#why is that exhale in the last gif so hot?
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Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader
From the request HERE
Fandom: Call of Duty
Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader
Summary: Only a few more days are left of his short leave and Simon is determined to make every last second count with you. What better way to start the day than buried in between your thighs, helping you wake up by the feeling of his tongue alone and then overstimming you.
Word Count: 4.6 k
Warnings:
The sun has just started to peek itself through the small gap in the blinds covering the window, illuminating the bedroom in enough light that it causes Simon to stir awake with the first signs of life as those brown eyes flutter a few times from the brightness until he comes back into consciousness. Rubbing his bare chest and scratching at the patch of hair on his lower abdomen as he rolls over onto his side to face the other body lying peacefully asleep, his breath hitches at the sight that he’s greeted with.
Your long eyelashes rest delicately against your cheek, your chest slowly rising and falling with your deep, calm inhales and exhales as you still drift mindlessly through your dreams. The covers that are pulled up to your breasts conceal your naked form lying just underneath and the way they cling to your form allows him to follow the contours of your body through the fabric. You are a fucking picture of peaceful beauty.
Damn, you are so perfect he cannot look away and suddenly there is a tenting forming beneath the covers still wrapped around his lower half. It’s not his fault; how is he supposed to keep himself restrained when this is what he gets to wake up to? An ache situates itself in his chest, a gnawing blooming in his stomach to caress all that flawlessness. It is a hunger that only grows stronger the more he gazes until he is compelled to get up.
There are only so many days left in the short bit of leave he has and he wants to make every single second count. That’s why you both find yourselves naked even as you sleep; he needs his body to memorize the way yours feels against his and he needs to fuck you whenever the moment strikes, so there is no sense in wasting any amount of time with superfluous things when you both are about to go months without seeing one another. And right now that is working to his benefit as he wants to shower you with some extra attention to start the day.
Just a taste won’t hurt, he thinks, knowing full well that once he starts there is no stopping. Just till she wakes up.
He moves out from the warmth at your side as carefully as he can to ensure that his movements don’t wake you, not yet. The blanket slips from his unclothed hips as he shifts up onto his knees and positions himself over you, his hands atop the mattress on either side of your body so that he can push himself down your sleeping form while his lips take advantage of all that uncovered skin. Feathery light kisses trail down across the supple flesh of your breasts and over your soft torso as his hot mouth presses delicately into you in adoration for all this beauty that he gets to have all to himself.
All these curves, all this smooth, voluptuous skin always ready for him to caress, it is enough to drive him insane.
Muscles ripple through his bare back as he continues down the line of your body, inching slowly so as not to miss any patch of flesh. He is careful not to drag his face too harshly as he goes along so that the stubble on his jaw won’t prick your skin, opting instead to pick his head up off you as he moves only to lower it back down at the next spot ready to receive his attention. Your skin is heated from being snuggled down in the bed and it invites him to nuzzle his nose into it as he goes.
Simon eventually reaches the edge of the covers that have fallen around your waist from him getting up and he has to lift them out of the way to reveal the rest of your gorgeous body to his yearning mouth. Rolling them back at a leisurely pace, he makes sure not to reveal too much so the cooler air outside of the blanket doesn’t have a chance to make you uncomfortable until the warmth from his lips can keep the skin flushed. Over the curve of your waist, your stomach, your hip bones he places his steamy kisses. It is when he gets to your belly button that the anticipation finally hits him that he is getting closer to his favorite spot: that beautiful place in between your thighs.
The mattress creaks under his weight as he arrives at the foot of the bed so that he can remove the covers and push them off your legs. He can feel his cock throb as he pulls them back and finds what he’s always pining for. A heavy exhale falls from his lips and his mouth begins to salivate as he catches that first glimpse of your legs laying splayed open and that sweet little pussy just there waiting for his mouth to embrace.
Simon can’t ever get his fill of it and God, he needs it so bad now that he sees it again. For a split second he thinks about making his movements more pronounced to wake you up, but a sudden intrusion of an idea makes him stop. You had mentioned recently that you were wanting to try something, to be woken up with his tongue lapping against your clit. What kind of man would he be if he never indulged his sweetheart’s fantasies? Today seems as good a day as any to make your dreams come true, not that he ever needs an excuse to get lost in all that goodness between your legs.
There are times when he is so ravenous for your cunt that nothing else will even come close to satisfying that beast inside him, but today he doesn’t want it to be about the harsh and rough… well, not yet; this morning is all about making you so delirious and overstimulated off his tongue only that you won’t be able to get out of bed at all and he can keep you all to himself for the entire fucking day.
Quietly Simon slides himself off the edge of the bed to situate himself kneeling on the carpet so that he can lay his torso on the mattress, giving him a better angle to be able to move in. Your legs are positioned open in such a way that from here he can easily slip his face up in between them and right against you, but he is in no rush. Ever so gently he pins more tender kisses along the soft, supple muscles of your inner thighs, his lips embracing your flesh with silent promises that everything he is fixing to do he is going to do for you only because you deserve it.
His pretty girl, his sweet thing, so perfectly made as if just for him; fuck, do you make him want to worship the ground you walk on.
His eyes catch the goosebumps forming under his breath along your body wherever he places his warm mouth and he cannot help but smile at your automatic physical reaction to him. Even in sleep you know his touch and respond to it.
“My sweet girl,” he whispers in his husky morning voice into your calf as he continues up the length of your leg. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, so goddamn beautiful. I’m one lucky bastard and I ain’t eva’ gonna forget it.”
He continues on without hesitation as he slides all the way up until he is right at the threshold of those delicate petals that he wants his mouth on. A moist heat meets his lips as he leans in and places kiss after kiss to them; never has something felt so perfect pressed against him. If Simon could live between your legs permanently, they would never fucking find the man again.
One of those beefy arms he slips under your leg to prop it up and move it even further out of his way so that he has as much space to work as he needs. Restraining himself from going in fast and heavy isn’t easy, but what he wants is to keep his movements relaxed, not crazed and insatiable like on occasions when he’s had a bad day and just needs to smother against you. No, you deserve the full princess treatment from him and that is what you are going to get. Taking the opposite hand not around your thigh, he uses two of those long, thick fingers to delicately spread apart the lips to get at all that lays in waiting inside.
“There she is,” Simon sighs quietly as he immediately spots that sweet little bean that he desperately wants to suck until it’s swollen and throbbing and then even more until you are coming on his face.
He doesn’t go right for the kill first, instead building the anticipation of your body as he kisses that crease between your petals and your thigh, using his balmy breath to stimulate that sensitive area as he switches sides a few times until he feels you twitch and only then does he continue. Gathering up all the spit in his mouth he collects it on his tongue and presses it through your petals to coat the area until your body can take over. As he pushes that thick muscle into you he catches the sound of a quick rush of air escaping through your nose, followed by a sleepy sigh as you stir.
His movements are tender and intimate, circling the nub with the tip of his tongue and slowly using the pad to make love to your clit. You sigh again heavier this time as you begin to squirm in your sleep the more he strokes, your hips rocking faintly over his face as the sound of your fingers clawing at the fitted sheet is caught. Just a little more stimulation and you aren’t going to be able to stay asleep much longer.
Your quiet, breathy moans become more than whispers now and those amber eyes dart back up to your face over the curves of your body, desperate to watch the subtle changes that ripple across your features as he works at bringing you into consciousness by your pleasure alone so he can witness the very moment you wake.
There is a brightness on the other side of your shut eyelids as you slowly slip back into the realm of consciousness, the sound of your own muted groans filling the quiet around you along with something else you cannot quite distinguish and it feels like you are still dreaming. Then it hits you: there is a familiar glowing, warm sensation in the pit of your stomach that amplifies as you continue waking. Your eyes flutter open as the sensation is so intense that you can’t ignore it anymore and as you look around to gather your bearings you notice that there is a blonde-haired head rocking undisturbed between your thighs.
As you focus you realize that he is staring right back at you and the corners of his eyes crinkle as you feel his lips upturn against your petals; you know he’s pleased with himself at what he is doing. He doesn’t stop or try to speak, he only tightens his grip around your thigh that he has propped on his shoulder and continues to service your clit with his tongue while he presses his face in tighter so that the pressure adds to the stimulation.
The sensation is damn near overwhelming now and you realize that he must have been at this for a bit as it feels like you are about to come. Your head falls back heavy against the pillow as your eyes close to allow the feeling to wash over you completely, needy moans unable to be kept under control fill what was once the silence in the room.
That’s when you feel his lips lock around your clit before he sucks down on it and using the very tip of his tongue he twirls around the bud while his fingers come back into play. He finds your entrances and gently shoves his middle finger inside to rub across your G spot and instantly you can feel your calm shatter into pieces. A euphoric spasm shoots through your entire body, making your limbs start to tingle, and you know by the feeling that it is only a few more moments that remain until you are going to spill.
“Simon, shit…gonna come,” you whimper his name as you grind your head into the pillow. To have so much ecstasy hit you all at once overwhelms you with its intensity and leaves you unable to function. You are about to come, that is all your half-asleep brain can process.
With a few more strokes of that strong muscle and a few more flicks of his finger resting inside you, the pressure building at the base of your spine and the warmth gathering in the pit of your stomach reach their threshold and you spill over the edge with a strong jolt that causes your back to arch up off the bed as you cry out. The force of it makes you buck against Simon’s face, but he is ready and digs his fingers in full force until his hold on you is so secure that he isn’t going anywhere as you ride out wave after wave of your orgasm that crashes over you like a tidal wave.
Fuck, what a way to start the day.
In your sleepy, mind-numbed state, you forget just how voracious your military man can be and mistakenly believe that at any moment he is going to emerge from your thighs and come lay beside you…except instead of letting you go, he doesn’t stop. Simon keeps at it, only slowing his pace down to almost nothing, but not pulling away from you. Instead he sneaks quick breaths by tilting his head to the side so that it exposes his nose to the air before he buries it right back in against your now dripping slit.
“Simon, baby,” you call groggily down to him as you try to wriggle free of his grasp; it’s the only thing you can do to persuade him to release you, “you can take it easy. It’s still early, we got all day.”
Just a second, you need to take a break only so long as to catch your breath.
Simon hears your pleas, but it falls on deaf ears as he does not even budge. His plan is already set in motion and you are not nearly exhausted enough for him to even think about stopping yet. This day needs to stay in the forefront of your mind for at least a few weeks after he leaves and be the specific memory that fuels your desperate masterbating while he’s gone and not able to fix the ache.
“Shh…” he hushes mutedly against you. “I only have a few more days with ya and I wanna give ya my full attention. And this mornin’ I wanna take care of ya. I’m gonna take care a ya so fuckin’ good, baby.”
Is there a way to say no to that? If there is, you can’t find it and don’t want to. Even through the overly sensitive nature of your body right now, you don’t want to deny him a thing, not when he says it like that. And to be honest now that he has you at his mercy, his tongue still stroking along the line of your slit before coming back up to circle the nub, you are starting to want it again too.
Tiny beads of sweat like mist cover over your body as the feeling of Simon’s arms slithering up your torso are felt running through the perspiration, greedy hands searching for your chest without being able to see. Grabbing onto as much of your supple breasts as can fit in his large palms he pinches the nipples and rolls them between his thumb and forefinger to make your heated body burn until you whine out loud as they stiffen at his touch.
“Shi-i-it, Simon,” you say, your speech starting to slur together as the mindless haze floods your thoughts from the activity at your chest that radiates in waves of arousal you can feel throb in your clit. Keep sucking, keep playing with my tits, don’t stop, your mind screams.
Everything outside this is like a distant memory; your body is floating and your mind drunk as you exist only in a world made of pure ecstasy. Your hand reaches down around his arms across your torso to the back of his head where you can press and push him in tighter to your pussy and you hear Simon hum a deep, contented sigh at the feeling of you forcing him to suffocate even more.
Tha’s it baby, drown me, he thinks to himself as some feral part of his brain gets activated.
There is movement in the mattress that shakes your body up and down as Simon begins to grind his aching cock against it, trying to use the friction to relieve some of the pressure in the swollen tip. Hearing your beautiful music while being smothered in your pussy is like a religious experience that is akin to having heaven on earth.
Your glistening thighs are vibrating around Simon's ears and as each flick of his tongue finds its mark you are brought closer to climaxing again as you spiral into sensory overload. Over and over he engages with your core, his mouth filling with your sweet juices, the tip of his tongue playing in such a way it feels like he is signing his name on his favorite part of you.
His name is falling from your lips in pathetic whines now as the only word you can recall in the fog of euphoria that you are trapped in. Every inch of you is wrapped in a cold sweat that feels like you’re about to burst into flames, the muscles in your belly contract rigid as the pressure in your spine increases with every stroke.
Right there, it’s right there. You have to come to release the tension.
And that tightness finally snaps just like that and you come again, this time harsher and more intense than the last. Your thighs lock tightly around Simon’s head as you writhe wildly, your body struggling to take all that immense euphoria that fills up every inch of you.
Lengthy seconds pass as you come back down from that high while the sounds of your whimpers act as a gauge to the man crushed in your leg lock how long he will have left to stay suffocating. Once you settle back down again into the pillows and release his head from your hold does he actually emerge fully to sit up for the first time since he went down.
Twice is enough, right? For anyone else it would be, but for Simon you know the man is still craving more. He wipes away the accumulation of cum and spit glinting in the morning light off the hairs on his chin onto the sheet he has picked up, a contented grin filling his beautifully stark features as he sets the damp fabric aside and stalks back up onto the bed like a lion ready to pounce. Stray kisses embrace your lower abdomen as he sets himself into position kneeling between your legs.
“Ya ready for more a’ me, baby?” he asks, though not waiting long enough for an answer before he is gripping into your hips to pull your body down over him until your butt rests on top of his thighs.
You shake your head back and forth. “Too much, t-too much,” you plead, but that isn’t going to do anything and you know it. He is ravenous.
Simon licks his raw, swollen lips. “But you’re takin’ it all so fuckin’ well. Your legs aren’t even shakin’ that bad yet, sweetheart. Said I was gonna take care ‘a ya good and I think that means ya need more.”
You swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry at the thought of going again. “I can’t…I can’t…” you continue, the back of your head digging into the pillow. His fingers run along your inner thighs to send shockwaves of overwhelming ecstasy shooting up your spine to the top of your head and your mouth struggles to form the rest of the words. “Just give me a minute. Please, Si. I don’t think I can go anymore.”
“Yes ya can, beautiful; you’re not done,” he grunts with a sharp inhale as he takes your legs in his grip and lifts them up so that he can rest your calves over his shoulders in a way that will strap you to him. Looking down at you through the gap in your legs he flashes a toothy, mischievous grin that has you shivering with anticipation as the heat from his breath rolls over your stomach. “Come on, sweetheart, I know ya ‘ave a little more in ya. You’re gonna take it all for me, yeah? I want ya ta fuckin’ soak me.”
You’re screwed.
Nodding your head in agreement, he immediately leans his face in until his nose can nuzzle against that overstimulated button and your back harshly arches right off the mattress, hands gripping with iron strength into the bundled up sheets you’ve gathered in your fists. Those long, rough fingers holding up your sides drive deeper into your hips so that you can’t slip away from his face while you buck roughly as the movements of his tongue settle back into a steady rhythm again.
So velvety soft, so warm, so moist, it makes his engorged cock throb hard and can feel it prod into your butt. He is overtaken by a desperate, burning need that floods his veins like wildfire; he wants to bury his face even deeper into you as if he is trying to fuse himself with your body. That feeling in him is unleashed in all its fury and he laps at your cunt faster and harder with each passing minute and your already weakened body is overwhelmed.
“Fuckin’ breathe, sweet thing,” he says in a deep, desperate growl, ripping his face from within you for only long enough to speak the order, as he looks down to see the mixture of pain and pleasure ripple through your brow before he is right back in.
Hot tears are stinging at the rims of your eyes now as your overly sensitive clit is stimulated again, collecting until they finally break over the edge to stream out from the corners and down over your cheeks. Simon stares at them glinting in crystalline drops as they catch the light from the window before they disappear and gather on the pillow behind your head and goddamn are they so beautiful they nearly stop his heart.
This is it, this is the one that will do you in and his mission will finally be accomplished. He is pushing your body to its limit of what it can handle and you take it all so gorgeously. To see his sweet thing so out of her goddamn mind is something he hopes will be ingrained in his memory for the rest of his miserable life.
The heels of your feet dig into the sides of his bare torso until his ribs are stinging under the pinpointed pressure. You don’t know if you have another one in you, but just as the thought burrows into your intoxicated mind you can already feel that gathering warmth in the lower part of your abdomen…except… Something is happening, that feeling of orgasmic pleasure bubbling up in your core is similar, but different.
“Do ya want me ta stop?” he asks with his mouth full, prompted at the feeling.
You whimper pathetically through the tears spilling from the corners of your eyes; as overwhelming as it is, there is no way in hell you can let him stop now. “No,” you say pitifully as you try to push his head back down tighter against you, “don’t, don’t. Please…oh fuck, fuck!!”
“Good girl,” he growls as he dives right back in like he hasn’t already had you twice now.
It’s too much, the pressure is overwhelmingly too intense. A deep sense of release more extreme than any orgasm you’ve ever experienced leads to a gushing sensation from between your legs and you throw your head back as you squeal loud as ever as it just keeps coming. Your body shakes and twitches as everything you have is released onto his face for the last time.
“There ya go,” he praises in between breaths as he strokes you through it, stopping once you lay limply in his grip. “Ride it out for me.”
Legs shaking, chest heaving, eyes glazed over, cheeks flushed, Simon lowers you back down from his face and notices that his lap is wet and there is a markedly large wet stain soaking into the sheet under you both now. His face is just as coated and Simon is quick to realize what has happened.
You can barely move at this point, but still turn your face back towards him to be met with a very happy and content man gazing back at you with those fiery auburn eyes as he wipes at the moisture covering face to clean it.
“Goddamn,” he says with a grin as he emerges from the same sheet he used before, “my pretty girl gettin’ so worked up she fuckin’ squirts on my face. Ya do know how ta fuckin’ treat me right, baby.”
You’ve never experienced anything quite like it before and are surprised that you are even able to do it in the first place, but if anyone could make you do it, it would be him. For a split second you feel a little self-conscious at this new development, but the way that Simon looks at you as if you have just hung the stars makes you giggle from the combination of nerves and adrenaline and settle back down.
He crawls back up the bed and drops down exhausted, but completely satisfied beside you and once he settles he reaches out to pull you into his steamy, heated embrace, skin to skin against his chest. His hand cradles the back of your head as he simply gazes into your eyes until your breathing slows and only then does he finally go in to kiss the last part of you he has left to claim.
His lips meet yours softly, but with the entirety of his passion for you. This is his little slice of paradise that he cannot help but feel lucky to have. Out of all the shit he’s had to deal with in his life, he found you and that means something to him. That’s why things like this he will never mind doing, not for you. Not if it’s to keep you satisfied.
“Ya know, ya make it so fuckin’ hard for me ta leave,” Simon sighs quietly against your lips as the backs of his coarse fingers caress the delicate skin of your cheek in featherlike strokes. “I gotta make it just as hard for ya. Cause I’m gonna miss ya like hell. Still got two days left; gonna make ‘em count, sweetheart.”
Oh, he will… he definitely will. He always does.
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Next Door to Love
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (Neighbor AU)
Word Count: 3,188
Summary: When you made the move to the city you never expected your new neighbor to be so sweet and helpful...or hot.
Author's Note: Because why not! Moving in across the hall from Bucky would be a dream, one I'd like to live out please and ty haha! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy!🥰
Warnings: fun and flirty, teasing and tension, a curse or two or three, Bucky is impatient and cocky in the best way!
Last week
Your tired, fuzzy slipper clad feet drag along the floor as you trudge toward the door across the hall. You’re hoping someone is home. Someone who has sugar. Anyone.
You let out a quick exhale and lift your chin before rapping your knuckles against the wood. A frown starts to mar your forehead when you hear a sleepy mumble come from inside the apartment.
Shit, fuck, shit you woke him up. It’s a guy. Of course it is…because you don’t look like you just rolled off your mattress that still has no bedframe and tripped over twenty-five unopened boxes…etc, etc.
The door swings open revealing said guy…a hot-as-fuck guy. Naked, except for his unbuttoned jeans.
Oh hi neighbor.
Before you can stop it, your gaze instantly drops to the dark trail of hair below his bellybutton, framed by a set of abs that you could dry your laundry on.
You reel yourself in and lift your eyes to his which does nothing to help your declining focus. His hair is perfectly mussed from sleep, his chiseled jaw shadowed with dark stubble and his incredible blue eyes lined by dark lashes.
His hands are planted on either side of the door frame and with every passing second you’re mesmerized by flexing muscles in his chest and arms.
He drags a lazy hand through his unkept hair and smiles. Knowingly. Smugly.
“Can I help you doll?”
“Um…hi. I’m sorry if I woke you…it’s just…I moved in yesterday and haven’t gone shopping yet and I have no sugar. I need my coffee.”
“So you’re my new neighbor,” he croons. “Lucky me.”
You audibly swallow and hold up your coffee cup pleadingly.
“I’ll take care of ya doll.”
With a wink he holds up one long finger.
“Come on in and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back with that sugar.”
He spins on his heel and walks toward what you’re guessing is the kitchen and it should be considering your apartments are mirror images of each other.
You step inside and stand by the door to wait. You hear him rummaging around and then hear a crash followed by grumbled curses.
Before you can react the cutest white cat saunters out of the kitchen, looking quite proud with his fluffy tail held high and blue eyes unblinking.
“That’s Alpine,” he yells from the other room. “Don’t let his cuteness fool you. He’s a menace!”
You let your laughter ring out and then kneel down to give Alpine some scratches. The cat instantly warms up to you and presses himself against your leg, purring loudly.
“Ah, of course he likes you.”
You look up at the sound of your neighbors voice and reluctantly give up petting Alpine to take the offering of sugar.
“Thank you….?”
“Bucky,” he finishes for you. “Name’s Bucky.”
“Thanks Bucky,” you say with a smile and then introduce yourself.
You look back down at the cat that is now circling between Bucky’s bare feet. “And Alpine really is cute. I can’t imagine he’s a menace.”
“Just wait until you get to know him,” Bucky says. “Can I get you anything else doll?”
“No. Thank you and again I’m sorry if I woke you.”
“No problem at all. I had a late night at the office and I was just being lazy. If you need anything else just come by. Anytime.”
His lips turn up in a boyish grin and he winks again.
You can feel his eyes on you as you turn and walk out into the hall and toward your apartment. Just as you push your door open you look over your shoulder and catch him staring, his teeth dug deep into his bottom lip.
The knock at your door startles you from your unpacking trance and from your spot on the floor, surrounded by open boxes and a mess of things, you ask, “who is it?”
