s eyes that look into yours, like a challenge. A really, really horny challenge. “Had to get past you.”
#cod mw2#simon riley x reader#ghost mw2#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon riley fanfic#fem reader#simon riley mw2#simon riley x female reader#cod fic#mw2 fic#mw2 x you#mw2 smut#mw2 x reader#simon riley smut#ghost smut#simon ghost riley smut
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
The dog protects you
————
Ghost Headconon
————
When Simon was in the military he brings home a friend
Riley the German Shepherd
Since Riley is a grade A military dog, and is learned to protect his handler now owner at all times. Simon now trains him into protecting his home
There was once when Simon was away, he gave Riley a command on protecting you and the house
And someone tried to break in while he was away but luckily for the robber he got a scary dog waiting for him on the other side
You know those ring doorbell cameras, yeah you have one and sent the video of the aftermath of the robber running away from Riley
“Soap, Price come see what Y/n sent me,” he calls
He walks to Price’s office showing him the video of the robber running down the street with Riley hot on his tail and Y/n coming out to call for Riley to come back which he does immediately
They all laugh at the stupid robber and clapped for Riley
When Simon comes home, Riley is somewhere with you, in your home office he’s at the door with his back towards you making sure you are protected
Riley use to have to follow Ghost around but now he’s home he follows you around now (it slightly makes Simon jealous)
“LOVE?! RILEY?! I’M HOME!!” Simon calls
You come downstairs and Riley picks up on how excited you are and jumps for joy when his other comes back home
“Did you see the video?”
“Oh yeah, good boy Riley,” he says patting the dogs head
When you fell pregnant it was like a switch happened in Riley to where now he doesn’t even want Simon near you
You on the couch Riley is by your feet growling at Simon to sit farther away. Simon has kicked Riley outside a couple of times so he could get close to you
“Don’t be mean Simon,” you say letting Riley back in who barked at Simon for throwing him outside
“I want to touch you, I can’t with him in the way,” he pouts gesturing to the dog
“He’s confused, he thinks you’re going to hurt me.”
“But I’m not.”
“I know, he just doesn’t get it.”
When you sleep Riley is sleeping between you two, Simon tries to get him off the bed knowing he’s not supposed to be on the bed, Riley doesn’t listen but only listens to Y/n
“Riley down,” Simon says sternly. “Riley!” Simon sounded like a dad getting frustrated with his child not listening to him
“Riley, down boy,” Y/n says calmly and Riley gets off with ease and sits next to Y/n letting her pet his head
“What the hell?!” Simon says, confused, you only giggle at Simon
Riley becomes very gentle once the baby is born. Simon and you try to introduce Riley to the newborn slowly as possible
“Riley, easy,” Simon says as Riley walks closer to Y/n holding the newborn in her arms
Riley sniffs the baby’s head and looks up at Y/n if he’s allowed to be this close
Y/n pats his head “it’s okay Riley.”
Riley then sniffs the baby all around trying to get use to the baby’s scent. Simon watches his dog that was supposed to be tough and scary become all lovable
Riley rested his head on Y/n’s knee smelling the baby some more
As the baby grew up Riley became more of the baby’s protector
When they started to learn how the walk Riley was like their walker for a little bit. The baby would hang onto Riley so they could walk
Riley would sometimes even save the baby from falling off the couch a couple of times luckily Y/n and Simon also saw the baby before they almost fell off
Riley slept in the baby’s nursery to protect them
This one might bring us to tears
When Riley starts getting older, Simon hates seeing his dog go from an active dog that saved him numerous times to becoming so old that he can barely go down the stairs anymore
Riley was loved by the family even some of Simon's friends
The dogs white face panting like he ran a marathon, you child playing with him the most they can before he's gone, Simon trying to spend his last few days with Riley, seeing if he'd will be willing up for taking his daily walk
"You're a good dog, Riley...you did a good job protecting us," Simon says, sitting on the porch with his dog next to him laying on his side "You are defiantly my best friend, Riley," Simon tells the dog
#cod modern warfare#cod mw2#cod mwii#cod x reader#fandom#fanfic#call of duty#mw2#cod#ghost cod#simon ghost x reader#ghost mw2#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#ghost
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
Sebastian vettel smut with fem Reader please 🙏 Bonus points for age gap, thank you!
He was 36 you were 21. You never knew how much you liked an age gap before meeting him. He was more experienced than any guy you had ever met before, he also had a dominant side to him which you adored.
When the media found out you got shamed and criticised, you were going to break up with him before he reassured you, telling you how perfect you were and to not listen to what others said. He always knew what to say.
You had been out drinking with some of your friends, one of them had graduated and wanted to celebrate freedom which of course you added too. You had sent a text to Seb telling him you had gone out for the night and not to wait up.
You arrived home heels in your hands, you had ditched them quite early on, having realised it was your worst mistake. You were being as silent as you could be, but of course you were a bit tipsy, which ended with you knocking over a few things and even falling over a pair of shoes.
“Are you alright my love?” You heard a voice say, looking up to reveal your boyfriend, you could tell you had woke him, he looked sleepy and his hair was all over the place. “Babe I had such a good night, you could have seen the drinks we had, also some guys brought us drink and Luna even went home with one” you rambled on, including details about your friend. “I’m glad you had a good night” he replied “But let’s get you up to bed”
You dropped your shoes to the floor letting Sebastian help you up the stairs, once you got up to your shared room, he went into the bathroom to grab you a makeup wipe and help you remove your makeup. Although that wasn’t what you were focused on, you couldn’t help but noticed how hot he looked.
“Are you alright my love you’re staring?” he asked feeling your eyes on him “mh just admiring the view” you replied, dragging your hands down his body. Before you could go any further he grabbed your hands.
“You’re drunk” he said “No i’m not, i’m horny” you replied “Ok your drunk and horny”
You were barely tipsy no where close to being drunk, he knew that you knew that he was just making up excuses.
Before he could say anything else you pulled him into a kiss which got heated and soon enough you found yourself taking off his shirt feeling up his body that your craved.
“You’ve got too much clothes on” he pulled away from the kiss, within seconds you were stripping down with him helping you.
“Are you going to be a good girl and suck daddy’s cock?” he asked before taking off his boxers letting you get too work.
He was too big to fully fit in your mouth so you made it work.
You started off with long, slow licks from top to bottom, making sure to tease him a little. You started off slow, knowing soon enough he would take control. You then deepthroated him, going all the way down to his base while he hit the back of your throat making you gag. “Fuck you know how to take me princess” he spoke feeling pleasure, even though you couldn’t speak you made sure to moan to let him know you enjoyed his comment.
You were moaning like mad and giving him lustful looks, trying to look as innocent as possible.
You could tell when he was approaching his orgasm, you felt him take control with his movements. Soon enough he had cummed in your mouth. He pulled out your mouth before you could argue “I need to be in that pussy” he said flipping you round and ripping off your pants “hey those were expensive” you complained “I’ll buy you more, I’ll buy you anything in the world I just need to be inside you”
He put in just the tip first letting you get wet and to get use to his size. “You ready?” He asked with a simple yes he pushed fully into you holding his position for a couple seconds before he started moving in and out. “You feel amazing” It had been a while since you’ve had sex, you have both been so busy with your jobs and too tired when you got home, so you were enjoying the pleasure.
He made sure too go slow wanting to appreciate your body and actually not have to rush for once. “Are you close?” He asked knowing you were, your cheeks were rosy pink and eyebrows twisted. “Yes” you replied focusing on your own high. His pace quickened chasing his own high whilst trying to get you to cum. You cummed first before he closely followed, before riding out your own high.
“I love you” he said at this point he had pulled out before getting up and grabbing a wet towel to rub your thighs clean, on his travels he had always grabbed you an oversized top that smelt exactly like him. “I love you too” you replied feeling sleepy after your busy night.
——
Enjoy
Tag list- @ur-fave-ave @faithshouseofchaos @nickxcorpse @may7460 @babyprofessorsharkpalace
#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#formula 1#f1 fic#f1 x you#f1#formula one#formula 1 smut#sebastian vettel smut#sebastian vettel imagine#formula one smut#smut#f1 smut#sebastian vettel
587 notes
·
View notes
Text
Game over
gamer!sub!Eddie Munson x dom!fem reader
Word Count: 2.4k
All you want after a long day at work is your boyfriend. With his nose stuck in a video game, you decide to take matters into your own hands.
Warning: 18 +. Pegging, sub eddie (kinda implied switch at the end?) dom reader, hand job, mommy kink, implied aftercare
Thank you to my beta readers <3 @munson-blurbs. and @lofaewrites
Masterlist
The stairs to the trailer creaked as you bounded up them and straight inside, the metal storm door closing behind you with a loud bang.
