#shes in the proper space for it. like. she fucks around a bit when around fortress bc 1) its easier to do things when people aint fucking
Text
in my room
javier peña x f!reader | masterlist
summary: Because it’s an exchange, a two-way thing. He doesn’t tell you he likes your hair and you don’t tell him you fuck him so you don’t think.
wordcount: 6.2k (im so sorry, this was meant to be short)
warnings: explicit. smut + angst. colleagues who fuck for stress relief. grumpy-ish javi. file room shenanigans. unprotected p in v. oral!f receiving, mention of m!receiving. javi’s hand being a necklace. cum eating (by Javi), mild rough sex? mentions of grief (due to canon-compliant death), season two compliant/spoilers for season two. javi has a filthy mouth. joetics (jo and her poetic nature, credit to @/goodwithcheese for the name), no use of y/n but javi calls you princesa/baby.
an: dedicated to javi-edit-anon, hope you're doing okay.
It begins swarmed in grief.
A chest full of conflicting emotions, fingers itching for another smoke. It is all put into motion by the same person who became the catalyst—the match to the flame, the cause of the inferno.
He doesn’t usually wander around the building. But, today was a lot of firsts. Jaw clenched. Fingers digging into his palm at the memory, the realisation—the fucking play-by-play—of how he’d been played, fucked over, used.
Now, he’s left riddled with the knowledge that he’d lost a friend a few hours ago because of something he did. The understanding of it rusting in his stomach, right next door to the place disgrace is building a home where his gut had been.
He’s not thinking, not seeking—a desperation to run and hide, yet has nowhere to go.
And then he comes across you.
Finds you in the hallway like you were sent to save him. To pull him out of the water, pump the liquid from his lungs and smother the flames from burning his skin.
The two of you having stopped, paused in your travels.
Just two isolated shadows in the middle of the corridor—an invisible line being drawn, a noticeable white mark—backlit by sorrow and emptiness.
You don’t tear your eyes from him. Stubborn, even on your loss. Purposefully, intentionally, holding his gaze across the empty corridor.
Usually, you're so put together he feels contempt at how you seem unfazed at being surrounded by the shit they all have to do daily. But now, you look every bit as undone as him—shirt untucked, sadness stitched into your usually tight, rigid frame.
The only thing similar is the way you look at him, just like you did when the hours ticked on during those late nights you were forced to work together.
Files opened, documents scoured. Two eyes fairing better than one in their search. The toe of your shoe tapping against his desk, your fingers circling the rim of your mug full of coffee (never liquor, only coffee), pen clicking and clicking—
It had been Carrillo who had paired the two of you. Handing him a task, a surname—one Javi hadn’t heard—and the option of an extra pair of hands: you’ll see she’s good, and we don’t want her poached.
Then, he’d laid eyes on you.
You who’d he’d seen around, but never the chance to talk to. Had no reason to. You forever moved in any direction but the one he was heading in whenever he came into sight. That had been well over a month ago, weeks now.
In that time, he learnt your snark, your laugh—the way you take your coffee and your petulance for sugar after 8 pm—all proper in how you handle yourself, like royalty.
It’s then he learned that you hated being called princesa. Lips curling when it dripped from his lips, back straightening—all close to fracturing, snapping. So naturally, he called it you more.
It became—like the rest of it—a habit. He dropped the name as easily as he began pushing some of his shit to the side for you, so you had a space, a small corner of his desk you could commandeer when you joined him.
It didn’t mean anything. A thing be recited, thought to himself as he buried himself inside Gabriela—who looked nothing like you.
Then, a week ago, you were already there before he got back. The soles of his shoes had come to a standstill at the top of the steps, staring at the back of you—taking you in.
There was no need to see your face, Javi knew that you knew he was there. Not saying a thing when he seated himself down, the same way he didn’t with each tap of your shoes’ toe against the metal frame and you bit the end of your pen. He’d decided weeks ago, when you wore a shirt you felt the need to undo two buttons off, that if you weren’t paired with him to torture him, he wasn’t sure what else you were sitting next to him to test him for. But he’d find out, work it out.
Then you cracked it—found it, the anomaly, the name, a connection. A semblance of something in a sea of shit. A straw to grasp, to pull—your lips, likely stained from coffee and ink, twisting into a grin, one he couldn’t help but admire.
“¿Cómo?”
Pulling a face, he had only shrugged, feeling you watch him, answering with a, “You’re good.”
“You just realised? You just notice I got tits, too?”
Leaning back in his chair, he shifts his jaw to the side. Watching you stack papers before holding his stare, letting you see him flick his eyes from yours to your lips. Suddenly all unsure how to even begin telling you that he’d noticed you—had done so since they were all forced into this fucking building.
But you’d caught him, snapped him in plain sight with those beautiful eyes of yours. “Resorting to kissing colleagues now. Fucking whores not doing it for you, Peña?”
He had smirked, wider, but it had been tough. Leaning forward, he traced his bottom lip with his thumb. “You heard about that.”
Nodding, you’d smiled—cockily, full of something other than kindness. “Half the women will be lining up if they think you have free time.”
“But not you?”
Then, you’d stood, head tilted, files in the neatest pile compared to the rest of his desk, as you rolled your lips. “No. Not me. Goodnight, Peña.”
That exchange had been before things had gone to shit.
Before his cock had undone it all, left several people dead and the person who’d paired you together, gone. Taken—leaving a widow and children without a father.
Snorting, he focuses on clearing his throat as he replays it all. How much of a fever dream it all feels, his other hand pinching his thigh as he stares at you studying him, not scurrying off like he half expects.
And the fact you don’t makes his fingers itch at his side.
A part of him, suddenly stronger than all other parts, battles to move closer to you—like he needs to see what your mouth feels like on his. Like he’s been without his fill. It’s why even as much as he wants you to close the gap, he doesn’t move. Wants you to have an out—an escape.
A chance to choose whether you want to wake up with regret. Because even he knows sleeping with him ends in two ways, and shame is usually one of them.
“You should go inside your room.”
But of course you don’t. Instead, it’s the soles of your shoes on the floor that get louder, closer.
“Do you want me to, Peña?”
It’s building, rising. His eyes trailing up and down you, mouth chewing his tongue as he gets another taste of liquor, as he finally lets his gaze land back on yours.
“You want me to walk away from you?”
No. It’s final. Gruff. More spat out than said—laced with failure and remorse—but you hear him. Loud and fucking clear.
So much so, your lips twist up, smirking more devilish than he knows what to do with. “Good.”
It’s quick—you’re quick. Yanking him close as he forces you flush against him. His mouth crashes, steals and takes as his lips sear themselves to yours. And he learns, quickly, you’re not soft, but biting.
You are all jagged sweetness that throws a curve ball in how he knows how to handle this. You. Your lips taste of sadness, tears and liquor, all cheap—so very unlike what he imagines for you—and you make a knot tighten in his core as your palm flattens over his hardening cock in his jeans.
“You tested?” he asks, hand cupping your jaw, tilting your eyes up, pulse racing against his wrist—skin warm, scorching.
“Are you!?” you spit, and he almost snorts until your fingers knot in the base of his hair, pulling, likely hoping it hurts.
And it does.
Makes him groan—but he’s quick to smother it in the back of his throat. Flatten it, hide and conceal. Getting his answer for an exchange of your own.
“We should go inside my room,” you say in response to him, pulling down on him, Javi finding he bends with far too much ease as his ear finds itself close to your lips, “I’m not quiet when I’m enjoying myself.”
Twisting you, he flattens your back to his chest, rough, hearing you breathlessly laugh. “You know what you’re doing, baby, huh?”
And you’re silent, brain whirring as he begins walking you, till your chest is almost against your door.
Open it, he whispers, watching your hand dig for the key, his mouth latching to your neck, swirling a circle on your skin, tasting lingering perfume and sweat as he grips your waist.
“Last chance.”
He hears you laugh, low, buried somewhere in your throat just as the door unlocks, all loud, cutting through the silence other than both of your racing breaths. It’s why, he supposes, his words echo in his stare as you turn your head. Rolling your lips. It's all so reminiscent of the stare you gave him at the foot of his desk—but this time, you collide your mouth with his.
Not leaving—not doing anything except turning in the space between your door and him. Those nails, the ones that tapped now scrape across his hair, burying, carding, as you lightly pull on strands—forcing a groan to bury itself in your throat, find a new home, live there.
It's quick, practically animalistic the way he sheds your layers—baring you, finding (unsurprising) that even in misery you still match. His fingers run over it on your hip, rolling his lips, the tip of his tongue swiping across as he admires, as he steals a second to commit you to his mind.
Because he’s not sure if he’ll ever get to again.
“Last chance,” you echo.
Repeating his words, using them against him. Flicking the fabric against your skin, he snorts and he flips you. Sharply telling you to get on your bed, all-fours—bend over, hermosa.
“This how you pictured it at your desk?”
He barely registers your words until he’s behind you, bare, hand sliding between your thighs as he smirks at the noise you make. How you take him, all the way up to his knuckles—his free hand stroking himself to the in and out his other hand sets, desperation mixing with a need to forget—for a moment peace from thinking, existing, being.
And you’re drenched. Practically desperate. Hips moving with his movements and strokes, the air tinged with the littlest whimpers before replacing his fingers with the head of his cock, dragging it, skating it spitefully over your slick folds.
That’s when it meets his ears, those distinct words—ones he doesn’t know will haunt him just yet—I want to feel you inside me, Peña.
It unlocks something—floods him. Taking in a breath before he glides in, burying himself in you, right to the hilt, going deep.
He revels in your tightness. The way you gasp at the feel of him—fingers digging, scrunching them into your sheets, before he wrenches you up off your hands, needing your back flush with his—a move he realises, painstakingly, he’s done before.
Softening his palm anchored on your hip, lips pressing to your jaw—the other hand busy feeling, enjoying, basking in how you swallow against his palm on your neck.
“You like that, princesa?”
You moan as his hips snap, taking him so well, so perfectly—a thing he tells you, a rush of good girl, good princesa taking me like this. And he expects a bite, a flurry of insults—an exchange that would mean this would shift from stress relief to hate fucking.
But it never arrives. Instead, it’s a barrage of chants, all yes, please, yes, painting the shitty room—giving the crumbling paint something to be disgusted at, other than its own despair. The metal legs of the bed squeal against the floor, the headboard hammering, and cluttering, leaving a mess of years of repainting along the cheap flooring.
“Take me so well. Y’know that?”
Fingers just above your collarbone, pressing, feeling your head resting on his shoulder, eyes seeking his, determined to locate them and take something from him for it. He lets you. Briefly, just enough.
“Harder, Peña,” you hiss, shoving it out through clenched teeth, blinking, breaking the eye line.
“Javi,” he hisses deep into your ear, hand sliding down between your thighs—above where the two of you are joined.
Thumb expertly swirling, tracing the letters of his name against your throbbing clit—the sound of his cock fucking into you growing louder, sloppier. Arm thrown around your waist, feeling the way your skin is sheened in sweat, practically a mess from head to fucking toe, all because of him. Crown slid, shattered in a thousand parts across the floor, because of him.
A realisation that almost nears him to the edge, to bursting, to emptying inside your perfect fucking pussy and stuffing you full of him.
Teeth gritted together, jaw tight as he peers at the place your bodies join—watching, in admiration, as you take him, suck him in, barely let him able to leave your tight pussy as your heart hammers against his forearm.
“When I’m doing this to you,” he grunts, teeth pinching at your ear, your hand gripping his wrist—thumb still swirling, the A and V being a favourite from the way you clench around him tighter, and tighter, “You call me Javi.”
It undoes you. It ripples and then bursts through you—clenching all around him, tightening, squeezing him until his vision blurs and your name curls somewhere on his tongue, all set to be spat, spoken, even fucking whispered. Somehow able to swallow it when it unfurls through him, when it shoots up his spine and surges through every nerve and muscle.
The two of you collapsing against the shitty mattress, the squealing bed, as you turn in his grasp—lips finding his, burying words against him, only soft murmurs finding his ears.
He’s hard to avoid.
More so, when a part of you wishes to be a puzzle—a thing he cannot crack. Something that would take time to understand and figure out. Because then you’d be interesting, layered, something that could matter.
All of which, you suspect he knows when he kisses you after having his face buried before your thighs, tongue saturated in you, now licking into your mouth.
There’s something truthful in it, in the way his palm cups your entire jaw and chin, holding you, keeping you rooted for a few moments before you taste yourself on his tongue and can take note of what he’s done to you. For you.
Except, you don’t meet his eyes. Somehow fearful the space between your thighs has spilled all your secrets to him. Because he’s a connoisseur, likely gifted in being able to decipher the text on your inner walls. Hooked nose dragging along your slick core before coming up for air and seeing how ordinary you were, how boring, how average. He’s likely traced the pads of his fingers over the etchings of all the things that haunt your mind, the things that thrum and go bump in the fucking night.
But he comes back. Again, and again.
And you can't understand why.
You don’t ask either. Instead, you bury any of that against his tongue, and when it’s desperate to come out, a wish to ask him, you instead choose with fluttering lashes and parted lips if you can suck his cock. If he can fuck your throat, if he can stuff you full in one end before the other—
Words can’t escape if your tongue is occupied.
A thing harder to do in the day-to-day. As things around the place return to normal—other priorities sweep over and make people forget their sadness.
It’s why you’re not avoiding him, but you haven’t sought him out.
Too afraid of what you’ll confess when you’re not on your knees. A simple softening of his brown eyes almost forces words to rip up your throat and colour the air.
It won’t do any good. No words will. Not after waking again entangled in an empty sheet. All evidence of his presence gone except the littering of bruises on your hips and thighs and the mess between your legs.
It’s easier, less complicated to keep it like this—a thing you tell yourself as you brush your teeth and wash the leftover tang of him from your mouth.
Stress release, an undoing, an antidote to sadness and a bandage that allows you a moment to heal. You don’t judge him, because he doesn’t judge you either—not the first time, the second or the tenth. Because like recognises like—eyes deciphering how you’re not that different from him.
On the surface, you may pretend to be. Layer secrets and annoyances on top of the other, until it slips into something perfect—a mask, one that any of them can’t peer through and see that you see them all. Because working here is more than hard, it’s more than difficult and often rough.
It’s mornings with your forehead resting on your door wondering if you have it in you and moments alone in dark corners silently wiping away tears.
Most people don’t see your brain, your skills all too quickly forgotten, discarded on the same bit of paper the rest of your history lived when you approached for the role.
You reckon he sees you.
Not because you hoped for it—or because of some teenage fantasy. But, because of the way he looked that night at his desk. Not surprised, but confused as to why you were mainly pushing paper, why you weren’t based where he was, doing what he does. All questions you’ve asked yourself late at night, when your mind doesn’t stop ticking, stop whirring.
You suspect he ticks too. Another thing in common.
While he may have begun his dalliances to gain words, secrets, and stories, you have come to recognise it’s more than that. You know he knows all the names of them—likely lingers in their room. Offering them more than a good time and some money, but something he seeks from them too—companionship, a moment where he’s not DEA and rather something akin to a lover.
From the way he holds himself, Javi doesn’t think he shares that information. But it rolls from him in constant waves when he lights another smoke and drowns his throat in whatever is in his mug. He likes to think he’s effortless and austere, all too weighed down, while being complex, brilliant and wonderful.
It’s why you had wanted to fuck him. Why you had fucked him.
Because, objectively, he is beautiful. All soft in places and firm in others; he has scorching eyes and can offer searing touches. But, under all of that is what made heat blossom up your spine and commanded your thighs to press together for relief.
The way he thinks. The way he shifts his jaw from side to side and traces his finger down the length of his nose. It’s the way he holds himself when he doesn’t have to hold himself at all that makes you want him.
As it makes you feel less alone.
Less like an oddity in how you need to carve your nails into something. Your palm, other people’s flesh; wood, your sheets. All of it just so you become grounded, so there was pain, so there were feelings, so you didn’t float off or drown in a sea of mistakes, regrets and guilt.
It was a combination of both that floating and drowning as to why it happened that first time.
It had been a simultaneous tangling of limbs, a battle, a war both of you attempted to claim—a fight with your mouths, thighs, hands, tongues and bodies. Only stopped when you were both slick with sweat, the tops of your thighs coated with him and your breaths laboured. Your ear to his chest, hearing it—the way he beats, the way he lives. How blood rushes through him, all alive, real, not a fabrication.
Now, though, it’s different.
The grief is lessoned, yet you still find yourself pretending it's as rife as that first night.
A compromise, an opportunity to pretend that’s the reason the two of you do this. When in truth, the reason you don’t judge him, is because you too use sex to feel something. Needed it to claim something, prove something to yourself—that you’re desirable, attractive and fucking wanted. That you’re more than a sharp tongue and a brilliant mind, more than compliments through your way that never land—
That you’re worthy of being fucked to the point you cannot walk straight.
And, he does that so well, twists you, bends you—makes your ears ring with how attractive you are, how good you are, how perfect. A sin that rages a storm in his dreams and a thought he can’t silence.
So you avoid him. Fearful that you no longer wish to feel worthy of being fucked, but be worthy of being fucked by him.
And then he finds you instead.
Palm shoving open the file room door, all loud, like an announcement, before he lets it click into place. Allowing the air to tighten, to squeeze—all so thickening—before he’s charging, so much so the breath is knocked from your lungs with far too much ease when he flattens your back to the wall. The dust blowing from the shelves next to you from the sudden movement, the room quaking, shaking and fucking trembling as his brown eyes flick from one eye to the next.
As though he’s seeking something out.
Some truth, perhaps? A reason, a rhyme.
He splays his fingers across your hip, a hiss trying to escape from your pursed lips as your body threatens to betray you—wishing to curl into him, feel him flush, all warm and easy to escape to. Then, the other finds a home on the wall beside your head, no place to move to, to go—not that you fucking want to.
“I don’t fuck in file rooms, Peña.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. All well-versed, practically a library of quick retorts. “Where do you fuck then? Just your room?”
Surrounded by him, in all the ways that could torture. Nose smothered in the scent that is unabashedly him; eyes unable to look anywhere but him. Slowly, bothersomely, he begins to easily unpick the carefully placed resolve, practically cracking through like it was made of paper and not woven each night as you attempt to stop thinking about him.
Sometimes, it’s easier to think about him.
To snake your hand inside your underwear and ride your fingers with how much you loathe how good he feels. His name is both a curse and a fucking blessing on the tip of your tongue when you come—heat licking up your spine, washing you in something you suspect should be a shame.
But it never is.
Because it’s an exchange, a two-way thing. He doesn’t tell you he likes your hair and you don’t tell him you fuck him so you don’t think.
Instead, you leave that, fold it up, and make it as small as it can be, before you undress for him. Then you fixate on his eyes, on the darkness, the way his pupils swallow the colour you know all the flecks off. You stare, because you hope to see yourself in them—an outline, a shadow, evidence of living, remaining, not chipped away until you’re just stiff work attire and coffee. Something, anything—
Especially when you’re bare. When he stares at you like you’ve been carved for him, by him. When he makes you feel weightless and also like you are never allowed to be anywhere but right here.
It’s an illusion though. A trick of your mind—a delusion where want, need and hope all blend into a concoction that is sold in pink bottles and smells like fruit.
Lifting your chin, you want to chill your eyes and harden your expression. Neither happens.
You’re thrown from your axis, deep brown managing to shroud you, make your mind empty, clear.
“We don’t have to fuck,” he continues, letting it slide from his tongue—slither out, practically hissing. “There’s plenty of ways I can make you moan.”
“I’m sure there is. You’ve paid for the practice, after all.”
His chuckle does nothing to stem the fire—the one out of control somewhere in the pit of your stomach. Clothes suddenly uncomfortable on your skin, your earlier standpoint waning, thinning to the point of transparency.
“Yeah, but I bet you’ve been getting off to thoughts of me—us. How fucking good we are,” he retorts.
Your face blanks, and you hope it’s unreadable.
Because you already have witnessed how skilful he is. Had the unfortunate pleasure of seeing him hold his desk phone since, how he grips his gun, marvelling at the memory of how his fingers feel inside of you, both long and thick. How they engulf yours, practically able to grasp both your wrists in his one hand if he wishes.
But, from the glint in his eye, he’s seen you. Already solved you—cracked you.
“You only had to ask, princesa. Would never leave you wanting.”
You snarl. And it’s that which forces your lips to crash against his, steal more lines from his tongue and tease his mind. Ridding him for once, shaking him empty as your hands clutch the sides of his cheeks. Thankful, more than you care to fucking admit, that his tongue slides past your lips, moves past the back of your teeth—accompanied, and wrapped with it, a groan that vibrates down to your oesophagus.
Bodies pressed together, his mouth slanting over yours as though he’s been wishing to do this for as long as you have. Dizzying, heart-stopping—that’s what kissing him feels like. That’s what indulging feels like.
“I don’t like you.”
Smirking, he runs it over your swollen lips, traces his confidence over your mouth. “Your pussy does though.”
His hand moves, snakes between the two of you—fingers proficient, unwavering from their mission—undoing your trousers, zip sliding down, cutting between the silence as your mouths part, lips ghosting, breaths twisting together in the small gap.
The space is filled with a moan when his hand slides inside your underwear, fingers brushing the delicate nerves that make his name illuminate in your head like it’s been spelt out in light—in candles.
“See? Soaked. Drenched, aren’t you, princesa?”
Your head spins, legs weaken. Body betraying you as it rocks against his movements, curling, craving—desperate and hungry. Because you knew it would be good, that he’d be good. There’s no smoke without fire, and there’d be no discussion over shitty baked cake and decent coffee about his skills if he weren’t best-in-class.
“So fuckin’ needy for me, aren’t you?”
It’s there, ebbing on your tongue, yes, yes yes.
And fuck, you didn’t have him down to be like this. To have you at his mercy, practically dumbfounded, his name and a yes the only things you know, think or say. It falls, rolling from your tongue before his lips busy yours. Kissing you as if he’s starved, as if he wishes to coat his tongue in the way you moan against him—his hand getting slicker, coated in your faux hatred and practised indifference that holds no weight now.
Because you want him. Would gladly let him spin you around and, press your face against a case file box and kick your legs apart. You’d beg for it, want him to hold your hands behind your back as he spears his cock in and out of you, not giving a single fuck that someone could come in—
“Stop thinkin’ about what I could do to you, and more what I am doing to you.”
His eyes on you, blown, full of lust and shimmering with a desire that embeds into your skin until it reaches a whole new temperature. Your tongue is heavy and thick, as your throat struggles to swallow.
If anything, it proves he can listen—just to what he wants. And apparently, that is you. Making it flicker, it suddenly impending, slamming itself onto the track with a focus on its station.
“Think y'like being naughty and letting me do this here.”
Your nerves ablaze, legs quaking as your trousers slide a little further past your knee, pooling at your ankles—his breath dancing across your neck and little hairs.
In vengeance, you nip at his lips, charming kisses that leave him chasing—breaths tangling, teeth biting your bottom lip as you tilt your head. But, he’s resilient, unwavering, hand all but burning inside your underwear, fingers rough, middle and trigger finger calloused and pressed against your swollen nerves as you dig your toes into your shoes so you don’t unravel.