“It’s Bucky…and I have food.”
Your smile is impossible to hide and you shout back, “come in!”
Bucky appears in the doorway with a pizza box.
“Hiya doll face,” he chimes. “I figured you’d need some fuel.”
You drag yourself out of the mess on the floor and hop up onto the edge of the counter.
“Thanks Bucky. I really appreciate it, but you’re spoiling me. What is it now…the third time this week you’re feeding me?”
He hands you a slice and then stands there, watching while you take a bite.
“And why not? You need to eat and I love to eat, might as well do it together!”
You laugh through your bite. “Then what motivated you to help with my furniture?”
He shrugs and grabs a slice of pizza, shoving half into his mouth before he answers.
“Perfect opportunity to show off my muscles.”
He waggles his brows suggestively and flexes a bicep.
“Double win for me,” you admit, licking your lips. “How will I ever repay you.”
He remains quiet for several moments while he studies you then asks, “how about a real dinner?”
“Pizza is the realest dinner there is!” you state with a mouthful.
“Let me take you out. For something other than pizza.”
“Are you asking me on a date?”
“Would you say yes if I were?”
Your legs swing back and forth at the knee as you finish your bite and then place your slice of pizza down. You reach over the box and grab the marker you left out on the counter, placing it between your lips.
Watching him from under your lashes, you take his arm and roll up the sleeve of his Henley and when your fingertips make contact with the sensitive skin on his underside of his forearm you can feel his muscles tighten.
Your mouth curves around the marker at his reaction and you pluck it from between your lips and start writing on his skin.
“Now you’ve got my number. Text me and we’ll pick a date for our date.”
“Thank you,” he says, leaning in close and dropping his eyes to your mouth.
Your lips part with your small gasp of air and when his thumb lifts to brush along the corner of your mouth you let out a rush of air.
“Sauce,” he states before he licks his finger clean, his gaze locked on yours.
You nod as he steps back and pulls out his phone to dial your number on his arm. Your phone rings and he says, “and now you’ve got mine.”
You spend the rest of your weekend unpacking and doing errands, running into Bucky only once in a frantic rush of laundry. He offers to help but you know if you let him you’ll become distracted and never get anything done. The two of you text back and forth, deciding on Saturday for your official date. No pizza involved.
The next morning you get another text from him.
“Morning doll face. Don’t forget an umbrella. Gonna rain later today.”
“Are you the weather man now?” you message back, smiling at your phone.
“Nah. Just a friendly neighbor.”
“Did you tell everyone in the building about the rain and remind them to bring an umbrella.”
“Just you…”
“Thanks, but I’m already half way to work sans umbrella.”
“Damn it. I knew I should have texted earlier. Now if you get caught in the rain it’ll be all my fault.”
“Hardly! I should have checked the weather. Can’t rely on you for everything can I?”
He sends a wink face.
“Is it Saturday yet?”
“Still only Monday morning. What’s Saturday?”
“Don’t tease me doll. I’ve been looking forward to this date since you showed up at my door lookin’ for sugar.”
“Have a good day Bucky.”
“You too doll…stay dry.”
You’re only two blocks from your apartment building when the sky opens up and the rain comes down in buckets. By the time you reach the doors you’re soaked through and cursing at yourself for forgetting an umbrella.
The door attendant lets you in with a sympathetic smile and as you’re sloshing past him and toward the elevator you hear Bucky’s voice.
“Oh doll. Look at you.”
He tugs his mail from the box and slams it shut, rushing toward you and taking your arm.
“Soaked,” you say sadly.
“I can see that,” he muses with a twitch of his perfect lips. “Come on, let’s get you upstairs and dry.”
The elevator doors open and you step inside with a shiver. He immediately starts to pull your jacket from your shoulders.
“What are you doing?” you ask without stopping him.
“You have to get out of this jacket. I’m sure your shirt is….”
He stops speaking when his eyes catch sight of your white button down, soaked through so that you can see the lace of your bra outlined against the fabric.
“Fuck,” he mutters, dragging his eyes back to your face. “Here.”
He shrugs off his damp jacket and then takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders.
“But it’ll get all wet,” you protest.
“Don’t care. You can’t walk out of the elevator like that.”
His jaw is set in a hard line as his fingers work over the scruff that lines it. The elevator dings at your floor and he takes your hand, leading you out and checking the hallway.
“Why are you looking around like that?” you ask.
He turns back to you and tugs you closer. “I don’t wanna anyone seeing you.”
“Why not?”
“Because then I’ll have to kill them,” he states.
“Someone is acting a little jealous,” you giggle.
“Yeah well…we haven’t even had our first date yet. Can’t have someone looking at what’s about to be mine.”
“Yours,” you breathe out, not even realizing you’re now standing in front of your apartment door.
With shaky fingers you start to remove his suit jacket but before you can he stops you with a hand on your wrist.
“Don’t doll. Just keep it for now.”
“But we’re at the door. I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, but if you take that off then I have to see you in your wet shirt again. And I’m not sure I’ll be able to control myself if I do.”
“Control yourself how?” you ask in a breathy whisper.
He responds with a pained groan before his mouth meets yours and he has you pressed against the door.
Even though your shirt is soaked through and your skin is cold you can feel the warmth of his body seep into yours. You wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself and he lifts one hand to cup the back of your neck, tilting your head and deepening the kiss.
Your scrape your nails along his broad shoulders and he moans out your name.
“Fuck, I love having your hands on me.”
The desperation in his voice has you arching into him and you drop your head against the door, giving him access to trail his lips down your neck. Your fingers slide into his hair and tug at the soft strands. He growls into your skin and scrapes his teeth over your pulse point making you gasp his name.
“Oh I like that,” you whisper.
He does it again.
“You’re going to like everything I do to you doll face.”
His lips graze yours and he swallows your whimper, crowding you closer to the door before muttering out a curse and letting you both take a breath.
“Is it Saturday yet?” he asks, still breathless.
“Still Monday,” you answer, feeling just the same.
“Right,” he says, planting his hands on the door above your head and dropping his head forward.
A door down the hall opens and he pauses, straightening his body to hide your own. You both smile at the older lady who walks by with a questioning look.
When Bucky’s eyes return to you they drop to where he spread his jacket open to put his hands on you, your shirt sticking to your wet skin even more now.
He stares before reluctantly dragging his eyes up and taking the sides of the material and pulling them tightly around you.
You tremble.
“Still cold?” he asks, his eyes soft with worry.
“Hardly,” you answer and lean up to kiss the corner of his mouth.
“See you later Bucky.”
“I’m counting on it doll.”
You spend the rest of the week juggling your time between work, texting Bucky and sleeping. You’ve only seen him once since Monday evening and that was for five minutes when he caught you coming home again but this time he had his friend Steve with him and there was no chance for any kissing.
Saturday morning rolls around and you wake up to a text from him.
“It is finally Saturday or am I dreaming?”
“It’s really Saturday!”
“Thank fuck! Can we start our date now?”
“No…I have to do girly things and prepare.”
“What kinds of things….?”
“I’ll see you tonight Buck.”
You can almost hear his groan through the phone.
“I’ll be at your door at 7 sharp.”
Bucky knocks on your apartment door at exactly the same time your phone clock hits 7:00pm. You grin at your best friend Nat before she gets up and walks toward the door.
“Oh girl. He’s hot!” a muffled voice says from the other side.
It isn’t yours so Bucky assumes it’s your friend.
“He’s at least a nine.”
Bucky scoffs, muttering, “a nine?” quietly to himself.
“Hey, I can hear you in there. Are you gonna open the door?” he asks the unknown voice.
The door swings open to reveal a red head who looks him over with two scrutinizing green eyes.
“Hi,” he smiles, holding out his hand. “I’m Bu…”
“Bucky,” she finishes. “I know who you are…question is…do you know who I am?”
“You must be Natasha,” Bucky answers with a smug smile.
“That’s right and I’m a black belt in jiu jitsu so you do anything I don’t like and I will end you.”
Bucky’s eyes light up and he watches Nat as she moves toward the kitchen.
“You almost ready doll face,” he yells, not taking his eyes off Nat in case she goes for a knife.
“I’m right here,” you say.
Bucky turns to find you standing right in front of him. His mouth drops open as his eyes sweep you up and down.
“This is where you say she looks amazing,” Nat admonishes from the kitchen, dangerously close to the knife rack.
However, Bucky’s eyes never leave you and when he steps into your space and wraps you in his arms, pulling you into his chest, you let out a squeal of delight.
“You look fucking gorgeous,” he says, loud enough for Nat to hear, then whispers, only for your ears, “I want to rip this dress off you.”
Your lips spread into a sly smile. “We made the right choice Nat.”
“Of course we did,” she chimes. “Now go. I’ll lock up.”
“I’m so ready,” he says, ushering you toward the door, but not before turning to Nat, still in the kitchen eyeing him warily, and asking, “I’m good with a nine, but just out of curiosity, what did I lose a point for?”
“You’re really gonna make me say it in front of you?” Nat asks.
“I wanna hear it too Nat,” you say, raising an expectant and skeptical brow.
“You didn’t shave.”
He runs the free hand, the one not wrapped around your waist, over his jaw.
“I didn’t get any complaints earlier this week,” Bucky says, eyes now sparkling with mischief.
“He’s right Nat,” you add. “I like it.”
Nat rolls her eyes and shoos you away.
Once you’re safely in the elevator and away from prying eyes Bucky invades your space, plastering you against the cool metal wall and caging you there with his large body.
“It almost killed me to not be kissing you for the past five minutes,” he says against your lips.
When you press into him and slide your body along his it sucks the breath right out of his lungs and fills them with something else. Need.
The kiss pulls a throaty groan from him and his belt buckle digs into your skin, the muscles hidden beneath his clothes, pressing and flexing over the thin material of your dress.
The elevator door dings and begins to slide open, causing you to give his chest a gentle shove.
“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” he asks as he lifts a finger and traces your swollen lips.
“That would suck,” you reply. “I kind of like having you as a neighbor.”
After a delicious dinner at a roof top restaurant down town, Bucky walks you along the street, hand in hand, as you listen and laugh to his childhood stories about growing up in Brooklyn.
“Where are we going now?” you ask.
“It’s a surprise,” he says as he twirls you into his side and presses his fingers under your chin to steal a kiss.
As you get closer to your destination the bright lights sparkle and the smell of the ocean is carried on the warm breeze.
“Which bridge is that?” you ask with awe.
“The Brooklyn Bridge,” he tells you and grabs your hand to pull you along. “Come on. I have something to show you.”
When you reach the top of the look out he slides an arm around your waist and pulls your back to his chest.
“This is so beautiful Bucky,” you whisper.
He kisses your cheek and takes your chin between his fingers, turning your face up to his. “I always thought it was the most beautiful thing in the city…but not anymore.”
You’re thankful for his strong arms holding you up and after a sweet kiss you enjoy the view in comfortable silence for a few more minutes but his hands start to wander, soft and sure, and with each passing touch your body aches for more.
His warm breath fans across your neck and his arm moves lower until his hand grasps your hip and he pulls you back to feel the hardness between his legs.
You suck in a breath and fight the urge to move against him.
With a curse he pulls away and grabs your hand, dragging you toward the park under the bridge. The only lights come from the lit-up buildings across the street and when he finds a hidden spot he backs you against the cold stone but you’re too hot to care.
“Bucky,” you whisper as your hands roam over his broad chest.
His mouth brushes yours before he gently nips at your bottom lip.
“I can’t even keep my fucking hands off you long enough to bring you home,” he murmurs.
His fingers find the hem of your dress and he slides them under, slowly teasing the fabric higher until his hand brushes over the wetness on your panties.
“Please, Bucky,” you pant.
“Fuck, I love hearing you say my name like that,” he growls. “I need to get you home so I can hear you scream it for me.”
@hiddles-rose @littleseasiren @randomfandompenguin @blackwidownat2814 @goldylions @buckysdollforlife @lizette50
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x you#neighbor!bucky#bucky barnes fanfictionn#bucky barnes x y/n#neighbor!bucky barnes#neighbor au#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes x female reader#sebastian stan x reader#bucky x reader#neighbor!bucky x reader
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I MUST BE DREAMIN, (DREAMIN)!
pairings - onyankopan x black fem reader
warnings - use of marijuana, smut, cursing, slight daddy kink? lil bit of choking, ass smacks here and there, breeding, talks about marriage, grammar errors, reader is black and female!
a cloud of thick smoke surrounded onyankopon as he exhaled, slowly dispersing to show the glistening dark skin of the male beside you, his eyes closed and his face relaxed. his chest, inked with a tatto of a cross, expanded as he inhaled the smoke from the blunt a sigh falling from his full lips before they opened, catching your eyes.
you hesitated, looking away from him and back again. "you straight?"
his eyebrow raised at your question, eyes looking you up and down waiting for you to 'fix your sentence' causing you to roll your eyes and smack your lips together. "are you okay?"
ony mumbled something that sounded like a 's'what i thought.' before shifting his hips a little, head rested against your headboard while he stared at the blunt in his hand, collecting his thoughts so he could offer you a good enough answer.
he rolled his tongue over his teeth, huffing through his nose before dragging his eyes to meet yours, "you know, you the first girl I ever been with for so long," he says causing you to shift, your bottom lip caught in between your teeth and your eyebrows furrowed, wondering where this was coming from,
you shifted from your place on the bed from his words and from how hard he was staring at you, both making you nervous.
tilting your head with a grin you responded to him "maybe cause im a woman and not no 'girl'." ony sucked his teeth in responce causing you to snicker, which sounded a bit like a windex bottle.
it goes quiet after that and your nerves rise, wondering if something had happen why ony had suddenly brought this up, wondering if he was going to break-up with you. his gaze is intense, and you figet under it, trying to find something to distract yourself until he mutters out a soft 'cmere', spreading his legs and patting his stomach for you to come sit.
he watched you hesitate, eyes flickering from his eyes to his hand on his stomach before your swung your leg over him, thighs pressed against his side, slowly easing your body weight against him with your hands pressed against his chest only fully sitting down when his hand came up to rest against your hips.
your suddenly hit with the scent of cinnamon and weed as you inhale, face heating up at how good the man infront of you smelled, watching your acrlyic nails tapping against his biceps to avoid looking into his eyes knowing the minute you did, it would have you smiling goofily.
the way his fingers traces teasingly at the waistband of your shorts has your body running hot and your plush thighs squeezing at his waist, a chuckle falls from ony's lips at your reaction, smirking at how quiet you suddenly got now that your on top of him.
"had a dream bout you last night." he says after a minute, placing his blunt on the hello-kitty ashtray that sat neatly on your night stand, before putting his arm under his head taking the chance to look you up and down, eyes pausing at the sight of your nipples in the white crop top you had on licking his lips before looking back at you watching you trace the tattoo that laid on his chest, still not looking at him.
"mmm, course you did." you sass, rolling your eyes. ony pinches your thigh at the attitude, smiling as you snicker with your windex sounding laugh again. "wasn' that typa dream, you're just nasty."
"I didn't even mean it like that, you the nasty one for thinking-mmph!" you don't time to react as ony wraps his hand around your neck and pulls you closer to him, pressing his plump lips against yours in a quick motion, making your body feel hot in the little clothes you had on. his hand on your waist moves to grip the fat of your ass, slurping up the whine you make when he squeezes it before pulling away from the sloppy kiss, brown eyes darkening at the way you looked up at him with your pretty lips parted and your lip gloss smudged at the side of them.
ony licks his lips moving his hand from around your neck and placing it back to it's position behind his head, not once looking away from you even as you looked down at your nails, nibbling your bottom lips.
he snickers, "mouth ain't smart no more, huh?" you only roll your eyes before crossing your arms over your chest, giving him an unimpressed look.
"gonna tell me about your dream or what?" you ask, flipping a braid over your shoulder and ignoring the slap he gives your ass.
sucking his teeth ony shakes his head, "man, stop talking to me like im one of your lil friends before I bend you over." he mumbles it low and threatingly, you shudder because you know he's not playing and that he would indeed bend you over, no hestitation.
that alone has you shifting on his lap in an attempt the throb that you felt from your pussy, praying that he didn't feel it.
"we got married," he says, smiling lazily at the way you immediately look up at him with your eyebrows raised, "and we had a kid. a girl, had your big ass forehead with my pretty eyes." he said, laughing when you punch him in his chest and roll your eyes with a pretty smile on your plump lips.
his hand rubs your back as he continues, closing his eyes. "had your smile and hair, and we had one more on the way."
a huge smile makes it way to your face, fingers tracing shapes on ony's bare chest, mentally imagining how your kids would look. "damn, we would have some cute-ass kids." he hums in responce, still rubbing your back. "too bad m too gangsta to get pregnant by you."
the hand on your back pauses, you try not to laugh as you continue tracing shapes on him, biting the inside of your cheek so you don't smile. ony's eyes are open, eyebrows drawn and a blank look on his face as he sits up, chest now pressed against yours whilst both his arms attach themselves to your waist, trailing down your ass slowly--almost threatingly.
you still don't look up at him, body heating up as excitement and amusement runs throughout your body, knowing you were about to be dealt with soon.
"whatchu say?" folding your lips together, you look up at ony through your lashes, not knowing whether to be scared or turned on from the look he held on his face. you shake your head as you blinked up at him, watching on of his eyebrow twitch, a indicator that shit was about to go down.
his hips shift, pulling a gasp from you as you feel his half-hard dick press against your pussy, his hands drapping you towards him so that your nose brushes against each other and your clit drags against the material of your pink shorts, your mouth falls open at the friction.
"nah, repeat what you said."
you shake your head again, hips grinding against him. he narrows his eyes at you, the grip he has on you tightening.
"ight."
"o-ony slow down please-fuck!"
his pace only increases, hips snapping up into you with god-like speed, the tip of his dick repeatedly hitting your sensitive spot inside your spongey warmth, hitting you with pleasure over and over. he's dicking you down so good, it feels unreal.
“i-it's too much, baby i-i can't-"
"nah," he drawls, "you gon take it, cause you gangsta, right?"
"take this fucking dick and don't play with me, lil girl."
you moan at his words, clawing unto his back as he fucks you deeper into your pink satin sheets, back arching with pleasure and a desperate need to be closer to him.
he hisses at the feeling but his harsh thrusts don't ease up, his chocolate eyes look down at you, watching how you titties jump in your lil white shirt, pretty face screwed up from the pleasure he was giving you. moaning his name, with your sweet lips and pretty ass voice.
"talm bout you 'too gangsta to get pregnant by me.' ima show you sum in a minute."
you sniff, shaking your head. "was playin, daddy. didn-didn't mean it,"
"told you to stop playing with me, and you ran your mouth." he grumbles, shaking his head with a laugh. "look where that got you, dicked down and dumb."
"m'sorry, please onya m'sorry!" you babble out, gripping him harder.
he pulls you closer to him, pushing up your thighs so he can fuck you deeper, licking his lips at the whine you let out. he knows your close from how your holding unto him like your about to die, and the way your pussy clenches down on him the same way.
"know you sorry, mama. still gotta take this dick though." your breath hitches and moans get shaky, glossy eyes looking up at him. the sight alone is enough to make ony cum, but he restrains himself.
your eyebrows draw together, lips parting as you feel a familiar feeling in your stomach. ony watches you, nodding his head with a smirk on his face, white teeth showing behind his full lips.
"you gonna cum? too gangsta but you bout to make a mess on this dick?" he taunts in a deep, seductive voice, letting out a grunt when he feels you tighten around him. your lips part with a squeal when he brings his hand from your hips to press down on your tummy, the pressure has the knot in your belly feeling like it's about to snap. "gonna nut all in this pussy, give you a pretty baby. you want it, mama?" ony asks, smiling at how you bit your lips and nod your head, obviously way too fucked out to give a proper responce.
"you gotta mouth, mama, know you know how to you use it."
your head bobs as you nod again, drool running from the side of your lips as they part to answer him. "y-yeah. want your pretty babies, ony." a pretty smile makes it's way to ony's face before he's leaning down to press his lips against yours, swallowing out every whine and moan you let out as you cum hard, pussy fluttering around ony's dick and your thighs trembling in his hands as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm until he cums, white load shooting inside of your pussy making you feel full.
he pulls out, watching a mixture of yours and his creamy liquid pool out you, and unto your sheets, brown pussy glistening prettily. ony licks his lips his lips at the sight, pushing back into you, laughing at the gasp that leaves your lips.
"o-ony wait-"
ony cuts you off before the words can leave your lips, licking his owns which shined with the lip gloss that was once on yours, "uh-uh, think I was joking bout you taking this dick? ima show you what happens when you don't watch that mouth."
#xblack reader#x black fem reader#x black reader#black yn#black reader#black y/n#ony x black reader#onyankopon snk#aot onyankopon#onyankopon smut#onyankopon x reader#ony x black y/n#aot fanfiction#aot x black reader#aot smut#aot#aot🌟#attack on titan x black reader#attack on titan x reader#anime x black!reader#writtenbyjae🧘🏾♀
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ON MY KNEES BEGGING TO KNOW HOW BFF!RAFE FEELS ABOUT LATINA READER GETTING DRUNK OR DOING COKE LLAPLSPLSPLS!!!!!
you were the prettiest girl at the party. all tipsy and glossy eyed, plump tits on full display as they bounced around in your skimpy triangle bikini, the fat of your plush ass cheeks poking out from underneath your lily pink juicy couture miniskirt as you pranced your way around topper’s backyard, dior kitten heels sporadically clicking against the cobblestone pavement. your bronze skin shimmered under the warm sun, shiny blown out hair flowing against the slight breeze as you found yourself topping your head back, the bff locket that rafe had bought you just a few weeks against glinting as the smooth shot of tequila slid down your throat.
you loved pool parties — even more so, now that you were able to properly debut the new fuschia diamond butterfly belly ring that dangled and shined with each sway of your hips.
scrunching your cute little button nose, you let out a shaky exhale, the burn of the alcohol now dull as you quickly shoved the bitter slice of lime between your shiny and swollen lips, “papito, that burned!” you whined with a short and breathy laugh, shuddering as chills ran across your warm body.