"Babe?" You hear Eddie’s faint call from his room down the hall.
"Yeah, it's me!" You yell, setting your bag down on the kitchen counter, practically skipping to his room.
When you cross the threshold, Eddie is perched on the edge of his bed, legs spread, elbows resting on his knees and a Playstation controller clutched in his hands. He glances at you, then back to his game, fingers moving toggles and pressing buttons furiously.
You walk over to him and lean down, kissing him on the lips quickly before falling back on the bed.
"How are you, sweetheart?"
"Better now that I'm here. I hate working on Saturdays."
"I know, baby, but you're here with me now." He places a large, warm hand on your thigh and squeezes before returning to the controller.
"Humph..." You hum in response.
A quiet sigh leaves your lips when you stretch out over the well-used mattress. "Lay down with me." You tug on his arm.
"Not right now, baby, let me finish this quest first, okay? Then I'll lay down." Eddie doesn't even turn to you as he speaks, his eyes completely glued to the screen.
You huff in disappointment but curl up next to him, closing your eyes. Then, after a few minutes, an idea popped into your head.
Rolling over, you get onto your hands and knees and crawl around behind Eddie.
"What are you doing?" He laughs.
"Just want a hug s'all." You slot yourself around him. Chest to back, legs on either side of his, and your arms coming to squeeze around his stomach.
Eddie pauses for a second, taking his hand and rubbing yours. He’s warm against you, it’s radiating from him, comforting you. You can hear his heart beating as your ear presses against his strong, wide back.
He is completely unaware of what you are fixing to do, which puts a wicked smile on your face. Snuggling in closer to him, the scent of cigarettes and old spice filled your nose. Slowly, you let one hand drift down further. Eddie tenses but says nothing.
You keep going.
Your fingertips ghost over the elastic band of his grey sweatpants. A puff of air exits your nose in a stifled giggle as you pull the strings playfully.
"Baby-" Eddie sounds breathless.
"Yeah?" You ask innocently.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing-" You hum. Trying not to laugh as you begin to slip your fingers under the band. Eddie gives a shocked gasp when your hand comes to rest over his cock, still covered by his boxers.
"Babe, not right now, I'm doing something,” he all but whines.
"Keep doing what you're doing, Eds, don't mind me." You squeeze his cock gently. The sharp intake of breath he took had a warmth spreading through you. His cock hardens under your touch.
"Fuck. Please, just let me finish this part."
You shake your head, palming him through the boxers. "You can finish it, I'm not stopping you, baby."
He mumbles your name weakly. You give him a firmer squeeze.
"Now Eddie, you know that's not what you're supposed to call me,” you tut.
"Fuck," he breathes shakily. "Mommy, please."
You smile as he reluctantly says the name. "That's a good boy."
You trace your fingers up the quickly hardening form of his cock then you move them under the elastic of his boxers, touching the soft, warm skin and coarse hairs. You use your other hand to push back the piece of clothing that confined him, pulling him out, and letting the waistband of both sweatpants and boxers rest under his balls.
Eddie sucks in a sharp breath between his teeth when the cold air of his room hits the hot head of his cock.
You rest your forehead against him and just feel. The weight of him in your hand, the erratic beat of his heart, the in and out motion of his tummy as he took each breath.
Taking him up into your hand you give him two rough tugs. "Spit for me." You raise your hand and Eddie whimpers, leaning his head down to let a glob of spit fall into your open palm.
"Good boy." You praise him, kissing his clothed shoulder. You take his cock back up, smearing it with his spit, making him slick.
Eddie's whimpers accompanied the quick shucking sounds. Leaning around to look at his face, he had his eyes shut tight.
"Now, Eddie, open your eyes. How can you play your game with them closed?"
He struggles to open them and it takes a few more seconds for him to start using his controller, but he does eventually.
You move your hand more, smoothing your thumb over the head of his cock. It’s wet there, but not from spit; from the bead of pre-cum seeping out.
Eddie’s hips buck up in your hand and you take it away quickly. "Don't be greedy, baby."
"M'sorry mommy," he heaves, trying to keep his voice steady.
You kiss his back in response, your other hand finding a home under his shirt, nails scratching gently over his abdomen.
The ripple of his muscles has you humming. He’s struggling to keep it together and you’re enjoying every moment of it.
With a firm grasp, you start up again. The speed of your pulls starts slow and then gets faster. Every time Eddie squirms under you, you slow down again. His body shakes against yours, his legs and abs tense as he tries to obey.
"You're doing so good," you praise him.
Taking the hand that was on his abdomen, you run it down until it rests on the head of his cock. Slowly you circle your thumb over the slit, pulling a choked gasp from the man.
The sounds of his strangled moans and whimpers have wetness seeping into your panties.
"Please, it feels so good." His voice cracks, wavering in pleasure.
"Yeah, baby? Mommy's making you feel good?"
"Mhm." He nods furiously. "Can't focus anymore."
The controller shakes in his grasp and you finally give in. "Okay, baby, you can stop playing your game."
"Thank you, thank you, thank you." He flings the controller back behind you on the bed in an instant. His body relaxes only a little as the added stress of trying to play the game is lifted only for him to tense up again when the hand on his head moves to cup his balls.
"God, I'm gonna cum."
You shake your head. "No, you aren't. Not until I say so." You roll his balls between your fingers delicately as you tug his cock faster.
"Fuck, please, Mommy." He cries.
"Please, Mommy, what?" You continue your assault on him, planting open-mouthed kisses along his back.
"Please, can I cum?" His hands fist the sheets on either side of your legs, knuckles white from the force.
"Hum.." You pretend to think. "Not yet, baby, want you to hold it."
He shakes his head, swishing around his face. "No, please, no. I'll do anything if you let me cum."
"Anything?" You grin.
"Yes, anything."
"Why don't you let Mommy use her strap? Hum?"
"God, yes." He moans loudly into the open air of the bedroom.
You smirk. "That’s the answer I was looking for." You give him a few more rapid strokes. “You may cum now.”
Eddie makes a choked noise from the back of his throat and in an instant, he is letting go. White ropes of cum cover your hand and create a mess on the front of his shirt and pants.
"That's a good boy, making a mess of my hand," you chuckle.
Bringing your covered hand to your mouth, you lick. "Mmm. You always taste so good."
Eddie’s body is slumped against yours as he comes down from his high. You struggle to push yourself out from under him. Once you have, you throw yourself over the edge of the mattress to rummage under the bed.
You breathe a satisfied huff when your fingers graze the box you were looking for.
Pulling it out, you open the lid to reveal the bright purple dildo nestled snugly in its strap ready to go. Lifting it out you looked at Eddie, who had pushed himself up the bed some and was watching closely.
"Are you ready, baby?" You ask.
Eddie nods, turning himself onto his stomach without having to be told.
Standing, you give his ass a good pat before pulling his sweatpants and boxers down his legs. "Such a good boy for Mommy, Eddie. After this I'll let you eat me out as a reward, how's that sound?"
"Sounds so good, Mommy."
It takes a moment for you to take your clothes off and secure the strap. As you do, Eddie also rids himself of his shirt, tossing it to the floor.
Standing behind him you reach for his hips, pushing him onto his knees. With his ass now up in the air, you nestled up to him. The tube of lube you had also grabbed from the box, presses into your leg before you grab it and squirt a generous amount onto your fingers.
A shiver runs up Eddie's spine at the cool feeling of the lube as you smooth it around his hole.
His whimpers were like music to your ears. The soft, almost quiet volume of them warmed your chest as you pushed a finger into him.
"Ah, fuck." He squeezes around your finger, burying his fists into the sheets.
“Feel good?” You ask as you gently pump your digit.
Eddie nods. His hair is hiding if face from you, reaching over him you brush the strands away. You’ve barely begun and his expression is just so fucked out. His brows furrow and his mouth is hanging open as he lets out silent moans.
You keep a slow and steady pace until he feels stretched out enough to add another finger. Your other hand traces lines up and down the expanse of his back. Goosebumps rise in the wake of the delicate touches.
Eddie lets out a desperate whine as he looks back at you. “Please- please, I need more, Mommy.”
Tilting your head and raising your eyebrows, you motion for him to go on.
He huffs into the sheets before speaking again. “Want your cock. Need it.”
You pull your fingers away from him and watch as his hole gapes slightly for you. “That’s just what I wanted to hear.”
Repositioning, you align the firm, silicone dildo to his entrance, taking the time to reapply the lube. Eddie rocks back on his knees slightly and as he does so, the tip of the toy glides over his waiting hole.