So he doesn’t get to have this so easily.
He knows.
You know he does. Likely knows your brain is firing, tension building, muscles all but quaking in faux-determination. Just barely present to hear what he whispers, but you know it pushes you over.
Gently guides you over the edge as your hips still, throat hoarse as it whispers moans, falling, descending from you as you quickly lose control. He makes you feel alive, full of electricity—blood pumping in your ears as he tastes the way you moan his name. Waves hammering against you, suddenly needing to crash, and they do, they do—
“Fuck, I love making you come.”
His chest rising and falling, pebbled sweat on his brow as he retracts his hand, offers a finger to you—finding you wrap your mouth around it, basking in how he says you’re his good girl.
You suppose that’s why he ends up at your base door past midnight—a silent exchange, a non-verbal promise.
Him and you. You and him.
A brown bag in hand; corruption and a need to not sleep present in his eyes. Drinking you in, lingering his eyes up and down your frame—a sheet clutched against your chest.
You suspect he knows that under this thin fabric, its lace, all ready to be snapped, thrown into some corner, the places they sat covering replaced by the wet expanse of his mouth.
It’s why you let him in, mouth conjoining to his, hearing the door slam behind him as you ruck the leather from his shoulders, down his arms, floor.
“He estado pensando en ti toda la noche.”
A part of you knew he’d come—sensing it. Dressing for the occasion, sliding the lace into place.
Because you know him as much as he understands you.
It’s why you smile, if only to yourself, when he spreads your thighs, coats his cock in your want, and sinks deep into you, rectifying all that is wrong, groaning into your neck as you feel thankful for being full again.
He shouldn’t think you’re a vision, but he does.
Javi learned it quickly, but ignored it at a speed faster than that. Not wanting to be in awe, not wanting to allow himself the chance to think of himself worthy of it.
Except, he’s forever salivating for more of you—desperate for another chance to taste, to hear how your whimpers sound, feel the way your fingers card through his hair, gripping, twisting, pulling.
If someone asked him, he’d confess it on his knees that it’s all he’s thought about. The way your nails feel, how your skin feels. The noises—fuck, the noises you make—and the way your eyes glisten, shimmer, bloom and explode with fucking desire.
“Javier…”
I know, he soothes. The sheet ripped from between the of you, discarded, removed from play as your fingers work his buttons open—more and more skin appearing until he can feel the warmth of your body, your tits against him, nipples peaked as the back of your legs meets the bed.
He’s surprised at the ease you fold for him. Dragging him down, and then you’re under him. Obedient, waiting, needy. He knows it. You know it.
Just like it’s probably obvious that you make him want. That he’s ticking, watching you, unable to tear his eyes away, more so since the other night. Your face close, eyes on the file, cogs turning, brain firing on all cylinders—and when you’d slid your eyes over, he hadn’t been able to not drop his sight to your lips.
The same way he suspects you hadn’t been able to fight doing the same yourself.
It’s why he fucks you with an increased pace, skin slapping, moans more deranged than usual. The drenched fabric between your legs pushed to the side as he drags moan from your lips, wringing them out, stuffing them into some cabinet in his mind that he only opens when he can’t have this, you, writhing, squirming as he fills you to the brim, stuffs you.
“Gotta taste you.” His tongue slides a line down your breastbone, eyes on you, fixated, waiting. “Can I?”
He’s fucking grateful that you nod. Moving, sinking to his knees on the hard floor of your base room—cock hard, dripping, all but throbbing and practically fucking angry. Fingers teasing the fabric, his mouth latching, lace and the taste of him and your desire singeing on his tongue.
And you’re heavenly—a rolling thought which appears as he licks, hearing you react, capturing it all, pocketing it.
Waiting, and waiting, until he feels it—you carding your nails through his hair, tracing lines you likely already suspect others have walked themselves. He wonders if you’re thinking it must be nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary for him, except it was, is.
Because it’s you, they were your fingers—your nails. The ones that type up his reports these days because he can’t type for shit, now typing a story into his scalp, leaving a tale for him to decipher when he tried to sleep later.
He doesn’t look up, too fearful of the sight that he’ll find and never be able to rid of. He keeps his head buried between your thighs, focused, panties still hooked on one thigh, hanging there, pointless and occasionally catching on his palm as he grasps and squeezes your leg. All focused, moving his tongue, working it on you, in you, as though attempting to sort out a kink in the chain—attempting to unravel you in the same way he has done others.
Except, Javi learns, you’re not like them. You’re not something linear, you’re not easy to understand, and there’s no transaction at the end. You’re more than a concept, more than a thing he can undo and figure out just with his tongue, but fuck, he’s sure you would let him try—or at least, he hoped you would.
Right now, he’s enamoured with a task that he finds more rewarding than asking: making you come.
Tongue sinking in, tasting you, coating all of his mouth that he can with you as your hips buck into his face. Nails all perfectly manicured and in a lighter shade than when it was wrapped around his cock last week, drag through his hair. The air punctured with his name—all Javi and Javier’s, not Peña’s and Putas.
He wonders as he spells it on your bundle of nerves, whether you feel it too. This thing—this pulsating, breathing, existing thing that is there all on its own.
A click of his jaw when you laugh at someone else; a flex of his fingers when he finds you in the heart of danger.
Javi reflects—thinks.
But then it goes, fades from mind like dust when you tug on him to move closer, so close your thighs are trembling—likely dangling on the edge of release.
“Need your cock, Javi.”
He doesn’t think about feelings, emotions or the flame he carries for you again—not until you’ve left, leaving him alone, sated, the memory and scent of you being all he has.
The base of his palm presses against his forehead, kneading, cigarette billowing in his other hand because it’s all a fucking mess. From the fact that the fantasy has turned into a reality; the dream has coloured itself until it has become true.
He knew this was real, not concocted by some blackened part of his imagination looking for an escape because you say his name more sweetly than you do in his reverie.
It’s a secret—not known, a thing kept unseen. His walls and sheets know, but not a living soul. And he suddenly wants to change that. Says so much as he moans that you’re mine.
Eyes widening as they stare down at him, hands poised on his chest, hips steadying as you remain seated—filled with him, tits slowly not bouncing.
So he repeats it, “You’re mine.”
No question, no ask.
Watching you swallow, painted in yellow-light which makes the sweat shimmer like glitter.
Rolling your hips, you hold his gaze, consider it, likely question your own goddamn sanity. But then you say it:
“Yours, Peña. I’m yours.”
And he knows he liked it. More than he’ll ever admit. Coming so hard and so quick inside of you once your mouth has twisted into an O and your nails have branded lines into his chest. Hearing it, over and over as he spills into you, relishes in it.
It’s only after, when Javi runs his knuckles along the underside of his jaw, thoughts populating, appearing and popping like balloons, he realises he doesn’t just like it.
It’s more than that.
And that’s why, more than he likely should, he wished he’d asked you to stay. To remain beside him. Let him hold you and make your morning a little better.
Javi could ask. Could half-dress and hammer his fist on your door.
But he doesn’t.
There’s always next time, though.
an: grins wickedly, thought i'd try something new.
#javier peña x reader#javier pena x reader#javi peña x reader#javier peña x reader smut#javi peña x you#javier peña x you#narcos x reader#javier pena x you#javier peña smut#javi pena x reader#narcos javier x reader#narcos javier#pedro pascal x reader#narcos fanfiction#pedrostories#javier peña fanfiction#pedro pascal characters fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fanfic
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on my knees begging for more jessie writing
all I can think of is a frat boy Jessie and I'm internally screaming at the thought of it oh my lord!
plot: Your UCLA volleyball team won the national title and are throwing a party to celebrate
warning: I'm not sure I guess we'll find out but nothing bad, I don't know anything about proper volleyball I played when I was like 11 at school, the club I wrote about is completely made up
You don't even remember hitting the floor after your spike, when you heard the bounce of its landing you knew you had won the championship for your team and they had run to you quickly with hugs and screams.
The arena was in cheers as you saw the opposite team look down at the floor in shame, some of them in tears.
The girls were still picking you up as you saw classmates from the stands walk to the court. Your best friend being one of them.
"Morgan!" you yell out as you get out of your team mates grasp, Morgan runs to you and crushes you in a hug "You did it y/n!" she squealed and you both jumped up and down.
"I did it!" you yelled back as your smile grew.
You did it.
You won the championship.
"Next is your turn" you teased your friend who was wearing her UCLA soccer girls team jumper "We better fucking hope" she joked as you both laughed.
Your captain walked to you both with a smile "You are a fucking gun y/n/n!" she yelled as she rubbed your head "throwing celebration party at Sarah's sorority you in?" she asked and you nodded.
"I think we deserve it" you laughed before she joined in and eventually walked in.
"You can finally meet the soccer girls" Morgan fussed as she grabbed your shoulders and rocked you side to side "I already know most of them Morgs" you laughed "Yeah but not the ones I want you to meet"
"And who's that?"
"Jessie"
You rolled your eyes at your friend "Stop trying to set me up with people" you laughed and she groaned "trust me you'll like Jessie, I promise"
You arrived at the party with Morgan as you got out of the car and looked down at your outfit you had a lace top on that pushed up your boobs and a denim skirt on, Morgan caught your stare and threw you one of your drinks
"You look hot" she encouraged "I know someone who would like it very much" she teased and you rolled your eyes.
"I know her reputation I'm not going to be just another girl she sleeps with," you told her "yeah but I know her personally you will get along trust me y/n" "I don't know what she looks like" you pointed out and she rolled her eyes "she's your type".
You had arrived a little bit late so the house was already packed with UCLA athletes, when you walked in someone yelled out "she's here!" and people clapped around you making you laugh.
"our little winner!" Your captain slurred out as she walked to you and hugged you. You laughed as Morgan smiled "I guess scoring the winning point has it's perks"
The party went on as you were either with Morgan or teammates but you had excused yourself to go to the toilet and when you came back you realized some of the girls from your team had left the space they were in before.
Now you were lost.
You looked around a little bit before a voice spoke up from behind you "who are you looking for?" You turned around quickly to see a girl with short slightly curly brunette hair, she had a drink in her hand and her other hand in her back pocket as she stepped up to you.
"My friends, I left for a little bit and now they're gone" you explained with a shrug of your shoulders, you saw how the girls eyes lingered around your face before coming to a realization "you're y/n" she said and you nodded "yeah you?" you asked
"I'm Jessie"
Morgan was right, she was 100% your type and now you found yourself blushing at the thought. "You're in the soccer team" you said and she nodded now walking closer to you to indulge into a conversation "yeah and your volleyball, congratulations by the way you were great" she complimented and you nodded "thanks did you go?"
"I don't usually go but my teammate said that there would be a very attractive girl playing" she smiled, turning to you and nodding her head back, you followed your eyes behind her to see a lingering Morgan who when you saw her looking ran away.
You would get her back for this.
You looked back at Jessie to see her closer to you and your heart sped up a little bit, you hadn't had enough drinks for this.
"Was your teammate right?" you asked with a smile as you took a sip of your drink "She never usually is but this time she was very right" Jessie said and you tried to ignore her looking you up and down as you blushed and looked away.
You needed to be more drunk.
"Wanna come to the kitchen and get a drink?" you asked "You've already got a drink" she pointed out with a laugh "A little more wont hurt" you smiled before walking off, Jessie quickly following you behind.
When you reached the kitchen you both laughed at the couple making out in the corner as you grabbed a bottle of vodka and looked through the mixers.
"You can make drinks?" Jessie asked as she leaned down on the table in front of you, her arms held together, you couldn't help but faulter at the sight.
It was fucking hot.
"During breaks, I work at a nearby club as a bartender," you said "Which one?" Jessie asked and you laughed "Uhm it's the little one near the end of Rosie Street it's called Incognito" you sheepishly answered as you grabbed a cocktail shaker "You work at Incognito" Jessie asked in shock as you laughed again
"You mean the club where they make all the girls wear the slutty little outfits" she dropped her mouth open "Hey they are not slutty" you defended but you saw Jessie's face and nodded "Okay they are a little slutty but it is good money"
"So just curious when's your next shift?" Jessie asked, lifting herself up and walking around the table next to you "Asking for a friend" she shrugged "Oh definitely" you smiled and shook up the drink you were making.
When you were done you poured the drinks and ignored Jessie's stare.
You didn't want to be another girl on her list but god she was making it so hard.
"Here you go" you said as you passed the drink to her "what is it?" she asked "A sex on the beach"
"Ask me to dinner first jeez," she said making you laugh "You have a nice smile," she said and you rolled your eyes playfully "Well if you stopped smirking I could say the same to you" you said and took a sip out of your drink.
Jessie's smirk grew before shining a great big smile like a second grader and moving close to your face "Like this?" she challenged and you laughed "Okay! Fleming" you pushed her away softly "You have a nice smile" you said and she reacted like she had won an award.
You found your blush never going away whilst you were talking and she never looked at any other girl when they walked by when you could see them obviously staring at her.
You were both sitting on a couch and talking about Jessie's up and coming game when chaos began "Cops!" someone yelled and Jessie grabbed your hand quickly.
You were both aspiring athletes, the last thing you both wanted was to be arrested and have it on your record. "C'mon over here" she whispered as you both turned a corner and found yourselves behind a bush near the sorority.
You both laughed as you saw the couple that were making out in the kitchen walk out with a police officer, turns out the girl was the leader of the sorority.
You and Jessie both lay on the floor and out of sight as she sighed and looked up to the stars "I haven't had this much fun at a party since forever" she revealed and you turned to her "Really?" you asked and she nodded "But I thought-" "That I slept around?" she asked and you looked down at yourself in embarrassment "don't feel bad everyone thinks that" she smiled and you thought that her smile was pretty.
"Why does everyone think that?" you ask and she rolled her eyes "my ex who was pretending to be straight whilst being secret with me told everyone I was" she shrugged "What a cunt" you breathed out before a silence came over you two.
"So you don't want to sleep with me?" You joked and Jessie laughed "Oh no I really want to but I wanna talk first" she smiled and you smiled too
"take me out to dinner first?" you suggested and Jessie nodded. When silence came again you popped your head up "cops are gone" you whispered and Jessie stood up "C'mon I'll walk you back to your dorm" she said and you took her hand.
You were walking down the street as Jessie piped up "Seriously though when is your next shift I wanna see you in that outfit"
"Jessie!"
#jessie fleming x reader#jessie fleming#woso#woso community#woso soccer#wsl#chelsea women#chelsea#chelsea wfc#sam kerr#woso x reader#caitlin foord#matildas x reader#alanna kennedy#matildas#katie mccabe#chest#ucla#college life#alessia russo x reader#alessia russo#sam kerr x reader#kyra cooney cross#katie mccabe x reader#katrina gorry#kyra cooney cross smut#kyra cooney cross x reader#leah williamson#arsenal women#ellie carpenter
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ɞ ― make a home in you; chuckle sandwich
cw + info! fluff, headcanons / no CWs
includes! ted nivison + charlie slimecicle + jschlatt
dedication! @ivyinnit
notes! i’m currently trying to get over a breakup and am kind of struggling w yearning atmo so this request (while old) was kind of perfect thank you for dropping into my askbox, ivy!!
little update: it’s been so long since i’ve received this request, i know. it should’ve been easy to get it out quickly, but school absolutely melted me this semester. i know that ivy’s deactivated now, but in the case that she comes across it, i hope you enjoy beloved <3
TED
⎼ y’all schedule out laundry days together. it’s cute as fuck okok
⎼ forehead and cheek kisses while you’re on your way out the door
⎼ if he wakes up before you, he makes your morning drink of choice just the way you like it! though, he prefers to sleep in with you
⎼ if you don’t have any important plans for the day and you’ve set alarms just for the sake of waking up at a certain time, he turns them all off before you wake up. he wants to give you an opportunity to rest as much as you need to; your body will wake up when it’s ready
⎼ brunch dates! while you guys prefer to sleep in together, you alternate between sleeping in and waking up at a reasonable hour depending on your plans. ted really likes taking you out to brunch and just walking around window shopping with you after
⎼ if either of you are going somewhere important, the other will help them get ready and run through a mental checklist with them before they go in order to make sure the person leaving has absolutely everything they need
⎼ y’all are constantly doing bits. it’s kind of confusing for your friends, but neither of you care much because you’re just having a great time
⎼ ted is an absolute gentleman always, not just in the honeymoon phase. constantly opening doors for you, helping you put your sweater on when you’re leaving the house, opening the car door for you. stuff like that
⎼ he rubber ducks for you a lot. just sits down near you and listens, letting you work out your issues by talking it out without feeling awkward about it
⎼ he’s just overall a great listener and very in-tune with your needs. only gives advice and input when you ask for it, but he always makes an effort to validate your feelings. holds you when you need him to and steps back when he senses that you need space. also really good at problem solving and helping out when you get overwhelmed or have sensory overload
– when you have bad days, he has a tendency to go above and beyond. he cooks dinner for you, makes sure your comfy clothes are all washed and clean, and generally just makes sure you have to do as little as possible so that you have the proper space to calm down
CHARLIE
– you guys have rapid fire joke contests together, usually late at night when you’re sitting on kitchen counters, snacking. you go back and forth until either the two of you are laughing so hard that it would be physically impossible to keep going, or someone can’t come up with a joke fast enough
– you try to stay on the sleep cycle but you both tend to get a little out of whack every once in a while, so you have these phases of going to sleep at a decent hour and then going to sleep when the sun is about to come up
– as such, you guys have these phases of making spontaneous runs to the grocery store or gas station to get snacks, usually cereal for some reason. you get whatever you want and charlie never lets you pay for any of it. on the later nights, you guys sometimes experiment with new flavors of things or weird snack combinations
– he has a thing about always making sure you’re warm enough. you’re a little chilly? he’s pulling his sweater off and pulling it over your head. once you’re all comfy and settled, he’s on his way to turn on the heater. your feet are cold? he’s running to get you a pair of fuzzy socks and a blanket in case your legs are cold too. even when you’re about to leave the house -- it’s colder than 50 outside? he’s scrambling around the house, gathering gloves and scarves and beanies for you to take with you in case you get cold, even if they don’t match. no other options but you’re still cold? mans is wrapping himself around you, trying to use his body heat to warm you up himself. he hates when you’re chilly and uncomfortable :[
– brings you home little presents all the time. literally anything that remind him of you. you have a collection of buttons and keychains that he’s seen while walking through shops. he also steals cool props from videos and projects to give to you. you have a little collection going
– loves pda all the time, but not always cuddling (which can sound confusing, but let me explain). he likes casual pda with you around the house, whether it be you resting your feet in his lap while you both lounge across the couch, sitting on the floor and leaning back on his legs while you watch a movie, him putting a hand on the small of your back while he moves around/behind you, holding onto your hand until you’ve walked out of reach, gently pressing his knuckles into your back while you’re laying on the other side of the bed and facing away from him. likes to be touching you when he can be but in little ways that aren’t super overwhelming (mostly because i feel like you’d both be too fidgety to just cuddle)
– some of your most domestic moments are spent in the kitchen, usually cooking dinner together. it’s light and warm and it feels so much like home that you sometimes find yourself questioning if it’s all real. he’s right there to tell you it is. but back to dinner. he loves cooking for you, and you love cooking for him. it’s all laughter and winding down from work days and gentle hugs and swaying together as he hums for you
SCHLATT
– it’s a little hard to find domestic moments with schlatt off the top of your head, but they’re there when you look for them. they’re quiet, but they’re ever present
– he sleeps a lot, meaning that you usually wake up before him. if he’s sleeping light enough to hear you get up, he’ll roll over, half asleep, wrap his arms around your middle, and pull you back into his chest, mumbling a groggy “ten more minutes, babe. i’ll be up then, jus’ ten more minutes.” it’s never just ten more minutes
– he picks you up and carries you around a lot. not in the typical way. if he thinks you’re working yourself too hard, he’ll grab you from your desk and throw you over his shoulder, dropping you onto the couch and forcing you to watch a movie with him. or you’ll be sleepily making yourself a snack in the kitchen and he’ll grab you from behind, just wrapping his arms around your middle and picking you up. he carries you, complaining and squirming, the whole way to your room and tells you it’s nap time
– you guys have a lot of nap dates. it’s an easy, sweet block of time for you guys to spend together, hazy and together while napping on and off. if one of you wakes up, you get to fondly watch the other nap until you fall asleep again. watch the easy rise and fall of their chest, run a hand through their hair, trace gentle patterns on their skin, play with their fingers, listen to the beating of your heart
– you do the dishes together. you wash and schlatt dries. sometimes you get into towel fights or start flicking water at each other with your fingers
– schlatt follows you out of bed when you get up in the middle of the night. he’d never admit it, but he has a hard time sleeping without you. he hates waking up to a cold bed. so when the clock blinks 3:17 and he feels around to find nothing beside him, even if your side of the bed is still warm, he huffs and gets up. pads through the house with puffy, tired eyes until he finds you. wraps his arms around you from behind and rests his chin on your head. “what are you doin’ outta bed?” he never waits for your response, just starts ushering you back to your room
– really likes seeing you in his clothes, again, not that he would ever admit it. he’ll purposely “forget” to do your laundry so that you have to start wearing his hoodies, tee shirts, sweats, etc. it just gives him the warm fuzzies, seeing you be so comfortable and cozy in his clothes
– hangs on you a lot on days when there’s nothing to do. he’s pretty idle about it, too, kind of like a character accessory. sometimes you just have to go around the house doing your stuff with this big man hanging off of you because you don’t have the heart to tell him to leave you alone for an hour or two to get your work done
#✩; yours truly#mcyt x reader#dsmp x reader#dream smp x reader#ted nivison x reader#slimecicle x reader#charlie slimecicle x reader#schlatt x reader#jschlatt x reader#chuckle sandwich fic#ted nivison fluff#ted nivison headcanons#slimecicle fluff#charlie slimecicle fluff#charlie slimecicle fic#schlatt fluff#jschlatt fluff#chuckle sandwich x reader
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THROW AWAY
paige b. x reader
masterlist + playlist here !
warnings : language, cheating
wc : 850-900
tags : @mayghosts
a/n : ok so idk this was really short so imma make it like a prologue if ya catch my drift 😉 hope yall enjoy, chapters will be longer ofc. lmk what yall do and don’t like 💘💘💘 xoxo - cel
0. told her i would call her back, i forgot to text her / PROLOGUE
paige : dude it’s literally not what it looks like chill tf out 😂 11:56 PM
you : chill out ..? ur out cheating and im supposed to chill out ? alr . go have fun w ur lil home wrecking ass friend. 11:58 PM
paige : i’m out tryna enjoy my time w my friends nd ur stressing me ? imma call u after tho , ight? 11:59 PM
paige : i didnt mean it like that ur not stressing me 12:00 AM
deadass i didnt ???
read at 12:02 AM
seriously y/n 12:09 AM
bro y ru acting like that
nah fuck u
wait
no
wait yes
fuck you
read at 12:10AM
‘paige’ has been blocked by ‘y/n’
—
the loud knock that erupted on the apartment door must’ve rung throughout the empty hallways of paige’s complex.
nervously shifting her weight between her feet, holding the cardboard box — that was filled to the brim with all of paige’s stuff — was heavy of a weight enough and the extra anxiety wasn’t helping.
y/n felt like she must have been waiting at paige’s door for hours when it really was only a minute or so.
paige’s expression turned blank, not expecting to ever see y/n again after the incident.