“yeah? told y’that s’gonna be your last one tonight, a’ight?” rafe tuts, gently pulling the now wilted slice of lime from your mouth, while swiftly removing the shot glass from your small hand, his gaze on you firm as you hold up your arms with forced pouty lips, “c’mon kid — can’t carry y’around right now,” he sighs, running a quick hand over his tight jaw.
rolling your eyes you poke out a wobbly bottom lip, your gaze unsteady as you stumble into rafe’s chest, “i thought y’were my best friend, papi!” you mumbled, completely obvious to the way your needy words made rafe’s stomach flip.
drunk and all, you always knew just how to get rafe to give into your every little stupid whim — so, you saved ‘papi’ for when things had to go your way.
gently grabbing you with a light pinch of your cherub cheeks, rafe looks you over, your dewy bambi eyes struggling to remain straight, “hey! cut it out, this is why i didn’t want y’drinkin,” his hand squeezes just a bit tighter, his brows furrowed as he watches fat tears well up at your waterline, “don’t start that cryin’, mama — i will take y’home,” he reprimands lowly, his bright blue eyes stoic and stern.
it was all too much for you. the blaring trap music, your tummy swirling, brain fuzzy from all the alcohol, and now your best friend was made at you? there was only so much that a delicate girl like you could take — so, all it took was that one empty threat to trigger the waterworks.
with a small sniffle, you take a quivering breath, “y-you’re mad at me?”
pursing his lips into a firm line, rafe shares a knowing look with topper who raises his hands up in surrender, “no, princess —”
“i just wanted t-to have so-some fun! m’sorry r-rafe,” you hiccuped, pulling your face out of rafe’s grip as you rushed to knuckle away your hot tears, your swollen tits jiggling with each uneven breath you took, “m’gonna g-go home by my-myself,” you heaved, your voice squeaky.
motioning towards you with wild hands, rafe shakes his head, defeated, at topper, “m’gonna take her crybaby ass home,”
ೀ
half awake, with the side of your soft cheek mushed against rafe’s shoulder, you kept your legs securely wrapped around his waist, semi-consciously wiggling your cute ass against his supporting hand. you couldn’t help yourself, rafe was so tall, and you were so pathetically drunk — you needed to be clung to him, and it warmed your pretty little heart.
“i looove you, papito,” you sang, pressing wet and sloppy pecks to the side of rafe’s jaw as he entered his bedroom with a relieved sigh. raising your heavy head off of rafe’s shoulder, you reach a dainty hand up to squish his cheeks together, with a sickeningly sweet giggle, “best friends forever, right?” you questioned, unfocused eyes all glazed and full of intense admiration.
letting out a sharp breath, rafe nudges your locket with his index finger — you were so out of it and loopy, rafe knew that he could say anything and you wouldn’t remember it, “always be y’best friend, until y’smarten up and be my girl. how does that sound, princess?” rafe smiles, unbuckling his belt with his free hand, his other still keeping you securely hoisted around his waist.
an exaggerated gasp leaves your faded glossy lips, “thought i was your girl already, papi?” you pouted, throwing your head back with a loud huff as rafe snakes a hand up to the back of your head, lightly pushing to get your teary gaze to meet his.
“no more cryin’, y’know exactly what i mean.” rafe reprimands gently, lowering you to stand on wobbly feet as you stumble backwards, “c’mon, mama — need y’to stand up just a little bit, yeah?” rafe grabs your elbow, his sober eyes set on you as you bite down into your bottom lip, far too deep in your drunken thought.
you loved your rafey and it broke your little heart to think that he believed otherwise — and maybe it was the alcohol talking, but you needed him to know that you were his girl through and through.
“maybe you can make me your girl, one day?”
cocking his head to the side, rafe breathes out a nervous chuckle, reaching up to scratch at the nape of his neck, “yeah, sweet girl — one day,” he assured you, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of you bouncing with utter joy, your shiny eyes beaming as you flop down into rafe’s bed.
letting out a sigh of content, your swollen lips ache from your stretched out grin, “m’gonna be your girl!” you cheer, your once drowsy state now turned to a hyper fit of excitement as rafe presses his lips to the top of your head.
#asks#anon#obx#rafe cameron#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron prompt#rafe cameron x reader#obx imagine#rafe cameron smut#rafe x reader#bff!rafe
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The Morning After
Summary: Reader and Spencer are waking up after a big fight the night before.
Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader
Category: Angst, Comfort
Content warnings: Relationship troubles
Word count: 1k
You woke up not convinced you had slept. Your eyelids sticking together and sore from the stark morning light must indicate otherwise, right? It stings no matter how often you blink. It’s a similar sting to chlorine and your body clears it out. But no matter how many times you blink, the pain remains.
Normally, Spencer’s hogging the bed, his arms pressed against your back like he was in a casket but sideways while you grip the edge and hope you don’t meet the floor with your nose. Stretching your arm out to feel the other side feels unnatural. No hand ready to grab you and smack your knuckles with a kiss. No grinding teeth that you’ve told him is a sign of stress and he should get checked out.
This all felt worse. Even though Spencer was just in the living room, he still felt too far away. But what’s the right way to deal with that? How does one bounce back from such a brutal night?
Well, you don’t bounce back. You take it slow. You pick yourself up from the pillows, your body aching like a hangover. Sitting upright did not help your headache; the pain between your eyes is strong, recovering from scrunching so violently in the midst of sobbing and yelling. You’re both lucky the neighbors didn’t call the cops.
You sway around the bed, left to right like a stiff pendulum. In the doorway, you see your boyfriend. His hair is a moppy mess. He's got a fresh dark roast in his hands, and it takes all his concentration to bring it to his lips. It’s almost precious if you didn’t remember you’re partially responsible for putting him in that state. You watch him sip slowly, the heat hits his skin and he remains unfazed. He pulls it away.
“Morning.” You croak out. You push yourself out of the doorway as you wrap yourself tight in your robe.
His face turns to you as he considers another sip. “Morning.” He puts his cup on the end table. “There’s… uh there’s plenty more. If you want any.”
You nod, crossing your arms close to your chest. Even though you don’t waste time grabbing the hot pot and plenty of creamer, your mind concentrates on the feeling of eyes pressing into your back. The sound of the leather shifting with his weight, maybe he was watching to make sure you weren’t walking out (like you may or may not have threatened to do last night). When you turn around though, he does too, he knows you saw it.
Because you know what to do.
You walk to the couch, taking the side opposite as you take two gulps of your beverage, ignoring the semi-sweet liquid’s heat. You settle in with your cup close by while Spencer occupies himself with his own hands like he’s been called to the principal’s office.
“Do you… want to talk about it?”
A third sip. “Yeah, probably best.” You eventually put your cup down after another eager drink. Your magazines were arranged on the table in front of you, labeled by issue. And not just that, but the books that were once sprawled on the floor were put back neatly on the shelves, in their intended alphabetical order. You pause at the sight. “You… wait, you cleaned up last night?”
Spencer coughed to pretend he wasn't so tired, saying "Yeah. I couldn’t sleep, so I figured, you know, why not?” He equipped the rhetorical question with a shrug.
You rub your face. It all hurts. “I didn’t mean to back into the shelf. I hope you know that.”
“I know.”
“Good, okay.” The silence is thick. Expected, but still daunting. The chest pain that comes with holding your breath so sternly is not something you thought of before. And you wish it would go away. So you start it. “Do you want to go first, or would —”
“I’m sorry.” Spencer interrupts.
“Huh?”
“I’m really sorry. What I said, it was out of line.”
You sigh. The relief of it all (or part of it, the rest will come in time) pours out with one exhale. Your lungs still feel the ache, but again, in due time. “Me too. I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have retaliated the way I did.”
Spencer’s lips pull into a smile as his head falls back. “Okay. Good.” He swallowed. “Good.”
You don’t waste time taking up space between you. Your knees touch as you reach out to brush his cheekbones with your knuckles. You move further up and rub the redness around his eyes. They match yours. So you know the area is sensitive. Spencer, however, looks up at the ceiling as you touch it. Soon though, he takes your hand and presses a kiss to the skin. “Not as sloppy as I usually am."
“It’s okay.” Your grip tightens in his. “I think we both need to rehydrate.”
“And sleep more,” Spencer said.
“That sounds nice.” You slip out of Spencer’s hold and comb his hair back with your fingers, clearing them from his face. “Want to go back to bed?”
Spencer’s face scrunches and readjusts in his seat, rubbing his shoulder blade against the couch’s back. “I don’t think I can. It’s not easy to turn comfortably here.”
“You don't have to sleep on the couch.”
Spencer looked back at you. “Really? You sure?”
“You deserve a decent sleep in your own bed.”
Before Spencer has a chance to protest, you’ve picked yourself up from the couch and started pulling him up by the wrists. Despite his weary state, he followed you and stood up himself. You tugged his arm to the bedroom, to the sweet relief of a mattress, pillows, and potential cuddles. Spencer however tugs back, and he brings you into a soft hug. His head on your shoulder, his arms linking together to cage you into the warmth of his body. You gladly (and sleepily) follow by putting your arms around his neck. And you stay there. For a while.
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid angst#spencer reid comfort#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid /you#spencer reid/reader#spencer reid self insert#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid blurb#criminalminds#criminal minds#criminal minds self insert#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fanfiction
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Come to get your fix? - (Margot Robbie x Reader)
At an afterparty, you see Margot for the first time in a long time…
Margot Robbie x femsinger!reader
Warnings: slight age gap (Margot is 30ish, reader is 25ish), mentions of sex, just sexy vibes
A/N: this got a lot longer than it was supposed to be cuz I kinda got carried away with the beginning and the backstory but I hope you enjoy!
2.6k words
There were seven different Met Gala after parties, all of which you had been invited to, but of course you chose the only one that she would be attending.
Well, you really had no other choice. You had to go to Dua Lipa’s party at Virgo on the Lower East Side. You and Dua were close friends and all the biggest celebrities were going to be there.
And you were excited for the most part. It was one of the few nights where you got to hang out with your most famous friends as you danced and drank the night away.
When you arrived, ditching your Chanel gown for a sheer, golden chain dress that resembled royalty, you dove right into the many greetings you’d have to make throughout the night. Of course you got many congratulations on your new album which had easily risen to the top of the charts with several hit singles. And, since you had released new tour dates only last night, several celebrities were already expressing their excitement over attending your LA shows. You thanked them like always, being sure to compliment Zendaya on her new movie and thanking Rihanna for sending you a new package of Fenty Beauty products.
Only after at least an hour did you even find the bar. You ordered your go-to cocktail and paid for whatever your team wanted to drink, exhaling a long sigh. Your voice had already gotten scratchy and hoarse from the day’s events plus the long press tour you had endured the past few weeks. You craved a moment to relax.
But not even a few seconds later did Jack Harlow appear behind you to question why you left him on read for the past three days. Internally rolling your eyes, you mumbled a vague response while your eyes scanned the room for a distraction. You only half listened to him as he tried to get in your pants once more, but you fully stopped paying attention when you finally found her.
There she was, sitting in a booth beside Cara Delevigne across the room. You could tell she was looking for a way out of the situation from the way her shoulders were angled away from Cara and her nails tapped anxiously on the table.
You shamelessly stared, watching her eyes retreat from Cara’s face every once in a while to venture out into the crowd. Her legs were crossed and she sat as straight as a pin like she always had. You remembered how her perfect posture alone always made you feel small. She carelessly flicked her blonde hair back away from her face, smiling at whatever part of the long, winded story Cara was on.
You told yourself so many times that you had moved on. It was a repetitive thought that pounded into your brain each night when you were partying in cities all over the world. And sometimes it felt like you really did move on. You would naturally send a flirty wink to the cute girl at the bar or grind on the hot guy on the dance floor, enjoying the fruitful chase.
But each morning, when you woke up in an expensive hotel room beside a stranger, you always wished she was laying beside you instead. It felt hopeless at times when you were stalking her Instagram or scrolling through your camera roll at the many, many pictures of you and her.
You only truly believed you had moved on when you met your most recent girlfriend. She was finally the breath of fresh air you were looking for. The thoughts of Margot soon felt far and few in between as a new woman consumed your everyday life. She was beautiful and sweet and loving and everything you needed. It was rare for one of your partners to even last more than a couple weeks since you had a reputation of being quite the maneater, but you were glad it did. She was everything.
Until you were gaping at Margot from across the club. You could barely remember your girlfriend’s name when blue eyes finally met yours. They were piercing, like you remembered, and they seemed to look right through you, even from the other side of the room. Her smile melted as she realized who she was looking at.
You took your eyes off of her for a moment as you accepted your drink from the bartender. You thanked him and glanced back. To your satisfaction, she couldn’t take her eyes off of you. You lifted the glass to your lips and took a teasingly slow slip without breaking eye contact. You watched her take a deep breath, slightly pursing her lips, as she silently contemplated how to handle you. Oh, how you loved to be handled by her.
Her attention was stolen for a moment as Cara excused herself from the table. Margot sent her a forced smile and a slight wave before she was lost in the crowd.
You had been dreading this moment for weeks, the inevitable moment when you’d meet her sculpted face that always begged you to come closer. But now that it was happening, it almost felt euphoric.
“Get lost, Jack,” you said, shoving his shoulder out of your way. He groaned but didn’t protest. You had set your path of destruction and now there was no stopping you.
You focused on making long, smooth strides in your tall heels and swaying your hips a bit more than usual as her eyes wandered your incoming figure. Her face was stoic but her gaze was so familiar. It always made you want to impress her, to be extra good for her. To be wanted by her was a better feeling than any number one album or one-night lover. You were glad your dress didn’t leave much for the imagination.
And then, after cutting through the dance floor, you were there, placing your hand upon the table as you slid into the seat beside her. You pressed your thigh into hers, the only thing between them being the golden chains of your dress. The rounded booth kept the two of you secluded from the other happenings of the club.
Although you were beside her, you had each turned your heads to match one another, face to face. Her eyes had never left you and now you could feel her breath against the sensitive skin of your upper lip.
“Hi,” she said. You were envious of how confident she sounded with your face inches from hers. Your only relief was the faint quirk of her lips. You couldn’t tell if it was well-intentioned or mischievous.
“Hi,” you whispered breathlessly, leaving your lips slightly open. She seemed to take the bait as her eyes devoured your glossy, inviting lips.
“Come to get your fix?” she teased, sliding her tongue across her top lip. It was something she always used to say to you when you sneaked into her trailer or violently tugged her into the bathroom.
It reminded you of the times when her soft fingers molded your body into whatever piece of pottery she wanted you to be. The lick of her lips reminded you of all the times her tongue rewarded you afterward.
You clicked your own tongue against the roof of your mouth.
“Something like that,” you mumbled, almost annoyed by all the memories she awakened.
“I was surprised,” she began, her nails skimming the chains along your hip, making a high-pitched noise. You tried not to show how the closeness of her fingers made you feel. “I didn’t see you with anyone.”
She was obviously referring to the fact that you hadn’t brought a date to the gala. Of course, knowing your long history, she had expected you to have someone young and new by your side. After all, TMZ had claimed you were dating four different people in the last two weeks.
You weren’t surprised by her prying. She always cut right to the chase whenever she was with you. But you were a little taken aback that she had asked it so outright considering how things had ended between you.
“Well, I was surprised I didn’t see you with anyone.” You couldn’t help the accusatory attitude that dripped from your voice.
“Hmm,” she hummed with a small smile as if she was expecting that response. She peered down at her hand as it climbed the chains to sit comfortably atop your thigh.
It was her “date” that had ruined your “relationship” in the first place. By “date,” I mean husband and by “relationship,” I mean affair.
It was your first acting gig and in a blockbuster movie at that. Before you had even introduced yourself, you locked eyes with her across the table at the first script reading and you knew you were hers.
But when she began shooting seductive glances from across the set, you assumed your eyes were playing tricks on you. When she began grabbing onto you anytime you were in arms reach, you assumed she was just one of those touchy people. And even that one time when she asked you to “be a good girl” and grab her a water, you just assumed it was a thing she said, even if it made your chest feel tight and your thighs squeeze together.
Because, after all, she was an older, straight, married woman. Or at least that’s what you thought.
It wasn’t until she got you alone in her trailer, pushed you onto the couch, and attacked you with kisses that she made it clear. From that moment on, you were her secret and she had to be yours. It wasn’t ideal, but it was still as perfect as could be. Until it wasn’t.
Before she had even made an advance on you, you knew you were bound to catch feelings. But you weren’t expecting it to hit you like a load of bricks. Nevertheless, you knew you were just some affair to her, some sex toy for her to play with, so it was easy to keep quiet and occasionally dream of what could be.
The real kicker was when, a couple days before shooting wrapped, she admitted she had fallen for you. Your whole world lit up and came crashing down on you simultaneously.
Hearing those words felt like hearing the song of the ice cream truck on a hot summer day: pure relief. You had loved her unwaveringly.
But what trumped that was the undeniable realization that you were only second to her. Second to her husband and the life she had created with him. She could never love you the way you loved her.
So, when promo for the movie was coming to an end, you had to give her the ultimatum. She had put off the decision for as long as possible. That was until you confronted her in her hotel room in a wreck of tears and rage.
You weren’t surprised, but disappointed when you weren’t her choice. She had begged you to stay, to spend one more night with her, but you left in a disheveled hurry, refusing to let her see the effect she had on you.
Sometimes, when you lie awake at night, you wish she had never told you she loved you. Then maybe it would have been easier to walk away and forget about her. It would have been easier to accept that she was just using you for a couple good fucks. But here you were, sitting beside her, rehashing your inevitable heartbreak because she was always so irresistible and she loved you
She looked back up at you, pushing her face even closer to yours. Her smile grew when she saw your lips tightly pressed together and your eyebrows furrowed. You were always so bad at hiding your frustration from her.
“I left him,” she said, squeezing your thigh. You could see the excitement within her, begging for a release.
Meanwhile, you felt dizzy.
“Wh-What do you mean you left him?”
“I mean that I left him,” she repeated, smiling wider at your shocked expression. You were sure you looked so stupid, almost like a dead bug with your eyes wide and your jaw hanging open. “Just waiting to finalize the papers.”
“Oh my god,” was all you could manage. Your hand came up to your mouth, covering the gaping hole. “Oh my god.”
It was the words you had always wanted to hear but at the most unexpected time. Her hypnotizing smile made your head spin as the colors of the club swirled together in your peripheral.
“I just-I don’t understand. Why…now?”
She shot you a slightly confused look, as if the answer was obvious, but a lot of time had passed and you finally needed her to be clear.
She used her free hand to remove your hand from over your mouth and drop it into your lap. Then she firmly grasped your chin, ensuring your eyes never left her candid ones. Her touch shot warmth up your cheeks and down your neck, just the shock you needed to wake you from your daze.
“Because I know I want you. And I tried being without you but I just…I can’t,” she confessed, the words scrambling out of her throat as if they had been trying to for days.
Your heart swelled in your chest at her pure sincerity. Instinctively, you wanted to jump into her arms, to let her have you in every way. But that little bit of insecurity still creeped up your spine. The insecurity she had created when she chose him all those months ago.
“Are-Are you sure?”
She only laughed. Honey may as well have been dripping from her lips as the sound was so sweet. Every sound that left her lips was angelic.
“I’ve been thinking about this every day since you left. I’ve never been more sure about anything.”
Her hand left your thigh to tuck a few pieces of your loose hair behind your ear, her hand lingering on the side of your neck. You felt like you were on fire and she reveled in the way the heat flooded your irises.
But then you felt like you were forgetting something, something important.
“I have a girlfriend, Mar,” you suddenly said, your fingers wrapping lightly around the forearm of the arm that held your chin.
Margot certainly wasn’t expecting that confession this late in the conversation. But your relationship couldn’t have been too serious if your new girlfriend wasn’t there, hanging off your arm. She proceeded without caution.
“Well, I don’t see her anywhere,” she said, tilting your head downward with the pull of her hand, forcing you to stare up at her through hooded eyes. She always adored when you looked at her from that angle, especially when she was knuckle deep inside of you.
You don’t even really know why you said it. You knew, girlfriend or not, you would always choose Margot. And she knew that.
“So, you want me or not, baby?” She pursed her lips in a fake pout, so close to yours.
You couldn’t control yourself and you heard yourself make a faint noise of unbridled temptation. She seemed quite satisfied by that as her thumb rubbed small circles into your chin, the nail grazing your lip every once in a while.
You both already knew the answer.
“Yes, fuck, I want you,” you said, your voice the most confident it had been all night but still the most desperate.
A feeling of pure bliss consumed your body. Just hearing yourself say it made a smile creep onto your lips.
Margot quickly copied you. She raised your chin to meet hers and wasted no more time. Finally, finally, she kissed you. She didn’t care who was watching as she firmly held your face, guiding you in every which way.
She was the only person in your universe and you were the only person in hers.
lmk if you guys want more Margot or any of her characters!! I will def write for Barbie, Harley, and even Naomi. I will prob write something for Barbie soon so stay tuned!
And if you have a request I haven’t responded to, I’m really sorry it’s taken a long time but I am working on it!
#margot robbie#margot robbie x reader#barbie#barbie x reader#margot robbie x femreader#margot robbie x fem!reader#margot robbie x you#margot barbie#margot#margot robbie barbie#harley quinn#harley quinn x reader#wlw#lesbian#fem reader#barbie x fem!reader#harley quinn x fem!reader
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Blown Away (S.R.)
Summary: Virgin!Spencer gets an enthusiastic thank you from his partner.
Request: giving Spencer his very first bj and he makes the most lovely noises
Couple: Spencer Reid/GN!Reader
Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+)
Content Warning: Oral sex (male receiving), established relationship, no plot
Word Count: 765
MASTERLIST
Spencer doesn’t know how, but he didn’t expect this.
You hadn’t exactly been shy about your interest in exploring new forms of intimacy, but it isn’t until his pants are down and you’re on your knees that he realizes what you’d meant when you said you wanted to thank him.
He’s not going to complain, though. Especially not when your hands feel so soft as they smooth over his thighs. The ambient air in the room almost felt cold compared to your hot breath puffing through his boxers.
Spencer surprises himself with the sound of his voice, broken and pitchy as he gasps, “Please.”
He’s not even sure what he’s asking for, but you know.
And you’re more than happy to give it to him.
You take your time as you work at removing the last piece of clothing between you and your goal. Each inch of progression elicits a breathy sound from the boy wonder seated in front of you.
He’s got a white-knuckled grip on the couch that still seems tenuous—like he’s just waiting for permission to abandon the pleather to hold you, instead.
You don’t say anything, though. Your mouth is a little busy pressing not-so-innocent kisses along his inner thigh.
Spencer can’t wait for permission, it seems. As soon as you release a shaky exhale against heated skin, his hands shoot forward and tangle in your hair.
With a wicked simper, you come closer so that your lips brush against the sensitive tip when you speak.
“Does that feel good, baby?”
Spencer, with his eyes wound tightly shut, still manages to nod.
“Yes,” he whines, “yes, it feels so…”
His thought is interrupted by the feeling of your tongue running up the length of him.
“Fuck!” he squeaks, his voice crackling and falling while his hips begin bucking forward.
You still them with sharp nails dug into his hip. The sharp contrast of pleasure and pain makes his whole body shudder.
The twisted side of you wonders if you can manage to make him finish without ever even putting him in your mouth, but the merciful side urges you not to try.
After all, he had been a good boy, and he deserves a reward.