“Easy there, sweet boy. Don’t get too eager or I’ll stop.” Your hand stings as you give a sharp spank to his ass, emphasizing what you’ve said.
Eddie grunts, frustrated but settles with his back arching for you.
With gentle movements, you begin to push the lube-slicked toy into him. You imagine if you could feel him stretching around the fake cock, that he would be tight, squeezing the absolute life out of you as wanton moans erupt from him.
“Doin’ so good,” you praise. Eddie takes you easily enough as you slot yourself to the hilt in a matter of seconds.
Wasting no time, you grip his hips, holding him firmly as you start to thrust. Sweet, wet sounds begin to fill the room as you fuck your boyfriend. His whimpers accompany the rhythmic slapping sounds of skin on skin.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Eddie cries into the sheets below, body writhing.
You praise him gently, letting him know how well he’s doing for you, how good he is for taking your cock. Tracing your nails over his back, you feel him shudder. You begin to trail your hand down and around to his chest before reaching his wanting cock.
When you wrap your hand around his length, milking him, he tenses. “It’s alright Ed’s, Mommy’s got you.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not gonna last-” a breathless moan flies from his lips.
“Just a little longer, baby, be good for mommy and maybe she’ll give you a treat.” Your hips rut faster, in and out, in and out. Eddie’s moans are almost so loud you think the neighboring trailers will hear. But that’s okay, you want them to know how you make him feel, how he begs you for his release like the good boy he is.
Eddie arches his back and spreads his legs even wider, giving you a better angle to pound into him.
“Mommy,” he cries and you just shush him.
“Mommy- umph,” Eddie’s hand reaches back to hold the one you have still resting on his hip. With intertwined fingers lean over him and kiss his sweat-dampened skin.
Your tongue slips from between parched lips to taste the saltiness of him. You lick a long, wet stripe over his spine. “I want you to cum for me, baby. Can you be a good boy and do that for me?”
Eddie whines, high-pitched and long as his body tenses under your touch. Your hand tugs at his cock faster. You begin to trace your tongue along his neck, resting your lips against his smooth skin.
His breathing is ragged and his body trembling. His hips buck down into your hand before he’s thrusting himself back. Releasing a cry of pleasure as you bring him to the edge and then over.
You sit back on your knees, slowly removing yourself from him. Taking time to admire the mess you've made to your boyfriend, your eyes trace over the curve of his ass to the heaving of his chest. He looks delicious, so much so, you want to devour him again, but there will be time enough for that later.
Eddie slowly falls to one side, catching his breath. “That was so fucking good.”
You smile, all tooth and rosy-cheeked. “Was it?”
He leans closer to you, pulling you in for a kiss as he mummers, “Always is.”
The kiss is deep and slow, more passionate than what you had both just finished doing.
“When’s it gonna be my turn to fuck you like that?” He asks.
You push him away playfully. “Let's get you clean up and then we’ll talk.”
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson smut#joseph quinn#joseph quinn x reader#joseph quinn smut#stranger things x reader#stranger things smut#stranger things fic#female reader#sub eddie munson#dom reader
470 notes
·
View notes
Text
III ║ Edgestitch
Joel Miller x F!Reader
{ Part II: Threads | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }
Rating: M
Summary: You wear those jeans for Joel when you see him again at the baby shower at Tommy and Maria's - like he asked you to.
Warnings: Spicy thoughts but not explicit, sexual tension, sexual innuendos, flirting, mention of food and drink, some language, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!Joel, no use of Y/N
Word count: 7k
Notes: It's here! This one was a long and winding road as I mentioned in Behind the Seams, I'm so relieved and excited when it all finally clicked and fell into place! I'm absolutely blown away by the love you guys have shown Joel and Pin so far, thank you, there's no greater motivation for a writer ❤️ I hope you guys enjoy the chapter!
‘Damnit, Lucy,’ you mutter under your breath, this close to stamping your foot and pouting at the door that refuses to lock up.
Lucy may be your best friend, but you’re not blind to the fact that she literally cannot be trusted to get anything done around the shop. It’s been two weeks since she promised to get the locksmith to come in, but here you are on Friday evening, wrestling with the key that refuses to turn the last quarter of an inch in the faulty lock.
‘Hey, Pin!’
Glancing over your shoulder, you force a wane smile at Tommy, who has his hands full with a cardboard box at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Need some help?’
‘Yes, please,’ you reply sheepishly.
You nod at the bottles of wine that clink delicately against one another as he sets them down. ‘Getting ready for the party on Sunday?’
Tommy steps up to the door and wriggles the key left and right experimentally. ‘Yeah, you comin’, right?’
‘Yes, with Lucy.’
‘Good, the more the merrier!’ He makes a face at the door lock, which is not cooperating with him either. ‘You should get someone to look at it. Probably time for a new one.’
‘Lucy was supposed to get Andrew to fix it, but you know Luce.’
Tommy yanks the door knob backwards hard as he twists the key. There’s a grunt of metal, and a triumphant aha! when it finally turns, the internal mechanisms of the lock sliding into place with a satisfying click.
You nearly fall onto your knees in relief. ‘Thank you so much, Tommy. You’re a lifesaver.’
He grins and deposits the key in your waiting palm. ‘You can ask Joel for help, you know. He’s handy with this kind of stuff.’
You blink, blindsided by the seemingly random mention of his brother - but his dimpled smile tells you otherwise.
His brother, who was so solid and broad under you on the studio floor, just a few days ago. His brother, who you can still feel pressed between your thighs, in your bed in the dead of night. His brother, who has taken up residence in your mind, waking or otherwise, since he sauntered out of your shop with that infuriatingly attractive confidence when he asked you to to wear those jeans for him again on Sunday.
Joel has existed solely and safely in the parameters of your workspace for the past fortnight and a half, with only Lucy bearing witness to whatever it is between the two of you. Having to suddenly deal with any mention of him outside of it, especially with that knowing arch of Tommy’s eyebrow, has you completely flustered. It doesn’t help that his eyes are uncannily like Joel’s, a gorgeous deep brown, expressive and sharp, though the mischief sits a lot closer to the surface in the former’s.
Mercifully, your brain unscrambles long enough for you to reach the conclusion that of course, Joel must have told Tommy that he invited you and Lucy. It’s their party, after all. Surely, he doesn’t know anything else -
Or does he?
You’ve been quiet for too long to say anything about it now, so you clumsily change the subject, stumbling over your words. ‘I, uh - I was just wondering what I could bring on Sunday?’
Tommy graciously lets you off the hook. ‘We’re a bit short on sweets, actually, if you bake.’
You latch on to that gratefully. ‘I do - what kind of cake were you thinking?’
‘Do you make a carrot cake?’
You perk up. ‘It’s my favourite!’
He flashes you a cheeky grin. ‘What a funny coincidence, it’s Joel’s as well - the only way to get carrots in him.’
Your pulse spikes with adrenaline at the unexpected tidbit Tommy drops in your lap, and you greedily squirrel that little fact away, slowly colouring in the Joel-shaped space in your head.
With a wink, Tommy bends down to pick up the wine. ‘See you in a couple of days, Pin!’
At least you have the decency to wait until he turns the corner - once he does, you sprint across the road to the Jackson Grocer’s and clear out their stock of carrots for the day.
There are many things about Jackson that throw Joel.
The plentitude after years of rations. The safety, which comes off more jarring than comforting.
But most of all, it’s the sounds. The kettle on the boil and the pop of the toaster in the morning when Ellie gets ready for school. Friendly chatter on the high street. Laughter. It still makes him jump when he hears playful shrieks in the neighbourhood playground, blood rushing in his ears and sending him halfway across the house for his rifle before he remembers where he is.
Where he is not.
It was always loud in the QZ. Loudspeakers blaring, alarms wailing, the indistinct hum of conversation and radio through paper thin walls in the slums at all hours of the day. And he was always listening - for danger, for trouble, and everything in between.
And then all that noise had blown up, literally, with the State House. With Tess.
Joel finds it hard to remember those first few days after leaving Boston behind. Mostly the raw cuts on his knuckles that wouldn’t heal and the ring in his right ear from the explosion, lingering like a pesky fly.
But he knows it was Ellie who broke that silence first. And once that door was kicked down -
‘Fuck no, dude!’
His face snaps up and he scowls across the lawn, the stern reprimand rolling off his tongue like second nature. ‘Ellie!’
She’s sitting with her friends, crowded around her most prized possession of the moment, a boombox she found in the thrift shop a couple of months ago and begged him to buy and fix up for her.
Not that she needed to do much begging, he caved far too easily. It plays a bit wonky - the bass too heavy - still, it does the trick.
The teenagers around her cower immediately, but she defiantly stands her ground. ‘What?’