“your stuff. i didn’t need it taking up space in my apartment anymore.” you said, shallow and shoving the box into her chest.
“I- uh. thank you?”
it seemed as if paige swallowed her pride and was going to say something but before she could you flashed her a tight lipped expression and begged yourself not to give in to her antics if she tried anything.
you two had been in this situation countless times, it always ended up in sex. but you didn’t want that this time. not yet, atleast.
it was the awkward silence that confirmed the end of you two was catching up to the years that lacked apologies and proper communication. there was nothing you could’ve done to stop it, what was done was done and paige’s actions couldn’t be controlled. that’s just how she is.
paige looked scared, almost. her expression was unexplainable and as hard as you tried to study the way her lips curled or the way her eyes scanned your own face; you couldn’t figure it out.
without saying anything more, you gave her once last look and walked away, completely shattered.
—
‘the incident’ that was referenced was the moments leading up to when you were sitting in your apartment, innocently and mindlessly scrolling on tiktok when you came across your girlfriends’ friend — ice brady’s — live.
you clicked to see them all out at a bar. this wasn’t unexpected as paige had already told you what her plans for the night were. you watched contently for a little bit, admiring the night your friends were having, that you weren’t invited to. it was weird to not be invited to a group hangout and not be asked to go with, not even by your girlfriend. it had already made you uneasy but it didn’t matter and you brushed your feelings under the rug.
ice shifted the camera to her left and for a split second the world stopped. you immediately recognized the blonde. the grown out roots with the slender hands that wrapped around presumably — from the back — her teammate, azzi fudd.
it wasn’t just a hug as you might’ve thought, her hands were on azzi’s waist and azzi’s hands were around paige’s neck. the distance between them was non-existent and very clear to everybody on live.
ice uncomfortably shifted the camera back to her, exchanging looks with her friend caroline. both the women’s expressions turned into ones of pure shock and slight panic as her and caroline tried to play it off as normal. nothing was normal about this, though.
“what the fuck?” you mumbled, furrowing your brows to try and capture the moment in your brain. it didn’t last as long as it felt though.
for a couple minutes you set your phone down, pacing around your apartment. too many thoughts you had to calculate came at lighting speed in your pounding head. at first, you tried to justify her actions, thinking, maybe it wasn’t what it looked like. but then you started thinking more rationally. you knew what you saw and there was no defending her actions no matter how much you tried. you attempted reading between the lines, trying to catch a loophole in which azzi and paige weren’t kissing within an inch of life between them but the hand placement was a dead give away. the realization made your blood run cold and gave you the confidence needed to say something, not wanting to silence you or your feelings anymore.
that’s how the whole text situation ended up happening because the pure shock turned into pure anger. you concluded that azzi fudd was a home wrecker, and paige bueckers was a lying slut cheater.
was it fair to label azzi that, just by seeing the live? probably not. but the heat that rose to your cheeks in your anxiety driven body made it hard for you to think straight. but this wasn’t about azzi, this was about paige and her extremely ignorant tendencies. especially her intoxicated ones.
it hurt but you knew it was a long time coming, anyway. the toxic relationship you two shared had been ongoing since your junior year when you hooked up at a halloween party and were on and off since.
you couldn’t tell whether knowing that the cycle between you and paige would continue until one of you broke— which wasn’t going to happen— brought you comfort or sadness. it was very unfortunate that you wasted this much time on paige, but considering your past and the very foreseeable future, it was hard not to. as fast as you tried to run away you knew you’d probably end up being caught up to sooner or later. until the pattern repeated itself, you’d try and heal like normal and be destroyed when she came back and ruined your life.
it was the circle of paige.
#Spotify#bueckersstrap#throw away#paige bueckers fic#paige bueckers#paige bueckers x reader#smut#azzi fudd#ice brady#caroline ducharme#writers on tumblr#wlw#lesbian
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If you're still taking requests, can we get hazbin characters react to you asking them to dom you one night? Preferably the women but do it for whoever you'd like
Fuck. I just realized after I posted I read this wrong. I will do the correct one. I promise. I’m so sorry. I mixed up some words. Processing problems and all. This is:
Reaction to You Doming
(Part two— the boys)
Lute
She is resistant at first.
She shuts it down almost immediately.
It’s more so in a flustered way than a rude way.
She just sort of gets up, puts her hands up in surrender, and shakes her head as she walks away muttering, “No, no, absolutely not,” underneath her breath.
It takes her a while to build up enough trust and confidence in your relationship to allow you to dom no matter how much she may want or fantasizes about it.
Trust me, she fantasizes about it.
She’ll wake you up in the middle of the night whimpering in her sleep, telling you she’s been a good girl.
Or you’ll wake up with her having placed your hand somewhere on her body as she gets herself off, pleading for you to let her come.
Then, several weeks or maybe even months later. Maybe you’re in public, maybe you’re not but she’ll just casually walk by you and say, “You can dom tonight.”
She walks away before you can even process what she just said.
When you come home, she pulls you into a kiss immediately as she walks you both to the bedroom.
“Let’s talk about this first.” “Later. Please. I just— I need you to let me come and be your good girl.”
It’s clear she’s already partially in a sub space.
Not wanting to overstep her boundaries, you stick to doing just that.
You move so she’s laying with her back against your chest, her hands wrapped around your neck as you play with her clit and kiss her neck, whispering what a good girl she is as she whines.
When she’s close she starts muttering about how she wants you to make her take it.
You hold her legs spread out as she shakes and writhes.
Eventually you get to talk to her and set clearer boundaries but for now, she’s out of breath, panting against your skin, and slumping down into the safety of your embrace.
Rosie
Your sex with Rosie is by no means anything vanilla beforehand, it’s just Rosie didn’t have the terms to describe it.
Having come from a time where sex was not spoken of and was very much just a situation where the woman gives and man takes, she didn’t have any proper sex education.
After she does some research, she realizes what category your sex life thus far has fallen into.
She’s sort of taken on the role of a service too, guiding you, praising you, putting your needs before her own and expecting little in return.
She’ll gladly explore this with you.
She buys books on the subject, looks at all the resources she can.
She learns a lot and is nearly giddy with excitement each time she comes across something she thinks either of you will like.
She has a whole notebook filled with words, phrases, descriptions, and even gear that’s highlighted and underlined.
It’s not secret that Rosie is one for a bit of pain play. You’ve walked out of the bedroom covered in bite marks and hickies many times.
What she didn’t know was how much she’d be into knife play.
She never thought to bring a knife into the bedroom when her teeth and nails worked just fine but if you hold a knife against her throat, oh, she just melts.
She will just lean against you as you make her take her pleasure while whispering such soft works into her ear, in such contrast with the sharp knife against her neck.
If you bind her and give her oral? She will be nearly unresponsive with pleasure.
She does still live to please you.
She thrives when you guide her down to where you want.
You can basically puppeteer her, she’s so responsive.
She loves to worship you with her tongue and teeth.
She enjoys marking you as much as she loves being marked up in return.
Vaggie
“Oh, yeah, um, sure. We can. . . We can try that.”
Vaggie is sort of always flustered by the conversation of sex. She has no problems or qualms adoring you but when it comes to sex, she gets tongue tied.
She has a hard time expressing herself sometimes in any manner but especially when it comes to sex.
She’s much more confident and comfortable with giving to you than receiving.
It’s very much a situation where she feels embarrassed, like an imposter, getting love and lust from you.
When she’s between your thighs, she’s in a place even better than heaven.
She loves to give you pleasure with you explicitly guiding her.
She squirms when the roles are reversed though and you’re pleasing her.
When she tops, she normally gets herself to come with her own fingers or there’s a toy that’s being used. Rarely is it you and your fingers, your mouth, your touch that makes her come when she tops purely because she’s too embarrassed.
She tries to hide her face, muffle her voice.
She gets very whiny and flushed when you don’t let her.
Feeling seen by you makes her feel vulnerable and it’s not that she doesn’t want to be vulnerable with you, she just doesn’t know how.
Every time you praise her, she squirms and closes her eyes.
When you get her to look at you while you praise her, get her to look in your eyes, she never comes harder than those times.
She’ll see stars.
Velvette
At first she sort of takes it as a challenge at first.
Don’t go into the sub space.
She doesn’t like being vulnerable. It takes a while.
When you’re trying to please her, she’s going to automatically get into that commanding mode.
It’s not until you make her please you, directing her explicitly that she starts to drop that persona.
There’s something about you telling her explicitly how to tease you that just makes her more receptive to dropping.
Of course, when she’s topping, she will be using the information on how to make you feel the most pleasure against you.
When you do start putting her pleasure on the forefront of your mind, bondage and blindfolds probably have to come out or she will start to be bratty.
She either yanks on the bindings or she just slumps, hanging like a doll.
She will still be bratty no matter what you do though. It’s just a matter of how much.
When she’s giving you oral under your guidance, she will try to tease you.
A slap on her ass is normally enough to get her to stop though, if just momentarily.
If not, she’s reduced to a helpless mess if you start fingering her perky little ass though.
She’s actually big on anal and double penetration, be it vaginal and oral, anal and oral, or vaginal and anal.
She’s a cock slut.
#hazbin hotel velvette x reader#hazbin hotel velvette#hazbin vaggie x reader#vaggie x reader#hazbin rosie x reader#rosie x reader#hazbin lute x reader#lute x reader#nsft
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SECRET'S OUT
genre. fluff. secret relationship.
warnings. kinda scandalous kissing spots (not really suggestive tho). jokes about jeokbong liking y/n.
pairing. so mun x fem!counter!reader.
wc. 1.5k.
a/n. from this request!
“I still don’t like that we have to go this far.” So Mun complained, his pout barely visible in the dark, “It’s cramped.”
“I never said we had to go to a closet. I just said somewhere private.” You defended. The closet had somehow been the first thing your boyfriend had thought of as a private place, and the space for 2 adult sized bodies was definitely limited.
“There’s nowhere private in the new base and you know that. The bedroom doors have windows since it was originally a warehouse.”
“I know. I wasn’t the one who couldn’t go a day without kissing their girlfriend.” You jabbed at him.
“I’m not the one who insisted on keeping this a secret!” He countered, crossing his arms in faux annoyance.
“Do you want to be teased by everyone? Cause I know I don’t… Especially Hana, god.” The muttered remark made Mun cringe as well.
“You’re right, this is better.” So Mun’s hands circled around your waist, pulling you closer in the already close space. “Even if I have to resort to kissing you in a closet.”
You giggled, hands resting on his shoulders, tiptoeing in order to reach his lips, “How scandalous of you.” You mumbled, smiling against his lips but not putting any pressure into kissing him. So Mun seemed to get inpatient for you to initiate a proper kiss and kissed you first.
In the relationship, you were definitely the responsible one. It wasn’t like you wanted to be, but someone had to do it otherwise there was no way you two wouldn’t get found out by the rest of the team. So Mun did his part in trying not to be too obvious with his lovesick stares or want to be close to you, except recently he was failing.
He kept whispering in your ear at dinner that Jeokbong definitely liked you and was always staring at you. You had rolled your eyes at the thought. Even if he was, you were undoubtedly in love with So Mun and So Mun only. His fleeting jealousy was nothing you were concerned about.
Mun didn’t like you brushing it off, though, and kept pulling your chair just a little bit closer to his with his foot under the table. It took multiple tries from you to make him stop, especially when Hana had almost picked up on it.
It had been a close call, but you hadn’t been caught yet.
“Goodnight, baby.”
“Goodnight, Y/n.” So Mun smiled and you ruffled some of the curls on his head as he settled under the covers of his bed.
“I’ll go now, okay?” You crouched down, now being eye level with him. He sighed but nodded nonetheless. You kissed his forehead to sooth him before walking out of his room. You let your shoulders relax— another stressful day was coming to a close, another day where your relationship with Mun stayed a precious secret.
“What are you doing in So Mun’s room at 1 am?”
Hana’s voice made you jump slightly. You spun around, finding her leaning against the kitchen counter, munching on a candy bar and staring you down.
“What?”
“You,” She pointed, “In his room. It’s late.” She swallowed her chocolate bar, narrowing her eyes a bit at you.
“He was just- I was just, uh-” You cleared your throat awkwardly. This was bad. “He was just showing me one of his old comics he made when he was little.”
“At 1 am?” Hana raised her eyebrow, obviously not buying it.
“Yeah…” You walked to the kitchen, flashing the most innocent smile you could muster and opening the fridge to pour yourself a glass of iced tea.
“Well, goodnight, then.” She nodded, hand resting on your shoulder to give you a couple pats. Her eyes widened, “You kissed him in the closet!?”
You spat out your iced tea in utter shock. Fuck. Hana could read your memories. And you had completely forgotten about that.
“No!” You yelled defensively, “I didn’t- we- we weren’t-”
“Y/n, are you and So Mun-”
“Are we what?” So Mun had walked out of his room, hearing the commotion.
You straightened, eyes wide, trying to relay some sort of message to Mun that Hana was probably about to figure it all out. He didn’t get it, though, and walked towards you both. Hana only needed a second of her hand on Mun’s shoulder to get his memory of it.
She glanced at you and then back to Mun, eyes wide as they darted between you both. You were frozen, panic-stricken in your spot. So Mun was oblivious as always, trying to figure out why you and Hana were acting so weird.
“We need a team meeting to discuss this.” Hana proclaimed.
“What?”
“What?”
You and Mun asked in unison, turning to the other at the same time as if you were synchronised robots. Hana huffed at the fact that you two were still feigning innocence. She quickly knocked on the other counters’ doors, stirring the drowsy adults.
After a couple minutes, they were all gathered around the kitchen table. Jeokbong was rubbing the sleep from his eye, while Motak kept asking what was going on, and Ms. Chu was ready to get the car to catch an evil spirit at any minute.
“Two of our counters have been hiding something from us, with no regard to how we feel about it or how it might hurt our feelings.” Hana started, a pointed gaze on you and Mun who sat next to each other, nervously sweating at the situation. By the time Hana had gone to get the other counters, you had filled So Mun in on everything and he was now as panicked as you, if not more.
“What? What is it?” Jeokbong asked anxiously.
“Mun and Y/n… are dating.”
The room practically exploded with shouts and questions. If any of the counters were tired before, they were definitely awake now. The commotion was frankly impressive.
You had expected teasing, yes. But you had never expected it to be such a big deal. The two aces of the team suddenly being revealed to be seeing each other was quite a shock, though. Especially since no one had even suspected it until now.
“You’re dating Mun?” Motak asked for clarification, and you nodded quietly. “All this time, Jeokbong didn’t even have a chance?”
“W-What? No! No! I-I never liked Y-Y/n, don’t misunderstand!!” Jeokbong started defending immediately, but you barely paid attention.
Mun turned to you, whispering an “I told you” with a small frown. You wanted to kiss the pout right off his face, and you would’ve if you weren’t still surrounded by the rest of the team that were still throwing around question after question— none of which was being answered.
“How long has this been going on?” Ms. Chu asked.
“I never thought Mun could pull a girl like Y/n.” Hana teased.
“Hey-” Mun defended.
“Guys, stop. Yes, I’m dating Mun, we’ve been dating for months." You weren’t sure why, but you ended up laughing. Even with the chaos that had ensued as soon as the secret got out, it was relieving that you didn’t have to hide it anymore.
You didn’t have to hide the fact that you were in love with So Mun.
You could hug him whenever you wanted. You could kiss him whenever you felt like it. You could go on dates without having to pretend to be going on errands or missions. You could be like a normal couple. You felt exhilarated by the thought.
So Mun nodded at your statement and wrapped his arm around your shoulder to pull you towards him, “Y/n’s my girl… got that Jeokbong?”
Jeokbong looked utterly afraid for his life which made you crack up. Of course you knew that Mun was only being jokingly possessive of you, but the look on Jeokbong’s face was priceless, and soon the whole table was laughing.
“Now that we have that all cleared up, I think it’s best that we all get back to bed. It’s late for the kids and the grown-ups.” Ms. Chu told everyone.
“We’re not kids,” you complained.
“Sure you aren’t. You babies.” Ms. Chu smiled, patting your shoulder.
“If you two ever break up it’s gonna be awful for the team. So don’t you dare break up.” Hana warned you both.
“Don’t worry. We don’t plan to.” So Mun said confidently, making your cheeks flush.
“C-congratulations on your relationship.” Jeokbong stuttered quietly as he made his way back to his room.
“Thanks Jeokbong!” You replied cheerily.
“Yeah, thanks.” Mun smiled, kissing your forehead to intentionally emphasize it to him.
“You know that wasn’t necessary.” You scolded him.
“How else is he supposed to get the message?” So Mun frowned.
“We already told-” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before Mun’s lips were on yours, kissing you in the now empty room. You raised an eyebrow at him when you pulled away, “You just want an extra excuse to kiss me, don’t you?”
“...Maybe.”
↳ k-drama taglist: @yeonjuns-redhair,, @wolfmoonmusic,, @cha3w0n-hearts (abp & tuc only),, @tempobaekh (tuc only),, @edensgardenn
#﹒fics 𓈃 ⵌ#the uncanny counter#so mun#uncanny counter#the uncanny counter fic#the uncanny counter fluff#uncanny counter fic#uncanny counter fluff#so mun fic#so mun fluff#so mun x reader#kdrama fic#kdrama fluff#jo byeong gyu#jo byeong gyu fic#jo byeong gyu fluff
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hello! i saw your requests were open and wanted to pop in! i have a bit of a weird? idk request, where it’s like max verstappen x reader first where it ends with angst, and then she ends w carlos endgame?? maybe a whole lotta lover boy feels from carlos and ‘oh i fucked up something great’ feels from max, like essentially carlos that has been silently lining throughout readers relationship w max too?? i’m so sorry if this confused you! i loved ur previous carlos sainz fic!! 🤍🤍
BLOOD FLOWS RED
genre: fluff; light smut
pairing: bestfriend!max x reader; carlos x reader
summary: max constantly fucking up comes in no better time for carlos.
word count: 3.7k (my longest fic so far 💀)
warnings: angst, slight loverboy feels from max if you squint. voyeur max? not really but kinda ig and no beta we die like the ferrari fans we are 🫡 google translate ass spanish, forgive me 😞🫶
author notes: OMG ANON YOU ARE A GENIUS!!! I LOVED THIS REQUEST AND I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING IT. but small change tho, max x reader isn’t rlly like a proper relationship. anyways, hope u guys enjoy 😘😘😘
you were both 10 when you first met. your parents had been friends for a while by then, and they decided that they would place you and max in the same school. the two of you instantly kicked it off. it was like you guys were meant to be friends. you always shared the same opinions, the same preferences and all.
school with max was fun. the best, infact. the both of you hit it off well since the first time you met and had been inseperable (and insufferable) since. it was practically known to everyone that if max were to take a seat, the one beside it instantly belonged to you. you two had different friend circles, yes. But you were definitely each others best friend regardless.
highschool. highschool was a turning point in your friendship. although it was still as magical as it was, max’s attention at that time drifted between girls and racing. the former, burnt your heart with jealousy. everytime he ditched plans with you for his new girlfriend, you secretly prayed to god they would break up so you could have him all to yourself. The latter however, you didnt mind so much. you were always a fan of racing, and it only bought you two closer. you still remember go karting with max like it was yesterday. even if he was always the one to win, you weren’t too far behind, always coming it right after him. your deepest secrets, your highs and lows, your intrests, and everything about you was known to max, and max only. everyone would see you with him all the time, so no guys would ever approach you in school. Its not like you really minded it though, because max’s girlfriends only ever lasted two weeks at the most, and you guys would find your way back to each other.
You found solace in the unwavering friendship you shared with Max . Growing up together, navigating the twists and turns of life side by side, your bond evolved into something deeper over the years. You were always hopelessly in love with Max, but you concealed your feelings, afraid of risking the precious friendship you had cherished oh so much. Everyone but max could see it. I mean how couldnt they? you were always like a lost puppy around the paddock, finding your way to max. Much like your races, you would always find your way right behind him. it was clear in the way you looked at him, with stars in your eyes. How your voice went slightly higher when you were around him. How you relax when you’re with him. How you’re the loudest person during a race, always screaming his name as he raced by. Everyone felt sorry for you, really. Because in return to all of your affections was nothing but a cold and stoic response. Don’t get me wrong, Max definitely loved spending time with you, probably moreso than anyone else, but it was nothing in comparison to your admiration for him.
Afterall, in the world of Formula 1, where speed and competition reigned supreme, there was so space for screw ups. you needed to work hard for what you want and you needed to be cunning. and for max, nothing was as important as winning this year’s championship and more to come, so you’ve become used to his behaviour. he was quick, ruthless and on the top, and he wasn’t about to let anything get in the way of his success. so even though it stung when you could see how little you mattered to him over the sport, you convinced yourself it was okay. Because this was max’s dream since he was little, and whats a wish to date a boy over a pursuit for the championship but a speck of dust.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, you watched Max prepare for yet another exhilarating race. Your heart raced in sync with the roaring engines, anticipation filling the air. Deep down, you yearned for Max to realize the depths of your affection, but maybe it was too much to ask for, you think. He was always too caught up in his relentless pursuit of victory. Everyone saw it, even the rugged and striking driver of ferrari, with the number 55 adorned on his red suit.
Max insisted you leave him alone for a moment, so he could gather his thoughts before the race. “Are you sure, max?” “please, just go” reluctantly, you agreed and went into the paddock club. you settle into the couch and wallow to yourself. you just wanted to be there with him so you could calm his nerves, why was he acting unlike himself? you gather that recently this is all thats been happening. you always go behind him, wanting to be with him at all times, hoping to be the centre of his attention, but he stands like a stonewall. you’ve grown tired of it really. But come on, you knew you would find your way back to him again. You were infact in love with him since you knew what love was, weren’t you?
You get startled when a hand waves in front of your face “helloo?” “oh my god im so sorry” “no worries” he shoots you a cheeky smile. “did you need anything carlos?” “nothing, i just wanted to ask if i could sit by you” “yeah ofcourse, you didnt need to ask” honestly, this was the most you’ve ever spoken with carlos, so you were confused by his sudden intrest in you. but really, it wasn’t sudden at all. too absorbed into the grumpy redbull driver, you never noticed a tall figure clad in red lurk behind you two. He had seen it all. His eyes burned with rage everytime he saw you with max. What did he ever do to deserve you?