That’s why you don’t prolong his suffering any longer. Instead, you slide your mouth over his cock and revel in the response. The soft sound of muffled whimpers as he bites hard on his lip, the desperate gasps for air, the creaking of the couch as he squirms in place.
“Oh, God,” he cries when your tongue makes gentle motions along sculpted veins. “Fuck.”
The words, however vulgar, sound so sweet when he says them. They motivate you to continue. With each upward motion, you feel him try to follow you. His hands clumsily try to hold you down while what’s left of his brain knows it’s counterproductive.
He is just so lost; lost in you and the comfort you provide. He is drowning in the warm wetness of a devilish tongue that dips to gather the droplet that forms at the tip.
“I-I can’t,” he huffs as his stomach begins to tense in waves.
But oh, you know he can.
“I can’t—I’m so close,” he admits begrudgingly.
You can tell he doesn’t want it to end because as soon as he opens his eyes to see the way you’re managing to smile with your mouth full of him, he shuts them again.
“Fuck!” he shouts while he tugs at your hair, “I-I’m gonna…!”
He expects you to accept his invitation to pull away.
He definitely doesn’t expect you to take him in even further.
His eyes shoot open when your lips manage to touch the base of him. The most indulgent, sinful kind of kiss where he can feel your throat clutch at him like your own debauched beg.
Spencer manages to keep his eyes open, to watch as choke yourself for his pleasure.
The end comes, too quickly, so beautifully. Each wave of pleasure pulses against your tongue and warms your throat. For a moment, you accept his offering instead of air your lungs desperately crave.
With a similarly sudden action, he pulls you clean off him with a final whimper.
As you collect your bearings and your breath, Spencer continues to stare at you with his pants down and pure wonder in his eyes.
“Thank you,” he says while struggling to catch his breath.
“No,” you laugh, “Thank you!”
An exhausted laugh sputters from his lips while he wonders what he could have done to ever deserve you.
He’s not going to complain, though.
(Tell me what you thought about this fic here!)
Reid Taglist: @mrs-dr-reid , @dreatine , @hopefulfangirl24 , @laurakirsten0502 , @dontcallmekittens , @rintheemolion , @andreasworlsboring101 , @imsuperawkward , @wentz2005 , @lovejules888 , @dashneydanger , @materialisthicc , @violetspoetic , @mslowlife , @conniesanchor , @trippol-threat , @will-byers-needs-a-hug , @poo-tay-toot , @bookobsessedfreak
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Thank you for reading!
#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fanfiction#imaginingafterdark#criminal minds smut#spencer reid self insert
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deal - cl16 (18/?)
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader
Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.
Chapter Summary: Canned soup always works wonders.
Warnings: cliffhanger (whoopsie), angst (duh), Lando is a cutie, swear words
Word Count: 3.6k
series masterlist
previous part
A/N: not 10k words, but I did my absolute best. thanks for always having my back. I love you.
"Fuck!" You cross your arms in front of your face and exhale deeply. "FUCK!"
How hard can it be to find an apartment in the south of France? An apartment that has a shower, a bed, and a stove top? A window would be ideal, too, but you have to cut back somewhere, after all. But even a single room in a shared apartment costs almost 2,000€ - how much do you have to pay for an apartment where your privacy is not disturbed?
Although that didn't bother you much in this apartment either. After all, you even shared the only bed with Charles. Voluntarily. The longer you think about it, the worse your headache gets.
After slamming the door in his face yesterday and then wallowing in your misery for hours, you decided to tackle the apartment hunt this morning. You don't want to spend a second longer than necessary in these four walls, which is why you briefly considered asking Kika if you could move in with her and Pierre at short notice and only for a short period of time.
But then you would also have to explain what happened. And since both of them are Charles' friends first and foremost, you don't want to get in the way, even though he's been acting like a huge asshole.
Meanwhile, you're neither sad nor angry - you're just disappointed.
Of him, because he's gone to so much lengths in the last few days to make you feel at home in his company and presence. He showed you the place that is most important to him, told you about his father and showed you his vulnerable side. He has indirectly supported you financially by getting Joris to pay you back and waiving the accruing rent. By God, he even took you to dinner with his friends so you could meet them because he thought "you'd fit in quite well."
And then he ditches you, showing his coldest, rudest, nastiest side by using what your last relationship failed at against you.
But you are even more disappointed in yourself. There has been absolutely no reason why you should trust Charles so much after such a short time. You told him about Raphael, that he left you because you wouldn't sleep with him, and that he cheated on you. You took his compliments without even a thought as to whether he meant them. You had even had a fucking - hot - sex dream with him.
You trusted him blindly. And that's getting back at you now.
Lounging lazily on the couch and looking at apartments that are definitely beyond your budget isn't an approach to making you feel better either, so you decide to pack your suitcase already.
If you can't find a place to stay in a hurry, you'd move to a hotel first. Or a hostel. You wouldn't have any privacy there, but at least they are so cheap that you could stay there longer and thus have more time to look for something reasonable.
And anything is better than staying here.
You open the suitcase you've kept in the closet for months, spread it out on the bed, and start putting your clothes in it. Sweaters, jeans, gym clothes, underwear - the stuff you don't want to leave home without. When it's filled and locked, you put it next to the door of your room. But only to realize that your whole life doesn't fit into one suitcase.
You put your hands on your hips.
You still have a few days before Charles returns. Theoretically, you would still have enough time to get another suitcase, because you haven't packed your shoes or bathroom utensils yet. And you can only fit a few things into your gym bag.
A ping sounds from the living room, and as you poke your head into the room, you see your cell phone light up on the coffee table. You pick it up to read the message.
Lando: Hi. I wanted to check in and see if you're feeling a little better today. Been worried about you all night.
You're chewing on the inside of your cheek.
Yesterday at noon you sent a message to Lando saying that you were feeling unwell and so unfortunately you couldn't go out with him. Aside from the fact that your eyes were swollen from crying and no ice cube in the world could have helped you with that, it didn't feel right to have dinner with him.
Charles had thrown it at you that Lando only wanted to go out with you to get you into bed. How much truth there was to that, you don't know. After all, Charles said some things that hurt you. But whether you can take them at face value is another matter.
Charles has known the Brit for much longer and, above all, better than you. And the way he has courted and flirted with you since you first met, there may be some truth in Charles' words.
But even if there were, Charles has no right to judge. To judge how you handle the matter, whether you like going out with Lando or not. And if you were to go out with him, it could be on a purely friendly basis. Maybe you would have dated and immediately realized that you would be better off as friends.
But you can't find that out now without worry. Now that Charles has hurt you so much and pushed you away. His words are burned into your mind, which is why you answer Lando carefully.
You: I'm feeling better already, thank you. I'm sorry I had to cancel our dinner.
His reply comes immediately.
Lando: You don't need to apologize. I'm just relieved that you're feeling better. Have you eaten anything today?
As if on cue, your stomach is growling. Yesterday your mood was so low that you lost your appetite and, apart from a few cornflakes, you couldn't choke down anything. And that's exactly what you answer him.
Lando: All right. Give me half an hour and then I'll be with you, okay?
Indecisive, you type a reply, delete it, and start again. Does it make sense to let Lando into the apartment while you're in the process of packing your bags? If that's exactly what Charles was addressing?
Charles can go to hell.
You merely give Lando a thumbs-up in response before putting your phone aside and going to the bathroom to get ready for a bit. You may not care how you look right now, but you still don't want Lando to think the worst of you. You comb your hair, wash your face, and slip into more appropriate clothes than your sleeping clothes before cleaning up the living room a bit.
When the doorbell rings, you flinch.
You open the apartment door and a smiling Lando stands in front of it. He is wearing a black sweater with a zipper on the collar and black sweatpants. In his hand he holds a white bag.
"I didn't know which canned soup was your favorite. And that's why," he raises the bag next to his face, "I brought a selection." Grinning, he pushes past you and enters.
You close the door behind him. "You didn't have to do that."
As if it were a matter of course and as if he were here every day, he takes off his white sneakers and heads toward the kitchen, which of course he finds immediately because of the size of the apartment, and takes the cans out of the bag. "I know," he replies to you, setting the soups side by side before turning to you and resting his hands behind him on the edge of the counter. "But I'm someone who cares about his friends when they're miserable. So," he rubs his hands together. "which soup do you want to try first?"
The selection the Brit brought with him is limited to chicken, beef or vegetables, with the picture on the can of the former looking the most appealing. While he heats the soup in a small pot on the stove, you sit at the dining table and watch him.
"May I ask why you weren't feeling well yesterday?" he asks, wooden spoon in hand, stirring the soup.
Indecisively, you look at him.
Lando is Charles' friend. And you don't want to tell him about how Charles treated you yesterday any more than you want to tell Kika or Pierre. Because even though he hurt you so much, you don't want his friends to think badly of him.
Lando hands you a bowl of soup before sitting down across from you in the seat that actually belongs to Charles. An image flashes before your eyes of you eating croissants for breakfast with your roommate. Sitting across from each other, eating pasta, even though you've only known each other for half an hour.
You barely noticeably shake your head to get rid of the image. A movement that Lando takes as an answer to his question.
"Okay. But if you need to talk to someone, I'm here for you."
You smile at him. It's the exact same phrase Charles said to you in the most beautiful place in Monaco when you were feeling so bad about Raphael's call. It feels like a lifetime ago.
"Thank you," you reply to Lando. "I really appreciate that."
As you comfortably spoon up your soup in a slightly better mood, the Brit tells you about his plans for the coming Christmas. He wants to fly back to England to be with his parents and siblings. He shows you pictures of his niece Mila, who steals the show in every photo, but you can't blame her with the chubby cheeks.
"I can't wait to see everyone again," Lando says as he puts his phone in his back pocket. "Are you spending Christmas with your family, too?"
You shake your head. "Nope, I'm staying here."
Lando looks at you, confused. "Alone? What about Charles? He'd take you to see his family for sure."
He would. In fact, he offered when the two of you sat at Jori's dinner table a few days ago. You remember how the two of them joked around, even though Charles had been busting his best friend's chops just minutes before. You thought that you wouldn't do anything that would risk that friendship.
A thought you had often.
"Where is he, anyway?" asks Lando, stretching to be able to see the rest of the apartment from where he's sitting, which isn't difficult when the apartment itself isn't particularly much bigger than a shoebox.
You look into the empty bowl you're clutching tightly. "He has meetings in Italy," you reply curtly, setting it on the table in front of you before pulling your knees up to your chest.
Your friend raises an eyebrow. "Are you going there too?" As you shake your head in confusion, he points to a spot behind you with a nod of his head. "I'm just asking because there's a suitcase there."
As you turn around, you immediately realize what Lando means. You've left the bedroom door open, and from where he's sitting, he has a perfect view of the doorstep. Right to where your suitcase is.
"It's not for that," you reply.
"What for then?"
You stand up to stall some time, and to avoid looking Lando in the eye. You rinse the bowl slowly, hoping you'll think of another good excuse to give him. But you don't want to lie to him either. After all, Lando doesn't deserve that.
And that's why you don't say anything as you reach for the kitchen towel to dry the bowl. You rub over each spot at least three times, and even though it's already completely dry, you keep wiping over it.
When you suddenly feel a warm hand on your shoulder, you wince.
"What did he do?" Lando's voice is calm and gentle as he takes the bowl and cloth from your hand and sets both down on the countertop.
"Nothing," you reply curtly, and are about to grab a glass from the cabinet when his large hand clasps yours and stops you in your tracks.
"Come on, Y/N." Lando pulls lightly on your hand to make you turn in his direction. You keep your head lowered, however.
If you were looking at him right now - you just can't lie to him.
"I know Charles," he says softly, before placing his index finger under your chin and lifting it to make you look at him. When you look into his worried blue eyes, you've lost the fight. "What did he do?"
You can't stop the tears that gather in the corners of your eyes. Nor can you stop them from rolling down your cheeks as you try to blink them away. Lando thinking badly of his monegasque friend is the last thing you want.
But if you move away from here, you certainly won't see Lando again either. And then, theoretically, you may as well not care what he thinks of his friend. And after all, it's not like Charles didn't deserve it, the way he treated you. Charles brought it on himself.
You tell Lando everything.
You start with the fact that Raphael cheated on you and dumped you. That you lost your job a few days ago and Charles was suddenly standing in your - his - apartment. You tell him about your agreement to share the apartment because he still lets his ex-girlfriend live in his first apartment and that after four days he grew so close to your heart that it made you dizzy.
You tell him about Raphael waiting for you in front of the apartment on the day of the dinner with your friends, and that's why you had to spend the night at Kika's, and that Charles called you in a panic and after that you shared the bed for the first time. How you were so unsure about your feelings, because Charles is Charles, and that he had you completely wrapped around his little finger, even though you've only known each other for a few days.
You tell him about yesterday morning. What he threw at you, even though he knew exactly how much it would hurt you. How he talked about his own friend to make you feel even more insecure. And you tell him that you told Charles that you were going to move out.
Lando stays silent the whole time, but doesn't take his eyes off you. His eyes follow every tear that drips from your chin onto your sweater, and in between he gently squeezes your hand as a sign that he's following your story.
When you fall silent, he says nothing at first, but pulls you toward the living room, where he places you both on the couch. You worry that you've told him too much, gone a giant step too far, but it all just poured out of you and you couldn't stop the torrent of words.
But Lando doesn't seem to be angry with you. Quite the opposite. His gaze seems softer as you look at him. "I'd like to offer you the guest room in my apartment," he finally says. "But I don't think you'd accept the offer."
You tighten your mouth into a thin line. "I think it would be best if I just moved away. There's nothing keeping me here. No job, no responsibilities. I can go anywhere." You wrench your arms in the air. "Maybe I'll get a job in the United States. Or in Australia. Just really far away from here."
"That would be a possibility, of course," Lando replies. "But that can't be what you really want, can it?"
Puzzled, you tilt your head. "Why not?"
Lando leans against the back of the sofa. "You could have moved away when you were fired. Or when Raphael dumped you. But you stayed."
You shrug helplessly. "But now I have a reason to leave."
"Do you?" he asks.
"Obviously."
"Then why didn't you tell me everything yesterday? Or when I was just outside your door? Or warming up your soup?" he counters. You don't like the direction this conversation is taking. "You could have told me all about it right away. But you didn't, because you didn't want me to think badly of Charles."
You shrug, trying to express your indifference towards your still-roommate. But Lando isn't buying it. Not one bit of it.
"Come on, Y/N. You can't tell me you don't care about him at all. If you did, you wouldn't be so upset by all this that you'd want to leave the country. And then you wouldn't have tried to protect him in the first place."
You hate that he's right.
"I didn't realize you were so emotionally mature," you reply to him, slightly flippantly, and no sooner have you said it than you're sorry. "Sorry. You're not the person I'm mad at." You pucker your mouth into a thin line. "Are you mad at him? At Charles?"
Lando shrugs. "I'm not thrilled, of course, that a friend of mine would talk about me that way. Especially since he knows none of it is true," he explains. "Charles is good at pushing people away who mean something to him. I just don't know if he's doing it to protect the person or himself."
"Definitely himself." You shake your head. "You don't do something like that to protect someone! That's complete bullshit!"
"Are you sure about that?" Lando rubs his palm over his cheek. "Weren't you planning on sleeping on the couch and breaking your deal?"
You raise your index finger. "Nuh-uh. That was to protect myself."
"So you haven't been telling yourself the last few days that a friendship between you is better? After all, your ex cheated on you and left you because you wouldn't sleep with him. You got fired, Y/N. Your emotional baggage is higher than the Eiffel Tower." He puts a hand on your shoulder. "You know I don't mean that in a bad way, or to hurt you. But I'm sure you're trying to protect not only your heart, but Charles' heart as well."
You feel tears welling up in your eyes again. But this time you don't even try to stop them. "He deserves someone better. Someone who won't lie to him. Someone who doesn't carry around so much baggage." You shake your head slightly and wrinkle your nose. "He deserves someone great."
Lando's hand moves from your shoulder down their arm until he can intertwine his fingers with yours. He squeezes them gently. "I know someone who's been hurt so much, but still sees the good in people." He smiles at you. "I don't know anyone more great than you."
Lando stays with you for the rest of the evening, trying to distract you, which he clearly succeeds at with the miserable rounds of Uno in which he cheated at least twelve times. As you part with a tight, friendly hug, he presses a kiss to your cheek.
"You're still allowed to be mad at Charles. What he did is absolute bullshit," he says as he slips on his shoes. "But wait a little while before you move out. Maybe he'll come crawling back and apologize. Besides, for selfish reasons, I don't want you to move to the United States. Or Australia. Or anywhere else." He gives you one last squeeze. "If you need anything, call me. I'll be right over."
"I know," you smile, "and thanks again for the soups."
He raises his index and middle fingers to his temple, a joking goodbye. "You're always welcome. See you around. Here in Monaco."
You close the door behind him and actually feel a lot better. Lando's presence was comforting and warm, and he's someone you definitely wouldn't want to miss as a friend.
After brushing your teeth and combing your hair, you settle into bed. Your suitcase is still at your bedroom door, but the decision to move out isn't as set in stone as it was just a few hours ago. Perhaps you would look for a hotel for the time being to gain some distance. And then seek a conversation with Charles to have his behavior explained to you.
Friends don't treat each other like that. And he's definitely going to have some work to do to straighten that out. But there needs to be distance between you to make it work, which is why you're looking for hotels in the area to check into tomorrow.
A violent knock on the front door startles you. It's the middle of the night and you're not expecting anyone, so you carefully tiptoe towards the door. Maybe it's Lando, who left the rest of his soups here, or maybe he left his cell phone and can't call you to let you know he's coming by. Or maybe it's just a neighbor who got the wrong door.
It could have been all of these possibilities. But it's none of them when you open the door.
And you immediately regret that you didn't move out yesterday.
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#charles leclerc#charles leclerc smut#charles leclerc prompt#charles leclerc blurb#charles leclerc imagine#lando norris#carlos sainz jr#charles leclerc fanfic#formula one#charles leclerc fanfiction#f1 edit#charles leclerc cute#charles leclerc x yn#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc x female reader#Charles Leclerc fluff#Charles Leclerc angst#f1 smut#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic
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Let The Light |7|
Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader
Chapter Seven: Tis' The Damn Season
Summary: After that eventful night at Tara's apartment, you find yourself pondering on a few things, but your banter with Tara never ceases. There is enough on your plate as it is, so when you bump into a familiar face it catches you completely off guard
Warning(s): Swearing, making out, mentions of drinking & intoxication, r has a case of bad communication, chemistry (like the actual subject 😣), compulsions, & implied anxiety
Notes: I took over a year off to cut you readers some slack, tell a friend to tell a friend - she's baackkk! 🤭 Ik you missed these stubborn little jerks, so did I. Also not this chapter being at like 10k+ words. Even then, there was a bunch more I wanted to add but I figured I'd save it for the next chapter (already plotting) I didn't wanna keep you waiting any longer than I already have
Masterlist|Previous Part|Next Part
The box of pizza and plate of wings sat completely abandoned, forgotten, on Charlotte’s coffee table as her hands traveled to your neck. You let your own hands drop to her hips, pulling her in. Her lips felt soft, yet foreign. You ignored that thought and continued to kiss her, slipping in your tongue while she maneuvered her way onto your lap.
Everything felt hot, you could feel your face heat up as she ever so slightly played with the hem of your shirt. When you gave her the silent signal, she slipped a hand under your shirt—not too high of course, but enough to feel your hips. You felt goosebumps at her touch, suddenly feeling nervous. You once again pushed any negative thoughts to the back of your mind, continuing to kiss her.
That’s when it clicked. Why you got so nervous all of a sudden, your mind was trying to tell you something, warn you.
You separated from her lips. She looked at you, a confused expression on her face. You weren’t meeting her eye line, feeling rather timid at the moment. “Are you okay?” She asked you. You barely heard her with your heartbeat drumming so loudly in your ears.
“Um…” You cleared your throat, still not meeting her gaze. “Yeah… I just—sorry.” Charlotte’s expression stayed put as you managed to remove yourself from the couch.
“Did I do something?” She asked, moving to also stand up. She looked at you with what you could only describe as confusion and concern. You couldn’t blame her one bit—one second you’re all over each other, the next you’re pulling back like she stung you.
“No—no, no, no,” you shook your head while gesturing with your right hand. “You did nothing wrong. I um,” you finally looked to meet her gaze, “it’s just been awhile, I guess.” You could only hope she didn’t see through your lame excuse, it wasn’t completely untrue.
“Oh,” Charlotte said. “…Oh,” she then repeated when she realized what you meant. “Shit, I didn’t push you did I?”
“I promise you didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve just been in a weird place …for a while,” you shrugged, not expecting to add that last part, your tone getting lower as you spoke those words.
“I get it,” she mustered an understanding tone.
A suffocating silence enveloped the room for a few seconds, causing you to look out the nearby window to be met with pitch darkness.
“It’s actually getting pretty late anyways and I’ve got an early shift in the morning…” You said while slowly getting your jacked that hung from the couch.
“Of course. Call me?”
“Yeah,” you briefly smiled at her while adjusting the collar of your jacket. “Sorry, again, for making things awkward,” you apologized while grabbing the last of your things.
“No, don’t worry about it. Stuff happens,” she waved you off while managing a reassuring tone.
You nodded at her before muttering, “thanks,” and finally leaving the apartment. As soon as you walked out into the crisp night air, you exhaled your own pocket of air you didn’t even realize you were holding in.
That’s when it all came crashing down; the awkwardness, stupidness, and cringyness that came from the situation all because you were scared to let your situationship see your scars.
Nice going.
You repeated words like moron, idiot, and dumbass while you walked to your car—the train of thought never breaking as you drove to your apartment. Manhattan’s late-night traffic didn’t exactly ease your frustration. You were in the middle of cursing out the car in front of you when your phone started to ring.
Still feeling ridiculously stupid, you were going to let it just ring out, but that was before you saw the contact name.
You answered the phone. “Tara?” You immediately asked with furrowed eyebrows. Why on earth is she calling you so late?
“Y/NN,” you heard her slur over the phone. Your grip tightened on the steering wheel, immediately realizing what you were about to be in for. Before you could get another word out, she interrupted you. “Have I ever told you you’re so gorgeous it actually hurts?”
Your eyes widened as heat rushed to your face, your hands nearly slipping off the wheel. The tips of your ears suddenly began to feel very warm while your mouth opened and closed a few times before you could get sound to come out.
“I—uh,” you cleared your throat before continuing. “Where are you right now?”
“Hommee. Where else?” Her answer was followed by hiccups.
“I’m coming over,” you said firmly before hanging up. Being distracted any further by her voice was the last thing you needed right now. You silently hoped nothing drastic was waiting for you at her apartment as you changed your route.
When were you going to stop jinxing things?