‘Watch your language,’ he barks, no real bite behind it.
She rolls her eyes so hard her head falls back, and he has to press his lips together to not smile.
It helps him sleep better at night seeing Ellie fit right in - at least one of them has. She doesn’t hate going to school half as much as she pretends to, the routine of homework and chores anchoring her to small town life. She’s even volunteered to help out at the farm, spending most afternoons in the stables with the horses.
There are times when he wonders to which extent all this is a coping mechanism. But well, at least she’s coping.
And while Joel still hasn’t made up his mind about Jackson, its townsfolk seem to have unilaterally made theirs up about him. The wary whispers and watchful stares have given way to cautious gestures of acknowledgement, some even bold enough to throw a good morning in his general direction as he walks down the street.
They nod at him now as they file into the garden party, still keeping their distance, but not as much as he would’ve liked.
The expectant parents have gone all out for the occasion. Several tables are lined up end to end in the middle of the garden, filling up with potluck dishes as guests arrive. Tommy lords over the barbeque, the brisket having been smoking since dawn, with chicken, bacon and homemade sausages sizzling on the grill. Maria is in her element, flitting from well wisher to well wisher with a protective hand over her rounded belly, making sure everyone has a drink and a loaded plate in hand.
Joel hovers in no man’s land, dodging the crowds and sipping on beer that has long gone flat, trying to remember the last time he celebrated anything.
Well, he supposes dinner parties at Bill and Frank’s count, as far and few in between as they were. Not that they ever celebrated anything specific, per se - they didn’t need a reason beyond the fact that they were all still alive and kicking. Bill, bless his soul, did make a mean roast, and Frank used to host with enough flair for forty instead of four. Tess had a black dress she stowed away at the back of her closet for these parties, and a red one that she saved for the really special occasions -
A strong hand on his back jolts him forward and out of his thoughts, spilling lukewarm beer over his fingers.
‘Havin’ a good time, brother?’ asks Tommy jovially, cheeks stretched with joy.
‘I was just now,’ he grunts pointedly.
Tommy grins. ‘Lighten up, man. Get drunk, be merry! You’re gonna be an uncle.’
‘Don’t try to butter me up. I ain’t babysittin’ for you.’
Thumping his chest in mock hurt, he asks, ‘What about all those times I babysat Sarah, man?’
Joel gives him a long-suffering side stare. ‘Please. You used to hire that college chick ‘cross the street to babysit whenever you were supposed to. Then you’d hit on her all night long.’
Tommy chuckles. ‘Damn, your mind’s in better shape than I give you credit for, old man.’
He can’t help a smile. ‘But for all your devious plans to get into her babysitter’s pants, Sarah did love her Uncle Tommy.’
He goes quiet for a beat and takes a sip of his beer, his eyes softening. ‘I think about that girl every single day, y’know.’
Joel nods, staring into his own beer, and it suddenly strikes him that he’s missed the shape of her name on his lips. ‘I know.’
Tommy nudges him on the shoulder. ‘I can only hope my kid will love their Uncle Joel just as much.’
Eventually, he harrumphs, ‘If they do - I’ll think about the babysittin’.’
Tommy chortles just as the backdoor to the porch swings open with a loud creak.
Joel spots you easily, trailing one step behind Lucy. You’re holding onto a cake on a round wooden board like a security blanket, shoulders tense and eyes wide at the noise of the festivities. Spotting Maria, Lucy bounds down the stairs, leaving you hesitating at the landing, and -
You’re wearing the jeans he asked you to.
Something primal swells in the cavity of his chest, between his ribs - a pride that is distinctly male.
Tommy shouts, ‘Pin! Over here!’
Joel shifts on his feet, swallowing thickly as you approach. If your shy smile is anything to go by, he’s not the only one feeling the nerves.
His brother gives you a careful hug around the cake and plants a kiss on your cheek. When he steps aside, Joel hesitates, uneasy with having an audience, his palms suddenly clammy with indecision.
Does he… hug you? He can count on three fingers who he’s hugged for the past twenty years, and he’s sorely out of practice. A kiss is an option, but the way his eyes dart to your mouth, it’s dangerous even entertaining that thought -
Tommy elbows him in the ribs and puts him out of his misery. ‘Why don’t you kids catch up, I think the brisket’s burnin’. Have fun tonight!’
Joel can feel the tip of his ears turning red as he stands there with his drink, one hand shoved in his back pocket, not knowing how to do this. How to entertain. Clearing his throat, he stammers, ‘Uh - can I get you a drink or somethin’?’
You give him a small smile, lips moving in an answer too quiet to reach him over the music. Rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, he admits, ‘Sorry, I can’t hear you. I’m uh - a bit deaf in my right ear.’
You look apologetic, speaking up, ‘I’m sorry - I didn’t know.’
With a shrug, he jokes, ‘It’s ok, I’m a bit broken all over.’
You pinch your lips, and he recoginses that face - he knows that you want to disagree with him. But you hold your tongue, skirting around him to his good ear, and he stoops to close the distance, even though he doesn’t need to.
Your breath brushes his ear. ‘I’d love a drink, but I want to put this cake away first.’
‘Yes, of course - sorry, don’t know where my manners went.’ He puts his unfinished beer away and takes the cake from you despite your protests. The potluck table is packed to the brim, so he gestures towards the house. ‘It might have to go into the kitchen for now.’
You follow him, side by side with one polite body width between you, past bands of neighbours and friends catching up, the fairy lights catching your eyes and the well-kept lawn crunching beneath your soles. Unsurprisingly, you feel the weight of curious stares on your back as you go - Joel is still very much a novelty around town. Neither of you speak until he holds open the backdoor for you to slip inside.
It’s quiet in the kitchen, the muted conversation outside a low hum through the double-glazed windows. The free-standing island is already chock full of all kinds of baked goods and pudding, and Joel has to move an actual jelly castle (which wriggles precariously) to free up space for your contribution.
Dusting his hands, Joel turns to you. ‘That carrot cake?’
You nod, keeping mum.
‘It’s my favourite.’
‘I know - Tommy told me,’ you confess with a bashful half-shrug.
His warm eyes crinkle at the corners. ‘Talkin’ about me behind my back, sweetheart?’
Your breath quickens at the sweetheart, and you wonder if the thrill of the nickname will ever wear thin. Emboldened, you tilt your head to one side and tease, ‘Why? You like the attention?’
A smirk on his lips, he steps into your space, the very proximity of him stealing the air from your lungs. ‘I might if you’re not careful.’
And there you are again - with nothing more than a dozen words exchanged and even more unsaid - on the brink of something, right where you left off on the workshop floor.
‘Wanna grab a bite to eat?’
Tucked away in an intimate corner of the back porch in a wicker chair, Joel surveys the party with a seriousness that is borderline comical.
The strategist in him clearly favours the higher ground the porch affords him so he can keep an eye on everyone and spot whoever approaches from a distance. His seat is an easy three steps to the door, an escape plan in his back pocket. For all his stillness, the intensity is unmistakable, if slightly out of place in a baby shower.
Two dirty plates licked clean are stacked on the coffee table between you, piled high with bones and leftover gravy, the delicious food sitting warm in your stomach.
‘They’re comin’ closer,’ Joel complains, taking a long gulp of his beer.
‘I guess they figure if I’m talking to you, it means that you don’t actually bite,’ you quip.
‘Will they back off if I make you cry?’
Your shoulders quake with a chuckle. ‘I think you’re too much of a gentleman to do that, Joel Miller.’
You’re taken aback by the flash of heat in his answering glance, as if there’s something he wants to say. But then, he changes his mind and leans back in his chair, one palm resting on his spread thighs, and he nods towards a couple standing close to the barbeque.
‘Who’s that over there? He lives on my street.’
‘That’s Andrew. He owns the only hot tub in Jackson.’
Joel splutters, ‘A hot tub?’
‘To be fair, it came with his house, but he managed to connect it to the water a few months ago.’
He snorts. ‘Not very communist of him to divert public resources for a private hot tub.’
‘Let’s just say Jackson is a commune with American characteristics,’ you say diplomatically.
He arches an eyebrow at you. ‘A cynic, sweetheart?’
You reply matter-of-factly, ‘We all know how communism ended.’
Fuck. He takes a swig of his beer and swallows hard. A woman after his own heart.
‘You want to keep him on your good side though. He’s really handy with electrics and the like.’
He shrugs. ‘So am I.’
You turn to him, surprised. ‘Oh?’
‘I was a contractor in another life.’
He notices your attention flicker to his hands, before you catch yourself and look away bashfully. ‘That’s good to know.’
‘You need things fixed?’ he asks, and promptly wants to kick himself for sounding so hopeful to be of service.