“Carlos? mate where the hell were you? you need to come to the garage, hurry up” charles says, appearing out of thin air “i’ll see you later, okay?” “Bye sainz” Looking back at you, carlos runs away behind the monagasque. you smile to yourself at the sudden attention from carlos. Atleast he distracted you, right?
yeah right. your nerves were all over the place the second the red lights blinked, and the race began. max was so off his game today, whats wrong with him? he was so far behind this race that even the alfa romeo cars had been ahead of him. it was his first race lately where he was behind a ferrari for once. you felt your heart thump as you wince, you know how much shit redbull & max’s father give him on the offchance that he isnt the best in the game. he didn’t deserve it, you think. he doesn’t deserve the shit they put him through. since this was the start of the season, everyone was very anticipated to see the result, to see who is going to be this years leading drivers.
you catch your eyes drifting towards one specific car though, and its not the redbull one you’ve always got your eyes on. the person leading the first race of the season happens to be the man that youve last talked to. carlos. you hold your breath, and blink for just a moment and there you see it, carlos gets the pole position. you dont know whether to be happy or not, a feeling you’re unfamiliar with makes your gut twinge. were you happy with the results? as much as you’d like to convince yourself otherwise, it was true. for some reason carlos winning made you feel proud, but in a split second you turn your eyes back to the circuit. max had gotten p7.
it was the night of that day that max had seen you under a different light. your look for the party had caught the eyes of everyone there, and unfortunately for max, even the eyes of a certain latino were set on you. Carlos was the first person you noticed the moment you stepped into the club. the ferrari pair had rented out the entire club for that night, celebrating their p1 & p2 standings. you instinctively go towards Carlos, talking him up about his big win. “Sainz, that overtake on lap 35? Blew my mind.” “you must’ve been attentive on me to catch that” he jokes, his chest rumbling with laughter. “oh come on everyone’s talking about it” “maybe. but so are you, and thats not very common” “I give credit where credit is due, what can i say?” you giggle, taking a flute of champagne. “hey, how come you aren’t with max? i ask only because this is the first time you’ve come outside that circle” he asks, slightly avoiding eye contact with you. “well, i guess you could say i just found someone more worthy of my time” “Oh..?” clearly amused with your answer, carlos decided that he’s not going to let you leave his side. He had a taste of it, and he knew he couldn’t let go just yet.
2 drinks become 4, and 4 drinks become 8 when you decide that you are done being the quiet girl behind max. you think that it’s time that you let go, live the moment for yourself, and yourself only. okay, and maybe Carlos too. conversations with him were just so light and breezy, you didnt have to hold yourself back hoping you’d be molded into the kind of girl he wants. it was obvious that he was interested in you as is. “Carlos” “yes, cariño?” “How come ive never spoken to you before?” “You know, actually you have” he wasn’t wrong, but that was just small talk at events. This? This was different. you knew it. He knew it. “No, no i mean like.. this” you say, speech slurred, hand reaching to brush his hair. “You’re driving me crazy, mi vida” he chokes out, eyes closed and a sigh escaping his lips. “Carlos..” you feel like you cant breath as you say, “Help me forget him” by this point of your conversation you had realised that he did, infact notice things about you. Maybe even in a way no one else did. you raise your eyes to meet his and you lose yourself in their charm. his brown eyes with specks of gold drew you in more than you’d like to admit. “Hermosa, when you have me,” he raises your chin up “You will be sober when you have me, and you wont be forgetting it any time soon”wind gets caught up in your throat at his bold statement.
“Come on, let loose carlos join me!!” by this point it was the alcohol talking, not you. “okay okay how about we get you home now?” “oh shut up im just getting started” “no you’re not, come with me” carlos says as he throws your arm around his shoulder to support you. “fuck, is she okay man? i can take her to her house just leave her with me” max say’s, finally emerging after eyeing you both all night. “don’t hold your breath mate, she’s going home with me”
you wake up the next morning with the worst headache, which only gets worse when you realise you can’t recognise the room you’re in and the clothes you’re wearing aren’t yours. you shoot your head up as you hear the door open. Carlos? wait a second. did you and he..? “Carlos, did we—“ “Did you want us to?” “Oh my god. OH MY GOD??” “Calm down im just messing with you, no we didn’t do anything. i just had to change your clothes because you puked all over them” this was so embarrassing you couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes.
“im so sorry, i really am. i didnt think i would let go that much yesterday.” “Don’t worry, i had fun. plus its nice seeing you not be so timid” your cheeks flush at his compliment. Fuck. i abandoned max yesterday, you thought, booking a cab to his house as you pack your stuff. “Youre not seriously booking a cab right now, are you?” “Not all of us come from Generational wealth, Carlos” you say, hoping you get connected to a driver as soon as possible. “No, no. you’re coming with me.” he says, taking his car keys and showing you the way to the garage. The moment you arrive at max’s house, you see an unfamiliar pair of heels by his shoes.
you knock on the door “Max?” No answer.“Max??” no answer yet again. you use your keys to open the door. “I didn’t expect you to come at this time” he says, his hand over a girl who you barely recognise’s shoulder. “Who’s this, max?” “It doesn’t matter, she was just about to leave” the woman looks confused but exits, mumbling something to max as she leaves. “Whos that, your conquest of the week?” you ask the second you hear the door click. “Why do you care? you must’ve had fun whoring out with the ferrari boys yesterday anyways.” He didnt mean for it to sound as harsh as it did, but what was done was done. Seriously? “Fuck you max. i’ve always been with you every second of every day and you don’t appreciate me for a moment. you constantly ditch me for these random fucking girls who you know are just with you because you’re in redbull. And i let myself go for one night. One fucking night and you’re on my back calling me a whore? you know what? i am tired. i am done with your bullshit. Maybe ferrari is better after all, huh?”
“You don’t understand my point” “what point max? what fucking point? Are you blind or do you just convince yourself to ignore the fact that ive been in love with you since we started talking? Do you know how much it hurt me to walk in your shadow all these years hoping you would notice that i was there for you? to notice that i was the one for you?” “You love me?” he sounds heartbroken saying it, but you’re on an adrenaline rush and don’t take note of it. you could feel your feelings for him fading more and more as you spoke your feelings out to max. “No. not anymore.” “Fuck. i never- i never thought, fuck.” “guess you just realised it too late mate” a voice speaks up behind you. “Lets go back, i cant stand to see his face.” you spit, with venom lacing your words as they sunk into max’s heart like a dagger.
After the incident with max, You realised that the night with the ferrari driver would be the start of something much, much bigger than you had expected. somewhere in between the races the 33 on your shirts slowly turned into 55. You didnt have to tell max you’ve moved on, it was clear as day. Carlos had gifted you a bracelet, a custom cartier one with the initials c.s adorned by a small pendant of a chili. everyone on the paddock could see that max was history to you. By this point it was also famously known that you had become Carlos’s girl. you didn’t mind the chatter though, you were so happy with carlos, he made you feel things that no one had been able to make you feel. he was gentle, and understanding. But at the same time, he knew exactly how to treat you, and the fact that you liked to be treated a little rough, once in a while, and he played it like a charm.
Your situationship with him was quick to blossom into a relationship, the best one you’ve ever been in. Days with Carlos were magical. he was crazy for you, as were you for him. you were so used to people stepping all over you that carlos treating you the way you deserved to be treated caught you off gaurd at times, but you grew attached to that quality of him. he made sure that he was the best man for you, and that you were treated exactly how you deserved to be. you noticed that you didnt even ask him for anything, he miraculously knew exactly what you wanted, and he delivered seamlessly. You had drifted significantly from max, but you didn’t mind anymore. Carlos was the only one for you and there were no doubts about it.
This particular morning was that of the emilia- romagnia grand prix, with you by the ferrari garage with carlos. everyone there had become used to you at this point, charles and some of the engineers becoming some of your best mates. Right now you were in carlos’s room, sitting on the bed as you watched him get ready. it was a home race for the ferrari boys. “What?” carlos talks over the phone, clearly upset with whatever he’s heard. you sit up straighter at his sudden change in demeanour. “Fuck. guess there’s nothing we can do huh?” he says, moments before he hangs up. “It’s canceled. the race is canceled because of a flood.” “What? Im so sorry to hear that Carlos, i know how much this race means to you.” you say, walking up to him and fixing up his shirt.
“Is there anything i can do to make you feel better?” memories of that night rush back into your head. you take in a sharp breath remember what carlos told you that day. “I’m sober now” “You remember that?” he looks into your eyes, his own shifting into a darker look. “I couldn’t for a moment forget it” you pull his collar in towards yourself “you little minx, me estás matando” “Lets see if you’re a man of your word, sainz” you dare to say. “you’re gonna wish you never challenged me, hermosa.”
His lips crash against yours as he pulls you up to jump onto him, legs wrapped around him as you take him in, in all his glory. your brain becomes foggy, and a thousand diffrent scenarios run around your head and at once, the all stop, Leaving your head a blank space. you run your hands through his hair, breathless. he walks you both over to the bed, his lips never leaving yours as unsaid words get conveyed to you. i want you. he gently places you on the bed, getting onto his knees.
You pull away from him for a moment, just a moment. you needed to get comfortable into the bed, and even the split second away from him makes you grow impatient. you look down to see him frantically trying to pull your shorts off you. Frustrated, you pull him by his neck back to you, kissing him with a rush you’ve never experienced before. you close your eyes, his wandering hands feeling making you feel sensitive all over. even a harmless rub against your thigh ticks you off. the whimper youve been suppressing comes out into the kiss, making Carlos feel as though he was losing his mind. he couldn’t take it anymore. he wanted you, he wanted you so badly he felt like a teenager about to cum in his pants.
All you wanted was to scream his name, loud enough for the entire hotel to hear, and he, wanted to listen to them on repeat like they were the best musical piece ever created. he was drunk on lust. “Can i?” you nod with all your might, you couldn’t handle it anymore. “Use your words, mi amor” “Yes, yes. please i want it so bad carlos, please.” “God, you sound so angelic begging for me right now.” Just as he was about to take off his top, the two of you hear a series of knocks on your door.
“Are you in here? its max” “Why is he here?” just as you were about to cuss him out, carlos signals you that hes got it covered. He picks you up, making you put your legs over his torso again. “Carlos? what are you-“ he shushes you, a finger falling over your swollen lips. just as you reach the room door, he clashes his lip’s against yours again. he slowly takes off the lock on the door, leaving max to think he can come in.
max is greeted by the two of you feverishly making out as he opens the door. you and carlos pay him no mind though, as if you couldn’t even see him. “Fuck you guys” He shouts as he bangs the door on his way out.
#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz 55#carlos sainz blurb#carlos sainz fluff#carlos sainz imagine#carlos sainz jr#carlos sainz smut#fluff#carlos sainz fanfic#carlos sainz fanfiction#max verstappen#max verstappen angst#max verstappen smut#max verstappen fluff#formula one#f1 x reader#carlos sainz drabble#carlos sainz junior#carlos sainz f1#carlos sainz one shot#formula 1#f1
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crazy in love
(pt. 2 to drunk in love)
pairing: modern!ellie williams x reader
summary: after a hot quickie with ellie at a nightclub, the two of you find yourselves extremely into one another. so when she asks to take you out on a date, you agree.
content warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, photography during sex (ellie & reader take pictures during sex), fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving), strap-on use (r!receiving), breast play (r!receiving), use of terms pretty girl, baby, and brat (once), ellie calls the strap her cock, very brief spanking, ellie is a bit of a space nerd!, not proofread.
a/n: read part 1 if you haven't already! originally, drunk in love was supposed to be a smutty lil one shot but yall gave it sm love that i wanted to do a quick follow-up! tysm for 1k+ notes on the first part <33 (also, nobody is going to stop me from naming my fics after beyonce songs!! they're too good)
Since Dina’s bachelorette party, only one thing had been on your mind. Well, more like one person. Ellie Williams, the cheeky girl who defended you against a creepy guy at the club and then fucked you dumb in the women’s bathroom. After that night, you couldn’t help but blush every time you thought about her.
You’d been texting with her nonstop, exchanging flirty messages every day. She was dying to take you on a proper date, something unique and romantic, as she described it. And finally, you agreed.
Tonight, Ellie was picking you up for your date. She was being awfully shady, refusing to share details about what she had planned for the night.
You sat in your room, touching up your makeup and fidgeting nervously as you waited for Ellie to arrive. Earlier, you had spent an embarrassing amount of time on the phone with Dina, struggling to pick out something to wear. Thankfully, you managed to put something nice together– this time your outfit was a bit less revealing and much more comfortable than what you had worn to the club where you met Ellie. Soon enough, your phone buzzed with a notification of a text from Ellie.
E: I’m outside, pretty girl.
Pretty girl. The nickname she’d adorned you with the night that you’d met. It seemed to stick because when you exchanged numbers, Ellie set your contact name as the pet name. Her texts made your stomach leap– every time you saw her name on your home screen, a little smile crept onto your face.
R: i’ll be out in a second ❤️
Ellie stared at your text while she waited for you in her car. Letting out a flustered sigh, she shut off her phone and tucked it in her pocket. While she really didn’t want to show it, Ellie was nervous about the date. How could she not be? Everything about you made her heart race, even over text. She considered herself more than lucky to have fucked you, let alone in a public bathroom.
She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, glancing at your front door every few seconds. Like you, Ellie had also spent a ridiculous amount of time getting ready. She stood in front of her closet for nearly an hour, groaning in frustration as she tossed her button-downs and graphic tees to the floor. Eventually, she settled on one of her nicer flannels and a pair of Dickies she had yet to wear.
A shaky breath left Ellie’s lips as she watched you step past your front door, you looked just as stunning as the night she met you. You met Ellie with a broad smile as you slipped into the passenger seat of her beat-up truck.
“Hey, Ellie,” You greeted her, your voice soft and low. You leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek. “Missed you.” You murmured.
“You’ve been texting me every day for the last week,” Ellie laughed as her cheeks grew warm.
“You know what I meant…” You rolled your eyes playfully and slid the seatbelt around your body. “So, what do you have in store for me tonight?”
“Don’t you want it to be a surprise?” Ellie questioned as she put the truck in drive and moved onto the road.
You let out an exaggerated sigh and reached out to turn the radio on. “If you insist!” You flipped through the stations until a familiar song quietly played through Ellie’s speakers.
The drive wasn’t long, Ellie asked a few questions about your day, which you happily answered in detail. When she finally parked the car, you were outside a townhouse. The red brick and black accents of the building were softly illuminated by the tall street lamps standing on the sidewalk.
“Ellie, is this your place?” You asked, slightly in awe at the vintage aesthetic of the architecture. She nodded, a small smile on her lips. “Is this what you had planned? Taking me to your house and having sex with me?” The words were full of sarcasm but you still wore a playful grin.
Ellie rolled her eyes and undid her seatbelt. “‘Course not, well– maybe later– but, no. I have something else in mind.” She chuckled.
You laughed and followed her as she unlocked the front door, your eyes immediately wandering to the houseplants she had on the front steps that led to the entrance.
“C’mon, this way.” She instructed once you both had kicked off your shoes. Ellie directed you up the stairs, her hand intertwined with yours as you walked together. “Okay, close your eyes,” She placed a hand on your lower back. “No peaking! I’m serious, y/n.” You laughed at her tone and shut your eyes. Ellie opened the door to her bedroom and gently pushed you inside. “Open,” Ellie murmured, her lips gently brushing against your earlobe as she stood behind you.
Your eyes fluttered open slowly, carefully taking in the details of your surroundings. Ellie’s room was decorated with lit candles and a large blanket on the floor. She had a plate of snacks waiting on the blanket, accompanied by a bottle of an expensive-looking wine.
“What is all of this?” You turned to face her.
Ellie shrugged and stuffed her hands into her pockets. “Well, I wanted to take your stargazing,” She sat on the blanket and looked up at the skylight above her. “But, it’d be too cold outside for it to be enjoyable. Instead, I figured this would be good enough.” Ellie pat the spot on the blanket beside her, gesturing for you to sit with her. You lie next to her, looking up at the skylight. Your eyebrows raised slightly.
“Wow,” You muttered as you took in the array of stars above you.
“If you think that’s cool,” Ellie stood up and went to open her closet. She returned holding a white telescope that looked at least a few years old. Ellie placed it between you, positioning it to face the skylight. “Look at this.” She fidgeted with the telescope for a moment before beckoning for you to sit in front of it.
You leaned forward and closed one eye, the view of the night sky filling your vision. Ellie sat behind you, one hand on your waist as she spoke quietly about the stars.
“This is so pretty, Ellie.” You pulled away from the telescope to flash a smile at her.
“Here,” She nudged the telescope slightly to the right and leaned in to talk into your ear. “See that yellowish dot?” You hummed for a moment until your gaze landed on the dot she was talking about.
“Yeah, I see it.” You squinted through the telescope as you looked closer.
“That would be Saturn,” Ellie squeezed your hip gently. “Usually, you can only see it during the late summer through the fall.” You pulled away from the telescope to look at Ellie.
“You’re really into this, aren’t you? The whole space thing?” Ellie nodded and laughed softly. She shrugged off her flannel and revealed the assembly of tattoos that adorned her arms. You stared at her arms for a moment, your eyes stuck on the way her muscles rippled as she moved. You knew she was muscular based on the way she picked you up with ease in the bathroom of the club, but you hadn’t realized how toned she was.
“I have a few space tattoos on my arms, actually.” She pointed to a detailed tattoo of the sun and moon on her shoulder. You traced your fingers across the dark ink gently.
“You are such a nerd, Ellie.” You teased as your eyes flicked upwards to meet hers. She laughed and grabbed you by the waist, pulling you onto her lap.
“Wouldn’t that make you a nerd by association?” Ellie grinned at you, lips only an inch or two from yours.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You replied in a smug tone as you rest your arms on her shoulders.
“Oh, come here, you tease.” She pulled you in for a kiss, giggling softly against your lips. Ellie’s hands rested on your thighs as you kissed, her thumbs tracing small circles.
Before the kiss could progress further, Ellie pulled away and kissed your cheek. “I bought some nice wine and snacks– are you hungry?”
“Yeah, actually, I’m starving.” You laughed and climbed off her, settling back down on the blanket. As Ellie poured you a glass of wine, you looked around her room. Her wall was covered with posters of bands you’d never heard of, paintings, sketches, and photographs. Glancing at her nightstand, you saw a black and white Polaroid camera. “Are you into photography?” You asked as you stood up and grabbed the camera.
“Oh, yeah. It’s just a hobby of mine, same thing with painting and drawing.” Ellie shrugged as she watched you inspect the camera. “C’mere, let me see it.” She stood and joined you, gently taking the camera from your hands. “Smile,” Ellie instructed while she raised the camera to her eye.
“You’re going to take a picture of me?” You giggled.
“Why not? I think you look beautiful.” Ellie lowered the camera a bit so you could see her eyes again.
“Well, why don’t you take one of both of us? I think I’d like that better,” You said softly. Ellie bit her lip and nodded, gesturing for you to stand beside her.
“Come close so you’re in the frame,” Ellie slid her free hand around your waist and turned the lens of the camera to face the two of you. “Ready?” You leaned in and gently placed your lips on her freckled cheek, pausing and waiting for the flash of the camera. Ellie smiled, her eyes closed and her cheeks pink as she took the photo.
After a moment, the camera spit out a small photo of you and Ellie. She passed it to you, her eyes watching your reaction closely as you saw the Polaroid.
“This is so cute, Ellie!” You exclaimed, glancing from her to the photo.
“It’s ‘cause you’re so pretty.” She chuckled. “Maybe you should model for me sometime…” Ellie trailed off, her green eyes wandering to your lips.
“I wouldn’t mind that,” You smirked and pulled away from her to go and sit on the blanket. As you took a long sip from your glass of wine, Ellie joined you and set the camera next to her.
Time seemed to pass quickly, and conversation flowed easily between you two. Ellie was…perfect, she laughed at all of your jokes, shared her personal stories, and snuck in affectionate touches. You lay side by side, gazing up at the clear night sky through her skylight. You listened to her ramble quietly about space and astronomy, your eyes focused on Ellie’s face as she looked up at the stars.
It didn’t take long for Ellie to catch you staring at her, her cheeks flushing a reddish color. “What?” She giggled as her gaze traveled from your eyes to your mouth.
“Nothing, just…watching you.” You sighed. Ellie propped herself up on her elbows and looked down at you. She lightly ran her thumb across your lower lip.
“Was I boring you?” She uttered as you pursed your lips and kissed her thumb as it pressed against your mouth.
“No, I love watching you geek out. It’s cute.” You flashed a cheeky grin before Ellie swiftly climbed on top of you. With a knee carefully wedged between your thighs, Ellie raised an eyebrow.
She narrowed her eyes as she looked down at you. “Don’t you know staring is rude?” Ellie whispered, trailing her fingers from your lips down to the valley between your breasts.
“Why don’t you do something about it then? Maybe you should teach me a lesson.” You breathed, your eyes dark with neediness as you stared at Ellie. She stared at you in silence for a moment, a small smile on her lips.
“Okay, if you insist…” Ellie laughed softly and pulled her face away from you, her hips moving to straddle yours. She took your hands and pinned them above your head with her left hand. Biting her lip, Ellie reached past your head and grabbed the camera that was resting a short distance from your body. “Said you wouldn’t mind modeling for me, right?” She cooed as she positioned the camera in front of her eyes with her free hand. A quick white flash lit up the room as Ellie took a photo of you. She set the camera next to her leg and began to slowly tug your shirt up.
Once your bra was revealed, Ellie inhaled sharply. You watched as her tongue darted out to wet her lips while her eyes studied your body hungrily. She lifted the shirt off your body and tossed it to the side.
“Pretty.” She hummed, gently rubbing one of your nipples through your bra. Ellie was still holding your hands above your head, leaving you completely to her use.
“Ellie…” A quiet whimper left your lips as Ellie slid a hand under your bra, toying with your hardened nipple.
“What am I going to do with you? Hm?” Ellie muttered and leaned in to kiss your neck. Her teeth grazed the soft skin as she left small love bites down your neck. She reached down to the center of your bra where a front clasp kept your breasts covered. Ellie’s brows bunched together as she fumbled with the tiny clasp.
“Need some help?” You teased, a cocky grin on your face. She glared at you and bit her lip before her focus returned to the clasp. Ellie finally undid it, the bra falling from your chest.
“I know how to take off a bra, you brat,” Ellie said, her voice husky despite the soft laugh she let out after the words left her. Pulling her hands away from you, she found the camera once again and pointed the lens toward your exposed tits. “Play with your tits,” She instructed, covering the blush on her cheeks with the camera.
You didn’t hesitate to obey her instructions, using your now unrestricted hands to pinch your nipples while you looked up at the camera lens.
“You’re a natural,” Ellie smirked, and she snapped a photo. You squirmed beneath her, desperate for some sort of friction or relief to the ache burning between your legs. You’d been thinking about this moment all night, wondering if sex between you two could get any better after your quickie in the club bathroom.
“Please,” You whined, toying with your breasts as you pathetically bucked your hips up into Ellie’s.
“God, you’re so needy.” She whispered. Ellie raised her hips and began unbuttoning your pants, then pulled them off in one swift motion.
You spread your legs and revealed your panties to Ellie. You watched her reaction closely, smiling softly as you noticed her breathing grow heavy and her eyes dilate when she saw the wetness soaking through your panties. “Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer.”
Ellie laughed and shook her head. Without responding to your remark, she grabbed the camera and took a photo of you spreading your legs. “I’m not sure what I want to do to you yet…” She mumbled. Her slender fingers slowly brushed up and down your bare thighs while her eyes lazily trailed up and down your body.