—
It had now been a few weeks since the night at Tara’s apartment took place. Not long after you put her to bed, you gave yourself some time to reflect on her words. And ever since that night, you have been repeating them in your head whenever you were with the Carpenter. It seems as though she was able to move on easily, at least, her silence on the topic made it appear that way. On the outside, you gave the impression that you too had moved on from that night, that it had not affected you whatsoever. But on the inside, you were in emotional turmoil. With replaying your memories, that same tightening feeling in your chest that you felt that night reappeared.
There were so many key points of that night to completely crumble over; for starters, the incident with Charlotte. You are beyond embarrassed thanks to your repulsion for emotional intimacy. You knew if she saw your scars questions would ensue, thus putting you in an uncomfortable position to spill your guts out. The last thing you needed was for that to happen, but that alone had you thinking.
You’ve been on over four dates with Charlotte now and you have no idea where you stand with her. She’s just a situation-ship as of right now, and for all you know she could be seeing this as more. But the thought of asking her where you stand with her makes you emotionally grimace and cause your stomach to churn.
If you can’t even talk to her about your relationship status, should you even continue seeing her? This question had you thinking even further. Maybe you rushed into this relationship, maybe it was far too soon. Was nearly a year too soon?
That was the last time you were in a relationship, the last time you allowed yourself any form of emotional intimacy with a partner. But that was the result of three years, three years of building trust and connection. It was going to take a lot more than just a few dates with someone you don’t truly know to recreate that. It was going to take effort.
As for the Tara part of that night, you didn’t even know where to begin. Where could you? From her compliments to her insults, the night was certainly an eventful one. And just to think, you had seen her just hours before and there hadn’t seemed to be any issues.
The coming semester is certainly going to be an interesting one.
—
You and Tara were in your apartment, huffing and groaning could be heard throughout your room. She sat cross legged at the edge of your bed while you were leaned up against the headboard. Papers sprawled all over the bed, pens and pencils scattered—almost imitating what the inside of your mind currently looked like.
“Was the first sheet you gave me—was it nine or seven?!”
You let out a huff, mixed with a long sigh, at Tara’s repeated question. After running a hand down your face, you slid closer beside her to get a better look at her paper. “This is table nine right here,” you emphasized by rapidly tapping your pencil on the spot of the paper you wanted her to focus on.
She rolled her eyes as she mumbled, “Oh my god—” She turned her head to looked at you as she huffed, “Answer my fucking question with a yes or a no; was it a yes—was it a nine or a seven?”
You muttered a few curses under your breath—curses you knew she heard because of your close proximity—before taking your pencil to her paper once again. “Alright, okay so I’m gonna circle this—”
“What the fuck—?!”
“This is—this is nine,” you glanced at her for a moment to make sure she was paying attention. All you were met with was a dumbfounded look.
“But what’s the top??”
“That’s table seven.”
There were a few seconds of her just staring at the paper and you looking between her and the paper until she said something.
“What?” Her voice indifferent.
“So I’m assuming you don’t get it…”
She turned her gaze from her paper to you, hitting you with a hard glare. “No, asshole. I don’t get it.” She then threw her pencil to the side and got up from the bed. Her arm brushes against yours as she does so but you choose not to pay any mind.
“I’m so tired of chemistry,” she all but whined before dramatically plopping back down on your bed face first.
“You’re the one that said you needed help,” you pointed out while curiously flipping through her notebook. “I remember wanting to stick with routine and work on our history project.” Her doodles are cute.
“So helpful,” she sarcastically remarked, muffled; she was still face planted on your mattress, right beside you.
“I try,” you reply in a monotone voice; you were still flipping through her notes as you talked.
Tara rolled over on her back, pushing loose strands of her raven hair away from her face. She exhaled before clearing her throat—which didn’t get your attention, so she tried again …and again, after the third time she just settled for throwing a nearby pillow at your head.
You finally turned to look at her with furrowed eyebrows and a hand to the back of your head. “Um, can I help you?”
“Can we just start on the math now?”
“You couldn’t have asked that without the pillow to my head?” You asked incredulously.
“Do you have this, like, mental illness that prevents you from properly answering ‘yes or no’ questions—”
“Get your other notes out before I change my mind.”
Tara scrambled over to the side of the bed, reaching over to grab her bag that sat beside your bed. She quickly wiped off a giddy smile as she took out her needed papers. You were neatly setting her previous papers to the side as she did so.
“Alright, what do you got for me, Carpenter?” You inquired while she scooted back next to you; you’re both sitting side by side, leaning against your bed’s headboard as you looked at the page of notes she was showing you.
“This is basically everything that's going to be on my exam next week,” her stress regarding her exams was evident from her tone. “Some topics I’m good with, other’s I’m okay with, and a few I’m struggling with.” She turned to look at you, eyes practically burning holes in the side of your head with a pleading look. Pleading for you to help her.
After a moment of silence—of you intently staring at the paper—you hummed to yourself, nodding, as you finally returned Tara’s gaze before speaking. “I have highlighters; I want you to circle the ones you’re okay with in orange, and the one’s you’re struggling with in red,” you told her while reaching into the drawer of your nightstand for the highlighters.
All you got was a brief, “Mhm,” while you blindly thrashed your hand around for the highlighters. When you finally got the right colors, you handed them to her before getting up from your bed which earned you a confused look from the other girl.
“Where are you going?”
“Bathroom. Don’t miss me too much,” you couldn't help but smirk at the girl, leaving before she had the chance to counteract. You weren’t sure if you were smirking because of your own remark, or if it was thought Tara was missing you. It definitely left a warm feeling inside of you.
She doesn’t miss you. She wants less of you, remember? Your head reminded you, causing that familiar feeling of your chest tightening. Your breathing was still a bit hollow from the feeling as you finished up in the bathroom and walked back to your bedroom.
“You finished?” You asked Tara while returning to your previous seat beside her.
“Yes but I have a proposition for you,” Tara responded almost immediately. You stopped your movements, eyeing her with a suspicious look.
“Lay it on me,” you said.
“We can continue doing all this,” she gestured to her notes, “—but instead we can do it in a place with food.”
“I’m gonna need you to elaborate, please.”
“I want to go to the diner nearby, and finish studying there. I’m tired and starving—and you haven’t gone grocery shopping in weeks so I already know there’s not much to find in your fridge.”
“Wait, how do you know the last time I went shopping?”
Tara ignored your question, instead continuing to look at you with those doe eyes of hers as she continued to plead. “Pleeeaaase, Y/N?”
You looked at her, feigning a reluctant look before letting out a sigh. “Alright, let’s go.”
“Thank goodness. My stomach was starting to make noises I’ve never heard before,” she said as she was gathering her papers.
—
“Done!” Tara announced in a cheery tone. You looked up from your book as she slid over the sheet of loose leaf she was just working on. “I put a star next to number three; I was having trouble with that one the most,” she told you before sipping her half drunken milkshake.
You nodded her way as your eyes skimmed her paper. “All these are correct—including number three. Was there a specific reason you didn’t fully understand it?”
“Mainly the order of the steps,” she answered.
“I see. Well you were correct. But if you continue to have trouble with the memorization stuff, flashcards are great memorization tools. Especially colored ones. I can lend you some of you want,” you offered her while giving her back the piece of paper.
“Oh—yeah. Totally,” she chuckled before loudly clearing her throat and practically shoving the straw in her milkshake into her mouth. There was something that washed over her—possibly embarrassment? You couldn’t be too sure. But why would she be embarrassed? Sometimes you wish you could hear her thoughts, just so you could get some insight on what was going through her head during certain moments.
Tara stared down at her straw, subconsciously refusing to pick up her head until she felt less flushed. That was so embarrassing, she kept thinking to herself. ToTalLy! Goodness, Tara, she just offered you some flash cards—not her hand in marriage. Her cheeks got even warmer at the idea.
“You good, Tar?” You just had to ask with that painfully soft voice you get when you’re concerned. Oh, and why did you have to call her Tar? She still remembers when you called her Tar for the first time—you and her were in her bedroom after the incident at the halloween party. She felt her knees physically grow weak as heat rushed to her ears, and now she’s found herself in that same predicament due to you opening your stupid, occasionally sweet, mouth.
“Hm? Great!”
“Um,” you let out a short, awkward, and airy laugh. “Okay, good, yeah.” Your eyes subconsciously took a quick scan around the diner due to Tara’s sudden volume change. “So anyways, from the looks of those problems, you’re gonna nail your exam. Just try not to overthink your answers too much.”
Tara hummed before returning to her milkshake just to realize she was all out. Guess she’s going to have to find another thing to distract her eyes from you.
You, on the other hand, were still confused. Did you say something? Why did she seem so timid all of a sudden? Did the flashcards somehow cross a line? If so, in what way did it? Tara was being a little too silent for your liking, which is really saying something considering how much you value your quiet time.
You were about to do one of the hardest things you have ever done. Attempt small talk.
You cleared your throat, “So. How’s—how are you and uh Chad?” This finally got Tara to look up. She eyed you with a confused expression. “Like, dating and stuff,” you awkwardly added. Your palms were already growing sweaty as your leg began to bounce.
“Me and Chad? Dating?” That’s when she bursted out laughing, handing over her mouth and everything. You suddenly felt like a total dumbass but you weren’t sure as to why. Were they no longer dating? Well obviously, if you had to take anything from her reaction. But you weren’t doing a lot of laughing when you and your ex-girlfriend broke up.
“Oh—I’m sorry, let me catch my breath for a second.” She literally wiped away a tear from how hard she was laughing before speaking up again. “Y/N, Me and Chad are not together.”
“You’re not?”
“Nope. And we never will be, never ever ever.”
“Never ever?”
“Never ever.”
You couldn’t help the sudden wave of relief that washed over you, but you weren’t sure where it came from.
“But I saw you two kissing at a party,” you told her.
“Right …that. Yeah, I try not to think about that night if I’m being honest. It was honestly super embarrassing; I was completely drunk, so drunk to the point where I thought he was… someone else,” her voice grew a little quieter towards the end as she sank a little in her booth.
“Oh.” Was all you said. You didn’t know what else to say. What could you? That night was a misunderstanding, and judging by Tara’s words and reaction to the accusation of her and Chad dating—that relationship is long from happening. Yet another feeling of relief washed over you as you had that thought.
“Yeah,” Tara shrugged. That’s when something clicked in her head …she could use this awkward discussion to her advantage. “Since we’re on the topic of dating, how are you and Charlotte? You haven’t mentioned her in a while.” And good riddance for that, she silently thought to herself.
“I kinda ended that,” you nonchalantly answered before shoving a fry in your mouth.
“Oh that sucks,” she feigned a sympathetic tone. “It seemed like you two were really hitting it off.”
“I guess.”
Tara wanted to leave it that, really she did, but she just couldn’t help but pry. “Something happened?” She asked you.
“Nope. Just fizzled, I guess. situation-ships do that sometimes, not surprising.”
“Wait, ‘situation-ship’? What do you mean by that?” Her question and her tone of interest had you looking at her with raised eyebrows, utterly confused for what felt like the millionth time that night.
“Like, it wasn’t serious. I wouldn't call her my girlfriend, doubt she’d call me hers. Nothing more than a casual relationship,” you responded, for some reason you felt the need to tread lightly.
“Didn’t you go on like five dates? If you go on multiple dates, that means you’re dating. Thus the word dating being an extension to date,” she sternly replied.
“Alright, I understand the responsibility of a verb—why are you getting upset over this?”
“I’m not upset.” The pout she wore as she defensively crossed her arms with slumped shoulders told you otherwise. “I just—I don’t know. I want pie.”
“Okay. I’ll get you pie, but could we please switch to a different subject?”
“Fine,” she mumbled; her gaze may have been directed toward her napkin, but it threatened to meet you every second.
—
“I can’t believe you finally watched it!” You exclaimed to Tara. The both of you were headed back to your apartment; it was dark out as it lightly snowed. You were holding the bag of leftovers, walking on the street-side of the sidewalk as Tara kept her hands firmly placed in her jacket pockets, protecting them from what felt like sub-zero temperature.
“I only avoided it for so long because of you!” She laughed.
“Wow, so you’ve been missing out on one of the greatest shows of all time due to pettiness?”
“Okay, okay—I said it was good, not great.”
“Ah, but you wanna say great. It’s that darn pettiness holding you back, once again,” you said as your smile never broke.
“Did you just say ‘darn’?”
“Yeah, what?”
Tara only laughed as she shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Oh! You should watch the extended cut—if you thought it was funny before, you're gonna love the superfan episodes.”
“I’ll give them a shot,” she truthfully responded. She would say anything to keep you talking like this. One of the things she loved listening to was you geeking out over something you were passionate about. Maybe it was the sound of your voice, maybe it was how you lit up, maybe it was how animated you were while talking.
“Definitely do—” You were cut off by a body colliding into you, causing you to drop the bag of leftovers you were carrying. You muttered a “sorry” before crouching down to pick it up. Tara was about to help until your eyes met with the other person’s.
“Y/N?” The stranger asked.
“Olivia?” You mirrored a confused look.
What was your highschool sweetheart from Woodsborro doing in the middle of Manhattan?
“Oh my gosh—it really is you.” Olivia laughed a bit as the realization set in. You couldn’t help but laugh a bit too.
“Yeah—yeah, and it’s you.” You responded before she came in for a hug. Your movement stuttered for a second before welcoming her hug. She was still as warm as the day you met, her dark hair still holding its shine it did since the last time you saw her.
The hug was understandably awkward, but for once you didn’t mind awkward. “What are you doin’ in New York?” You finally asked her.
“I’m here for this documentary thing I’m working on,” she said.
“That’s right—your documentaries. I’m glad you’re still doing those,” you told her with a genuine tone.
She grew a smile at the words you spoke. “Thanks… that means a lot.”
“Oh—uh, you remember Tara, right?” You turned and briefly pointed at the Carpenter who slightly waved.
“Yeah, I do. Hey,” Olivia said with no bitterness. She took a few steps and held out her hand to Tara, which the other girl took.
“Hey,” Tara nodded with a tight lipped smile.
“I’m surprised you two are out in public together,” Olivia joked. You and Tara both laughed awkwardly at your dynamic being brought up.
“Me too,” you joked back. “So uh—you staying long?” You asked, purposely deflecting to a different topic.
“It’s currently indefinite, I’m crashing at a friend’s place right now.” There was a glint in your eye that Olivia picked up. “Would you like to grab coffee sometime? I’d love to catch up.”
“Yeah, that sounds cool,” you replied; you were trying your best to hide your eagerness.
“Awesome,” she grinned at you. “So, see you around?”
“See you around,” you said. You instantly began to cringe at yourself as she started walking away, but she didn’t leave without giving you one last look. As soon as she left ear shot, you let out a long awaited sigh.
“Geez.” The sound of Tara’s voice caused you to flinch, you completely forgot she was standing right there. “That was hard to watch,” she remarked.
“No one asked,” you said with an eye roll as the two of you began to walk again.
“Someone’s bitter,” she replied. “Hey—” She put the back of her hand on your chest to stop you from walking as she turned to look at you, “Let’s go to my place instead.”
“Why?”
“I wanna finish these leftovers on the roof,” she answered.
“My apartment has a roof,” you told her.
“Not the same.”
“How is it not the same?”
“It's just not. Now come on before our food gets even colder and more destroyed.”
“I guess I’m following you,” you mumbled while trailing behind Tara.
—
You and Tara were sitting on white patio chairs; the same ones you recall from the last few times you’ve been up on the roof. The wind had calmed down since your walkover, snow still lightly falling from the sky. You were eating your fries as Tara was eating what was left of her pie.
“I’m just saying, I could totally take down a bear.”
“Not in a million years, Tara. You, a 5 foot gremlin, versus a big furry thing with claws that could rip you to shreds? Be serious,” you deadpanned.
“First of all, I’m 5 foot 1, second of all, you’re really underestimating me here. If I can take down a sociopath while crippled—”
Tara didn’t talk about Woodsboro a whole lot, really the only time she’s talked about it—with you at least—was the night it happened, the party at Henry’s house, and just now if that even counted. She never seemed to name-drop anyone connected to that night. But you understood. You don’t remember the last time you said Dewey’s name out loud.
“A sociopath? Yes. But last I checked, the said sociopath didn’t have the same physical traits as a bear—therefore, your argument holds no power.” You shoved a few fries in your mouth before silently offering her some, in which she accepted.
You glanced over at her to see her expression—she looked kind of disappointed. You sighed, thinking for a moment, before speaking again. “Okay, I’m not saying you have no chance. You’d still do some damage—and I guess it’s not impossible to beat a bear.” You hated the instant flip in your stomach from seeing the way she lit up, it was subtle but you’re grateful you noticed.
She smiled, almost grinning but she resisted. “That’s what I’m saying!”
“Jump on its back, put it in a headlock,” you added with your own little smile.
“Exactly. You get me,” she absentmindedly said right before taking another bite of her pie.
“What a mad world we live in,” you joked while reaching beside your chair for your milkshake. Tara wasn’t sure what you meant by that, but she just decided to ignore it rather than dwell on it—at least for the moment. She looked over to see you sipping your milkshake and a sly smile appeared on her face as she began to lean closer to you, her elbows resting on her chair’s armrest and expression never faltering.
“You want something, Tar?”
“That’s an awfully tasty looking milkshake you have there,” she commented; she feigned an innocent tone.
You glanced at her from your peripheral vision—she was on your left side—as you played with the straw in your milkshake. “Tara…” You all but sang. She hummed in response, her position still the same. “Would you like my milkshake?” You asked, but your tone hinted that you already knew what her answer was going to be.
“Well, I guess since you’re offering. Who would I be to pass up a perfectly good milkshake?”
“You’re a piece of work,” you remarked with a broad smile that Tara could describe as gleaming.
“You’re the sucker who gave me her milkshake,” she sneered before taking a sip from said milkshake.
“I’d watch my tone if I were you, ‘cause this sucker could easily take it back,” you threatened, lightly laughing along with the other girl.
She scoffed and waved her free hand, “Yeah right. I’d like to see you try.”
“Oh, yeah?” You get up from your chair, eyes never leaving Tara. “I bet I could take it back from you, no sweat.”
A smirk grew on Tara’s face as she also got up from her chair. “Okay, okay, you’re on then. Winner takes all—all being the milkshake.”
“You got yourself a deal.”
“Okay then let’s do this, come on bring it,” Tara’s grin was just too strong to fight off as she lifted up her elbows; one, to use as a shield for her milkshake, and two, to use as her weapon.
You let out a laugh when you saw a defense mechanism. “That’s pathetic,” you quipped.
“Oh, really?” She said with raised eyebrows. She then shoved her elbows towards you, both of you laughing during all this.
“Oh!” You took that as a chance to grab her from behind and wrap your arms around her waist, holding her in place as she attempted to break loose; in her defense, it wasn’t as easy to do so while she was flushed against you, her face heating up from both the action and her ceaseless laughter.
The milkshake dropped to the floor, but neither of you paid any mind. You lifted her up a bit as you spoke, “Not much of a fighter now, huh?” You quipped in a smug tone.
“You are so playing dirty right now!” She said; her shirt rose a little bit and her hands were loosely holding onto your forearms.
“I don’t remember seeing a rule book. Just surrender and I’ll put you down,” you told her as if it was the simplest thing ever; for anyone else, it would have been.
“No way!” At her response you lifted her higher at which she started rapidly patting arm.
“You finally surrender?”
“Never in a bazillion years!” Just as Tara said that, she felt a drop of water on her forehead. She furrowed her eyebrows, glancing up at the night sky. “Shit—I think it’s raining.”
“Yeah right, you just don’t wanna be the one to surrender,” you accused while adjusting your hold on Tara.
“I actually felt—” Before Tara could finish her sentence, a loud grumble could be heard as it started to abruptly pour. “I told you!”
“Shit,” you cursed as you put Tara down.
“We need to get inside.”
“Incredible observation. Thought of being a detective?” You quipped.
“Shut up. It’s freezing, let’s just get inside.” Tara was visibly shivering, wrapping her arms around each other while hugging them close to her torso.
“Okay, come on.”
Tara barely let you finish speaking as she started rushing towards the door. “Wait—! Tara, don't run! You could slip!” You tried to match her speed without breaking your neck in the process. You nearly sighed in relief when she slowed down.
She looked at you with an inpatient look as she waited for you to catch up. You were in the process of taking off your jacket as you caught up to her. “If you’re going to slow me down, at least walk a little faster. I’m getting drenched, and this outfit isn’t exactly water resistant—I’m not water resistant!”
“Geez, alright. Quit complaining.” You caught up to her, trailing behind her as you wrapped your jacket around her. “Stop looking at me funny, just open the door,” you said in response to the lost expression she gave you.
She mumbled something incoherent while reaching for the door’s handle and turning.
As soon as you stepped inside, you let out a long exhale while rubbing your hands together. You looked beside you to see Tara attempting to shake off the water she was drenched in; of course, as a result, she ended up spraying you in the process. “Do you have to do that near me?”
“Where else am I doing it?” She tightened your jacket around her, holding it impossibly close to keep herself warm.
“Whatever, I gotta get home anyway. Picked up a few extra shifts,” you said while double checking your phone’s dryness.
“I thought the cafe gave you off on Saturdays.”
“Uh, yeah. I do. I’m—covering for a coworker, I owe them so,” you trailed off with a shrug; you batted your eyes away from Tara, suddenly finding your drenched jeans very interesting. “Well, I should get going. I’ll see you around?”
“Yeah, see you,” Tara responded; you made your way down the stairs but not before sparing a small smile.
—
It was the next day, 8:52 am on a Saturday. You had woken up around 4:00 since you had to get in around 7:00 to help set up and open at 8:00. Exhaustion was hitting you back and forth, the only thing that was keeping you awake, barely, was your few hours old coffee you had brought from home. Staying out late with Tara was really biting you in the ass, but you were usually tired these days so it wasn’t much of a difference.
Although it was slow since the day had just begun for many, you still found yourself dealing with incompetence so early in the morning. Truly, it was too early for this. If one more person asked about Halloween stuff, Thanksgiving stuff—any other thing they should’ve gotten months prior, you are going to bash your head into a wall.
Why are people asking their barista about stupid out of season decorations? It’s simple, the cafe wasn’t paying you enough; attending college and living off campus wasn’t getting any cheaper and you needed a reliable job. So when you saw that Target was hiring, you applied. That’s how you came to balance two jobs and some of the most insufferable customers you have ever had the displeasure of conversing with.
“I’m sorry miss, but we stopped selling that after October. But if you’d like, I can show you to the candy aisle—”
“No, listen to me, these are what I want,” she snarled while shoving her phone in your face; her phone showed a picture of the Halloween candy she wanted. “I don’t want regular sour patch, I don't want regular m&m’s, I don’t want regular reese’s pieces—I want Hal-lo-ween candy.”