‘Here and there,’ you say with a dismissive wave. ‘It’s not important. It’ll hold up.’
He runs his tongue over his bottom lip thoughtfully. You have to work on asking for things, but it’s ok - he doesn’t push you. He files that away for later.
Glancing across the yard, he catches Ellie’s eye, who’s arching an inquisitive eyebrow and pointing straight at you with all the subtlety of a flying brick. He knows he should probably introduce you at some point, but he’s not ready to share your attention with someone else just yet, let alone the nosy teenage loudmouth.
Joel gives her a firm shake of the head, to which she responds with a disgruntled I’m watching you gesture.
Ignoring her for now - and knowing that he’ll pay for it later - he asks you, ‘And who’s that in the red dress?’
You crane your neck until you spot her. ‘Ah, that’s Patricia. She’s the dance teacher down at the school.’
‘Why’s she starin’ at me?’ he mutters.
You shoot him an amused grin. ‘Why, it looks like you’ve caught the fancy of our local femme fatale.’
He scoffs. ‘Should I be worried?’
‘Well, she’s been married and divorced three times since she arrived,’ you answer with a straight face. ‘The last one just disappeared. Never found his body.’
Joel stares at you in stunned silence, until you let out a poorly contained giggle. He grumbles, ‘Havin’ fun pullin’ my leg, sweetheart?’
‘Just a bit,’ you tease.
‘I liked you better when you were shy,’ he ribs.
You shrug. ‘Too late. You don’t scare me anymore.’
Glancing the other way, Joel sits up in alarm at the flutter of crimson fabric. ‘Shit, I think she’s comin’ this way.’
‘Time for carrot cake?’ you prompt.
He’s out of his chair quicker than you’d expect his knees would allow him to. ‘Let’s go, sweetheart.’
The state of the kitchen island stops you in your tracks, while Joel lets out a low whistle behind you. ‘Jackson really turned out for this party, huh?’
‘Well, your brother and sister-in-law are pretty popular around town,’ you quip.
You didn’t think it was possible, but every square inch of the kitchen island is now jam-packed with sugary confections, stacked on top of one another.
‘I can’t even find the bloody cake,’ you laugh, literally searching high and low as you skirt the parameter.
On the other side of the island, Joel tosses a dry good luck in your direction and puts the dirty plates and cutlery that he brought in into the sink with a clatter, turning on the hot water. You stutter to a stop opposite him, gawking at how his broad shoulders fill the frame of the window that sits in front of the sink, before your gaze inadvertently trails south - over the nip of his waist and the hem of his shirt skirting the back pockets of his jeans. You find yourself wishing he’d tucked the tails in.
Rooted to the spot, you watch him unbutton the cuffs on his flannel shirt and push up the sleeves to the crease of his elbows, baring his strong forearms. Your mouth goes dry despite the wine you’ve been sipping on all evening, peering at the sinewy muscles flexing and straining as he lathers the plates with an offhand familiarity, his thick fingers dwarfing the sponge in as he works the grease stains.
Making quick but thorough work of the washing up, Joel dries the plates and then runs the tea towel over his big hands and wrists, catching you staring as he turns around. If he knows you’ve been watching all along, he lets it slide. Tossing the towel to one side, heat prickles under your cheeks when he sidles up to you with the clean plates.
The sight of this man doing something as mundane as dishes really shouldn’t get you this hot and bothered.
‘Is that cream cheese?’ he asks conversationally with a nod at your cake, which you have found sitting on top of a tall plastic caddy, a chocolate cake inside.
Having to consciously unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, you’re surprised your voice doesn’t shake. ‘It’s not carrot cake without it.’
‘Where did you get the cream cheese? Never seen any ‘round town.’
Almost bashful, you admit, ‘I made it.’
His eyebrows shoot up. ‘You made cream cheese? How?’
‘It’s not that big a deal. It’s just milk, lemon and salt,’ you say, trying to downplay it. Your arms are definitely not aching from the hours of straining and beating and whipping.
‘And the walnuts?’ he asks.
‘Someone I know grows it,’ you say vaguely.
Joel hums doubtfully. ‘Ain’t seen any walnut trees in town.’
Biting your bottom lip, you can pinpoint the exact moment he figures it out, brows drawing together in a frown. ‘The only ones I’ve seen are outside the walls, ‘round the north side of the gates.’
Knowing for a fact that you’re a terrible liar, you don’t even try. You choose to ignore him, idly smoothing the frosting on top with a clean knife, trying not to flinch at the weight of his gaze on you.
‘Sweetheart, please tell me you didn’t go outside just to get walnuts for me.’
‘Not for you,’ you shoot back unconvincingly, flustered. ‘I made the cake for Tommy and Maria.’
Lies. You know it. He knows it.
His shoulders stiffen, the fabric of his shirt bunching with the movement. ‘You can’t just go outside like that, y’know, there could be infected ‘round -’
‘Joel, I’ve been living here for years, I know what I’m doing,’ you argue huffily, not expecting a lecture, of all things. ‘I’m not stupid.’
He shakes his head. ‘Ain’t what I’m sayin’, Pin -’
‘Just leave it, ok?’ you reply sharply and, signalling an end to the conversation, you slice into the cake with an aggressive stab - not noticing that it is hanging over the edge of the caddy below.
You squeak when it flips unceremoniously, and on pure impulse, you pitch forward to stop its upward trajectory, meeting it mid-air with an ominous splat.
‘Fuck!’
To his credit, Joel barely skips a beat, quickly but calmly grabbing hold of the cake board and pulling it off you, setting it down on the counter, while you gape in dismay at the damage done.
The side of the cake that made contact with you is smushed in, most of the thick frosting now painted all over your front, from your neck down to the lovely, thin cashmere top that Lucy picked out for you for the party.
You really hope there’s a big guy up there watching, because someone might as well enjoy this mortifying brand of comedy you keep dishing out around this man.
Two seconds more, and you’re pretty sure you would’ve burst into tears for lack of knowing what else to do - but without another word, Joel takes the lead, wrapping a firm hand around your wrist and pulling you out of the kitchen.
You gratefully let him.
It’s none of your business really, but it comforts you that Joel’s obviously here often enough to know his way around the house.
You glance around the dimly lit room where he deposited you on the edge of a neatly made bed, water trickling in the adjoining ensuite. When he returns, he has a small, wet towel in his hands. Towering over you, the low lights don’t quite reach his face, but you can see the way his gaze slips downwards, carefully, as if he’s afraid to startle you.
But he doesn’t - not even when he slides the crook of his fingers under your chin, tilting your face up and opening up your throat.
His lips twitch wryly. ‘What a waste of perfectly good cream cheese.’
Despite yourself, a laugh escapes you at the absurdity of the situation. ‘Must something always go wrong whenever we’re in the same room?’
The corner of his mouth teases a smile. ‘Never a dull moment with you, sweetheart.’
You smile back, but it falters when his eyes burn in a quiet but unmistakable smoulder.
‘May I?’
You’re not even sure what he’s asking. But he can ask you anything in that raspy, low baritone, and there will always only be one answer.
At your nod, Joel drags the tip of his index finger down the column of your neck, and your lips part when it glides over your windpipe - pressing just hard enough for you to feel the pressure - collecting the velvety frosting as it goes.
Then, holding your eyes, he sucks the cream cheese off his fingertip, a hum deep in his throat. ‘Delicious, sweetheart.’
You’re sitting down, but somehow, you still feel your knees give way at how he smacks his lips at the sugary aftertaste.
He looms closer, bending at the waist and for one moment of madness, you think he might lean down and lick your neck clean.
At the prospect of those plush lips and the burn of his silvered, patchy beard on your skin, your head tilts further back invitingly. His pupils dilate and his nostrils flare, like he’s picking up on what you’re thinking, and his eyes dip to your mouth.
But he doesn’t.
You don’t even have time to be disappointed before Joel carefully gets down on one knee in front of you, one palm landing on the mattress next to your hip for balance. Knowing the state of his joints, you want to ask if he needs a pillow, but instead of your mouth, it’s your thighs that part to make room for him. His chest keeps them splayed open, and you can feel the steady rise and fall of his ribcage with each breath through the denim.
You try to focus on your own breathing as Joel presses the wet towel to your skin and mops up the sticky mess, his face set seriously as he cleans you up inch by inch. But all you can think about is how you can feel the imprint of his fingers through the thin fabric, and how the span of his hand can easily fit over the column of your throat -
You don’t realise you’re leaning into him until he draws back when he’s done, and you tip forward, chasing his touch. His knee groans as he stands up to his full height, and he nods towards the bathroom with a wait here in his eyes.