“Jus’ fuck me, Ellie.” She didn’t hesitate to tug your panties off your legs as soon as the words left your mouth. You moaned as she slipped a finger gently inside your cunt.
“You’re going to regret being so demanding, pretty girl,” Ellie said as her dark green eyes returned to yours. Her slow pace soon turned quick as she added another finger and began curling her fingers inside you. You writhed uncontrollably beneath her when her digits brushed against an extra sensitive spot inside you.
She didn’t wait for you to tell her that you were close to your orgasm– Ellie could tell by the way your walls were clenching around her fingers. In an almost teasing manner, Ellie lowered her head slowly and kept her eyes on you as she pressed her tongue against your clit. The sensation practically made you wail– the feeling of her tongue swirling around your needy bud while her fingers fucked into you persistently was more than enough to make you cum.
You took Ellie’s camera with shaky hands and took a photo of her going down on you. You caught a glimpse of the Polaroid as it spit out of the camera and fell to the floor. Ellie looked just as perfect in the photo as she did in real life, her freckles standing out against her pale skin, her long, dark lashes fanning over her closed eyes while her tongue was pressed against your cunt. Even the messy strands of hair that fell in front of her face looked flawless.
“I’m- Mmph!” Your breathy words were interrupted by your moans as your back arched and you came all over her tongue. Your breathing was heavy as Ellie removed her fingers from your slit and slowly licked your juices off her fingers. You closed your eyes as you felt Ellie pull away from you and heard her shuffling throughout the room.
Ellie’s hand carefully pushed your legs open, and you sighed softly. A quick flash brought your attention back to her as your eyes opened and landed on Ellie’s sly grin.
“Didn’t think I was done with you just yet, did you, pretty girl?” Ellie cooed as she ran her calloused hand up and down your stomach. Your skin was soft and smooth against her calloused fingers. Hesitantly, you looked down at Ellie’s hips where she was wearing a strap-on dildo over her black boxers. While you’d been coming down from your climax, Ellie had stripped down to her boxers and sports bra and slid on her strap.
The strap was not the same one she’d fucked you with before– in fact, you were almost certain this one was bigger. It was black and seemingly thicker and longer than the last. You whimpered at the sight of the strap, causing Ellie to chuckle.
“You asked me to fuck you,” Ellie said, her voice low and raspy as she slid the tip of the strap along your wet cunt. “So I’m going to fuck you and teach you a lesson.” You moaned as she slid the dildo against your clit with more pressure. A soft whine escaped you when Ellie pulled away and sat across from you.
“What’re you doing?” You asked quietly as you sat up and looked at her.
“If you want to be fucked so bad, why don’t you do it yourself?” She raised an eyebrow. God, she looked so cocky at that moment. It almost annoyed you that she enjoyed teasing you so much. You huffed in frustration and crawled over to her, settling down in her lap.
Still grinning, Ellie leaned back against the floor. She looked up at you with one hand behind her head, the other loosely gripping your hip. You pouted and placed your hands on her toned stomach. Slowly, you raised your hips and pushed the strap into your dripping slit.
Almost immediately, the room was filled with your moans and whines while the strap sunk deeper and deeper inside of you. Ellie shut her eyes and her grip on your hip tightened slightly, hushed curse words spilling from her lips. With one hand, Ellie snatched the camera and hurriedly took a Polaroid of you sinking onto the strap, your face contorted in pleasure.
“So deep…” You panted. Ellie moved her hands up and down your hips, forcefully grinding your hips against her own every time you slid back down on the strap.
“Taking it so well, fuck,” She groaned and bucked her hips upwards. You threw your head back and moaned loudly when she thrust into you. Ellie’s breathing was heavy, and her hands grasped at your hips so tightly you swore she was going to leave bruises. Her hand wandered, rubbing your lower stomach while she fucked into you. She pressed against your stomach with her hand, causing you to gasp loudly. “Shit, swear I can feel my cock inside of you like this,” She bit her lip and kept her hand on your lower stomach, the pressure making you clench tightly around the toy.
“S’too much, Ellie!” You cried out and your movements slowed slightly. With her free hand, Ellie slapped your ass just hard enough to sting for a moment. You whimpered and resumed the pace you had been moving at.
“Don’t stop now, pretty girl, you’re doing so good…” Ellie praised, the hand on your stomach moving down to circle your clit. “Do you need some help? Is that what it is?” She mumbled.
You nodded quickly and slumped forward, nuzzling your face in her neck while you lazily moved your hips. Her hands ran along your back, tracing the bumps of your spine down until they reached the curve of your ass. She palmed at the flesh, squeezing the fat of your ass as she began to pull your hips up and down the thick strap. You moaned brutally as she slammed into you deeply, the tip of the strap kissing your cervix with each aggressive thrust.
Ellie pressed you against her body tightly and muttered quiet curses. “I- I’m so close-” You whined.
“I know, baby, I know,” She breathed with her lips pressed against your ear. You reached down and rubbed your clit while Ellie thrust inside of you. It didn’t take long for your body to begin spasming, long moans and cries of pleasure spilling from your lips. Your climax coursed through your body like a wave, a blinding rush of ecstasy blocking your senses for what seemed like hours as your body grew limp. Even after the initial climax, a more subtle buzz of satisfaction ebbed throughout you.
“Oh my god,” You whispered. Ellie stroked your hair and laughed softly.
“You did so good, pretty girl.” She sighed and turned her head. Her gaze landed on the camera before she glanced down at you. “Smile, baby.” Ellie reached out and turned the lens of the camera to face the two of you. She kissed the top of your head as she pressed the button and the camera froze the image of you smiling weakly in Ellie’s arms.
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆
tags: @ximtiredx , @asteroidzzzn , @ellabsprincess
as always, reblogs, replies, and likes are appreciated<33
#ellie williams#tlou 2#ellie williams smut#ellie x fem reader#ellie williams x reader#sapphic#wlw#tlou#tlou x reader#the last of us#smut#tlou smut#ellie williams the last of us#ellie tlou#ellie the last of us#ellie x reader#ellie x y/n#x reader#tlou ellie#tlou part ii#the last of us 2#tlou2#Spotify
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downtime (18+)
✪ riri w. x fem!reader
sypnosis: Riri having to pause her game and tend to you...
⚠︎: plot⁴🌽, smuttt, fingering, talks of overstimulation, lil bit of dirty talk, very short + ! amateur writing !
‧₊˚ 𓂃౨ৎ ‧₊˚ 𓂃౨ৎ ‧₊˚ 𓂃౨ৎ ‧₊˚ 𓂃౨ৎ ‧₊˚ 𓂃౨ৎ ‧₊˚ ౨ৎ
She'd been playing some kind of story mode video game all day and you'd missed her touch for too long. So instead of further annoying her and asking when she'd be finished or take a break, like you'd done many times before, you plop down beside her on the plush sofa, she doesn't even spare a glance.
Her thumb and pointer finger steady their rumble against the buttons of her controller and you swear you've never felt such envy over an inanimate object.
You muster up the most dramatic sigh you could, curling into her side and your head searching for relief on her shoulder.
"Riri.." you finally find your voice– pitifully hid in her clavicle now but, it still counts for something.
She hums in response, no proper acknowledgement of you seated next to her.
"What're you doing?" rolls meekly off your tongue, the forlorn attempt for even a sliver of her attention was painfully obvious.
Riri side eyes you, her rosy tongue swipes across her bottom lip, a smirk bubbling under the surface because she knows you know and there's no way you didn't because she's seen you see her each time you walked directly infront of the tv.
"Trying to play my game."
“Ohh..” You frown at the impassive answer but continued to press on until she caved.
You brought your legs up under yourself, allowing you to lean further into her space and shrouding half of her torso, wrapping one hand around her neck to support yourself and the other sitting at the mid drift of her tank.
Riri peers down to your hand scraping at her lower stomach, fiddling with the band of her boxers, a very dry, “..yup..” Slips past her lips before she’s snatching her buried arm from under you.
While she's acting distracted, sneaky fingers play their way up her tee, whisking over the toned skin of her abs nonstop as you awaited that familiar tense and gauge that lets you know you got her backed into a corner.
Riri clears her throat at your teasing, trying to blink the blooming lust out of her system. You push her controller down into the center of her lap, nudging the structure of her neck with your temple, you carp sweetly, "...Play with me instead."
That tantalizing attitude is exactly what got you pushed deep down into the seats of your couch, legs splayed on either side of Riris body as she coached you towards your first orgasm of the night, your fitful moans nothing but music to her ears.
"mmnh, mmhm, was it worth it?" her syrupy tone contrasts greatly from the way she aggressively scissored your pussy open with her middle and index so she could fit another.
And shit—!.. you were already so fucking wet from the ample thrusts she provided, clear sap glazing each length down to the center of her open palm, she probably would’ve been able to make do without the prepping.
“Distracting me all day long cause you wanna be fucked open…” she huffs, her wrist angling deeper into you for just that moment.
You nod and rut desperately into her curved fingers, finally rewarded with her ring joining your sloppy cunt. thumb rubbing at your puffy and overtly sensitive clit in tandem till your hips were rising shakily off the pillows, “so tell me, was it worth it baby?”
Your mouth gapes but no audible words are spoken, just broken whimpers & pleads for more as your hand met her flat tummy again. Tears actively lining within your waterducts when riri started to mock your uneven breathing back onto your parted lips.
How did she expect you to answer when she was fucking you so good your eyes refused to stay open for longer than a mere second? You were too far gone.
Riri loves the way you cling onto her biceps as she finally brings you over the edge, your sticky cream coating each finger that helped deliver you. She hums while kissing your sweat prickled temple, pursed lips marking their way to your warm cheeks whispering praises deep into your skin, she wasn’t done with you yet and you knew it.
She was going to keep you cumming over and over and then some till you physically couldn’t no longer, all because you interrupted her day.
Those disgustingly wet but ever numbing massages at your inner thigh get interrupted by her middle finger revisiting your ribbed walls. A loud whine cracks, more like pokes, through the air as you ignorantly clenched your weak legs around her hand. She slaps the smooth skin, holding one down flat with ease, so all you’d be able to do was take it.
If only you’d just sat back and let her enjoy her downtime..
a/n: idk if I like this but here’s something slight while i touch up on stuff n'… things… <333
🔖: @shurislover @ririswife @s0lam33y
#𝓴𝓲𝔀𝓲𝓼 𝓯𝓲𝓬𝓼 ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱#riri williams x reader#riri fic#ironheart x reader#dominique thorne x reader#riri x you#riri williams smut#riri williams fic#marvel wlw#marvel fanfiction#marvel lgbt#marvel smut#domiiiii
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adagio for strings 2/4
↷ ˊ- true form!ryomen sukuna x f!reader
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"i'm not a crook!"
' - wc: 3.7k
you look more yūrei than human with how you stagger down the winding path, your breaths short and quick and shaky. the moon looks at you like how a mother would when her child is up to no good. she hides behind thick clouds to obscure her light in an effort to keep you from reigning carnage, but you move. to hell with the moon, you think, squinting your eyes to make out the dark shapes ahead. i don’t need a mother to guide me, much less the fucking moon.
you drag your feet across sharp stones hardly wincing, like a crippled animal on broken legs. the weight of your weapon is the only friend you have left, and you swallow the noise that crawls up your throat. you don’t know what it might’ve been. maybe a scream or even a sob, but it doesn’t matter now that the village is close. your eyes adjust to the darkness and you recognize the water well, the stone steps, the statues of yokai that are supposed to protect from natural disasters. you nearly bark a laugh at the irony.
is this what it takes to become a ghost story? you soak in the silence as you limp. in a hundred years or so, you think that farmers will warn their children about playing outside after dark, lest they want to be stolen by a pauper turned vengeful by those who damned her. it feeds your delirium and takes your mind off the ashes. this is only fair. an eye for an eye. considering the years of verbal and physical torment, you find this generous. mosquitoes swarm your space when you stumble over the steps of the first house.
it’s a humble thing, nothing impressive about it, belonging to either a cowherd or a farmer, but there are no sandals or scattered tools on the porch to confirm. after a quick assessment of the surroundings, you slip through a crack between the sliding doors. this’ll work, i’ll make it work. the inside is just as bland upon entering. you scoff, disappointed. there are no pots or paintings or portraits to take, no trophies to collect, but you find grass cushions around a low table for eating. tell-tale signs of life. they encourage you to move.
it doesn’t take much time to find a room, the only room, at the end of the sandalwood hall. you press your ear against the door, heart hammering in your chest, and wait for a few seconds. it remains silent. you pull back to stand face-to-face with the thin paper. a serpentine tongue flits across cracked lips. you don’t know what you’ll see inside. maybe a man and his wife, perhaps a family, sleeping soundly in proper, padded mattresses. they are probably dreaming about silly things, like conquering demons with sharp teeth or becoming the next shogun.
hot jealousy swirls in the pit of your gut. it bends and snaps unnaturally, dragging its claws along the walls to tear apart your innards. dreaming of silly things is such a fucking privilege. you are more than happy to rip it from them.
but your hand never touches the wooden frame, held back by a ubiquitous force. cicadas whine for you. you blink with a bit of clarity and, for the first time in a while, think twice. your anger comes down to a slow simmer, diluted by a cold wave of realization. you don’t know what you’ll see inside. it repeats like a mantra in your head. you are thin and weak and don’t know how to fight. the words don’t feel like yours, but you listen. a man might draw his sword and strike you down. a woman might scream her head off. what then? the hand around your hatchet loosens its grip.
it repeats, you don’t know what you’ll see inside.
your jaw is tight when you turn away, refusing to waste your chance on a bunch of strangers, before leaving as quietly as you came. realistically, you aren’t capable of fighting more than one person at a time. adrenaline has a timer that you don’t want to test. plus, there are people more deserving of death, like the kamo women. you consider it but decide that they’re not worth the effort. their esteemed estate sits at the top of the hill, and you’ll likely succumb to exhaustion before reaching it. the female seller is also out of the question; you don’t even know where she lives.
your best bet at revenge is the butcher, knowing that his house is tucked behind some trees down the street. you hesitate a little though. he is strong and powerful with burly arms that can snap brittle necks like yours, surely from experience. he is a challenge far greater than climbing a thousand steps for two women who know nothing about fighting. at least then, the playing field is even. but you remember how scared he was, and how his cowardice ran so deep that he had cried to a clan to get rid of you instead of doing it himself.
dried leaves crunch where you step. a grasshopper jumps away disturbed. that is one thing you hold over his head, it seems, one thing that makes you stronger than a man of muscle.
the walk is short. you reach it in just under five minutes minus the limping. you know that he earns more money than a cowherd and a farmer combined, if the size of his house is anything to go by. he must also be smarter because the door doesn’t budge when you try to slide it open, almost as if he anticipated your imminent arrival. but death doesn’t come knocking politely, and neither should you. you remember how you joked about squeezing through a hole in the back wall, rumored to have been from a strike meant for his prostitute wife. you’ll use it tonight to deliver the punchline.
you round the house and find the secret entrance. it’s boarded so poorly, almost as if he had just filled it with a couple of large rocks from the river and called it a day without bothering to take extra precautions. it takes the same amount of effort to pull them down with sanguine-wrought claws. luckily, the hole is large enough for a person to slip through, and you silently thank his wife, keeping your hatchet close. you hope she’s doing well wherever she is. you haven’t seen her at the market since the rumors have stopped, but you’re not overly concerned. she wasn’t kind to you either.
immediately you notice the air is different inside, almost stagnant. it’s colder too. hairs behind your neck stand on end, but you don’t let it deter you.
you explore the home with light steps. every once in a while, tatami floors creak underneath your feet. you freeze when they do and wait for frantic movements, but there’s none. you take a moment to calm yourself before continuing. in the kitchen, you find the butcher’s most prized possession: his cleaver. it rests on the wooden table abandoned by its owner. you approach to trace the metal. it’s cool to the touch and still sharp despite all of the flesh that it has cut through. this must have cost a fortune, you think. metals are hard to come by.
it would be a valuable thing to have by your side. it’d scare both people and animals more than a rusty hatchet with a weather-stained handle, and you’d never have to live in fear until the day it also deteriorates, but you don’t think that will happen for a long, long time. it’ll serve a message to the rest of them too. you’ll get to spend your final days eating peaches and melons offered out of fear, before being taken by the shogun’s army for a necessary execution. your fingers tingle. i’ll teach myself how to use you, and you reach for the foul weapon.
but your spine straightens at the sound of shuffling from somewhere deep in the house. it’s faint. horribly so, but you hear it. blood rushes to your head. you turn around half-expecting to see something behind you, but the space is empty. the shuffling continues, only this time a little louder, coming from the eastern hall with a single bedroom at the end. the butcher, you breathe shakily, forgetting the cleaver. it must be the butcher. he’s awake. you are tempted to run out of the house, tail tucked between your legs, but you swallow your fear. this bastard is the reason you’re sleeping without a roof tonight.
you exit the kitchen and walk towards the room, your weapon ready. the shuffling grows louder, more frantic. you focus your energy on standing upright, eyes burning from the effort to make out the darkness of the hallway. your hand glides along the wall for guidance, dust collecting at your fingertips. you only stop when you feel the familiar wooden frame of a door. when you hesitate for the nth time, the cold air curls around you with its tendrils, urging you forward. it whispers incoherent things. unable to resist temptation, you slide it open with one swift movement.
you think you’re ready for the butcher. you expect to find him twisting back and forth on his futon, or practicing his secret swordsmanship with ungraceful feet, or maybe even pacing the room like all men do. you’ve already thought of a million ways to catch him off-guard, and one of them might have worked if it'd actually been the butcher in the room, but nothing could have prepared you for this. there’s a large mass that’s darker than darkness, hunched in the far left corner, morphing between shapes as if it can’t decide between looking human or plant or animal.
you refuse to take your eyes off of it, like a sick audience for a sick show. the creature contorts unnaturally, bending this way and that before groaning a loud, horrible sound. it bounces off the walls in powerful waves that strain your ears. hissing, you don’t think twice before stepping back, but it’s already too late when tatami floors creak under your feet. immediately it silences, changing form in a blink. it is thinner and taller, closer to a corpse than anything, with features still indistinguishable in the dark. your mouth goes dry.
“what the hell—” it lunges forward. you fail to dodge.
the force of the fall rattles your bones, pushing out the air in your lungs. there is a resounding thud from where your hatchet falls. you aren’t given a chance to recover before it digs its long, black nails into your shoulders, drawing liquid copper, and claws at your flesh. the air is metallic on your tongue when you screech in pain. the creature shakes in turn, mimicking a laugh, and pushes against the lower half of your body to render it useless. you’ve only ever felt like this once in your life, when you had sleep paralysis as a child. the old sensation is ingrained in your memory, and it resurfaces only now.
a coil snaps in your chest. “get off me!” you scream, thrashing violently. your hands curl into fists that jab at its sides. the creature doesn’t take a definite shape. you might as well be hitting air, but your efforts aren’t entirely futile. it recoils just enough for you to twist to your side and frantically search for your hatchet. when you see it in the far end of the hall, just a few arms-length away, you scramble towards it in desperation. but the creature is relentless. it grabs your ankle and pulls hard, dragging you further into the dark. no. no no no. you fight the paralysis that threatens to consume you, and with one final burst of strength, you kick.
you aren’t exactly sure why the creature lets go, wailing as if it came into contact with hot coal, but you don’t have time to ogle at how it presses itself against the wall in fear. you push yourself back on your feet and wobble quickly towards your weapon. when it’s back in your possession, you hold it tight until your knuckles turn stark white. this time you have no intentions of dropping it. your lungs burn when you breathe, and you’re sure you injured something, but you don’t dwell on it for too long. adrenaline has a timer.
you bare your teeth when the creature approaches. you’re ready to raise the hatchet. you remember the laws of nature when it lunges again, and you dodge. the strongest survive and forget the weak, who are branded for death the second they leave the womb. it runs through your veins like forbidden ichor. those gnarled hands shoot forward with inhuman speed, intent to kill, but you move just in time. you need to be the strongest in the room to win. the creature’s strikes wildly, its steps unpredictable. you cough blood at a particularly hard hit to your side. you need to be the strongest.
the creature falls forwards when you slash its legs. taking advantage of its vulnerable position, you rush forward and watch as it scrambles for footing, before you pull the hatchet up high. it looks at you then. though it lacks a proper face you think that it’s trying to mimic human emotion. you don’t know what it wants to evoke within you, but you hope it knows that it’s useless when you look back without a hint of remorse. the hatchet hits the juncture between its neck and shoulders, digs deep into black, warping mass, and comes off clean from the other side.
you watch it dissipate into nothing as if it was never there. the silence is nearly deafening. i did it. i killed it. your feet move before you could process what just happened, or what you just killed. the world blurs around you. when you pass the kitchen and catch a glimpse of the cleaver, you remember the butcher. he feels like a distant memory. you doubt he’s even alive anymore if the creature had been here the entire time. when you step out, the cool air hugs you tight. it’s still dark. you wonder if any time has passed at all.
when you reach the bottom step, you collapse forward and get a mouthful of dirt. adrenaline leaves your system before you get a chance to say goodbye, replaced instead with bone-deep exhaustion. your body remains glued to the ground as it succumbs to the exertion, fading in and out of consciousness. you dropped your hatchet again, you realize through the haze. you summon enough strength to prod at the space beside you. you swipe left and right, up and down. nothing. your vision blurs with unshed tears.
the pain is unbearable, gripping you like a vice and unwilling to go. even breathing is a difficulty on its own, with each inhale accompanied by a sharp pain in your chest. you know the injury is lethal. you wonder who will find your body first in the morning. maybe a child or a seller. you wonder if they’ll celebrate your death with sake or fresh meat before dumping your body into the river. maybe they won’t want to waste anything at all, so they’ll leave you here to rot and go about their day. before you could enjoy your pity party, a gruff voice cuts through the silence. “pathetic. that thing was hardly a curse.”
you blink, startled. a few tears fall and mix with the dirt. you don’t dare to look.
“what happened to that spirit of yours? don’t tell me you’ve given up. get up.” it’s harsher now, like the sound of sharpening two swords.
what else is there to lose?. you force two arms under you, shakily planting your hands to push your upper body off the ground. you find a pair of feet, attached to two strong legs, a solid waist and—
your eyes widen in horror, and for the first time in your life you see a real monster. he possesses four— four— arms, two of which hold weapons you do not recognize, a second pair crossed over his chest. all four of his eyes watching you with disgusting amusement. he reeks of arrogance and condescension, etched in the grooves of his hideous face and the criminal tattoos worn with pride. you don’t know what kind of expression you’re wearing, but he laughs at it so loudly that you wonder how no one has woken up yet.
no, not again. your breaths turn rapid, eyes full blown and wild. i can’t do this again. this guy is different from the one in the house. i can’t— you could only imagine what he sees. a woman with sunken cheeks and torn skin, dressed in dirt and bloodied, battered garbs, lying on the brink of death. you come to think that he’s here to finish you off. at least one of you is enjoying themselves. “there you go,” he purrs, smiling sharp with pointed teeth stained red. “you nearly had me worried. it’d be a shame if you died already.”
you want to scream with what little voice you have left, but it only comes out in short, pained grunts. the monster notices this. carelessly, he throws his weapons behind him to crouch in front of you. he abandons them so easily that you wonder how he thinks of himself so highly that he can fight without them. he’s still massive from this angle, and your neck hurts from the effort to crane up at him. he props a now-free hand on his knee and rests his chin on its palm. “sounds painful,” he drawls, dripping with feigned concern. “need some help?” you simply stare.