“I know that, but miss—”
“Can you just go check in the back? Please? My son has been driving me insane and I need to at least do this one thing right,” she begged.
You let out a silent sigh, “Of course. I’ll go check in the back to see if we have anything left.”
“See, now that wasn’t so hard,” she said as you made your way to the storage room. You rolled your eyes, choosing to ignore her statement. It really was too early for this.
You went into the storage and sat down on a nearby box; you just stared at the ceiling, zoning out for about a minute before heading back.
“I apologize, we don’t have what you're looking for. Is there anything else I can help with?”
She scoffed at you, clutching her purse as she did so. “No, I do not need your help because clearly it is no use. Your manager will be hearing from me,” she angrily said before strutting away.
“I’m sure he’ll love that,” you remark out loud to yourself. Once she’s out of your eye line, you let out an aggravated sigh. Working in retail is not for the weak.
You walked back to the end of the aisle and began to restock the shelves again, the thing you were previously doing before being interrupted. You picked up one of the boxes of cereal when your hand accidentally knocked something out of your pocket. It fell by your feet, you glanced at it for a moment before looking back at the shelf—but that’s when it registered what it was. You immediately placed down the box then kneeled down to pick up what you dropped.
It was a folded piece of paper. You slightly furrowed your eyebrows as you unfolded it before you traded your confusion for a smile. You looked at the doodles that covered the paper, the doodles drawn by Tara. Her name was even signed at the corner; sometimes she draws her name in different fonts to pass the time. Over the years, you noticed her favorite font to draw is graffiti lettering. You were now standing up, still smiling down at the piece of paper. You always admired the way she wrote—
—Suddenly somebody clears their throat. You jumped, blinking rapidly while attempting to shove the paper back into your pocket. You turn your head around to see your co-worker, Avery, crossing her arms while giving you a look you couldn’t quite read. “Secret admirer?” She remarked with a smirk.
“No, it’s just—it’s nothing. Scraps, really if you could even call it that,” you stammered while trying to nonchalantly lean against the shelves. It wasn’t a total failure, you guess.
“...Right,” she narrowed her eyes at her, clearly not believing your crappy save, but dropped it nevertheless. “Anyways, me, Vicky and a few of the others are gonna go out for a drink tonight; can I count you in?”
You stopped leaning on the shelves as you thought for a moment. You usually weren’t one for going out, but it’s been a long few months. With that thought, everything that’s happened in the past year flashes through your mind. It’s been nothing but motion sickness, and maybe you could go for a drink or two.
“You know what—yeah, I’m in,” you nodded at her before returning to the boxes of cereals that sat in the cart beside you.
“Wait, really? You never wanna come to these things …damn it, I owe Vicky like 20 bucks,” Avery silently moped as she walked away. You laughed a bit at her comment as you continued stocking the shelves.
Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad.
—
When you got home that day, you made sure to take a nap before it was time to leave for the bar. When you got there, you stood at the doorway for a few seconds, honestly not sure what your next move was but luckily you caught Avery’s eye and she waved you over. You walked over to where she and the others sat at—the bar—you sat down on the stool beside Avery who was sat next to Vicky. You were surprised they weren’t sitting on the same stool with how tangled with each other they were.
“You made it!!” Avery shouted in a cheery voice that made you wince as she pumped her fists in the air. “Look, Vicky! Y/N’s here!” Vicky nodded at the girl while trying to subtly ground her by rubbing her lower back.
She looked over at you with an apologetic look. “Sorry, she gets kinda loud and hyper when she’s drunk.”
You chuckled a little, giving her a reassuring shake with your head. “Don’t worry about it, I’m a pretty embarrassing drunk anyways so I couldn’t talk. Probably why I don’t do it much,” you told her while your arms rested on the table.
“Gosh, I can’t wait to see you drunk,” she said while adjusting her arm as Avery was now resting her head on Vicky’s shoulder.
“That’s never gonna happen—just a club soda for me. At most I’ll do some watered down beer, but that’s really it,” you said.
“Wow.”
“I know, I’m a party animal,” you quipped with sarcasm laced in your voice.
“Total rebel,” she added as you both laughed. “So, other than the fact that you’re a total bad boy—how are you liking New York?” She asked with Avery still wrapped around her who had snuggled up closer to her.
“It’s fine. Hasn’t changed much since the last time I lived here.”
“Yeah? Did you live in Manhattan before or someplace else?”
“Brooklyn. I was born there, and lived there until …I didn’t,” you answered with your train of thought trailing off with your answer. So much has changed since you moved. What if you didn’t move? What if you never moved back? What if you lived in Woodsboro first? What if—
“—Did your family move around a lot?” She asked another question out of pure curiosity.
“Uh…” You picked at the wood surface in front of you, suddenly feeling drained and exhausted. “ No. Just one time.”
“Cool, my family moved around a few times. It’s a pretty hard thing to go through, even if it’s just once,” she said in an understanding tone. She looked back to Avery, smiling to herself as she stared admirably at the half-a-sleep girl nuzzled up against her.
You glanced over at the adorable site before asking, “How long have you two been dating?”
“A couple months, but we’ve known each other for ten years,” she responded while pushing back loose strands of hair that covered Avery’s eyes.
“That’s a long time,” was all you could think to say.
“Yeah, she’s literally my other half. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” After letting herself stare at Avery for another moment, Vicky turned her gaze back to you. “How about you—you seeing anyone?”
“Eh.”
“Eh?”
“I was uh, sort of seeing someone? But broke that off recently. Too close for comfort,” you elaborated for her while silently deciding if you should drink tonight.
“Your casual relationship get too intimate?” She raised an eyebrow before you responded with a tiny nod, she probably would have missed it if she blinked in the same moment. “Yeah, I used to be like that before Avery.”
“Guess I just gotta wait for my Avery,” you half-joked, earning a laugh from Vicky.
“I hope you do, she’s definitely a keeper,” she said fondly. She looked at you—your head now resting on your folded arms—and saw the distraught expression you wore, it looked as if you were silently having a debate with yourself.
“Something up?”
You did a double-take at her, lifting up your head before sparing her a meek smile. “Just thinking, you know?”
Vicky nodded before adding on. “You need advice? I’ve always been told I give great advice.” Her voice was kind and held nothing but honesty.
“Sure…” You were hesitant to accept but you were also on the verge of digging yourself into a hole just to avoid decision making. To be fair, you often think about barricading yourself to avoid dealing with your problems—and oftentimes, you have actually done it. “So last night I bumped into my ex,” you reluctantly began, “and we briefly talked, and she mentioned meeting up sometime to catch up.”
“I’m assuming you’re nervous about the catching up part?”
You confirmed with a hum.
“Are you nervous about being the first to reach out, the catching up part overall, or both?”
“Yes.”
She let out a tiny laugh, not unkindly, before telling you that advice she told you about not long ago. “This was all last night, right? I say, wait a couple more days, then reach out if you’re up to it, and then once you get that part out of the way the rest will build itself.”
“You really think so?”
“Promise, I really don’t think you should stress too much on this. And listen, if you’re really not ready to meet up with her yet, I think she’d understand. Either way, it’s your choice,” she told you before sipping her drink.
“That’s… really good advice. Thank you,” you complimented.
“You’re welcome, anytime. I did mention that I give great advice.”
“I said good, not great,” you said in a tone that hinted you were just teasing.
“Yeah, okay whatever.” Vicky playfully rolled her eyes as you smiled at your own taunting.
Maybe this was not as bad as you were making it out to be, maybe everything would be okay. Maybe, just maybe, things were finally starting to look up.
—
Things were awful. You could never have been so wrong in your life. It was one thing after another. First with the text; you had to just hope Olivia didn’t change her number as you looked for her contact—which you had to look for by number since your removed her name and photo right after your breakup out of pure pettiness—and it took you about half an hour to think of the right words to send, and as soon as you sent them you immediately regretted it.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Next was when she actually responded.
Y/N (4:42 pm) Hey, it’s Y/N. Catching up sounds cool, so if the offer still stands I’d love to take you up on it
(XXX) XXX-XXXX (4:56 pm) Hi, yeah offer still stands. I’m actually free tonight if that works? I know that’s short notice so I completely understand if you’re unable to
You were in the middle of revising your notes at the kitchen counter when you heard the ding from the couch. Your head immediately shot up, and as soon as it processed what that ding was—you ran to it, hopping over the back of the couch and grabbing your phone.
You read the message over to yourself exactly seven times before impulsively reacting to her message with a thumbs up. After your response, you got another text from Olivia and the two of you made a decision of when and where to meet.
Oh, how deeply you regretted your impulsiveness as you stared at the same outfit over and over again. That’s what came right after the communication part; what exactly you were going to wear. You felt ridiculous, you’re usually not like this—but that happens to be a reminder of all the different things Olivia brings out in you. Good and bad. It was like you were 17 again.
Eventually you decided on something comfortable, casual, it’s not like you were going someplace fancy. The air in your apartment suddenly grew to be suffocating the closer it got to the time you had to leave. You gathered your belongings; you gathered your wallet, keys, phone, headphones, and lighter, shoving a few of them into your pockets. Just before leaving you stood still for a second.
What could I be missing? There has to be something. There has to be something. Damn it, there has to be something!
Your eyes wandered around your apartment for a good minute before you called it in. You patted yourself down while muttering the names of the items you felt in your pockets before finally leaving. You locked up behind you and let out a long sigh as you ran your hand down your face.
When you got to the bakery, your heart was beating in your ears and you felt your ears warm up when you made eye contact with Olivia from just a few tables away. She waved at you and you waved back as you subtly gulped. On the way towards the table, you silently hoped she didn’t pick up on the urge you had to perish right then and there.
“Hey,” you said. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to hug her or shake her hand, something, so you just stuck with sending a small but simple smile her way.
“Hi,” she responded. She returned your smile as she looked you up and down. “You look good—I mean, you look yeah,” she awkwardly laughed, flustered from her stammering.
You returned a short laugh, feeling a tiny bit of the tension beginning to ease but not entirely, “You look good too,” your smile grew softer as you spoke. You noticed her eyes still wandering. “Didn’t get a good look last time?” You quipped in a teasing tone.
She shook her head as she tried to fight off the bright smile that painted her face. “I see you haven’t changed much,” she said.
“Well, me and change have never mixed well.”
“Oh trust me, I know,” she made her tone less monotone to ease the weight of her words. But that didn’t make you oblivious to their meaning.
You cleared your throat, adjusting your posture while you folded your hands and dropped them to your lap. “So, how’s the documentary going?”
“Just fine,” she said positively. “Still in the early stages, and you know how that can be.” You nodded along to her words. It suddenly became awkwardly quiet.
You picked at your cuticles, pressing harder and harder for that sweet sensation you craved, your gaze everywhere but at Olivia. That tension you felt before started to settle in your chest again, and you didn’t know how to cope. You just wanted out. You regretted agreeing to this. You wish you never bumped into her. You wish you never agreed to dinner with Tara because then this wouldn't be happening.
Of course it goes back to Tara. It always seems to.
“You still do that thing with your fingers?” She asked out of the blue.
“Huh?” You furrowed your eyebrows, looking down at your lap to where your hands rested.
“I don’t have to look to know. We dated for three years, Y/N,” she said.
“Oh.”
“And I can hear you picking at them from under the table.”
You suddenly felt small, slumping in your chair, and continuing to avoid eye contact with the woman who sat across from you. However, Olivia did not return this treatment. She sat up in her chair, placing her own hands on the table before turning them over to expose her palms. “Let me see your hands.”
“What?”
“Show. Me. Your. Hands.”
It didn’t seem like she was asking. There was definitely not a question mark in there. You rolled your eyes, letting out a small sigh that held aggravation. Reluctantly, you complied with her commands. She took your hands in hers and began to examine them, her fingers tracing down and softly rubbing against yours—you forgot how soft her hands were. As soon as her hands made contact with yours, you felt your joints grow weak and your cheeks felt too warm. You don’t remember the last time you held hands with her but it was certainly having an affect on you.
“Have you been using these as a chew toy?” She rhetorically asked, referring to your fingers whilst still examining them.
“Okay, they’re not that bad.”
“Yes. Yes they are,” she said with no hesitation.
She finally stopped looking at your fingers and instead at you. When you saw the worried expression that painted her face, you knew a line of questioning was approaching. “Are you okay?” She inquired in an unbearably gentle voice.
“I’m fine.”
“Which means you’re not fine.”
“Putting words into my mouth, as always,” you said in a low tone as you pulled your hands away from her.
“You really want to go there?” She let out a short exasperated laugh with her question, raising her eyebrows as she spoke.
“When I say I’m fine—I’m fine,” you said while leaning in and emphasizing your words by pressing on the table with your index finger; you leaned back against your chair when you finished speaking.
“Oh my God. You are literally so unbelievable—do you even hear yourself?” She looked at you with pure disbelief which only confused you further.
“What are you even talking about? All I said is that when I say I’m fine, I mean those words. How am I wrong here? I genuinely don’t understand,” you expressed in both frustration and genuine confusion.
“And what I am trying to say is you’re still the exact same person I was arguing with right before we broke up.”
“What?”
“You never want to talk! Listen, baby, I get you’re grieving—but you can’t just shut me out like this. It’s apparent that you need help! You don’t have to rush into it, but eventually—”
“Whether I talk or not is my choice! And I’m not seeing some stupid grief counselor, okay? Just because I don’t wanna talk to you about certain things, doesn’t mean I’m shutting you out—and I don’t need help! I’m fine. I’m just—damn it, I’m just processing. Can’t you let me do that at least?”
“You have been ‘processing’ for months! It’s time to—”
“Time to what? Move one?”
“That’s not what I was going to say!”
“But you’re thinking it. You’re thinking it just like everyone else is; my mom, my brothers, everyone at school—just leave me alone, all right!”
“Y/N, nobody is—”
“No! Everyone is thinking! Just stop, okay! I don’t need your bullshit sweet nothings, I don’t need some therapist, I don't need to talk about it—I’m fine!”
You and her could not even go five minutes without your conversation, or lack of, forming into an argument. And it was your fault. You were the problem. You couldn’t answer a simple question. Maybe you were hiding behind the fact that you didn’t know how to answer that question, or that you're trying to hide the answer from others. Either way, you always find yourself forming emotional barricades around you, no one in and no one out.
“Hey, come back,” Olivia’s voice rang. You were pulled from your thoughts, blinking rapidly as if it would wipe away the memories you tried so hard to erase. She leaned in, her irritated expression replaced with a comforting one. “I know how mean that voice in your head can be, I know what it does to you—but I just want you to be okay.”
You met her gaze, your expression equivalent to the look of a lost puppy. “Thank you, Olivia,” you simply said. It was not much, but it still weighed in emotion.
The rest of the night was less intense. She asked about Blackmore and how it’s going, which inevitably opened the door to her questioning you about seeing you with Tara the other night, and you found out more about her documentary. The night was long and tiring, but as much as you hate to admit it, you’re glad you agreed to catch up with Olivia. And you would be a bold faced liar if you said you didn’t miss her. The wound is still arguably fresh, but it’s beginning to heal.
You walked into the apartment, looking forward to changing into a pair of pajamas and binge watching some TV on the couch until you passed out. You have been studying non-stop for exams for the past four weeks, so why not give yourself a treat? Plus, this upcoming school week, you will officially be exactly one week from exams so you will be locked in. What does that mean? You do what you usually do but multiply that by a million, anyone who has known you long enough knows they’re going to hear less and less from you the closer you get to exams. It’s as if you completely shut down from the outside—actually, that’s exactly what happens.
As you walked inside, you yawned and rubbed your tired eyes. But as they begin to focus again, you notice a few blobs sitting in your living room. When your eyes are fully focused, that’s when you see them.
“Are you shitting me,” you expressed in a monotone voice while turning the locks on the door before throwing your keys to the side.
“No—no whining!” Anika immediately said. “You knew they were coming over.”
“I thought you canceled,” you said.
“Uncanceled.”
“What a miracle,” you remarked as you took off your jacket.
“How come whenever I have people over you have a problem with it as if this isn't a shared apartment?”
“Y/N being an inconsiderate jackass? What a revolation,” Tara pitched in with a smirk. You looked over to deadpan at her and she was already staring back at you.
“Says the woman who still owes me a milkshake,” you wiggled a finger at her. You both smiled at each other before you turned back around to kick off your shoes. “You know what, Nik, it’s fine. I’m just kind of grumpy right now.”
“It’s okay, I’m sorry for not giving you an update,” she said, matching your own apoplectic tone. “You wanna join us? We were gonna play some Uno then watch a movie.”
“Uh, I don’t know—”
“Yeah, probably 'cause you’re gonna get all embarrassed when I wipe the floor with your ass in Uno,” the younger Carpenter knowingly instigated.
“Oh, excuse me? I’ll have you know I’m the reigning champ in my family—don’t start something you can’t finish, princess,” you instigated back.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Alright,” your gaze stayed on Tara for a moment before switching back to Anika, “I’ll join you.”
—
“Tara is totally looking at my cards!” Chad shouted while shoving his cards to his chest like an elderly woman clutching her pearls.
“I am not! You’re the one who keeps leaning on my side!” Tara whined back with just as much passion, if not more.
“Okay—no one looks at anyone's cards!” Anika cut in. “Alright, babe, it’s your turn.”
Mindy wore a devious smirk, slowly picking a card from her deck for dramatic effect.
“Boom, suck on that!” Everyone leaned in to look at the plus four Mindy slammed down on the pile of cards. Chad instantly groaned, immediately feeling a sense of regret for wasting his last plus four. He sulked while taking four more cards.
Now it was your turn. Tara was right after you, you had the chance to make her life a living hell. All you had to do was place the three plus four from your deck and you would double Tara’s deck in size and be one more card away from Uno.
You made a decision.
“Plus four,” you gloated regarding the single plus four you placed down.
“Damn it!” Tara made sure to glare at you while she picked up her four cards. “Just wait, you’ll see. I’m going to make my comeback.”
“Whatever you say,” you said in a doubtful tone. As Tara silently cursed to herself while flipping through her deck in frustration, you couldn’t help but stare fondly at the girl. She always had a competitiveness to her that you couldn’t help but respect. It was kind of cute.
After another seven minutes, it came down to just two people; you and Tara. You sat from across each other, debating your next play while one taunted the other.
“You know you’re going down, right?”
Tara laughed at your words. “You have at least ten cards, I just have two more turns and I’ll be following through with wiping the floor with your ass.”
“Oh, yeah?” You said, unintentionally with a come hither voice. You leaned in, your voice lowering but the tone still the same as you spoke to her. “You keep that energy, Carpenter.”
Tara's face suddenly grew warm, her stomach enveloping with butterflies as your voice crashed against her ears. You leaned back against the couch, looking at your own cards as it was Tara’s turn now.
Shit, you were in her head now. You totally did that on purpose, you had to. And what a dick you were for that, you knew what you were doing—again, you had to be aware of your actions. You must know the stupid feeling you give her, the way her stomach flips, how her legs turn to jello when you call for her. No. Focus. Come on, Tara. Lock in. Wipe the floor.
She cleared her throat, blinking down at her cards while processing them. It took a moment for it to click before she tapped back into her competitiveness and slammed down a card. “Uno! Plus four—suck on that!” Now she had just one card remaining in her hand, just one more turn and she would be victorious.
You smiled at her, your head tilted a bit as your eyes lit at the sign of her celebrating. She calmed herself down, feigning a calm demeanor. “Alright, it's your turn.”
You sighed. Well it was fun while it lasted, you enjoyed playing with Tara. It was entertaining. It’s nice playing with someone who can handle your competitiveness. “Uno, uno out,” you said while putting down your entire deck. You sat in your spot, looking at Tara with a shit-eating smirk with your hands folded together as Tara sat there dumbfounded.
“That’s—what, no, wait,” she furrowed her eyebrows as she rummaged through the cards you just placed. They were all green sevens. All of them. “How’d you—”
“Chin up, honey,” you teased, winking at her
“Oh you’re a real piece of work.” She shot up from her seat as she rushed over to a nearby closet. Your eyes followed her movements as you raised your eyebrows at her sudden actions.
“You two finally finished?” Mindy asked but was ignored by the other girl. “What are you doing with that—can you like stop ignoring me?” Tara returned with a box of Jenga in her hand and the others trailing behind her.
“I’m too tired to play Jenga,” Chad said.
“Good thing you’re not.” She now looked to address you, “You, me, Jenga—now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” was all you said as she immediately began setting everything up.
“What’s this about?” Anika asked you.
“Oh, I beat her ass in Uno—graciously so—and she’s being petty about it,” you shrugged.
“I am not being petty, I am unsatisfied. Seriously—how do you win with all green sevens?! Ugh, never mind that. We’re playing this and I’m going to hold out on my promise.”
“Of wiping the floor with my ass?”
“Exactly.”
“Woman of her word,” you say while getting comfortable in your spot.
Mindy, Anika, and Chad watched from the sidelines as you and Tara went at it in Jenga. There were many, many close calls, and few times where the other nearly flipped a table. You both tried to get into the other’s head while the other was sliding out their pieces, but so far no mistakes. But the tower was growing wobbly, it was getting late, and it was only a matter of time before that tower fell over. Now, it was simply a matter of who would make it come to that.
It was Tara’s turn, and there were not many places left for her to take from so she was forced to resort to an incredibly risky spot. You took this as another opportunity to mess with her. “Hey, Tar?”
“Kind of busy here,” she said—the block just halfway out.
“Will you marry me?” You casually inquired.
Tara’s eyes widened and her eyebrows jumped in surprise. Her hand immediately faltered, dropping her piece as the tower came crashing down. Her mouth opened and closed, her stare averting back and forth from you and the fallen tower; she didn't even know where to begin.
The others just remained on the sidelines, completely entertained by what was unfolding in front of them.
“Is that… a no?” Your eyes were almost pleading as you continued to taunt the girl, your millionth smirk that night threatened to show itself.
“I’m going to kill you,” Tara responded as she squeezed her eyes shut, still processing what just happened.
“Not before the honeymoon,” you quipped. Chad, Mindy, and Anika could now be heard laughing, no longer able to hold it in.
“You can’t just—” She shut her mouth out of frustration, settling for narrowing her eyes at you.
“I can’t just what, sweetie? Come on, use your words.” Oh, this was fun.
Suddenly you got a pillow to the face which only made it funnier, to you at least. “You owe me a rematch, cheater!”
“Excuse me, I didn’t cheat. You messed up on your own devices,” you said while patting down the pillow and putting it to the side.
“You know what you did,” she said with bitterness laced in her voice.
“I don’t, so how about you tell me? Tell me how exactly my words affected you; you know, so I can prevent myself from accidentally cheating next time.” You never broke eye contact with Tara; you enjoyed how much she was squirming thanks to you, maybe you enjoyed it a little too much.