The water is scalding as Joel washes out the frosting from the towel, but he keeps his hands under the tap, longer than he needs to. Wringing it dry, he takes a moment, wet palms gripping the cold porcelain edge of the bathroom sink, shoulders hunched over as he tells himself to calm the fuck down.
Except, he is calm. He’s held back, even when you looked at him with such straightforward, honest want that has him grinding his teeth.
Thing is, he knows you would’ve let him nudge you backwards into the mattress and crowd you between his arms, switching places the two of you were in under your sewing desk in the workshop.
He knows you would’ve let him wrap your legs around his hips, sliding his palms up the back of your thighs in those skin tight jeans - the sight of which is enough to make his head spin - and he knows you would’ve let him nip, suck, lick the tangy buttercream off your very neck.
Not only would you have let him - you would’ve trusted him to do all those things to you.
That last realisation awakens something he’s not so sure he has a handle on. But he knows for a fact that with the whole of Jackson milling about downstairs, in the middle of his brother’s baby shower, is neither the place nor the time.
You’re where he left you when he steps back into the bedroom, your palms planted on the bed, your shoulders relaxed. The neckline of your blouse gapes loosely, teasing the soft skin of your cleavage.
Joel breaks the loaded silence with a bit of common sense. ‘You best get that top off and soak it in the bath before the stains really set in, sweetheart.’
You bite your lip hesitantly. ‘I - I don’t have anything to change into.’
‘You can have my shirt,’ he offers.
You sit up, attention piqued, when his hands move to the top of his flannel, thick fingers sliding each button out of the holes one by one. You know he’s just taking off his shirt, but you can’t help the way your jaw goes slack, watching shamelessly, the comforter twisting in your grip as you scrabble for something to hold onto.
Joel doesn’t understand why you’re looking at him like that, but it’s so flattering to watch you watch him, eyes hooded and your tongue darting out to wet your bottom lip, like he’s giving you a fucking strip tease or something.
Goddamn if it doesn’t go straight to his head.
A white undervest comes into view, inch by inch, as the shirt falls open, the thin fabric pulled taut at the seams over the broad stretch of his chest. When the last button is undone, he shrugs the shirt off with a smooth roll of his arms, and your jaw drops.
The undervest barely contains the bulk of him, and you’ll be damned if you know where to look first - the lean, solid line of his arms, or the effortless ripple of muscle in his shoulders - but it’s lower where your attention makes landing, and it takes you a second to realise why.
He’s not sucking in his tummy.
The swell of his abdomen sits above the top of his jeans, where the vest is neatly tucked in. You remember too well the brush of that soft strip of skin against the back of your hands when you were on your knees, cutting him out of his jeans; and then beneath you, straddling him under the sewing table.
While there’s an undercurrent of self-consciousness in the way he holds himself, conspicuously missing is the self-deprecation that drew your ire the day he walked into your shop with a broken zipper. A tentative confidence has taken its place, which is at the same time so endearingly vulnerable, as if your reaction to the little show he gave you just now isn’t enough to assure him of what you’re thinking.
Your fingers twitch, yearning to reach out and tug him in by the front of his jeans, to untuck that vest and push it up and off. You want to snake your hands around his waist, hold him to you by the small of his back, and starting with his tummy, kiss your way across the soft belly - maybe with a cheeky scrape of teeth - up to his firm chest, his strong neck and to his lips.
Or maybe, the calling southwards will win out. You’ll push him back to make room for yourself at his feet, nudging your way down his front with your nose, breathe him in, your hands finding his belt buckle and tugging it out of the loops instead. Never mind you've lost count of how many years it's been since you've wanted to do that, or if you remember how at all -
‘Pin.’
Your whole body jolts backwards when his voice pierces through your addled haze, low and raspy, snapping out of your sordid stupor almost grumpily - how rude of him to interrupt? - only to find him peering down at you with a lopsided smile.
‘Get changed, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.’
Leaving your top to soak in the sink, you pad back into the bedroom in just your bra, and you stare down at his shirt laid out neatly on top of the bed.
You press your palm over where his heart would be, the flannel still warm. For one indulgent moment, you pick up the shirt and hug it to you. It smells like him - the outdoors, a crisp spring day, with a whiff of the barbeque smoke from downstairs. You bury your nose into the soft fabric, eyes closed, imagining the weight and shape of him in it.
Even as you put your arms through the sleeves to button it up, you already know it will be hard giving it back. You leave the last three buttons undone and you’ve just tied up the too-long ends in a double knot when there’s a polite but firm knock on the door.
‘You decent?’
‘Yes.’
You hope your face doesn’t fall too obviously at the sight of Joel wearing a shirt again, probably one borrowed from Tommy. He leaves it unbuttoned though, which is small consolation. The air hums between you with stolen glances and words unsaid.
‘You wore those jeans for me,’ he says suddenly.
The for me rolls off his tongue coated in his delectable Southern drawl and a heady satisfaction.
You decide to be brave and shrug one shoulder in a show of attitude. ‘It was the only thing I didn’t have in the wash.’
His grin makes your heart swell. Stepping out of the open doorway, his eyes trailing heat where they linger over you, he says, ‘You look good in my shirt, sweetheart. Real good.’
You bite your lower lip at the compliment, replying shyly, ‘I like this look on you too.’
‘Used to be Tommy’s uniform during our contractor days,’ he reminiscences. ‘I’m just missing the utility belt.’
Oh. You actually find it offensive that the fleeting mention of something as banal as a utility belt should get you going like this. You try to palm off a non-committal hum, but your body betrays you with a strangled choking sound that gives you away.
Joel arches an eyebrow and closes the gap between you with three long, deliberate steps, one finger skimming where his shirt meets the waistband of your jeans. He teases with a smirk, ‘What’s that, sweetheart? This contractor look doin’ somethin’ for you?’
Your cheeks grow hot as both his palms latch boldly onto your hips, and you swear you can feel the burn of his fingertips through the denim, a moan gargling in your throat as your ability to form words abandons you.
‘That a yes?’ he prompts, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops in your jeans and tugging your body flush against his, his stubbled chin brushing the sensitive crook of your neck as he speaks into your ear.
‘Joel,’ you whine, which is the best you can do right now, grabbing onto the open flaps of his shirt just to stay upright.
You feel the rumble that goes through his chest under your palms when he purrs, smiling down at you, head cocked to one side with a playful condescension that’s going to be the end of you. ‘Yes, Pin?’
Your mouth opens, but you’ll never get to find out what you intended to say, because you hear it first - his right ear is to the door - the thunder of rubber soles on the stairs, and you're lucky you manage to stumble two steps back before a deafening (no pun intended), drawn-out call of his name follows.
‘JOOOOOOELLLL!’
Ellie crashes into the doorway with all the grace of a bull in a china shop, slightly out of breath like she’s been running all over the place searching for him, already in the middle of a sentence, as usual.
‘- also Maria says they’re doing a speech now and you’re not getting out of -’ she breaks off abruptly when she spots you, eyes wide and brows - all one and a half of them - reaching for her hairline. ‘Oh shiiiiiit.’
Running a tired hand down his face, Joel’s sigh sounds a lot like surrender. ‘Ellie, this is Pin. Pin, I’m sorry.’
You bite your lip to hold back a laugh at the resignation in his tone as the teenager wrinkles her nose. ‘Pin? That’s a weird name.’
‘Ellie!’
You smile. ‘It’s ok. Pin's just my nickname. I’m a seamstress at the Main Street Outfitters.’
Her face lights up excitedly, an open book if you’ve ever seen one. ‘No shit! I’ve been bugging Joel for a leather jacket for ages. Can I get one?’
‘Please,’ he interjects.
Ellie tucks in her chin and juts out her bottom lip at you. ‘Please?’
You demur. ‘Well, it depends on what you can trade in for it.’
‘My boombox!’ she volunteers without skipping a beat.
Joel scoffs. ‘Good to know those three weeks fixing that piece of junk for you was time well spent.'
‘Sorry, man, but I can’t wear a boombox can I?’ she argues.
Giving Joel an amused look, you come to his rescue. ‘I’m sorry, Ellie, but we only take clothes in exchange.’ At the way she deflates, you counteroffer, ‘Or, you can come work at the shop on Saturdays for the next couple of months. Lucy always needs help out front, and you get a staff discount.’
He turns to you, protesting, ‘That’s very kind, but it ain’t necessary -’
Ellie cuts in, rushing up to you to shake your hand before you can take it back. ‘Deal! When can I start?’
‘There’s no rush,’ you reply with a chuckle. ‘I’ll get back to you next week.’
Stepping back, Ellie winks, ‘So - let’s put a pin in it for now?’
Joel groans at the terrible pun. ‘Get outta here!’