“did you forget how to speak?” you think for a moment before shaking your head. “then speak.”
“i c-can’t,” you nearly punch the words out of you.
a heavy sigh blows over you as he massages the bridge of his nose, grumbling something under his breath. the situation is almost comical. you can’t discern between his anger and disappointment. they blend so well together that you think he only feels both simultaneously, one unable to exist without the other. you aren’t surprised if that’s the case. everything about the monster came in pairs. two arms, two faces. of course he’d feel double the hatred over you. you just don’t understand why he hasn’t killed you yet. a creature like him doesn’t look like he’s capable of patience.
“you know,” his eyes narrow to thin slits. “you cause a lot of trouble in these parts. you’re like a fucking spawner, creating a bunch of pitiful curses.” so he’s not going to help you. the monster leans in to grab your face with one hand, squeezing your cheeks tight until your lips pucker. it feels like he’s trying to shatter your jaw with how much pressure he uses. “bet you don’t even know what curses are.” you don’t, but the word is familiar. you think that he catches the glint of recognition in your eyes, because his smile turns devilish.
“it’s a shame that you’re ugly,” he continues, humming to himself as he turns your head left and right. “you barely got any fat on you. you’re giving me close to nothing to work with.” fear shoots down your spine at his words, suddenly realizing the full extent of your vulnerable position. you think he notices that too because he simply chuckles and offers no clarification. his large hand crawls up the side of your face before tangling itself into your matted hair. he pulls back harshly and you wince.
“tell you what. i’ll give you food, water, and a bed if you make a deal with me.” his promise is vile. he takes advantage of your silence knowing full well that you’re unable to ask for its conditions.
but still, you weigh your options. there is nothing left for you here in this small village. no family or friends to remember, no home to turn to. you were never liked by the residents either, and you doubt you ever will be no matter what you do. plus, people will think that you have something to do with the butcher’s disappearance. although you were supposed to, you’d still be falsely accused for a kill that wasn’t yours, which you still think is highly unfair. you’d be doing everyone a favor if you disappear anyways.
so you look at him with the last bits of your bravery and nod. he grins fiercely, pleased with your decision.
“uraume,” he says. your eyes widen when a familiar figure materializes from nothing. the monk-child, who you saw at the market, the one that gave you your first pomelo. when they stand side-by-side over your collapsed form, something in your mind clicks. this four-armed freak is what leaves the village so restless. when sellers and ladies aren’t complaining about you, they talk about him. the “cursed object.” you still don’t know what that means. uraume’s expression is just as unreadable when they study you for the nth time.
“prepare a room at the temple, and cook twice as much for dinner,” he orders, his eyes raking over you. his companion, who you’re starting to believe is his servant, bows their head and mutters a humble “yes sir” before dissolving into air. you gape, eyes are fixated on where they stood. the monster merely chuckles at your ignorance. his grip on your hair loosens, and he pushes your head back into the dirt, surely leaving a mold of your face for the sellers to marvel over the next morning.
you don’t know about the other hands hovering over your back, expelling enough energy to seep through your robes, past your flesh, and into your bones. “you don’t understand now, but you will soon,” his voice is hypnotizing, bleeding through the static in your ears. you feel your ribs click back into place, and you taste earth when you gasp. “i’ll make you an expert in curses.”
exhaustion finally pulls you into its arms. it is your last embrace for a long, long time.
(masterlist) | listen to adagio for strings!
#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen sukuna#sukuna ryomen x reader#jjk sukuna#sukuna ryomen x you#heian period#true form sukuna#uraume#jjk x reader#jjk#sukuna#ryomen sukuna#jjk imagines#sukuna imagine
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Hii~
So i saw this on a tumblr post but is very jonmartin
"Jon and Martin are planning their wedding, they want to have their cat as ring bearer (is this how it's called?) But Martin doesn't know the name of the cat because they always call it different nicknames and jon just doesn't tell him and he don't want to admit that after all that years don't know.
Because jon didn't know either! he thinks that the cat is Martin's and he also is trying to figure out the name."
Martin’s not a cat person.
Honestly, he’s just not really an animal person. Like, in general.
The same isn’t true for Jon, of course. On, like, their second date, Jon—who, up until that point, had been all leather elbow patches on his stupid tweed jackets and “hmm, perhaps” and thoughtful squinting—got approached by a cat in the street, and pretty much melted on the spot.
Martin melted, too, but for slightly different reasons.
So it wasn't really a surprise when Jon moved in and Cat started turning up. Sure, it felt a little bit out of character for Jon not to excitedly announce that, one, he'd gotten a pet cat really recently, and, two, he was bringing it into Martin's place, which is a relatively humble little cottage, but Cat seems to free-roam most of the time, so it's not like she's encroaching on much of the space. And, anyway, it's not like Martin hates cats, so he doesn't mind. He just sort of thought Jon would have said something. But he didn't.
So.
You know.
There's a cat.
She's grown on Martin over time. In fact, it's usually him that wakes up with her purring and headbutting him at fuck-off o'clock in the morning, and Jon's not a heavy sleeper, so if she'd attacked him first, Martin would know.
But she's nice. Lovely little tufts of fur between her toes, and quite a deep meow for such a pretty lady. He'll call her Lady Catherine sometimes, and Jon's got the gall to pretend he doesn't think it's hilarious. Mind you, Jon's terms of endearment for her skew a bit more—pejorative, for lack of a better term? Like, Cat will take the opportunity when Jon is hunched over a stack of student essays at the dining table, and she'll leap onto his shoulders, and do that loaf thing, and Jon always says "unhand me, you infernal creature", or the few times she has bothered Jon in the middle of the night for pre-dawn breakfast service, he's grumbled "vile beast" even as he gets up to feed her.
Martin's tried telling him he shouldn't be encouraging her. But Jon just turns around and says "yes, I know, that's why I chastise her".
Martin stays impressed that someone so smart can be so stupid. Which he means affectionately, obviously. If he didn't, they wouldn't be getting married.
Which is great, by the way. It's great.
Does present some—unique problems, though.
Martin's got absolutely no bloody clue what her actual name is.
Which, you know, it's not like he's filling out adoption papers or anything, but at some point after some late-night banter it became part of the plan that Cat should be the ring-bearer at the wedding.
And he can't not know the name of a member of the party at his own wedding.
So he starts sleuthing.
"Hey," he says one evening, when GBBO is over and they're just sitting there with the telly on mute.
Jon looks up from his thorough inspection of Cat's beans, her paw gently clasped between his thumb and forefinger, and goes "Mm?"
"Been thinking."
Jon lifts one eyebrow. "Mm?"
"We could get her a proper little collar and everything."
Jon blinks a couple of times, then smiles. "Oh, for the wedding, you mean?" Martin nods. "Oh, yes, it could match your tie."
Okay, that's adorable, but also, unfortunately, not the point.
"Ooh, yeah," he says, then: "Oh! And, like, a little engraved name-tag. Really fancy."
Jon's eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.
"Yes," he says, tone completely unreadable. "Silver or gold, do you think?"
Martin's suddenly wondering if it's a trap.
"Dunno," he says, turning his eyes back to the brightly-coloured advert on the screen. "What's her vibe, you think?"
In the corner of his eye he sees Jon's jaw working silently as he searches for something to say.
"I think your input should be taken into consideration," he says, lifting his chin as Cat stands, stretches, and headbutts him. "Since... you know."
Martin considers whether or not Jon's messing with him, because frankly, he very much does not know.
"Mmm. Well! Uh- I- I like gold. Would match our bands."
"True enough," Jon says. Cat leaps onto the back of the sofa, and they're both silent till she curls up there and falls back asleep.
Jon doesn't seem very eager to say anything else.
Bugger.
"So..." Martin says, lifting his glasses to rub his eyes. "Um... what's the spelling, again?"
Jon's blurry form sits up straighter, and when Martin puts his glasses back on he sees his mouth open in shock.
"Might I ask why you're asking me?" Jon says, which doesn't make any sense.
"W- um. Y- you know, you're the English teacher."
Jon inclines his head to the side, frowning. "Hmm," he goes. "W- I- I- yes, I—mm." He lowers himself back against the sofa again. "The usual way."
Martin sighs.
"Right," he says. "Okay."
The silence gets a bit fraught, then. When Martin stands up to take their mugs to the kitchen, he might be a tiny bit huffy. It's possible.
Jon follows him, and he stays huffy, because it's easier to keep up than neutrality when he's trying to hide that he's a bit annoyed and a bit embarrassed.
"Everything alright?" Jon says, leaning casually against the fridge as Martin puts way too much effort into scrubbing both mugs clean.
"Mm."
Several seconds pass.
"Could I say something?" Jon asks, a bit hesitantly.
If Martin had to guess, he'd put money on "you're a negligent idiot for not paying enough attention to know my cat's name and I hate you".
"Yeah."
Jon exhales audibly behind him, as though amused.
"With all due respect and affection, darling—" He pauses till Martin is finished aggressively rinsing the mugs. Martin still doesn't turn to face him, though, because he's a tiny bit scared of where this is going, honestly. "If you've forgotten how to spell your own cat's name, that's not, strictly speaking, my fault, is it?"
Martin turns around.
Several things occur to him at once.
First, Cat's a dirty freeloader who owes Martin like fourteen months of rent.
Second, it might, legitimately, have been a coincidence that she and Jon moved in around the same time.
Third, he can't remember a time he's heard Jon use any method of address on her except for creature, or beast, or the ones Martin uses himself.
Which means, fourth, Jon doesn't know her bloody name either.
Because she's not his cat.
Well.
"Okay," Martin says. "Let's assume I have forgotten. Couldn't you just—help me out—and spell it?"
"Martin," Jon says disparagingly with a frown.
"Jon," Martin says, trying really hard not to smirk.
Jon does that thing where his mouth starts in a flat line, but as his irritation grows, his nose scrunches up, and the line of his mouth slowly rises up his face until he exclaims inarticulately and throws his hands in the air in defeat.
"Fine!" he says. "Fine, okay, alright, fine. I—I don't—I don't know. I don't know! I meant to ask, but I felt negligent not having known when I moved in, and then, after a month or seven I couldn't very well come out and ask, could I? And then—good heavens, it's been more than a year, there was no subtle way to recover!"
Martin's not laughing at him.
But he is laughing.
Breathlessly, uncontrollably, doubling over—to the point where Jon actually crosses the few steps separating them in the tiny kitchen to place a hand on his shoulder, gently guiding him upright with a concerned look on his face.
"Sorry," Martin manages eventually, wiping tears from his eyes. "Christ, sorry, I'm just—"
He takes a deep, measured breath.
"I've got to tell you something," he says sheepishly. Jon puts his hands on Martin's shoulders and looks into his face with the earnest sobriety that, even now, gives Martin butterflies.
"Anything," he says, still frowning intensely.
Martin averts his eyes. "She's not my cat either."
When Jon stops laughing, he spends the rest of the evening lecturing Cat in his Not Mad Just Disappointed voice ("identity fraud is an extremely serious matter, young lady, and you are terribly lucky you have such sweet little eyes, or I might be compelled to take legal action against you, please let go of my nose").
Oh, but they do end up getting her an engraved gold name-tag for the ceremony.
It says 'Lady Catherine (Beast)'.
#YEAH ILL MAINTAG THIS IG#the magnus archives#tma#tma fic#jmart#jonmartin#my#saint writes#asks#little-lamb-lyosha#bestie u were so correct for this. thank u. <3#(this is set in some kind of au. idk the specifics. u figure it out.)
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It Had To Be You: Chapter 8 - I've Changed My Mind, I Take It Back
Masterpost
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Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU
Summary: The fallout from the best night of your life was never going to be pretty…
artwork credit @colettebronte
Warnings: none, really... just some swearing and brief references to sex. Bit of angst and some arguing.
Word Count: 4.0k
Authors Note: A multi-chapter modern rom-com retelling of When Harry Met Sally. In this chapter, both reader and Benedict deal - poorly - with the aftermath of their amazing night together. Yup, it's a slice of angst while hopefully still serving some laughs. This is what has to happen before these idiots can finally see the truth in the next chapter. Thanks to @colettebronte for the advice and betaing and @sorryallonsy for cheerleading and feedback. I hope you enjoy <3
The next morning, you watch silently, covers pulled up under your chin, as Benedict dresses—your stomach in an odd knot. It’s barely dawn, and you are both uncaffeinated, but still, it's the morning after the best sex of your life, and it’s awkward. And you don't know what to say to make it, well, unawkward.
“I have to go, stupid breakfast meeting about a gallery opportunity. But I'd like to see you later if you are free?” his tone is hedging as he sits on the end of the bed and pulls on his shoes.
“Err, sure. Dinner later?” you offer as he stands up and walks around to your side of the bed.
“Dinner sounds great,” he smiles with relief and leans in, placing a lingering kiss on your forehead.
You try not to wince, but a giant ball of something in the pit of your stomach wants to either push him away and make a joke, tell him to “knock it off, mate,” … or, much preferred, grab him by his stupid bloody shirt collar and give him a proper kiss, tongues and all. Haul him right back into your bed and ride him until you are both screaming.
He hovers over you, and your eyes meet, his dilating as if he reads where your thoughts slid, and with a sharp inhale, he pulls back and folds a lip under his teeth as if forbidding himself from taking action, too.
You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and nod your farewell, burrowing deeper under the duvet, not wanting to see him to the door, not wanting a more stilted goodbye than it already is. You both know there is a shit-ton you need to talk about, but neither of you is capable of the intellectual space to unpack it at 6:30 am on a Friday morning.
As you hear your front door snick closed, you take a deep breath and reach for your phone. To contact the only person who might even begin to understand how seismic this is.
—
“Holy shit!!” Kate shrieks, startling Anthony from his slumber.
“What?!? What is it?!?” he sits bolt upright, half-asleep but panicked, her tone causing bile to rise in his throat. Whatever it is has to be serious.
“It fucking happened!” she exclaims, clutching her phone to her chest, an almost maniacal grin claiming her beautiful features as she leans back against the headboard and kicks her feet up gleefully.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Anthony urges, anxiety rolling off him in waves.
She thrusts her phone towards him, and he snatches it, alarmed. There is a pause while he reads a text, and then he sighs, slumping his head into his hands.
“Kate,” he exhales, rubbing his eyes, “for fucks sake. I thought the world was bloody ending! Or at least someone had fucking died. Not that my brother had sex.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Kate retorts, taking back custody of her device and staring at him as if he is some alien creature. “Our best friends just fucked. HOW IS THAT NOT WORLD-CHANGING NEWS, VISCOUNT ANTHONY BRIDGERTON?!?”
Anthony slumps back onto his pillow with a huge sigh. “Okay, no need to whole name me. I thought you said it was bound to happen someday?” he stifles a yawn as he asks it.
“Yeah, so?! This is still huge news,” she argues, gesturing wildly, absolutely nonplussed by his total lack of reaction.
Anthony hums noncommittally, closing his eyes. Just then, his phone starts vibrating on his bedside table; the display lit up with a photo of his brother's drunken face.
“Is that him?! Get all the gossip!! I need deeeeeetails!!” Kate swats his bicep affectionately.
Anthony rolls his eyes and clicks the green button.
“No one I know would call at this hour,” he grouses in lieu of hello.
—
Benedict spends most of the ride in your building’s lift with his head pressed into the cold mirrored surface, eyes screwed shut, wondering if the world could swallow him up so he doesn’t have to think about anything. It takes every fibre of his willpower not to run back, fling your damn door open and bury himself inside you again. But that might make it weirder.
There's only one voice of reason he can think of.
“I know I'm sorry…” he replies abashedly to his brother's less-than-cheery greeting.
“So uhh, it happened, eh?” Anthony cuts to the chase, and Benedict realises you must have already contacted Kate. “How was it?”
“It was good. REALLY good. But then, this morning, it was like we didn't know what to say to each other. I just had to get out of there before I did something stupid like suggest we do it again. SHIT!! I have no idea what to do.”
“You want to come over for breakfast?” Anthony asks, then raises his eyes to a frantic Kate, making a cutting motion. Anthony can only surmise she has just offered the same to you.
“No, I'm not up to eating. I'm just going to get a coffee and a shower and try not to think about whether I've just fucked up the best friendship I've ever had…” he sighs.
Anthony shakes his head at Kate as she sighs in relief. “Listen, so maybe it didn't work out. It would have been great if it did, but…” Anthony shrugs and mouths, ‘What?’ at Kate, as she smacks his arm and gesticulates wildly.
“Hang up before you make it worse,” she growls as mutely as possible. Anthony knows better than to argue with that face. Last time, he ended up on the sofa for two nights.
“I've uh got to go, but we’ll talk later, okay?” Anthony offers.
“Sure,” Benedict trails off and hangs up.
“God….” Anthony flops onto the mattress, already disliking the day that has barely begun. “Tell me I will never have to be out there again,” he sighs, turning his head to look at Kate.
A beautiful smirk claims her face, and he is pleasantly surprised when she swings a leg over and straddles him, leaning in.
“Baby,” she breathes seductively into his ear, “you will never have to be out there again,” she adds silkily.
And suddenly, his morning is a thousand times better.
—
“It was a mistake,” you blurt out, unable to handle the silence any longer.
You have met Benedict for dinner at Pierre Victoire —something about their Beaujolais and Entrecote Steak et Frites just what you need to face this encounter; hence, it was your suggested spot. But you have barely exchanged a word since greeting each other.
A look of surprise briefly clouds his face, and then he agrees, perhaps a little too enthusiastically for your taste.
“I’m so glad you think so. I couldn’t agree more,” he gusts, a hand clamping over his heart in seeming relief at the break in tension. “I’m not saying it wasn’t great….,” he adds.
“It was,” you cut in, somehow needing him to know that more than anything.
He nods and continues, “It really was…we just should never have done it.”
“Agreed,” you chime in, mirroring his big exhale like a burden has been lifted.
“I’m so relieved,” he sighs as the waiter puts down your steaks.
And somehow, you are back to silence, unsure what else to say to each other. In fact, it stays like that for what feels like an age.
“It’s so nice to be able to sit with someone and not have to talk,” he opines at some point halfway through dinner.
All you can do is nod and take a huge gulp of wine.
Difficult, difficult, lemon, difficult.
—
“Okay, so most of the time when you sleep with someone new, you’re just getting to know each other; you have stories to tell,” you puff, feeling like you are dying.
Kate has dragged you to SoulCycle for a ‘fuckfest postmortem’ first thing the next day. It’s Saturday morning, and frankly, right now, you are wishing she was more of a Bellini-brunch-at-a-gastropub kind of person. She used to be; it's her drive to be ultra fit for her wedding that is at fault - it somehow now being a danger to your health.
“Sure…” she nods, looking enviably unsweaty and beautiful in her tiny lycra outfit.
“But with him, we know all of each other's stories already. So once we had sex, it was like we just didn’t know what else to say to each other,” you struggle out.
“Hmmm,” Kate hums distractedly, checking her Apple Watch.
“Maybe you get to a certain point in a relationship where it’s just too late to have sex, y’know?” you shrug, certain a coronary is about to happen. To the point, you are almost grateful when your shoe slips off the pedal and you fall to the floor in an undignified puddle.
Yup, that seems about right.
—
“Is she bringing anyone to the wedding?” Benedict asks, pulling on the brocade waistcoat handed to him by the kindly old gent.
“Really, you want to do this? Here? Now?” Anthony shoots back exasperated, gesturing pointedly to his full white-tie outfit.
It's three weeks after the ‘incident’, as they have taken to calling it, and the boys are getting suited up for the wedding at the same outfitters on Savile Row that the Bridgertons have been going to for generations. One of those old-fashioned wood-panelled places that doesn't even have a real sign outside.
“I was just asking…” he replies, defensive.
Anthony sighs. “She is seeing some software developer,” he admits, fiddling with some cufflinks. “I don't think it's that serious; Kate says he's not coming to the wedding.”
“What’s he like?” Benedict inquires, and Anthony wants to laugh at how badly he is masking his obvious jealousy with faux indifference.
“Rich, handsome, intelligent, athletic—your basic nightmare,” Anthony shrugs.
The sour face Benedict pulls tells him everything Anthony could ever want to know about just how bad his little brother has it.
—
BB: Miss you, Bluey.
It’s never a good idea to text at 1:30 a.m. Especially not someone you’ve been too embarrassed to contact for a month. And especially when you are pretty drunk and hiding in the toilets of a nightclub, avoiding your inebriated younger brother, Colin, on his birthday. Except here Benedict is, doing precisely that, chewing on his nail, awaiting a response.
Y/N: Bluey….?
Ah, shit.
In his drunken state, he temporarily forgot that’s a private nickname he’s given you. His lovely, little blue lobster. He doubts you even remember that FaceTime call all those months ago. He is trying to find a witty excuse when another message pops up.
Y/N: Miss you too, Nudey-face.
He barks a laugh, still entertained that you find his lack of a beard amusing, even though it's been nine months since he shaved it off.
Y/N: Don’t like that? I've got others…
BB: Oh, this ought to be good.
Y/N: Apple-guzzler
Y/N: Dance-ninja
Y/N: Half-assed-peeping-tom
He is giggling, something in his being so fizzy and light that you have slipped right back into your old ways of texting as if nothing happened.
Y/N: Duvet-hog
That last one makes his heart leap, and his chest constricts, memories of your magical night together flooding back. Something wistful tugging in his gut; the idea that you could have more nights of fantastic sex as well as this fun, playful dynamic he has missed so much. But then he recalls with a bitter taste that you have apparently moved on. Emboldened, he decides to tackle that elephant in the room, whiskey doing the typing as much as he is.
BB: I hear you might have a +1 for the wedding…?
The three dots appear twice over, but then nothing. After eight minutes - he counts - he sighs and slips his phone back into his pocket.
Ah, fuck.
—
You chew your lip. Guilt burning behind your ribs, even as you know it’s ridiculous to feel as such. Part of you feels a hollow victory that he was the one to reach out first, but you know it’s pure liquid courage. Kate texted an hour ago that she had dipped out of Colin’s party, leaving all the brothers worse for wear.
Twice you try to craft a response to his last message, simple then jokey, but both feel wrong. You decide it’s better to not respond. At least not at almost two in the morning with that possible plus one lying asleep next to you. It’s not even something you have broached with him, going to the wedding, and now you’re sure you don’t want him there. He’s nice, but you know it’s a rebound thing—an ego boost, a mildly pleasant distraction at most.
—
“Wear the fucking penises, you coward!” Kate slurs bossily, handing you the cheap plastic deeley boppers with glittery gold cocks.
You sigh. “Fine. But don’t blame me if they don’t let us into this place,” you grumble, tugging your coat tighter around your body and bouncing on your strappy-heeled sandals, trying to fight off the seasonal chill.