“Next time?”
“You wanna rematch, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I do.” This whole interaction had Tara blushing; she needed to leave, like right now. “How about I get back to you in 5-7 business days? Sounds good? Cool. Well, it’s late and Chad’s my ride so we should probably head home, right Chad?” Her words were rushed which made you raise an eyebrow at the sudden change.
“Hm? Oh sure, I’ll just get my keys and stuff and we can go,” Chad said before going to get his belongings.
“So, I’ll see you around—buddy,” she awkwardly punched your arm in a playful manner.
“Um, yeah, buddy. See you around,” you chuckled at her awkwardness.
“I’m still expecting an answer though!” You called out as she made her way to the front door.
“5-7 business days!” She repeated back to you.
“I’m holding you to that!”
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A/N: well that escalated, gosh, keep it in your pants R! 😦
Taglist: @t-wylia @lesbianpepsi @jennasfav @alyciaddict @justafoolinlove @steffido1993 @niqmandu @severelyuniquereview @darklron @ravenousinferno @smut-religiously777 @beautifulmongerbanditsalad @vanatalye @alexkolax@andsoigotabutterfly @ajortga
#let the light in au#tara carpenter#tara x reader#tara carpenter x you#tara carpenter x reader#tara carpenter x y/n#jenna ortega x reader#tara carpenter x female reader#tara carpenter scream#tara carpenter x fem!reader#scream x you#scream x reader#jenna ortega#jenna ortega x you#scream fanfic
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Imagine arguing with Sanji in the kitchen and holding up service…
The kitchen at Baratie was heating up and it wasn’t from the flaming stovetops or pre-heated ovens.
There was a wicked, hot tension between yourself and Sanji and it was making the rest of the kitchen staff sweat. No one knew what had caused the new dynamic but they quickly learnt to stay a safe distance from the pair after Patty accidentally fanned the flame. Now they only interacted with the duo when required.
Sanji was chopping vegetables for his soup that was almost ready to simmer while you silently iced some cakes on the station beside him. Both regretting the request to cook next to one another.
The blonde-haired chef finished dicing the last of the carrots and picked up the board to hold over the pot. He gently swept the vegetables into the broth with the knife. Setting the utensils back down, Sanji inhaled the beautiful aroma that was starting to perfume the air. His hand reached out for his spoon but his fingers met empty air.
He sighed and closed his eyes. “I’d like my spoon back.”
Your eyes were fixed on the patterns being made on the soft pieces of sponge but your ears picked up that his tone was directed toward you.
“I don’t have it.” You offered simply without breaking focus.
Sanji turned to you, eyes squinting. “Really? Because I recall that you used it last to mix the cake batter.”
It was your turn to exhale. “I did and I washed it thoroughly before setting it back on the table.”
“Well, it’s not here.”
“Then pull out another one.” You snapped.
Sanji lowered the heat of his soup so it wouldn’t burn before returning to glare at you. “Why should I have to when you’re the one who-”
Splat! The cook’s eyes went wide as the cold vanilla cream dripped from his chin, lips tasting its sweetness.
You now stood upright holding the bag of frosting, brows knitted to match the frown on your face.
“I didn’t take your damn spoon.”
The doors to the kitchen opened with their familiar heaviness and a wooden footstep hit the tiles.
“Why is there no soup or cakes out on the floor?” Zeff asked as he entered.
The kitchen that had gone quiet during the public argument suddenly sprang to life and scrambled to resume duties. Zeff’s eyes floated to the two in charge of the slowed menu line and his eyes narrowed.
“Why on earth are you tasting the desserts, Little Eggplant?” He inquired, approaching the bench.
Sanji’s hands flew to gesture your entire being. “Y/n is literally holding the bag. I’m a victim here!”
Zeff held a hand up to silence the boy and set his gaze on you. “You know that we don’t waste food here. Explain yourself.”
You shrugged. “He accused me of losing his spoon so I did what had to be done. I’m not apologising.”
Zeff blinked, jaw dropping slightly.
“A spoon.” He repeated slowly before his voice, and temper, was unleashed. “You two held up service because of a damn spoon!”
You held up your hands in defence. “I told him to just use another one but he was stubborn about it.”
Sanji didn’t take kindly to being thrown under the bus, rounding on you while completely ignoring the steam blowing out of Zeff’s ears.
“Excuse me but that is my special soup spoon. You’re lucky that I even let you borrow it.”
You rolled your eyes. “It’s a spoon, Sanji. It’s not the All Blue.”
“You know what-?”
“I’ve heard enough!” Zeff bellowed, his voice sending vibrations through the glassware. “Mix the soup with a rolling pin for all I care. Just get it out to the customers along with those cakes or you’re both on dish duty for two months. Am I clear?”
Receiving a grumbled reply, the owner of the Baratie marched off.
A few stations away, Patty stealthily pulled a towel to cover the wooden handle of the missing utensil. It was too late to reveal the small prank without being boiled alive or baked into a pie.
With the tension still rising, Patty decided to lock them in a cupboard after the shift.
~ More imagines here ~
A/n: Heading back to the office tomorrow with a 5am wake up but here I lay at 12am dishing out some Baratie mania (with more to come). No regrets.
#theladyofmanyfandoms#theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction#gif is not mine#sanji opla imagine#sanji vinsmoke x you#vinsmoke sanji x reader#sanji x y/n#vinsmoke sanji imagine#sanji vinsmoke imagine#sanji vinsmoke x reader#sanji x you#sanji imagine#sanji x reader#sanji opla x reader#opla!sanji x reader#opla!buggy imagine#opla x y/n#opla x reader#opla imagine#one piece live action imagine#one piece imagine#one piece x reader
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little hell
finnick odair x reader
synopsis: you wished more than anything that he had left you to die in that arena, because nothing could hurt more than seeing him with her
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watching their ceremony had felt like you had drank poison. a burning fire had been brewing in your abdomen, and as they kissed, you had to swallow the bile that threatened to come out.
finnick had turned to face the onlookers, and smiled as he held annie’s hand. only you could notice the smile faltering as he gazed over you, and you looked down, not wanting to look at him any longer.
you had abandoned the wedding early, excusing yourself with the pain in your leg, that hadn’t bothered you since your days in the infirmary, but it was good enough.
you fought tears until you got behind closed doors, where with the commotion of the celebration, hid away the noises of your sobs. finnick knew, and you too had known, that annie would always hold a flame to his heart, but it was you who allowed yourself to fall in love, and it was him who gave you the hope.
days later, a soft knock on your door rang out and finally you had peeled yourself out of your bed to answer it. you couldn’t hide your surprise when you saw it was katniss, looking pale in her grey jumpsuit.
you let her in without question, and moved to sit on your bed, with katniss closing the door behind her.
you raised an eyebrow, “katniss. honestly you’re the last person i would expect to be here.”
katniss didn’t say anything for a moment, until finally, “i doubt you expected anyone at all.” you let out a bitter laugh, and nodded, “i suppose you are correct.”
katniss nodded, “but i’m not. finnick has been asking about you.”
you scoffed, “why does he even care? he’s a married man, he’s with her..” you trailed off, “im just here, the other woman..” you trailed off, and katniss swallowed thickly.
“i cant say anything for him,” she admitted, “but i will say that he is horrible for what he did- and how he lied to you both.” you nodded, forgetting completely about annie, who was oblivious to his indiscretions.
katniss had stayed with you for another moment, where she sat in a comforting silence.
finnick had been looking for you throughout the compound. he had hug onto annie as she did to him, but his eyes would still clear a room looking for you.
he had finally found you, and pulled himself away from annie with just a good enough excuse.
he made his way to you, and you turned to meet his eyes. you rolled your eyes, and sharply turned back on your heel, your feet carrying you to somewhere you didn’t even know you were going.
finnick called your name, desperation in his voice, you felt him hot on your feet. without thinking, he grabbed your arms, and threw you against the wall.
you gasped, and turned to see no one had even batted an eye at his slight aggression, but you were now in no position to ignore him.
finnick swallowed, looking down, “i’m sorry. for having to do this but you won’t talk to me otherwise.” you nodded your head slightly, and sighed, “and?” finnick inhaled, “i should have told you about annie. i- i don’t know what i was thinking.”
“i don’t either finnick. if you had any fucking brains, you would’ve left me to die out there, so you wouldn’t have to see my face around here, and feel that guilt.” you felt your eyes rim with tears, and you sniffled, “you should’ve killed me. done the mercy, finnick. and there’s not a day that goes by that i don’t hate you for what you didn’t do.”
finnick exhaled, and his voice felt shaky, as did his grip on your hands, “i know. i should’ve told you about annie, i should’ve stopped it but-“ he shrugged, “i love you.” he whispered.
you blinked and tears fell onto your cheeks, “you cant say that. you cant say that!” you pulled your arms free and threw him back. finnick fell back onto the wall and stared at you in shock, “you don’t get to fucking say that.” you yelled, and felt yourself heat with anger.
you shook your head, giving finnick one last look before you left him there.
#finnick odair fluff#finnick odair angst#finnick x you#finnick x reader#finnick odair x reader#finnick odair oneshots#finnick odair#finnick odair smut#hunger games imagine#hunger games fluff#hunger games angst
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Just like I prefer
warnings: NSFW (mdni), vulgar words, praise, pet names, teasing, cursing, soft intimate sex, degradation, dominance, punishing, ooc, etc.
characters: Tartaglia, Ayato, Albedo, Zhongli, Thoma, Kazuha, Dainsleif, & Scaramouche
Dainsleif, Scaramouche, Tartaglia, & Ayato
“You can take it, you’ve done it before.” He said that so nonchalantly with the enthusiasm of someone who had been there more than once, he loved how fragile you look beneath him when you hear those phrases, how his cock rubs against your ass as you try to get back up again and it makes you want him even more. It was so damn satisfying to keep an eye on, the helplessness that came over you as you tried not to cry in satisfaction.
You let out an unsteady exhale as his fingers dig into your hips, holding you down on the bed, “Please... Give it to me...” you whisper, your voice hoarse. He knows you don’t care about getting punished if that’s all it is, just that you get him off. You were so obliging to do anything at that point, for whatever he wanted you to do, for however long it lasted. His touch had always made you go crazy with desire,
"You're being punished and You're only making this worse," he says, kissing your ear lobe gently, "Now shut it." And so you did because you didn't want to irritate him anymore and you wanted to cum. You knew how he gets mad whenever you whined or complain too much. You couldn’t help it, what else could you do but beg for him?
Zhongli, Albedo, Thoma, & Kazuha
“You like it that much, hm?” his grasp on your hair tightened, he groaned into the crook of your neck as he felt your walls contract around his cock once more, He had been trying to get you off for an hour and yet here you were, clinging to him and moaning into his ear, “That’s so hot, love, keep doing that.”
His eyes closed against your hair as he thrust himself in a desperate attempt to come with ease, your hands gripped his shoulders as you kissed his neck and he swore his body would go rigid if you kept this up. You were so responsive. He could see why he liked you so much, ‘cause you were so damn needy.
you loved when he made you feel good, but the real prize was when you made him feel better. When all the stress melted away from his body. Your fingers dug deeper in his skin as your nails scraped along his shoulder blades, he let out a breathless grunt before burying his face in your hair. This was his favorite thing about you. You were so good at making him feel good, especially after a tough day’s work.
#genshin impact#genshin impact headcanons#tartagalia x reader#genshin tartaglia#tartagalia smut#childe smut#ayato smut#kamisato ayato smut#albedo smut#albedo kreideprinz#zhongli smut#zhongli x reader#zhongli#kamisato ayato#tartaglia#kazuha x reader#kaedehara kazuha#kazuha smut#scaramouche smut#wanderer x reader#wanderer smut#thoma smut#scaramouche x reader#thoma x reader#childe#childe x reader#dainsleif#dainsleif smut#dainsleif x reader#genshin smut
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Freaky Girl
Tyrone x BLACK!FEM!reader
WARNINGS:real ghetto. Y’all know Tyrone a hood nigga anyway. Spit(obvi), Short, not a complete smut buttt it’s still nasty.
SUMMARY: Tyrone gets the rest of his soul taken(if the government didn’t already do that for him)
Ps.I lowkey wanna make this longer into a full smut but idk lmfao
(Gif cr: @tishrivers <3 )
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Music with bass boomed through the car crowed street, the neighborhood cul-de-sac he pulled up in being as active as the hood usually is. The place wasn’t run down, but you could tell a couple illegal activities took place here more than often. He was no stranger to environments like this at all though. He grew up around it. Only problem was, this wasn’t his hood, so he was careful.
He made sure not to wear any alarming colors, even leaving behind the blue flag he’d usually wear in the back of his pocket, hanging out for any nigga to see. Not tonight though, he wasn’t even trynna be on that. A nigga couldn’t imagine getting clapped in somebody else hood just for wanting to get some pussy from this fye bitch a few blocks down. He honestly could have just walked, but he wasn’t feeling the idea of freely walking somewhere without his ‘heat’. Especially not around no damn crackheads.
Speaking of said ‘fye bitch’, she was in all honesty more than that, but he knew nothing apart from how some cornbread fed ass shordy he met at a party a month ago wanted what he had in them dickies cargo pants. She was pretty, both street and book smart, but the important part was that she was down for whatever a nigga offered.
He had heard about her around before, but he never really looked into why she was talked about other than the fact that she, again, had a fat ass and use to deal with some known nigga from across the states. Last reason he didn’t give a fuck about actually. All he thought about was if she knew how to take dick or not.
He exits his car and locks it, making his way into the neighborhood fully with a gangster lean in his walk. Like he had something in them pants that could cripple a bitch. All he could smell was weed smoke and burning wood. passing by residents and other guests who had came there for completely different reasons. Feeling cautious, he clutched his belt anytime he felt eyes on him. You could never be too careful.
Finding the girls house, he shakes his head at the hot pink painted front door, making it the only one to stand out apart from all of the other duplexes.
Laying a knock on the door, he leans against the porches iron railings and waits, which felt like forever in his case, though it was only a minute that passed. The door swings open, revealing the thick girl in boy shorts and a cropped tee that was fitted against her breasts, the deep split in the middle already giving him a show. It was obviously cut after being bought, the bottom of the shirt being tacky with loose threading that reveled a bit of her under boob.
“Bout time, nigga. Thought they got yo ass or sum” she moves from the door to let him in, walking back to wherever she came from. He walks in, his eyes fixated on the movement of her ass in those shorts. He couldn’t wait to see how it moved without the shorts restricting her.
He blew off at her comment. “Got? Never that, that ain’t me. A nigga had other things to do, shordy”
She turned to him, her eyebrows cockily raising. “Better than me?”
Silence was passed around with that question lingering around his head, a smirk tugging at the side of his lips as he thought, kicking the door shut with his foot then reaching for his belt.
“Hell nah”
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“Fuck—suck that shit” he exhaled, milky white smoke floating from his lips as he slowly leans his head back and entangles his hands in the girls Fulani braids. He was deep down her throat as if there was nothing blocking him from going further, and she was taking it. Imagine throwing a sausage down a hallway.
She licked and sucked along the shaft of his dick like it was hydrating her, her only goal being to get him off at the moment. Pulling him out of her throat, her hands wrap around his thick, long pipe, stroking him while her tongue worked on his balls, using her spit to get it sloppy, how he liked it. She used so much spit that the waist band of the front of his pants was wet down to the zipper.
He could still hear the loud trap music from outside and his high was hitting just right, making the music seem like it was put into some kind of filter. Like his brain chopped and skrewed it for him, his own remix featuring the wet sounds of the girls throat swallowing him whole.
She continued to slurp him up, shamelessly looking up at him with her beautiful slanted eyes, her wispy, recently done eyelashes complementing the shape. Usually girls teared up when giving head because of the pressure, but Y/N? Not one tear could fall from her eyes while doing one of her favorite things; getting some cut.
Feeling him pulse in her throat, she smiled with him still there. He could only look down at her in awe, taking another hit of his blunt to refill his lungs , but to also distract him from busting already, though that was the inevitable once she hallowed her cheeks and tightened her lips around the base of his dick, sucking like she was attempting to pull the nut out of him, which didn’t need much of an attempt since he was already ready to bust back to back in any hole she offered tonight.
He gripped the couch cushion underneath him with his hand, almost dropping his blunt as she sucked up and swallowed every bit of the sweetness he gave her. Not being able to take anymore of the suction, he pulls out of her mouth with a grunt, his hand moving down to grip the base of his dick as more of his essence spurted out onto her plump lips till that was all he could give from that one session.
“Gahdamn” he sighed, still holding himself until the sensation of her mouth went away, leaving his dick continuously bobbing up and down in jerks just from the sight of her. She only hummed out a soft ‘Mmmm’ as she rubbed the rest of his nut along her lips, giving it a gloss like sheen. That made him go crazy, starting to get him hard all over again. Her tongue danced on her fingers, moving the muscle up and down her middle finger and swirling around the tip of her long and exaggerated acrylics.
They were red and curved, decorated with white painted on flowers. It reminded him of the designs back into the 90s.
Standing to her feet, she removed the crop top she wore, releasing the gift given to her by whatever woman who birthed the freak. He would have thanked her momma if he knew her.
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Me cause I had that damn song on repeat while writing this 🤭
#black fanfic writer#black fanfiction#black!reader#masterlist#black actors#black reader#black!fem!reader#black!oc#smut masterlist#henneseyhoe#john boyega#John boyega smut#they cloned tyrone#they cloned tyrone spoilers#they cloned Tyrone smut
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✧。◟ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ! — PGR Men x reader
last night, I laid in bed so blue / then I realized the truth!
summary // how do your favorite constructs kiss you?
a.n. - post Valentine's post :D I've been so busy with irl lately, I only just got back on my Tumblr 🫠 how'd your valentine's go?(I had a date with my school project :'D so peinful)
pairing(s) - lee, chrome, wanshi, kamui, camu, watanabe, noan, roland, noctis x f!commandant (and can be gender neutral!) (separate!)
content // suggestive LOL basically how your favorite playable characters would kiss you scenarios~
dividers by @/saradika-graphics!
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Lee: Hyperreal
Kissing Lee is like breathing.
Inhaling, in the way his hands are on your jaw, the little smile on your lips when his breath fans yours. Breathing in, the smell of the cologne you've gifted him makes you dizzy in a good way, the softest brush of his mouth on the corner of your lips. Taking in, the taste of chocolate; bitter as the coffee you made the first time, yet morphs into something so sweet as sugar cookies, and you can feel him smiling as your lips meet, savoring every drop he offers—
Exhaling, as Lee pulls away to give you air, foreheads touching, because you are both too intertwined to move away from one another.
“We made quite a mess here,” you giggled.
The newly-made kitchen of the Gray Raven base is as messy as a child's breakfast: pots and pans strung everywhere, chocolates and other liquids splattered all over the counter, the drain is probably clogging for some reason (it was Lee's fault), and there was a burnt cake placed somewhere (your fault) but you both never minded those.
“I told you to let me handle all the baking,” Lee huffs, thumbs unconsciously caressing your jaw, “You had to be so stubborn.”
“I knew what I was doing,” you pout, “You always follow the recipe, even though you could just do some feeling!”
“I am starting to doubt your feelings. Remember the first-”
“-not another word.”
“Okay, okay, I'm sorry to burst your bubble.” Lee smiles at you, hands now placed beside your legs on the table you sat on, “We might as well clean up and just order something else.”
“Nooo,” you whine, tugging on his 'Kiss the Cook' apron, “The last cake is in the oven. It'll be done. I promise, it will taste yummy.”
Your lover laughs, his head rubbing your cheek, “Remind me again why we are baking?”
“It was supposed to be my surprise for you for Valentine's.” You admit, sighing, “You had to come and ruin it.”
Everything feels natural; his body fills in the gaps in yours. His head rests on your neck, your hand on his cheek and hair, his arms on your waist. You breathe in the same air, laughing off the smell of the burnt cake from earlier.
“I'm sorry,” he softly murmurs, his lips lightly kissing your neck, “...at least I get to take you out tonight.”
“Tonight?” Did you have a plan for tonight?
“Yes. I reserved a table for us at the restaurant you like.”
What a surprise. Pulling away to look at Lee's cerulean eyes, you somehow realized something:
“I thought you hated dining outside of our lounge.”
“I do,” Lee purses his lips, before sighing, “but I know we've been busy and you wanted to eat outside. Besides, it's still practical because of the restaurant's offer for Valentine's.”
Ah, this man is so smooth. You already knew that it wasn't just for that reason. Leaning to press your lips into his, you could feel your heart leap out of joy. You could hear the ting of the oven, but you never cared. You only wanted Lee's kiss— Lee's love, in the form of inhaling, taking in, exhaling.
“Commandant,” Lee pulls away slightly, whispering, “the cake-”
“I love you, Lee,” you giggled, hands threading in his hair as you purposely let your leg catch that particular spot that made him shudder, “You're so sly.”
“...You better finish what you've started, Commandant.”
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Chrome: Glory
Kissing Chrome is needy.
It's hot, it's heavy— his hands that grasped your shoulders, almost afraid you'd disappear if he wasn't careful; yet, still so gentle— his lips on yours are so soft, you feel like you'd melt if he wasn't holding you.
“I missed you,” Chrome mumbles when he parted from yours for air, “I missed you so damn much.”
It's not a common occurrence for the both of you to be away from each other. He was the Captain of Strike Hawk, and you had your own team. But to be away from the public eye, to be in some random corner of the streets, as your heavy breathing mingled with one another and your bodies touching, you remember that you couldn't be away from your lover far too long now.
“I missed you, Chrome, I missed you, too.” You could sob from the intensity of your situation, hands reaching for whatever part of him—his shoulders, his arms, his cheek— “Thank God, I can finally see you.”
“Me too,” Chrome breathes, placing a kiss on the crown of your head, “I couldn't wait any longer.”
“Do you still have more appointments?”
“I do,” he groans, frustration evident on his pretty face, “I still have to meet a few more people...”
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be,” Chrome is the one who apologizes instead, starry eyed twinkling that made you frown instead.
It's always busy and no rest days. Apart from your lover being such a dependable leader, sometimes, your greed makes you want to steal him away. But alas, as you caress his cheek, the cool touch of his skin underneath your fingertips, it makes you lean onto him, lips kissing his jaw.
“[Y/N]...?”
“I missed your touch,” You admit, hands now on his cheeks, “I missed your face. I missed your hands, your kisses— I don't want to be away from you longer.”
Was it your position that somehow made you hot? Or was it the way Chrome leaned more into you, kisses reaching every inch of your face, to your chin, to your exposed jaw— you stifle a quiet moan, as Chrome nips at a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, something that you've never touched before, something that was a step closer into your relationship.