She cackles, firing triumphant finger guns at you as she retreats. ‘What? Pin liked it, she laughed! You’re no fun old man!’
She then pauses by the door, her eyes narrowing as she zeroes in on something smeared on your jeans. ‘Wait - what’s that white stuff on your leg?’
‘It’s cream cheese, you little shit!’ Joel snaps as your ears burn in embarrassment. ‘Out!’
She scampers out of sight, but then reverses into view, sneakers squeaking. ‘ - Are you wearing Joel’s shirt?’
‘ELLIE!’
She throws her hands up. ‘Alright, I’m gone, I’m gone! See ya Pin!’
Joel is the very picture of an embarrassed dad, rubbing the back of his neck with a wince. ‘Sorry, she’s a handful.’
You grin, ‘She’s just a teenager.’
‘You can say that again.’
The quiet seems louder after Ellie, and you restlessly pick at the sleeves. Lifting your eyes shyly, it seems the moment has passed - but Joel has other ideas.
‘C’mere,’ he hums, drawing you close again with one hand on your waist, peering down at you through his lashes. ‘This ok?’
At your nod, he brushes his thumb on your bottom lip, catching the soft plump skin, and your tongue darts out to taste him, his eyes darkening.
‘Can I kiss you, sweetheart?’ he asks, voice hoarse.
It’s been years. Years since anyone has cared enough to kiss you, let alone cared enough to ask if they could. And it’s as if he knows - you don’t know if you’ve somehow given it away, or maybe it’s just him.
‘Yes, Joel.’
He coaxes you closer so that you’re pressed along the whole length of him. His big palms are warm and solid on the small of your back, holding you to him like he intends for you to have trouble standing after he’s done with you.
The tip of his nose bumps into your cheek, nudging its way across and down, and your eyes slide shut when his shaky exhale grazes your gently parted mouth. Your breath hitches at the sweet burn of his beard on your jaw, fingers grabbing onto the scruff of his neck when he finally, finally brushes his lips against yours.
For a man as hardened as Joel Miller, he sure kisses soft. He steals a whimper straight from your throat with nothing more than the clever angling of his lips, the slow drag of tongue on tongue, and a growl deep in his windpipe that you answer with your own moan.
You don’t even have the presence of mind to be embarrassed when your shins knock into his, breaking the kiss with a laugh as Joel hauls you up into his chest, looking very much pleased that he’s literally made your knees buckle.
‘Sorry,’ you squeak, beaming despite yourself.
‘You really know how to flatter a guy, sweetheart,’ he answers, his voice warming you like a smokey campfire, steadying by his hands on your hips.
‘We should probably go before Ellie comes back for us,’ you say reluctantly.
Joel huffs, ‘Ain’t gonna hear the end of it if she does.’
‘Something tells me you won’t be hearing the end of it tonight anyway,’ you tease.
He chucks you gently under the chin, his eyes soft. ‘Let’s go, sweetheart.’
‘You’ve made yourself scarce,’ remarks Lucy as she ambles up to you with a glass of wine running low. ‘Where you been, hon?’
‘Had some trouble with the cake,’ you answer vaguely.
‘Sure,’ she winks at you, unconvinced. ‘If we’re calling him that.’
Right on cue, Joel strides across the lawn with three plates to join you. ‘Thought you might want some of Pin’s carrot cake.’
‘Such a gentleman, Joel Miller,’ chirps Lucy, making what can only be described as a 'thirst face' at you when his back is turned to her.
‘Thanks, Joel,’ you smile at him, letting your fingers graze his deliberately when you take the plate from him.
Saluting you with a forkful of cake, he says, ‘Thank you for bakin’, sweetheart.’
You watch as his lips close around the fork, dragging the cake clean off the slots, cream cheese smearing the corner of his mouth. He frowns, as if in deep pain as he chews, Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows.
‘Okay?’ you ask nervously, your slice still untouched.
‘Perfect,’ he declares, already having a second, bigger bite. Knowing he doesn’t have a superfluous bone in his body, your chest warms at his words.
‘Wait a second,’ Lucy interrupts, bringing up her plate to inspect it closely. ‘Why does the cake look all wonky?’
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about, Luce,’ you answer coolly, taking a bite yourself.
Humming around a mouthful of moist crumb, the sweet carrot balanced out by the tangy frosting, you meet Joel’s eyes in the soft glow of fairy lights, and he flashes you a conspiratorial smile that makes you grin.
More notes: On Ellie - I was so so nervous about writing our resident teenage badass. I hope I've done her justice, I certainly had a lot of fun writing her introduction to Pin! If you're interested in a detailed deep dive into my process writing this chapter, I do recommend you read the Behind the Seams for this part ❤️
I also went back and forth on the tone and style of this chapter a lot. I wasn’t happy with the way it read, probably still not 100% happy. I like the way Seams and Threads were written better, but the fact is that this chapter is a very different setting and narrative compared to the first two, so I’m trying to be too hard on myself.
So, I have some ideas for where the story will go from here, but nothing concrete. As I've mentioned, I see this fic as more of a loose-fit series, so there's no overarching plot per se, but there's definitely a lot of room for future episodes of these two - I mean, they haven't even done the deed yet 😉
Comments, asks and reblogs are greatly appreciated as always! Thank you so much for reading, I'm so excited to hear what you guys thought of this chapter 😘
#fuckyeahseams#seams iii#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x fem!reader#joel miller imagine#tlou fanfiction#the last of us fanfiction#pedro pascal character fic
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
Omg just because I feel like Carlos looks so grumpy but is sunshine inside
Mafia Carlos and you have been arrange married and he usually keeps his distance from you but one day you end up seeing him kill someone or see one of his men doing smth spooky and it scares you and he comforts you 🥹🥹
A/N: Fuck off, I love this
He was always so sweet to you, he was a little shy when it came to you but he was nothing but kind. After your marriage night, he slept on the couch in your shared room, he didn't want to force anything on you. He refused to be that man.
He made you pancakes and you just sat and watched him. You could tell he was watching your movements waiting for the moment you'd flinch of something, but never did. Honestly you craved his touch, he was warm and just seemed like he'd be great to cuddle with.
It made you smile behind your coffee and it's one of your favorite memories with him.
It's been four years of marriage and you two have slept together once in a while, and he started to sleep in the shared bed. It was slow strids and honestly you'd wait an eternity for him. He made you laugh, and taught you how to make his pancakes when you miss him, while he's gone for buisness trips.
"Carlos?" You roll over in bed, snuggling closer into his chest which has him humming. You giggle hearing his groggy voice as you place with his chest hairs. Something you started to do and noticed he loved, but he'd never admit that. "What's wrong amor?" His sleep tumbled voice making you warm. "One of your men called, needs you downstairs." You whisper his arms going tighter around you.
"Do they now?" He asks but doesn't even budge to get out of the bed. Not wanting to leave you in the bed. "Yes," Neither of you move out of the bed until loud knocking on your bedroom door has Carlos sighing. "I have to get up, amor," You whine, but remove your arms to allow him to get out of bed. You watch as your husband gets up and slides on some sweatpants.
He leans over his empty spot and place two kisses. One on your lips and the other on your wedding ring. "Be back," He whispers, and you nod.
You don't know how long time had passed, but you hear loud noises that has your body shocking you awake. "What the hell," You whisper, pulling at one of Carlos's shirts on and tiptoeing out of the bedroom. You hear the sound of angry Spanish be thrown around.
You were learning the language, but still had some trouble and with them speaking so fast it was even harder to understand it. You step halfway down the stairs and stop, seeing your husband and his men. You watch from the shadows as Carlos yells, something you've never seen from your goofy, soft-hearted husband.
You cover your mouth as you watch as he continues to yell and stops. Your heart stops as the sound of gunfire fills the house, and soon your scream. You don't wait to see the complete horror on Carlos's face hearing your scream as you slip and fall up the stairs and slamming the bedroom door.
"Fuck," He sighs and hands off the gun wiping the gunpowder off his hands. "Clean this up, and be gone in a hour." Carlos moves up the stairs and to your shared bedroom.
You hide in the closet, for some unusual reason you hide among Carlos's clothes, Carlos who loved making pancakes, who played with puppies, Carlos who was so sweet with babies it made you think of having a couple of your own.
The closet door opens and you tense until you see Carlos sit down slowly in front of you. "Amor, you know this is my job." He whispers, getting to your height. "It's different, seeing you actually do...that." You whisper hiding your face, Carlos moves closer to you where your knees touch.
"I'd never hurt you like that, you know that, yes? I would never allow someone to do that to you, with me around. I'd.....I'd handle it if they ever did." He whispers trying to comfort you somehow.