This is Kate's hen party weekend in Bath, and it’s not going as you’d planned. After the pampering spa day and fancy meal you had arranged as maid of honour, the evening has descended into debauchery. Her sister Edie had booked a male stripper who was almost traumatised by just how feral Kate turned after the vodka luge (also an Edie addition). Now you are all queued up outside some cheesy nightclub that wasn’t on the cards, but Kate insisted.
“How’s your fancy man?” Eloise asks, bumping you with her shoulder and winking.
“Meh,” you shrug noncommittally, unwilling to confess that you dumped him the morning after Benedict texted. “How’s the Bridgerton clan?”
Eloise pulls a face. “Colin and Pen are fucking too loudly. Hy had a new hobby, taxidermy. Yeah exactly. Greg is now into karate. Oh, and a friend is trying to put the moves on Ben. You know, the usual family ridiculousness…”
“Yeah?” You try to hide your acerbic reaction; part of you is desperate to know more, but another part never wants to hear anything about any woman he may be with.
“Yeah, she’s a baker.” Eloise continues, kicking a stone into the gutter. “She makes 3,000 trifles a week…”
“We’re in!!” Kate yells triumphantly as the bouncer unhooks the velvet rope in front of you.
“But Ben doesn’t even like custard….” you mutter, frowning, as unseen by you, all the girls exchange knowing looks before piling into the club.
—
“Eloise’s friend still hitting on you?” Colin leans in, smirking.
Anthony’s stag do is a paintballing weekend. Colin had lobbied hard for a sleazy weekend in Vilnius, but Anthony had baulked, far too scared of Kate’s reaction to that idea. So here they all are, being rained on and sitting in a muddy ditch somewhere in Berkshire.
“I don't know the polite way to say fuck off,” Benedict professes, screwing one eye shut to stare down the barrel of the rifle.
“Why not have some casual fun?” Colin shrugs, reloading his paintball gun.
“Because when I asked her what she was doing when Boris resigned, she said, ‘Oh, I don't know, was he your assistant or something?’” he deadpans, with a terrible impression, unable to hide his disgust at her ignorance.
“No!” Colin guffaws, disbelieving.
“Exactly…” Benedict retorts, but it morphs into a pained yelp as a paintball smacks heavily into his chest.
“You’re dead motherfucker!!!!” Anthony yells, materialising from nowhere, a Rambo-style headband and vest in place, camouflage streaked across his face, seemingly having the time of his life. He ducks and sprints away before anyone can retaliate.
“Aren't we on the same team?” Colin scowls wearily, watching his retreating figure darting between the trees.
“Yeah….” Benedict sighs, staring at the bright pink splotch and already feeling a bruise blooming on his sternum.
Just bloody great…
—
The wedding day. Kate looks beautiful. Aubrey Hall looks beautiful. The weather is beautiful—a crisp autumnal day with the trees at peak colour all over the grounds, golds and fiery reds glowing in the sunshine. It’s all too much, frankly.
Then, to top it all off, Benedict walks in wearing his custom-fitted best man’s outfit, and you almost trip over your damn feet, even standing entirely still. You haven’t seen him in person since that awkward dinner, and you quickly duck behind a pillar before he can spot you as he takes his place in the processional. It’s only when you reach the doorway that you realise he’ll be standing right next to Ant as you walk up the aisle alone.
I need wine… lots of wine…
His eyes bore into you as you take the slow, silly shuffle that you are required to. A weight on your being that seems to slice through right you, and the claret red silk you wear. You feel you deserve a medal when you make it without stumbling on your heels. You shake your shoulders fractionally as you take your place facing him, a frisson in your spine that feels dangerous.
‘You look beautiful,’ he seems to mouth as the bridal procession pipes up while everyone else’s attention cuts to the doorway. And fuck do you wish he were either a thousand miles away or less than an inch from you, his breath ghosting warm over your skin….
—
The reception is in full swing, the band playing and people dancing when a familiar scent that makes your heart leap fills your nostrils.
“Hi…” it's soft, almost hesitant, as he pulls up beside you.
“Hello…” you try to modulate to casual, but it probably comes off as mildly haughty.
“Beautiful ceremony,” he offers, both of your eyes tracking Kate and Anthony as they dance, blissfully absorbed in each other, radiating joy.
“It was,” you concur politely.
A waiter materialises with a tray of canapes, and you take one, but you don't eat it; just spin the skewer in your hand. Something to fiddle with to deal with the discomfort.
God, I miss the way we used to be…
“How have you been?” you ask a little stiffly.
“Fine,” he offers, and you can tell from a mere sideways glance that he’s lying.
“Why can’t we get past this? This awkwardness. Are we going to carry this around forever??” you blurt out. It's exasperation, not words you have thought carefully about, just a knee-jerk response to your own frustration about how weird things are compared to how they used to be.
“Forever?! It just happened!” he exclaims, his hands gesturing in frustration.
Seeing that you are drawing the attention of people nearby, you spin around and walk out of the room. If this is all going to come out now, which apparently your brain has decided it will, you prefer it not to be witnessed by friends and family. Or be a talking point at your best friend's wedding.
“It happened five weeks ago!” you argue over your shoulder as you stalk down a narrow hallway beyond where the guests are mingling. You know that is not a long time in the grand scheme of things, but feeling the need to argue your corner.
“Yeah, well, you must live in dog years cos it sure as fuck didn't take you very long to find someone else. Obviously, it meant nothing to you,” he spits out, a world of hurt behind the spite in his tone.
You stop dead and spin around, an ache in your chest that is pure indignance mixed with self-hatred for how right he is. He can always hit the bullseye every bloody time when it comes to knowing you better than you know yourself. That fling was a classic rebound, an outlet for your frustrations. Moreover, a distraction from letting yourself spiral about how petrified you are that things will never be the same between you and Benedict and how you feel utterly powerless to fix it, even if you can never bring yourself to regret it. It was too spectacular for that.
“Meant nothing to me?!” you hiss, having to temper your urge to scream. “Really?! You are the one who left! That very next morning, you couldn't wait to get out of there. Who the fuck has a breakfast meeting about art? You are such a liar and a coward!”’ you raise your voice, all your emotions about it finally bubbling over.
“I didn't walk out!” he argues, frowning.
“No, sprinted is more like it!” you bite back bitterly, then turn your heel again, furiously tossing your untouched canape into the first rubbish bin you see.
You flounce down a stone staircase at the back of Aubrey Hall, his footsteps loud behind you, ending up in the kitchens, bustling with catering people.
“We both agreed it was a mistake!” he points out angrily.
“Worst mistake I ever made!” you hurl at him, uncaring of the catering staff around you, watching you both as if a soap opera, eyes pinging back and forth like it's a damn tennis match.
“What do you want from me?” he asks, holding his hands up.
“I don't want anything from you!” you lie, wanting to throw yourself at him. He looks so good in his crisp, tailed suit that it takes every effort not to.
“Let's clear something up,” he starts, jabbing his finger pointedly at the ground to his side. “I did not come over that night to make love to you. That is not why I came over. I came over to look after a friend, you asked me to. But you came onto me, and it took every ounce of my being to say no. You were drunk and emotional; I couldn't take advantage like that. But then, when you sobered up, you looked at me with those big, soft eyes and kissed me. And for fucks sake. What was I supposed to do?! I am only human…” you are transfixed by the vein pulsing in his neck and hate yourself for just how aroused you are by it, by this, by this argument, this fire between you.
“What are you saying?!? That I was a pity fuck?!”
You know full well that is not what he's saying at all, but you just can’t help but poke the proverbial beast. Wanting to goad him into something. Ideally, kissing you senseless.
“There you are!!!”
You both turn around to see Anthony in the doorway, well, more accurately, leaning heavily on the doorframe, apparently quite tipsy. You have no idea how much he may have overheard. “I've been looking all over for you shits. Kate is mad you disappeared. Sent me off to find you. Ooh, I did it. I’ll get an excellent husband gold star, won't I?” he perks with a triumphant arm raise, and you realise he's probably had a lot of champagne and no food.
Both you and Benedict exchange looks, knowing your window of opportunity to hash this out just slammed shut.
Benedict wraps an arm around his sibling’s shoulder. “Come on then, brother. Can't keep the bride waiting. Let's go,” he accommodates, steering them towards the steps with a glance back at you that is weighted.
You trail behind as they walk back to the reception, lingering so you are not drawn into any conversation. By the time you enter the room, Anthony is back at Kate’s side as she is making a toast to the crowd. Benedict is still hovering near the door off to the side, almost as if waiting for you.
“Everybody, I'd like to make a toast to our maid of honour and best man. To y/n and Benedict,” she raises her glass towards you, and everyone turns to see you both standing awkwardly about six feet apart. “If Anthony or I found either one of them remotely attractive, we would not be here today. So thank you!”
The crowd laughs along good-naturedly, and all raise their glasses to you. Kate tilts her head sideways with that beautiful but shit-eating grin she uses when stirring up trouble before taking a swig, staring at you challengingly. Almost as if she can read exactly what has just transpired, or maybe Anthony told her something of what he saw. Either way, You can feel Benedict's eyes on you as you attempt bemusement at her toast and nod with a brittle smile.
Just fucking great…
Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies
#benedict bridgerton fanfiction#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton fluff#benedict bridgerton angst#benedict bridgerton imagine#bridgerton fanfiction#bridgerton#bridgerton angst#bridgerton fluff#bridgerton imagine#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x female reader#benedict bridgerton x you#benedict bridgerton x y/n#bridgerton x reader#bridgerton x female reader#bridgerton x you#bridgerton x y/n#it had to be you fic
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Two friends with Benefit
Pairings: Yunho × y/n x Mingi
Genre/tags: arranged marriage, cheating
Warning: 🔞🔞🔞 poly, smut, cursing, pet names, jealousy, smut/angst, kink/fetish, fingering, unprotected sex [lmk if i miss anything]
Words: 1.3k
Disclaimer:
- this story is just made up
- english is not my first language, please be nice 😊
Note: reposting all my stories one by one again as I deleted my acct by mistake. All of the stories I will be posting is all mine. (All of my fanfics/oneshots are also available wattpad @/shinestar1024)
It has been more than a year since you moved in to your new apartment. Work has been so hectic for you that going back from work and your house, with your parents, every damn day is too much to handle. Sleep is very important for you. If you can't sleep, you can't focus on work. And if you can focus o work, your boss will probably yell at you and shame you in front of everybody. Nobody wants that. You need this job. You need the paycheck and that money can't give you the space you need. Everything is so damn expensive these days.
And that's why, you are incredibly lucky that your two best friends from college offered their extra room for you.
Yunho and Mingi are both working at the same tech company that is in the area. Their work pays well thats why they can afford the nice and spacious apartment they have now.
The room they gave you was their gaming room. Its spacious enough for you and your needs so you can't complain about it. It's free! Actually everything is sort of free to you. They didn't asked you to pay or share besides your part of the rental. Which makes you question how much they earn by typing things in their computers.
But besides that, the two towers are not just your roommates. Besides being your bestfriends, these two have been your fuck bodies for awhile now. It started from a small bet while all three of you are tipsy and now it flourished to this amazing trio that you thought will never work but It did... and its still going.
"Babe!" Mingi is across the street from where you at, waving. He's smiling and jumping. He can't wait to cross the street. Yunho is standing beside him, laughing at him.
When the signal says Okay to cross, Mingi runs and immidiately hugs you. "Y/n, you're back!"
You've been away for a week because of a work thing and this has been the longest you three have been separated.
"Yeaaah, glad to be back. I miss my bed..." You pout
"Just the bed?" Yunho tugs the strand of hair that's been bothering you.
"Of course I missed you two! My roommate for the trip is a handful... she's so talkative and does not respect my personal space. I CAN'T!" you say, rolling your eyes.
"Guess you prefer us being noisy than her..." Mingi says
"Of course..." You wrap your hands around his arm and lean your head.
"You look tired... so let's get home and eat something good to make you feel better." Yunho takes your luggage and carries it for you.
"Thank, Yunho."
When you guys arrive at the apartment, the first thing you did is lay down on the huge as sofa that you call your second bed. This is is where you usually fall asleep after a night out or an extreme overtime at work.
"I miss this!" You hug the pillows like you've been gone for a year.
"Yah!" Yunho comes over and playfully pulls your leg so you get closer to him and slaps your butt "Don't be such a tease this... we should eat first... like proper food before we can play."
You giggle as you see how Yunho's eyes are gazing on you. "Did you missed me that much?"
"you have no idea." he crawls over you until he reaches you, close enough that both of you lips almost touchs.
You bit your lip gently, teasing him even more. "You can show me later..." you whisper
"Oh, you bet I will." Yunho leans more and finally kisses you. The kiss is soft and yet tender that it pulls you in wanting more.
"Seriously? No one is going to help me prepare dinner?" Mingi calls you guys out
Laughing, "Okay, okay! I will get up and help you!" Yunho plants a small kiss on your cheek before letting you go.
"You! Yunho! You're taking advantage of me being busy here in the kitchen...why did you start making out with y/n?"
"I'm sorry! I can't help it. I missed her." Yunho takes an apron and puts it in.
"I too, missed her. I've been dreaming about having sex with her for days now... but we need to cook first!" Mingi pouts
"Aww! Mingi!" You get up and walk towards the kitchen to hug your baby giant. "Don't pout... I am back... we can make your dreams come true."
Hearing that made Mingi happy. He can't hide the smile on his face. "I promise to make you feel good. To fill you up." He leans down to kiss you, placing his hand behind your neck.
You start to moan as he continues to kiss you, then suddenly you felt hands moving from behind you. "Maybe... we should just skip dinner or order in for later?" Yunho breathes as his hands skims over your breast.
"Ah! Yunho!" You cry, leaning your head back to his chest. He's fingers circling over your hard tips. "S-shit! That's so good!"
"Baby, you sound so heavenly." Mingi goes down on his knees, kissing your exposed stomach as she starts to unbutton your jeans.
"Your breast is so plump." Yunho kisses you hard as he massages your boobs. "It's perfect... that... it fits our hands..." he says in between kisses.
"Ahh!" You raise your hand to grab onto Yunho as you feel the cooling sensation down there. Mingi removed your pants so easily.
"I've been craving this for a week now." Mingi snarls as he puts his face between your legs. "I want to eat now... can I go ahead?" He asks Yunho
"Go ahead... I'll make her busy up here..." Yunho changes his position have more access to yout breast. "Tell us to stop okay? If it's too much..."
"I... will..uhhh..." you try to answer but your knees weakens as you felt Mingi's tongue lick you up. "G-God!"
Smirking, Yunho unclasps your bra, freeing your plumps breast. He grabs one to massage while the other one he starts to lick using his tongue.
"Fuck!" You grab onto the counter for support. These guys are really making up for the whole damn week you've been gone. They are sucking the life out of you.
"W-wait..." you tap both of them. They stop and looks at you. "Let me... breathe..."
"Are we being too much?" Yunho kisses the back of your hand. "Do you want us to continue this on bed?"
"I can't wait to go to bed. Just fuck me on the sofa." You pull both of them with you. "Sit."
The two of them follows. They both stare at you, as you strip the rest of your clothes in front of them.
"Damn." Mingi bites his lips as he watches you. "You're so sexy!"
"Am I?" After throwing away the last clothing, you get closer to Mingi, spread your legs and sat on his lap. "Since, you are the first one to talk... you can fuck me first."
"Yes!" Mingi lowers down his jogger bands along with his boxers. The tip of his cock shows and the sight already makes you wet. "Come to Daddy little kitten!"
He gently puts himself in your core. He's to long and thick that you can already feel the thightness.
"Baby," you cry as you look at Yunho, sitting beside you two, watching. "Fuck!" You gasp as Mingi begins thrusting. "Kiss me..." You ask Yunho
He takes his top off, lowers his pants and moves closer to kiss you as he strokes himself.
"Y/n!" Mingi cries as you start to move your hips together with him in rythm. "You're so... tight!" He growls. "S-so good!"
Yunho backs away from kissing you and then moves to the next person. "You're so noisy. Making me jealous that you're fucking her first." Yunho goes in and kisses Mingi.
The other boy is so naughty, that he bit Yunho's lip lightly. "Don't worry. I'll make it quick so you can fuck her next while I fuck you behind."
#ateez fanfiction#mingi smut#mingi x reader#ateez smut#ateez fluff#ateez imagine#ateez imagines#ateez angst#ateez x reader#ateez yunho#yunho x reader#yunho smut#ateez fanfic#ateez fic#atz x y/n#atz x reader#atz fanfic#atz smut#smut#fanfic
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okay i feel like ellie would fucking love when the reader sits at her feet. you’re all whiny when she’s cleaning her gun or filling out paper work at the dining room table your bead pressed up against her thigh giving her doe eyes
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ and up, dom/sub dynamics but thats it.
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: loveee dominance displays like this.
It wasn’t unusual to find yourself in a position like this, feet tucked nicely under your bottom as you stared up at Ellie with glazed over eyes, blinking slowly.
In fact it was a rather usual occurrence, one that you were too happy to comply with following the first demand to “sit down under me,” from Ellie. Ellie who looked down at you with adoring eyes, a blinding emerald that you would gladly stare at forever, given the opportunity. Ellie who always looked away, paying no mind to the girl on her knees under her. Ellie who took a seat at the kitchen table, her pistol clanking down onto the glass surface a bit roughly, likely scratching the top.
Ellie who you would do anything for, including fall to your knees.
“How was your day?” You tried as your knees scraped against the wood of the floor, shuffling until you were directly at her feet. You glance up to your girlfriend, her eyebrows furrowed together as long fingers wrapping around the gun. She seems to be picking it apart to clean. The auburn haired girl doesn’t answer you with much more than a hmph noise, pulling a pout onto your lips.
“El?” You ask again, pressing the fat of your cheek onto her thigh in an attempt to garner any reaction from her. Still she gives you little to nothing, not meeting your gaze as she mumbles, “Long.”
A sigh escapes your lips, eyes falling instead to stare in front of you, the denim of Ellie’s jeans irritating your cheek slightly. Of course you don’t move despite this, listening instead to the sounds of Ellie pulling a rag from her pack, the beginning stages of a proper pistol cleaning occuring.
The silent company already had you slipping into that sweet melted space that laid between the sky and your body, the one that you always sunk into during this type of situation. Your following words come out a little whinier as your eyes turn glossy with comfort, the denim no longer leaving red marks on the skin of your face. “Els, talk to me.”
The request is simple, searching for words in the overwhelming quiet of the kitchen. Something to accompany the dizzy feeling growing in your body. Something to join the soft noises that come from the table above you. Your finger plays with the very bottom of her jeans, picking at the loose threads there.
One hand comes down to thread into your hair, a short comforting motion of blunt fingernails dragging against your scalp follows, drawing a soft mewl from you. Ellie clears her throat above you as she continues playing with your hair. It makes your chin tilt on its place against her leg, doe eyes following her movement.
“Focusing on this right now. Be good and quiet for me then we can have fun, right baby?”
The words are soft when they’re spoken, but still hold a certain power to them, an unwavering sense of control to the sound. You nod quickly, not tearing your eyes away as her attention returns to the task at hand. Your eyes follow her fingers wrapping ‘round the rag, dragging it over certain areas of the weapon. Your eyelids droop slightly, that comfortable daze trickling down your body. You shift slightly, feeling red marks burn the bottoms of your legs, heels becoming sore from their place pressed into your ass. You don’t mind, the slight pain drowned out by every other feeling.
“So perfect, baby, look so pretty like this,” Ellie mumbles after another quick glance to your unending attention.
You answer only with a soft smile.
#rins reqs ❀.#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams x y/n#ellie williams x you#ellie williams x fem reader#ellie williams x female reader
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Pairing : Oli Sykes x Female Assistant
Genre : Romance, Smut (18+ Only)
Future Chapters : Available on Ao3
Story Content : Smut, Drama, Choking, Power dynamics, Romance, Rough sex, Sadism/Masochism, Dom/Sub, Mentions of addiction & self harm, Degradation, Praise kink, Exhibitionism, Orgasm denial, Breath play, Dirty talk.
Summary :
“Don’t you see what a dangerous game you’re playing? Why did you have to look so fucking delicious tonight, I couldn’t stop undressing you in my mind, thinking of all the twisted things I want to do to you.”
She had only worked on the touring team for three weeks, but her mind had been hijacked by dirty thoughts of a man she barely even talked to. Sure, he was very attractive, but were there other reasons she was so uncontrollably drawn to him?
This is a filthy story of pain, self discovery, and love.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Chapter 1:
Your eyes are swallowing me
Chapter title is lyrics from "Sleepwalking"
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I'd be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed him.
So maybe I did take a little longer to get ready when I knew he'd be around; maybe my skirt was suddenly pulled up just that little bit higher than usual; maybe I loosened a button or two, but it's not like I was delusional enough to believe I ever had a shot with the man.
I was just an assistant.
I did the menial tasks that usually went unnoticed. But sometimes when I came back with food he'd flash me the most wicked smile as he took it off me.
"Ta, love", and a shiver would run through my body.
It was the night after a big set in London, an apartment style hotel room had been booked for the whole band with a shared common space. The place had clearly been picked as a bit of a party accommodation to celebrate the tour. It was quite posh, lavish furniture, open planning, and a great view. All the things you'd expect of an expensive hotel.
Everyone had gotten a bit too drunk tonight, and it was part of my job to make sure they got to bed to catch a flight tomorrow, so I was the only sober one here.
It was also my job to make sure the alcohol kept flowing, the right guests were let in, and taxis were ordered.
Despite how busy I was, I kept catching myself staring at him. I couldn't help myself, he was always such a delightful mess after a concert; dishevelled hair, smeared eyeliner, a bit sweaty – a wonderful mix of tired and happy. Essentially he always came off the stage looking like he'd just finished having some really good sex.
I shook my head, realising I'd been staring again.
Hopefully he hadn’t noticed.
The night went by in a blur of busy tasks. Suddenly it was four in the morning, I had just finished getting everyone to bed and all the guests out of there. I sighed deeply at the state of the place and began the daunting task of cleaning up.
That's when I saw him across the room.
The lights were dimmed low as I’d been strategically turning them off throughout the night in the hopes that it would make everyone sleepier, so I was only able to make out the silhouette of a man.
He was sprawled on the sofa, legs spread and leaned back, but I could tell it was Oli – his long, fluffy hair is unmistakable.
"Oh fuck, Oli you scared the living shit out of me."
That was probably the longest sentence I'd ever dared say to him, as I was usually too flustered to form proper sentences, but the sheer exhaustion from the night and the adrenaline from surprise got the better of me.
I heard a laugh from the dark figure on the sofa, "Sorry love I didn't mean to scare you, but I'm not ready to sleep just yet." You could hear the words had been spoken with a lazy smile.
Suddenly I was very aware of the fact that we were all alone, and he sounded...
No, I didn’t even dare think it.
He's just tired and drunk, surely that's the only reason he sounds so...
"R-right. Just remember we've got a flight tomorrow."
I could see his head tilt to the side as he contemplated what I’d said, but he clearly decided he didn't give a fuck, as his response came unbothered, completely ignoring my comment, "Get me another drink will you?"
Suddenly the walls felt as if they were closing in. I was nervous to say the least. I had never been alone with him before, and for some reason it felt weirdly intimate despite him being all the way across the room.
I didn't know how to respond beyond simply following his order, so I shakily turned around and walked over to the dining room table where all the drink bottles were lined up, while being entirely too aware of his gaze on me from behind.
There was a rustle of fabric like he’d gotten off the sofa, followed shortly by the sound of his footsteps behind me by the table.
I didn't get a chance to properly digest what was happening before his hands were firmly gripping my hips, making me gasp, the impact almost making me fall forward. Instead I instinctively braced myself against the table, nearly knocking over the half empty liquor bottles there.
My heart began racing, threatening to jump out of my chest, as I felt his hard cock clearly through the fabrics between us, pressing against my ass as I was pinned to the table. His hand quickly moved to my throat to prevent me from falling forwards further, as if he didn’t want me bent over, using it to guide my head close to his.
I was surrounded by him.
His scent, his hair falling into my view, his lips against my ear, his breath against my cheek, the hand on my throat possessive and firm. I was contorted, pinned painfully between the table and his warm body behind me as I was being held up by his grip.
His lips parted gently against my ear, and spoke in a tone I can only describe as carnal, "I get lonely you see, and I've noticed you noticing me. You want me, yeah?”
He had noticed after all.
I swallowed, hard.
“Will you nod for me love if you want me."
My heartbeat promptly moved between my legs.
I do want him – oh god do I want him. My whole body felt like it was on fire.
But his request was so much more than a search for knowledge of whether I wanted him or not, it was an inquiry of approval, a probing of whether I’d allow this to happen, or if we part ways here before anything further happens.
I nodded against his hand around my throat, causing his breath to speed up.
His lips spread into a smile against my ear, "Let’s have some fun then."
I was wearing a simple, strappy, mini dress so his hair fell onto my bare shoulders as he kissed my neck, his warm breath fanned my skin. My eyes shut from the delightful sensations, and I began mindlessly moving my hips against him, causing his grip on me to tighten.
"Ah, you like that don't you?"
I nodded again, probably a bit too eagerly.
He chuckled, which I felt as a puff of warm air against my neck more than heard. His mouth returns to my ear, speaking lazily like a predator toying with its prey, "You're so fucking desperate for me, aren't ya?"
My eyes flew open. I nodded again, slower this time, feeling exposed.
The truth is that I am desperate; desperate enough daydream about him constantly, to touch myself at night when I was all alone, imagining all ways I want to be fucked by him. In fact, I’d grown quite attached to using all my perverted thoughts about the man as a distraction from my life, from everything I’ve been through lately.
From pain.
"I bet you're soaking, I bet you have been all night." His grip on my hip relaxed, turning into a caress, moving towards the hem of my dress, lifting it slightly as his fingers trailed closer to my pussy.
His voice darkened and intensified, "I reckon you've ruined your underwear just being near me."
Then his hand finally reached my pooling wetness and my body immediately went electric, my knees buckled and my mouth fell open with a gasping, desperate moan as my hands mindlessly grabbed at his strong arm holding my throat to steady myself.
The hand that had just caused my brain to short circuit from a simple touch to my core, quickly retracted away to yank me back up from slumping over.
"Sh, sh, sh, you're gonna have to be quiet or you're gonna wake the lads, can’t have that, can we?" He whispered playfully.
I just wanted him back between my legs, so I spoke, in such a desperate tone that I surprised myself, "I–I'm sorry, p--please, please don't stop."
His grip on me loosened to pull the skirt of my dress up to my waist, and slide my underwear down. I felt them pop over my ass before falling to my ankles on the floor.
"We don't need these anymore." He muttered behind me as he returned to feel my pussy, this time without the soaking fabric stopping him. I felt his forehead on my shoulder as he moved along my folds with intent, his breath coming faster.
"To be honest with you love, I'm pretty fucking desperate too." Then he pushed two fingers into me and I was suddenly fighting for dear life not to moan.
I gripped the table again to stay upright, willing my body to behave. The last thing I wanted was for him to stop.
His mouth replaced his forehead on my shoulder, kissing me with parted lips, biting slightly every so often, his hips pushed back into mine, causing me to feel his cock against my ass again – now only his fabrics between us.
I felt untethered, like I’d been transported somewhere else, into some wild fantasy; this couldn't possibly be happening.
I turned my head slightly, searching, wanting to kiss him. His mouth moved to my neck, then my ear, then my cheek, leaving breathy kisses and bites where he wanted to.
Right when I thought he was going to turn me around to kiss him, he removed the fingers and placed the now soaking hand firmly on the back of my neck, pushing me forward. I gasped in surprise and disappointment at the hand once again disappearing from my pussy, but the grip was strong and I could only obey. I pushed the bottles in front of me forward as I was bent over so they wouldn't be knocked over.
The shock of the sudden movements brought me back to reality and I started blushing. I was currently bent over a table, bare ass and pussy exposed to Oli Sykes, in the middle of a shared common room where any of the band mates could walk in at any point. This was insane.
But I didn’t want to be anywhere else.
"Fuck." he said under his breath behind me, "You're a vision…" Then I heard more fabric rustling, and suddenly something a lot warmer and bigger was at my entrance.
How was I supposed to not moan? How was I supposed to not…
And then he started pushing into me.
I bit down on my lip so hard it would probably bruise, clawing at the table. A low moan came from behind me as he pushed deeper, to the hilt. He stopped there for a moment and leaned over me; I could feel his heat, the rising and falling of his chest, his laboured breathing against me, his soaking hand still possessively on the back of my neck.
"You're doing great love, stay just like that, don't make a sound, yeah?" He whispered close to my ear.
That's when he started pumping, and I once again was transported to some other reality. I couldn't help it, I was moving, I felt wild, I wanted to scream, and suddenly I’d lost control again and another moan escaped my lips.
As soon as I did he stopped, his hand that had been pinning me to the table wrapped around my neck, leaving all the flesh there wet with my own juices, before pulling me back up against him.
His lips were back at my ear, hair back in my vision. “What a shame, you were doing so well for me.”
He pulled away and I felt him slip out of me, causing a pang of sadness to wash over me, thinking it's over, but in the same motion he turned me around, grabbing me by the hips to sit me on the table before him. He spread my legs to step between them, before our eyes met.
And suddenly it felt as if time stopped.
He is gorgeous.
Dishevelled hair falling haphazardly around his face, lips slightly parted, the tattoos creeping up his neck, framing his face. His eyes were shining bright in the dim light, glassy but still intense. There was so much hunger in them, yet so much sadness.
The words slipped out of me without a thought, barely a whisper, “...Are you ok?”
His brows furrowed slightly as he searched my face, clearly not quite sure how to respond, like I'd thrown him off. You could tell he was intoxicated, as I don't think he'd be this honest with me, essentially a stranger, in a sober state – nor this forward.
He spoke softly, “Tonight I wanted to throw everything away, just say fuck it; does anything really matter? I'm supposed to have my fucking shit together, yet all I want to do–” He looked away, shaking his head as he cut himself off.
Silence filled the air around us for a long moment as he was lost in thought, then suddenly his eyes shot back to mine, speaking slowly, thoughtfully, “I've had my eye on you all night, and you look just as wrapped up in temptation as I feel. I just need an escape and I have a feeling you do too, don't you?”
His vagueness didn't matter, I knew what he was talking about, and I felt it too; the relentless pressure of life was crushing and there was a reason I couldn't keep my eyes off of him, why I wanted him so badly. Everyone could see there's something tortured about Oli, something passionate and wild that could barely be contained.
And while I didn’t like to acknowledge it, I could relate. I also wanted to just let go, be free. Whatever that meant.
And I wanted to go there with him.
I reached out to touch his face, he flinched at the intimate gesture but didn't resist.
My mouth opened to speak, but I couldn’t find the words so I just nodded instead.
His expression softened and he nodded in return; a silent understanding that neither of us fully knew why the other needed this, but it didn’t matter. We didn’t need to know the intimate details about each other's pain to know we’re both desperate for some relief.
His eyes fell to my lips, “I just want to lose myself in you for a little while...”
Lose myself.
Yes that’s it – a nice little escape from it all. I could feel a sombre smile spread across my lips. With the caress on his cheek I tried to guide him into a kiss, but instead he moved to my neck, tasting my juices still lingering there.
He made a low rumbling noise in his chest then moved back to my ear, “You taste so sweet, love. Now, let's see if we can keep you quiet for this next bit.”
Pulling away he met my gaze again, this time with a faint devilish smile playing on his lips as he placed his hand over my mouth to encourage me to remain silent.
I didn’t resist, I wanted nothing more than to feel him inside me again.
It hit me that I am not sure exactly where my limits were, as long as he just continued using me.
Using me.
That’s what it was, that’s what I craved.
I just want him to use me.
While this was news to me, I didn't want to think about this revelation now. The last thing I wanted to do right now was psychoanalyse myself. Thankfully I didn’t have to try very hard to shake the thought off, because Oli pulled me right back to the moment as his less busy hand slipped between us, guiding his cock back to me.
“I'll take things a bit slower at first, yeah? And you will stay quiet this time.”
He was nodding his head while holding my gaze steadily, clearly expecting me to nod back in return.
So I did, looking nervous as I didn’t fully trust myself.
“Fuck, don't make that face love, I just want to start pounding to watch you struggle.”
Despite his last words, he entered me slowly. His eyes darken as he pulled me closer to him. Then he was moving inside me, that wicked smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his gaze lazily roamed me. When his eyes came back to meet mine I could see something wild flicker behind them, like a promise of things to come.
Yes.
He was moving faster, testing me to see if I could keep quiet. My nails were digging into his shoulders to retain control, but I was doing it, only the slightest of noises escaped me.
“That's it, just like that.”
He looked at the hand covering my mouth, the tip of his tongue playing against his teeth. The grip loosened and two fingers pushed playfully into my mouth, his breath catching at the sight, appearing positively feral. His movements stopped for a moment, before he thrust into me, hard, his smile turning into a more serious expression, as if he was at some type of breaking point.
As if he was really sick of containing himself.
“Fuck it.” He said in a deep tone before removing the fingers that had been feeling my tongue, replace them with his lips. His arms wrapped around me, kissing me deeply, moaning into my mouth as he began thrusting harder.
Our hands are everywhere, grabbing, pulling, pushing, clawing.
I felt fingers slip into my hair to yank my head back in order to bite my neck, and I couldn't help it, I whimpered in response.
But he didn't care, if anything it spurred him on.
After a moment he pulled away to push me down on the table once more, this time facing him.
I looked up at him; he looked dangerous, unleashed, almost animalistic. His hair was everywhere, his mouth was open, panting heavily, and I could barely see his eyes. The energy was infectious, I was smothered in it as I writhe on the table.
Yes, this is it. This is what I need.
He pulled the top of my dress and bra down in one swift and painful motion, his hand gripping my throat agonisingly hard.
Hard enough for normal breaths to become difficult.
A rush of adrenaline washes over me, a confusing yet delightful mix of fear and arousal. He must have noticed, as his grip on my neck loosened slightly, letting me know he was still in there somewhere, despite appearing almost possessed.
With that knowledge I let go.
I clawed at him, wrapped my legs around him. He was so warm and solid, and I felt as if I was drowning in it; in him. Our movements became a blur of pain and pleasure.
Somewhere in the distance I heard glass bottles clanging, then one after another fell to the floor.
Again, he didn’t care.
The world had fallen away and it was only us and our ecstasy here.
His head lowered as his movements came slower, with more intent. In a deep, nearly unrecognisable voice he murmurs, “I'm close.”
Another rush of emotions washed over me.
A certainty, an almost primal need. I spoke my wishes through clenched teeth in a strangled and desperate tone, “Cum in me.”
His grip on me tightens further, this time constricting my breathing entirely. He falls forward on top of me, burying his face in the crook of my neck next to the vice grip he held on my throat. My fingers dig into his hair, pulling him closer. His breath became ragged as I felt him filling me up with every thrust.
After a moment I hear some of it drip onto the floor beneath us.
The grip on my neck loosened and I inhaled sharply.
We lay like this for a minute before coming back to reality, letting our heart rates slow down.
I was bewildered, yet amazed.
What had just happened? I felt like I’d unlocked a whole new part of myself, a longing that I didn’t quite understand yet, something simmering under the surface for what felt like years.
Something in me craved the danger, the fear, the pain, to be used. Like there was some depraved form of freedom in giving my body and mind to someone and letting them have their way with me. And not to mention; how can something make me feel this incredibly good, without having even reached orgasm from it?
In all the confusion, one thing felt completely unwavering;
I wanted more.
Thoughts were swimming around in my head when a gentle caress grazed my throat. It was a sweet gesture, the polar opposite of the aggression I’d just experienced during our shared bliss. My brows furrowed in confusion for a moment before he raised himself up, our faces only inches apart. I studied his expression, he appeared worried – questioning.
A soft, almost boyish voice spoke, “Are you alright?”
Such simple words, but the question wasn’t.
I could tell he wanted to know if I felt unsafe, if I was in pain, and if what transpired between us had crossed a line. If he had crossed a line.
My face blooms into a tired smile, “Yes. I’m a bit confused, but I’m good.”
His expression softened some but not fully, and he started searching my neck and chest for any signs of injury, but I grabbed his hands to stop him.
“Really, I’m okay. I didn’t know I could feel like this. I-I don’t fully understand it…“ I paused to try and find the words, “Tonight you’ve done more for me than I could–”
He cuts me off with a kiss, much more tender than our previous ones. After a moment he pulls away to speak, “Oh love, you have no idea.”
I continued smiling, I couldn’t stop, and his features mimicked mine.
My words came sheepishly, “Maybe we could do this again?”
Right as I finished speaking another audible drop of cum was heard hitting the floor beneath us. We both exhale a small laugh – an acknowledgement of how bizarre the situation was.
He brushed some hair away from my face, “How about we have a little chat tomorrow, yeah? When we’re both a bit more clear headed.”
I couldn’t tell if he just wanted a way out, or if he wanted to make sure I was really okay with what had happened tonight. So I just nodded.
“Alright, let’s get you sorted then shall we?” He helped me into a sitting position and attempted to adjust my clothes a bit, as if I wasn’t the picture of freshly fucked; one of my dress straps had torn, my hair was completely messed up, with equally messy makeup, and of course – literally dripping cum.
I had to stifle another laugh.
He pulled away, adjusting his own clothes, and shot me one last smile before slipping back to his room.
I sat there for some time, taking in the mess all around me. Almost all the bottles were on the floor, with one of them having shattered.
How had I not noticed?
There wasn’t a chance everyone in the band hadn’t heard us.
This will be awkward tomorrow.
... Continue reading on Ao3
#oli sykes#olisykesfic#oli sykes fic#oli sykes fan fiction#smut#bring me the horizon#you got a taste now#oli sykes x reader
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More ex hubby eren🌚🫶🏽
cast ! eren jaeger + reader
wc ! 1.6k+
tldr ! house party with your ex = house party with some sex
content ! dirty talk + alcohol + spanking + rough sex + light cunt slapping
a/n ! i took so long.. hope it was worth the wait!
“Its going to be the party of the century”
With an outfit like this? It better be. Y/n had pulled out all the works. A mauve colored spaghetti strap dress with the back cut out– the hem stopping right below her ass. Her neck was coated with a sweet Vanilla scented perfume, an arrangement of silver necklaces complimenting the fragrance. Connie had finally convinced them to leave their safe space by planning “The party to start the summer”. His words. Jean and Connie were the homies so it was hard to turn down their every invitation without feeling a bit of guilt.
Buckling her heel around her ankle, Y/n pulled out her phone to make sure her date for the night was still game. He would be an idiot if he wasnt. “Hello?” his voice rasped from the other end, sending a chill down her spine. “Hey Reiner, are we meeting at the boys?”. “No no.. i’ll pick you up”. Y/n smiled, “right answer.” Hanging up, she did one last round of perfume before going into the living room to wait. Maybe this night would be just what she needed.
At first it was, Jean was in charge of music and the vibe was absolutely right. Reiner had a hand on her waist, swaying along as she rolled her hips– ass pressing against him subtly. Y/n was 3 shots in and feeling right. Not drunk but definitely not sober. “I’m going to run to the bathroom” Reiner spoke into her ear before kissing it lightly, walking away and leaving Y/n to the wolves. “Cuff It” by Beyonce began to boom over the speakers, causing Y/n to holler, “this is my SHIT!”
“I thought that was you..”
She froze. Turning around, Y/n was met with no one other than her worst nightmare– Eren.Her hands immediately became clammy, the dance floor suddenly becoming too crowded. “Hey–” Y/n had vanished before he could even finish his sentence. Rushing into the kitchen, she found a plastered Connie with his face smushed into Sasha’s chest. “You mother fucker” Y/n seethed, yanking him back and pulling him into the pantry before slamming the door. “Woah woah… I didn’t know you liked me that way” he slurred, a drunken smirk on his lips. Y/n rolled her eyes, pinching him– “don’t flatter yourself, Gnomeo. Why the fuck is my ex husband here?”. Connie looked at her confused, frog blinking before clocking in, “oh shit….” Oh shit indeed. Eren and Y/n had a VERY messy divorce, the legal papers somehow not being enough to really call it quits. She had just now stopped responding to his booty calls… as well as stopping all of her own. She was free of him! So.. why did seeing him make her stomach fill with fluttering? She wasn’t 20 anymore, she saw him for who he was. A handsome basket case– unable to correct his own flaws.
“Y/n.. I swear hiccup I had no clue he would be here. He told me he was too busy to come” Connie stared at her , his expression letting her know he was being honest. Connie hated drama and suddenly, Y/n felt like a fool dragging him into his own pantry. “Okay… okay my bad. You know how I get when I see him” she sighed, hugging Connie tightly before opening the door. Walking out, she dragged him back to Sasha, apologizing and giving her a proper hello. After a few words of kindness, she turned to walk out before being blocked by him. “Do. Not. Run. Please.. Can we just talk” Eren asked, voice barely above a whisper, a light hold finding its way around her wrist. She could do nothing but stare at him for a minute, his eyes looked softer, his hair long enough to be pulled back into a sizable ponytail. Looking back at Connie and Sasha who were trying to pretend they weren't eavesdropping by throwing a golf ball into the same red cup. Beer pong my ass. “Fine… fine. You get 10 minutes.” She pushed past him, making her way through the crowd towards the back door. Once outside she scanned the space, spotting the greenhouse where they grew their.. happy grass. She quickly walked in that direction, Eren following close after.
“So..” she stated, arms folded as she made direct eye contact. “Soooo.. How have you been?’ Eren asked sheepishly, Y/n’s response being silence. For a moment neither of them said a word, the silence being filled with the faint of Sza’s, ‘I hate you’ blasting over the speakers. “Listen… I really do mean it when I say I regret how we fell out. You put up with a lot of my shit and.. sighs I'm way too grown to be acting the way I did.” Y/n just scoffed. Eren stared at her for a moment before continuing, “You look.. Gorgeous. See you came here with Reiner’. Y/n could tell he was trying to act unbothered. “Who I'm here with is none of your business” she smirked, biting her bottom lip. Why was she nervous? She should know better but… fuck he smelt good. Looked it too.
“Y/n…” he gruffed, an arm going around her waist to pull her closer before she could protest. “Come on, you don’t even miss me a bit? Don’t miss the way I could.. Handle you? Treat your body like a God? You know.. I still do worship you. I fucked up, I know but–” he was cut off by her lips meeting his, her hands immediately going up to bury themselves into his locks. Eren followed her movements, both of his hand wrapping around her waist, pressing his body against hers almost as if he wanted to fuse into her. Their bodies stumbled into a wall, Y/n’s dress being hiked up, her hands fumbling to unbutton his shirt. Eren’s lips traveled from her lips to her jawline– latching around the skin on the side of her neck. One of his hands found its way between her legs, palming her cunt through her damp panties. Y/n melted in his touch, legs struggling to keep her up as he slid the fabric to the side and pinched her clit in between two fingers– rolling the bud between them. His head came up from her neck to study her face– lips slightly parted to match her own. Y/n sighed out, hips jutting upwards into his touch, “please…”. Eren let out a breath, fingers pooling into her at the singular word.
He quickly found a rhythm, a curl joining each thrust in, his lips smashing against hers. Their tongues swirled around one another, Y/n sucking the tip of his tongue, teeth closing around his bottom lip with a harsh tug. Eren laughed into her mouth, his free hand going to unbuckle his pants while the other one kept busy. His fingers spread deep within her, making way for a third one while he wriggled out of his jeans. “You ready for me?” he said hurriedly, eyes dark with lust and possession. As soon as Y/n nodded, he replaced his hand with his cock– pushing past her folds as a grunt fell from his lips. “Oh fuck..” he growled, pace picking up quickly before she had time to adjust. Eren’s hand quickly went to her thigh, a firm grip bringing her leg up to wrap around him. He thrusted upwards as Y/n loosely wrapped her arms around his neck, eyes struggling to focus with the new angle.
“S-so Reiner huh?” he mumbled, head resting inside of the crook of Y/n’s neck. His thrusts were becoming deeper, balls smacking against her skin with each thrust. “Really thought pulling that shit was funny? Hm? Sorry.. I refuse to give this up” he said between clenched teeth. Before she could respond, Y/n was now flipped around and bent over– Eren’s dick slapping against her bare ass. “Want it?”. She couldnt help but roll her eyes, “yes, cmoon” she whined out. Eren chuckled before giving her a firm slap on her ass. “Youve done better than that in your sleep” he chuckled before cocking his hand back once more, allowing this one to land on her cunt. Y/n let out a yelp, thankful for the sound of the party.
“Please babe.. I miss your dick so much. You know that I feel good around you.. Please fuck what’s yours” she looked back at him as she spoke, cunt drenched at this point. Eren’s dark eyes looked down on her, strands of his hair sticking to his face— lips slightly parted. A smile slowly spread across them before he pressed his tip against her hole. Y/n sighed out in relief, hips going to push back against him— her eyes closing before opening at the feeling of him pulling away. “What did I do now?”
Eren chuckled, shaking his head, “just want you to look at me..”. Placing a firm grip on her shoulder, Eren slid himself all the way in— eyes focusing on the way Y/ns face contorted. Each thrust made it harder for her to focus, a couple of spanks from Eren reminding her of her instructions. “Yeah.. take that fucking dick..” he gritted, body twitching as he slowly started to lose rhythm. Suddenly, both of his hands went to her waist, thrusts becoming rabid as he pulled her back into each one. His rhythm was now completely gone, sloppy thrusts coming to an end as he came deep inside of her.
They both sat in silence for a minute, panting as they struggled to get dressed. Finally, Y/n cleared her throat— “I should…probably tell Reiner he can go home..”. Eren stared at her for a moment before chuckling, “he’s a grown man, he’ll live. Besides..” , he pulled her closer, “I don’t think this was enough to call it makeup sex.. Let me show you how sorry I truly am..”
#obanaispy#oswrites#anime#aot fic#aot smut#eren jeager smut#eren smut#eren aot#exhusband#jean aot#aot connie#attack on titan smut
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