"I don't like it in the house," You whisper moving and placing your head on his shoulder. "Then it'll never happen in the house again," He promises meaning every word. "And, I don't want the kids around it either," Carlos can't help but smile, quickly masking it because he wanted nothing more than to have children with the woman he loves.
"Deal, now, come to bed." He whispers and you nod, but neither of you move, just basking in each other's silence in the closet.
#f1#formula 1#f1 fandom#formula one#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 x y/n#f1 scenario#f1 fluff#f1 angst#mafia!f1#f1!mafia#f1 blurb#f1 oneshot#carlos sainz jr#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz imagine#carlos sainz x you#carlos sainz fluff#carlos sainz x y/n#carlos sainz x female reader#carlos sainz blurb#carlos sainz oneshot#carlos sainz jr x reader#carlos sainz jr imagine#carlos sainz jr x you#carlos sainz jr fanfic#carlos sainz jr angst#cs55#cs55 x reader
901 notes
·
View notes
Text
do any of you understand how much this cg haunts me. back straight you walk down the stairs with your shoulders tight, poised perfect like the bride you know you’ll never be. careful or you’ll fall. hand on the banister you walk down the stairs and meet his eyes for the first time in almost ten years and you can tell he doesn’t recognize you, and you almost don’t recognize him, but he still has that gap between his two front teeth, that mole under his eye, that scar on his left knee. probably. aoi was the one who took him. he didn’t trust you to do it. said you wouldn’t be able to hurt him and he was probably right. chest hurting you walk down the stairs and you stop, and you wish you didn’t have to leave again, and you wish you could fall down at his feet and say i’m sorry, junpei, i’m sorry i left you, i’m sorry i have to leave you again, i’m sorry and i love you and because i love you sometimes i wish i’d never asked to sit with you that day during lunch, it’s only that you were always alone, too, and i just thought maybe you would be the one who didn’t get scared by my eyebags, the way my skin drew tight around my bones. i’m sorry i was so unsightly, it’s just that my brother quit school by the time he was twelve, worked three jobs by fifteen, you know he can’t even do long division? his fists are his only problem-solver, and i know that’s not my fault, but a lot of the time it feels like it is. that’s true for many things. that day on the boat i cracked my head (just like you) so hard i saw stars and i saw a lot of other things, too, and i know you’ll be scared, junpei. i know you’ll be lonely. i know you’ll love other people and maybe it’s cruel for me to feel jealous over that. i wish i could stay, but it’s hard when i know exactly what will happen if i do. junpei, isn’t it sad? isn’t it tragic, the way infinite histories stretch out ahead of us, but i can’t love you in this one, or the next, or the next. we’ll spend our lives missing each other, junpei, and one day we’ll meet again and you’ll realize i’m not that same little girl by the rabbit hutch anymore, and on that day you’ll stop loving me the way i need you to. but i owe my life to your love, junpei. sometimes i wish that i didn’t have to fight so much harder than everybody else to keep it. sometimes i wish that the world was kinder. sometimes i wish that i hadn’t met you at all.
#gusy…watchwd my friend play the beginning….this cg…..she knows everything……………#akane kurashiki#junpei tenmyouji#junepei#zero escape#myne
522 notes
·
View notes
Note
LUCY BESTIE I GOT A FIC IDEA THE READER ABSOLUTELY JAW DROPPED SHOCKED LIKE REALLY REALLY SHOCKED WHEN SHE SEES MATTHEO TAKE HIS SHIRT OFF AND SHES HIS ABS, ARM VIENS, HANDS- AND SHE FOLDS LIKE A TACO-
Red Wine
Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x fem!reader
Warnings: cursing, kissing lmk if there are anymore
Summary: where your best friend, Pansy, "accidentally" spills wine on Mattheo at a Slytherin Party and volunteers you to help him clean up.
Hope this is to your liking 💕
Reader is Slytherin x the divider is by @firefly-graphics xx check them out for more!! This is their post with the dividers x
You entered the Great Hall and walked up to the Slytherin table. The table was filled with chatters about the Slytherin Party happening this very evening. Your head was kinda hurting so you decided not to go. Until...
"Y/n darling! You can't turn down an invitation to a party! Especially not a Slytherin one!" Pansy said appalled at your decision as you sat in your dorm.
"Pansy my head is throbbing." You replied trying to convince her.
"No way. You are going to that party. Mattheo will be there! And I know how much you like him." Pansy said far too loud.
"Louder Pansy. I don't think they heard you over at the boys dorms." You said irritated at the fact that she spilled your secret.
"Sorry." She muttered slightly taken aback. "Please come! I promise I'll make it worth you while."
"Ok fine. Wait what do you mean?" You asked.
"You'll see." She smirked to herself.
You got into a green body fitting dress, exaggerating your curves. You had to admit you looked stunning. You paired it with black heels that Pansy let you borrow and silver snake earrings as well as a necklace. You had your hair in a bun with a few strands out at the front which you curled.
"Wow! Darling you look amazing!" Pansy said as she saw you all ready.
"Thanks!" You replied smiling at her.
As you and Pansy walked down the stairs, your friends stared at you in shock. One of them being Mattheo.
Pansy was daring so her response didn't shock you.
"I know we're hot but you might want to close your mouth before your jaw falls off." She said making you chuckle and lightly smack her arm.
"Pansy!" You exclaimed as you giggled.
"You look nice." Mattheo complemented you.
"just nice?" You joked.
"I mean, very nice. Like gorgeous i-" Mattheo said flustered.
"I'm joking. You don't look too bad yourself. Turns out you clean up way better than I expected.". You cut him off before he had a crisis. He softly smiled at you as you noticed he was... blushing?
You and your friends sat in the back corner of the room as you usually did. None of you were heavily into the dancing and the lights. You were just there for the alcohol.
You and Pansy went to grab drinks. Pansy got red wine which you found weird since she never was fond of it.
"I didn't know you liked red wine." You said.
"Does the job." She replied.
"Wh-" you began.
"Careful, your drinks gonna fall!" Pansy exclaimed as she saw you tilting your glass unconciously.
"Oh shit! Thanks." You replied.
You walked back to the table where your friends were sat. You saw Pansy pull a face as she gulped down the wine. You sat down next to Mattheo. As she went to take the seat next to you, she tripped due to the table leg and spilled her red wine all over Mattheo's white suit.
"Oh my god! I'm so sorry!" Pansy exclaimed.
Mattheo took a deep breath before responding.
"It's fine." He muttered. "Unfortunately all my white shirts have just been washed so I don't have any spare."
You stared at Pansy in disbelief refusing to believe it was an accident. You saw right through her little facade. Pansy gave you a look to say something, but in that moment you had no idea what to say.
"Y/n has some spare oversized shirts she could lend you?" Pansy suggested. "Don't you y/n?" She nudged.
"Uh... yeah yeah! I have some spare oversized shirts, if you can just follow me to my dorm." You said realising Pansy's endeavour.
"No it's fine I don't want to bother you." Mattheo replied.
"Don't worry about it!" You said. Mattheo gave in and followed you to your dorm.
You took a towel and wiped off the red wine before reaching in to your cupboard and grabbing the shirt.
As you turned around you saw Mattheo unbuttoning his shirt and your jaw dropped. You almost dropped the shirt in your hands on the floor.
His abs, his arms and his hands were perfect. He was perfect.
"I know I'm hot but you might want to close your mouth before your jaw falls off." Mattheo repeated Pansy's exact words, smirking as he did so.
"Sorry I- I should probably turn around." You said flustered.
"No, I don't mind. Unless you do, that is?" Mattheo questioned.
"Looking at those abs? Fuck no, I don't." You said half joking as you turned around still blushing. He chuckled.
When Mattheo was fully dressed you suggested that you both go down back to the party before anyone got suspicious.
"Will they be wrong?" He asked.
"What do you-" you started. Before you could finish your sentence his lips were on yours. The moment was surreal and you wished it would last forever.
Fucking Pansy and her red wine.
#harry potter#harry potter imagine#mattheo riddle fluff#mattheo x reader#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheoxreader#mattheo riddle#mattheo x y/n#mattheo x you#mattheo riddle x y/n#mattheo riddle x you#deadly class imagine#deadly class#marcus lopez imagine#marcus lopez x reader#marcus lopez arguello#marcus lopez x you#marcus lopez x y/n
2K notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
flowersarefreetherapy
Which These Bois Are Gonna Need
horror-movie-conjuring3-thai-sub
[^คนเรียกผี 3^] หนังเต็มเส
sophieandmaddie
Diáspora Latina en La Ciudad de Nueva York
akstzs
:]
rishabhkumarmusic-blog
Untitled