“I am trying so hard not to overwhelm you, [Y/N]. I missed you so badly,” Chrome groans, “but finally seeing you, finally being able to touch you...I want to show you how much I missed you, but I'm afraid it'll be too much...”
“Don't stop,” Boldly, you proclaimed, hands running through his hair, disrupting it into a messy one, “Let's go home, Chrome. Show me how much you've missed me, and I'll show you mine.”
Pulling away so slightly, Chrome's turquoise irises reflecting a darker shade amidst the light from the crack of the corner. In between those eyes and your pending responsibilities, you already made your decision. As you feel Chrome's hold on your hips, you pressed your lips to him.
“I hope you'll stay true to that offer, [Y/N].”
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Wanshi: Hypnos
Kissing Wanshi is dreamy.
In the tender tones of daylight, the artificial sun bleeding into your skin. There are too many touches all at once, but neither the two of you bother to pull away. Wanshi's lips find your skin without a hassle, humming when you swallow your laughs. He's everywhere— your hand, your arm, your shoulder, the dip of your breasts, your clavicle— everywhere but your face.
“Wanshi,” you purred, never bothering to open your eyes, “you're so needy...”
“Hush, let me dream a bit longer,” your lover sighs in your neck, nibbling your skin, “it's not everyday I get to kiss you like this.”
“We'll both be late at this point. Didn't you say Captain Chrome warned you already?”
“He already put those rules before,” he pauses, yawning, arms now wrapped possessively around your waist, “I'm exempted.”
“I won't be surprised if you get to be deprived of your capsule for another week...”
“Hey, this is about us today,” he murmurs, lightly kissing the side of your neck, “I don't want to hear another man's name in our bed...”
Your lover never learns. But still, you couldn't help but laugh at his antics. It's his problem anyways, not yours. As you giggle, your hand finds itself cupping Wanshi's soft cheeks, squeezing it.
“Wanshi, darling, we really need to get up soon. I also have work.”
You could feel Wanshi pouting against your skin. Without a warning, he gets on top of you, golden eyes looking at you. “Five minutes. Give me five more minutes, and I'll let you go.”
As you were about to ask what he meant, Wanshi leans down to capture your lips with his. You squeak from surprise, but in the end, you couldn't help but submit to his whims. His soft lips, the love that permeates from him, slipping in so deeply into you as you felt yourself buried deeper into the sheets. Your hand finds his, intertwining as he leads it above your head. Forget your job, forget that it's another shitty work day; it's only you and Wanshi, in your bed, and his dreamy kisses.
You love Wanshi, and you'd always pick him, despite his sleepy circumstances, despite everything else.
“Mm...Wanshi, give me more than five minutes.” You mutter, letting your legs wrap around his waist, pressing into him.
“Oh?”
“Yes, nngh, you win this time. Now, give me more kisses.”
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Kamui: Tenebrion
Kissing Kamui is like catching the sun in both hands.
More like a surprise; playful shouting as he wins another round of your favorite game, leaving you dumbfounded in your chair. You love your man so much that you'd rather see him with that goofy smile on his face. But sometimes, some victories feel like they are being rubbed hard on your face.
“Haha! This is the third time now!”
“Alright, alright,” you shrug, placing the controller down, watching Kamui lead out of his seat, “You win.”
“Does this mean I get to have the seat for a week?”
“A month, too, if you want,” you shrug again, “Congratulations, Kamui.”
It's his playful character that made you fall for him in the first place— a unique laughter, the way his eyes crinkled with delight, how Kamui's feet would curl. But unbeknownst to him, however, you had another trick on your sleeve.
“Time for a free round!”
“No, thank you,” you flutter your eyes at him, “I'd like to see you play for now. I might get you next time if I watch your movements.”
Kamui laughs instead, making your stomach jump, “Babe, just watch, then. But I'm sure that I'll win again like always.”
As Kamui positions, your plan goes into play. He won't win against you, the real mastermind of the game.
Kamui's eyes glimmer as he focuses intently on the game. Somehow, in the middle of scoring another new record, his mind lands on you.
“[Y/N]? You seem qui-”
When he turns his head, he is met with a surprise kiss on his lips. Kissing Kamui always felt like reaching for the sun in your hands, especially this way: the surprised sound from his lips when they met yours, the softest yet so hot as he absentmindedly drops his console, reaching to hold you; Kamui doesn't hesitate to kiss you back with the same intensity— tongue tasting his favorite drink on yours, the smell of your perfume, and the dizzying heat when he refuses the pull away, in spite of your little plan.
You squeak when Kamui gently pushes you onto the sofa, him breaking away to find your saliva strung together on both of your lips. The game plays in the background, forgotten as Kamui straddles you. Looking back at his glinting eyes, you seem to miss this in your equation.
“Really, [Y/N]?”
“Y-you didn't have to- I-I thought you'd-”
“Tsk, tsk,” Kamui laughs, thumb caressing your swollen lips, “[Y/N], you already knew I'd let you win. I guess you'll be getting your present early, then~”
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Camu: Crocotta
Kissing Camu is like snow on the beach.
So rare, so sudden. It's the rumble of the vending machine of some unknown brand, dropping a new kind of food. Was it edible?
“So they really did put up these things.”
It's the low sound of Camu's husky voice surprising you on a random sunny afternoon. You quickly pick up the food, presenting it in front of him, “Do you mean this?”
Camu takes the food from your hand. It's a cake in a can, you presume, as it is written boldly on the cover. Squinting his eyes, Camu effortlessly tears off the lid without the use of the safety pin. At this point, such a scenario no longer surprises you.
“A cake in the can?”
“A cake in the can.” Camu affirms, giving it back to you, “It was a staple for the Japanese vending machines back in the Golden Age.”
The little treat (although forced open) seemed cute. Using the spoon provided, you took a few bites. Immediately, a yummy flavor pours into your mouth, making you squeal with joy. You quickly taste more.
“Mmh! It's so sweet~!”
“Yeah, they're usually really sweet.”
Taking a large spoonful, you hold it out to Camu. “Would you like some?”
Hesitant. Camu looks at you, somehow judging you (do you usually hold out food to random people?), yet cautiously leans down to your height. His eyes never leave yours as he takes a bite, even until he gulps it down. Your eyes twinkle as you notice your joy reflected in his, signaling the sweet taste of the dessert.
“What do you think?”
“...it is very sweet.”
“I really want to eat more of this~” you grin, “let me order-”
Camu holds your shoulder, causing you to stop. When you turned to look back at him, focused dark eyes looked at you.
“Wait.”
Camu leans forward, his face inches away from yours. As you feel your temperature grow higher, you only notice Camu's thumb caress the corner of your mouth.
“...you had a bit of cream there.”
Did you only notice Camu's handsomeness just now? Or was it because of the close proximity? His breath is cool on your lips, pretty dark eyes devoid of any harshness that he usually portrays, yet the subtle softness of his features somehow made him look more handsome up close. It makes you want to kiss him.
“I'm sorry?”
Snapping out of your reverie, you blink at him, “Huh?”
“You said you wanted to kiss me.”
Crap. You and your thoughts! You groan, trying to mask your reddening embarrassment, “Ah, Camu, I'm so sorry, I didn't-”
But Camu closes the gap anyways. It catches you off guard at first, but his kiss is cool and warm at the same time, almost felt like bathing in the sea amidst the snow. You taste the sweet cake on his lips, the smell of peppermint invading your senses. It is only a short while, ending as fast as it started. When he pulls away, you find dark eyes reflecting your emotion: curiosity.
“...ah-!”
“Technically, we indirectly kissed already.”
Camu points at the spoon, realization dawning on you. You squeak, trying to assess more of the situation. But Camu, with a small smile on his lips despite the deepening blush on his cheeks, coughs, “...I guess it's time for me to ask you out later during the Valentine's event, then.”
You were about to ask what the deal was about, until your mind whirred back to his initial words.
“I thought you don't like Valentine's?”
“I don't like Valentines.” He said.
“So why...?”
Camu, turning away from you, before looking back with a smile on his face, “I like you, obviously.”
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Watanabe: Epitaph
Kissing Watanabe is always a surprise.
It's when you least expected it. From the sudden kisses in front of children, to meet ups in the warehouse, and even in random times of the day. Watanabe would always keep surprising you, you almost think it's a routine at this point (God Bless your heart; hopefully his antics won't kill you before your fated day).
However, lately, it's almost not happening.
“Hello, [Y/N],” your lover greets you as he passes by, opting to continue talking to the man beside him. You retract your expectant hands.
“Watch out, [Y/N].” Watanabe calmly catches you by your hips, when a child nearly hits you with the ball. You wanted to reach out, but he was already walking away.
“I'll be taking that.” And gone was the playful kiss on your shoulder, instead, it was a smile on his lips as he took the supplies and left you in the dark. What the hell was going on?
On a random evening, he started to avoid you on purpose.
“Watanabe!” You cried out as you watched him disappear from the sea of people.
It was the nth time of you trying to track him down that day. Tired from running around, you slump against the wall, tears filling your eyes. Your tears began to escape your eyes as the atmosphere around you, despite it being Valentine's, was full of love and laughter.
What did you do wrong? Watanabe is your lover, one you've long promised to be with forever. But what was forever if he no longer looked at your way?
“Miss [Y/N]?”
Sniffling away your tears, you looked up to see one of the Forsaken soldiers. “Y-yes?”
“...are you alright?”
“Y-yes, yes,” you were not, but you still stood up, facing the soldier, “What do you need?”
“Could you kindly come with me to the warehouse? I need someone to inspect the weapons before we head out tomorrow.”
Wordlessly, you follow the construct. Your mind swims in a hazy sea of doubts and self depreciation. Should you leave this place? Go back to Babylonia? You are still welcome there, last time you checked. But the people...
It didn't take a while before you both arrived at the destination. Stepping inside the dark warehouse, you failed to notice that the door behind you closed. As you ran to pry it open, from the corner of your eyes, you saw a lone light shine in the middle of the dark warehouse.
It's Watanabe.
All of your anger rushes to your brain. Your legs move quicker, however, sprinting to reach out to the estranged man.
“You selfish little-”
“[Y/N]-”
Anything Watanabe says is fast, but your reflexes are faster. You held onto his arms, your tears of anger flowing as you cried out.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I know, I know-”
“Do you know how sad and angry I am at you? For leaving me with no answers?”
Watanabe does not answer. He lets you speak.
“Why? What did I do wrong? Why are you ignoring me?”
“I am aware, yes.” He answers, sorrowful, “I am sorry for treating you that way, [Y/N]. I know I shouldn't have done that, but my actions hurt you instead.”
“Then why did you do it?”
Watanabe doesn't answer. Instead, he reaches out to cup your cheeks, genuine sadness reflecting in his expression.
“I have been thinking. And I made up my mind.”
He caresses your cheeks with such reverence, it almost makes you melt. “...being away from you is so cruel. I wanted to make such a heavy decision, to leave you so you could be with another human, but I realized that I was just like you— I would be angry, too.”
Watanabe leans down, your forehead touching, “I want to be greedy for you, [Y/N]. Please, let me make it up to you.”
Suddenly, you were aware of the weight of your words from earlier. You weren't mad; you were devastated. Should this man, the love of your life, leave you, what becomes of you, then?
“Watanabe...”
You tug on his collar, whispering, “Don't go. Kiss me, please.”
Kissing Watanabe really is a surprise. It's fulfilling, in a way that completes you like a puzzle, his warm lips on yours. You love him just as much as he loves you, perhaps more— it's agonizing, it's too much, yet you crave for him; he is all you have. When he reluctantly pulls away, he whispers your name.
The lights of the warehouse turn on. And behind him, a dazzling display of flowers and pictures are shown.
“What-”
“I know it's not much, unlike the luxuries in Babylonia,” Watanabe kneels down, the glittering stone on the engraved jewelry in his hand, “But this is all from every corner of my heart; I love you, my [Y/N]. Please accept my proposal.”
You couldn't hold your tears anymore— from anger, they turned into immense joy. The answer has long been spoken.
“Marry me, my [Y/N].”
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Noan: Arca
Kissing Noan is sweet.
Little kisses and noises of joy as you take breaks in between your book reading. It's his warm hand on top of yours, the other busy flipping through the pages. Noan's voice is a soothing lullaby, a gentle lull as he reads the passages for you.
“It's quite ironic,” Noan breaks away from the book, putting it aside as he brushes away the hair covering your face, “I thought you wanted me to read to you.”
There you were, comfortably laying on his lap, watching him with tired eyes. Slightly pouting, you weakly tugged on his scarf, “Noan, why did you stop...”
“My lap isn't very comfortable to sleep in. Let's move you back to your base.”
“Nooo,” you stubbornly shook your head, trying not to let Noan stand, “Finish reading the book, please? You're almost at the exciting part...”
Sighing, Noan picks up the book. Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, one of the books that caught Noan's attention. Driven by your immense curiosity and how Noan was itching to read the story, judging by its summary, you thought it was a nice idea to let him read to you. It's hitting two birds with one stone!
“I don't get how you're so interested in the book,” Noan asks, flipping back to the page where he left, “You're already falling asleep.”
You don't have the heart to tell him you've already read it while you were still in the F.O.S. “Well, I think the concept is neat.”
“The concept of a man who has the body parts of dead people off killing people just to appease his creator?”
You shrugged, “I mean...”
Noan laughs, fingers idly drifting and drawing circles on your cheek, “Just tell me that you're just doing this because you think that I'm interested in it.”
“Are you not?” You turned to catch brown eyes looking at you with mirth.
“In a way, yeah.”
You pondered for a bit, trying to remember the contents of the book. Lifting your hand to cup Noan's cheeks, you huffed, “Y'know, you remind me a bit of the monster.”
Quickly catching yourself with your words (to which Noan laughs), “I mean, minus the killing. Wait, no, I mean-”
“Okay, okay, something related to that?”
“Yes, that.” You grinned, “the monster wasn't supposed to mean any harm. He simply wanted the attention and love from his creator.”
Your lover, in a way, was similar to the monster of the book. Rebuilt and revived, nearly as a killing machine. But does a killing machine have to look this beautiful in the hazy afternoon glow? Noan's lips parted for a bit, before pursing them. Lifting your head, you snuck in a short kiss on the corner of his mouth.
“You're similar yet different from the monster, Noan.” You murmured, closing your eyes as you inhaled his smell, “Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by slight ligaments are we bound to prosperity and ruin.”
Noan chuckles, lightly squeezing your cheeks, “and you tell me you've never read the book before-”
“I didn't disagree, didn't I?”
“Hmm...”
“Noan,” you whispered, “Unlike Frankenstein's story, you are never feared, nor despised.”
You kissed Noan. It's sweet— the taste of the cookies you gave, the herbal tea; his lips that were made to kiss yours, to fit; and Noan, who went through too much, was yours to protect forevermore.
“You are loved, even more than your creator.”
When you pull away, deep red tinted his cheeks and ears, which made you laugh. “Well, Noan?”
“Mm...I should stop reading the book since you already know-”
“Keep going, please?” You purred, “I like you reading to me.”
“...mh, fine, you're lucky I like you.”
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Roland: Flambeau
Kissing Roland is, well, comedic.
He's laughing; the crescendo plays a melodic tune, as he plays his role. Your lover is a clown at this point, laughing manically with every step he takes.
But you love him anyway. You love your clown.
“Roland, dear,” you giggle, “Remind me again what's my role?”
He pauses, before approaching you. “Mi amor,” Roland reaches out to your hand, kissing it, “You are the lead of this play!”
As he continues to play his role, you are sitting in front of him, on a fancy chair. For Valentine's, you half-expected Roland to join the theatre, however, he was here in front of you— with only you as the audience and apparently the lead as well.
“What do I do?”
“Sit prettily there,” Roland winks, “That's your role.”
“Alright. Do I still get compensated?”
“Hush, the climax of this story is now nearly in full bloom.”
With a crisp spin, Roland turns to face you, the spotlight hitting every nice angle he had. In his hand, a single, beautifully blooming rose.
“Mi amor, my love, my light,” Roland began his monologue, “Though it has been a very long journey and story, here we are, still alive.”
Ah, you realized this scene now. The first proper confession.
Roland walks to you, despite his clownish appearance, he genuinely had a sweet smile on his face. “Damned by those who defy our circumstances; from this day forward, I am yours, as much as you are mine.”
He looks at you, with gentle hands holding your cheek, “What do you say, mi amor?”
In the original story, you ran away out of fear. But you were in a new scenario with him now. Smiling, you dragged him to you with his shirt, “Hmm, sounds missing.”
You wink at Roland, “Ah, I know now.”
Without a warning, you closed the gap in between your lips. Roland eases into you easily; grasping at hands, responding to your move. It's still soft, his lips that make you dream of oceans and theatre plays— it makes you want more.
But Roland pulls away, chuckling, “Well, that certainly wasn't part of the script.”
“You kept missing the cues,” you stuck your tongue out, “I merely filled in the gaps.”
“That's my girl,” Roland praises, “My perfect muse, my perfect actress.”
Comedic, in a way that it's the perfect timing. You leaned further to kiss him more.
“Mm, I still have a few ideas you can add to your script.”
Roland's hand in your hips tightened, mirroring your smile, “Do tell, we should execute it afterwards.”
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Noctis: Indomitus
Kissing Noctis is wild.
In how he holds you effortlessly in one hand. You grasp where your hands could reach, but you could only breathe in. In how Noctis's voice sends shivers. A melody that echoes so long.
His lips are begging to be with you. It's almost painful.
“[Y/N], [Y/N],” Noctis whines, “Please, let me touch you.”
“We are in a public area, Noctis,” you whisper, aware of his creeping fingers on your pants, “Mmh, it's not just me...”
Your lover was supposed to be a grown man, but who knew his neediness could make him such a needy child?
“Please, please, I promise it won't take long,” He groaned as his fingers rubbed your thighs, “I'll be very quick.”
Sighing, you try to look around you. Making sure that no one else could see, you pulled Noctis closer, lips mere inches away from one another.
“Be quick, okay?”
And you trust Noctis. Kissing him is wild— as if asking to be breathed back to life, he kisses you with such fervor. Never minding touchy hands, it's so hot that you unconsciously opened the buttons on your shirt. Noctis loves hard and harder, the beating of his heart a testament. His tongue on yours, hands everywhere else.
“Thank you,” he cries out, making you throb, “I owe you so much...”
“How about pushing it past my limits today, Noctis?”
Without a word, Noctis slips into you for one more stolen kiss. “You have my word, then, [Y/N].”
Writing this half asleep HAHAHAHAHSHSHA
— starry
#pgr#punishing gray raven#punishing gray raven imagines#pgr commandant#pgr global#pgr lee#pgr chrome#pgr chrome glory#pgr hyperreal#pgr wanshi#pgr kamui#pgr camu#pgr watanabe#pgr noan#pgr roland#pgr noctis#pgr valentines
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Do Not Touch
Characters: Jim Hopper x Female Reader
Rating: E, 18+ ONLY
Words: 10k
A/N: My take on your friend and mine: sex-pollen! I started writing this two years ago, isn’t that wild.
Tags: s3 Hop’, dub-con because of sex-pollen, fuck or die situation, Hopper being a huge dick at first, swearing, masturbation, dirty talk, thigh-riding, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, doggy-style, creampies, hand on neck/throat but no choking, gentle-mdom Hop’, more submissive reader, slight praise kink, slight cum play.
Summary: A visit to Murray’s house of wonders provides a lot more than you bargained for.
Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites.
—
“... fuck are you talkin’ about?”
“They’re tapping your phones, Jim, how can you not see it?”
“‘cause it’s not fuckin’ true.”
“Oh, right, so...”
As Murray sets off on another rant, you raise your eyes to the heavens, or rather the dirty, damp ceiling, and tip your head back against the wall, exhaling a long, long breath.
You knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Not impossible, but not easy.
And even Hopper had known Murray was your only hope with this kind of thing.
This kind of thing being that neither of you speak Russian and Murray does.
You’d heard the message over the Hawkins Police Radio two days ago while you and Hop were working late in his office. He’d been adjusting the frequency, fiddling, more like, when the voice had suddenly come through, delivering a short message. You’d both stared at each other, then it had come through again. You’d realised it was the same passage and had quickly grabbed a pen, repeating it to yourself as you wrote it down phonetically on your notepad.
Neither of you had known what to do, so you’d just carried on with your evening, working on your new case. But it had weighed heavy on your mind when you’d left; with the strange things that had gone on in Hawkins in the last couple of years, you are suspicious of everything. Hopper apparently had shared your thoughts as, the next morning, he’d called you into his office, shut the door, and asked if you’d kept the note. When you said you had, you’d both then decided that deciphering it would put your minds at ease.
... Except it was really fucking hard because none of the words sounded close to anything you recognised.
Barely ten minutes later, Hopper had shoved his chair back and hissed out curses.
“We’re gonna go and see Murray,” he’d muttered as he’d strode out of the room to get more coffee.
You’d watched him go, irritation prickling at you because everything needed to be done right now with him these days. In the four years you’d known him, he’d never exactly been a very patient man, but this was different. In the last few weeks he was quick to rile, short-tempered, irritable, yelling more often than not, and you were starting to get sick of it.
So maybe it’s a good thing that he can let that all out on Murray now, who can give back as good as he gets, often, actually, better.
Not that you don’t stand up for yourself when Hopper is in one of his new moods and snaps. He never yells at you, he never has, just raises his voice slightly or gets unnecessarily snippy or even borderline patronising, but your usual tactic is to just walk away, leaving him to stew until he comes to you and makes his kind of apology (offering you a hot drink or a pastry), or you try and lighten the mood. That’s just getting tiring now, though.
And it’s also a huge turn-off.
Yeah, okay, fine, you’ve admitted it to yourself, you’re attracted to him, but it’s a line you don’t like to cross; he’s your boss and your close friend, too, considering everything you’ve both been through with El, Joyce and the kids.
Now, though, you’re not even sure you want to be his friend.
You’ve tried to talk to him, ask him why he’s so God damn angry all the time but he just brushes you off or says he didn’t sleep well. The latter is nothing new, he was a mess when you’d arrived in Hawkins, sleeping for a few hours at a time on his couch in his trailer, but he’d really come into his own since then, especially when he’d had to start taking care of El. The former is new. Living through life or death situations, spending many late nights working together, and the town being small has brought you two closer together, and you’ve confided in him and he in you, so it stings when he brushes you off like you don’t have a history, like you aren’t his friend. Like you don’t matter.
“Do you know what it fuckin’ says or not?” Hopper thunders in the next room, and the patronising edge to his tone has your nose wrinkling.
“Of course I do, you neanderthal, if you give me the fucking piece of paper then I will be able to write it down for you.”
For once, and you never thought that you ever would, you’re on Murray’s side.
There’s the muffled sound of cursing, then a patronising ‘thank you’ from Murray, and then it’s quiet, except for the sound of a chair squeaking as one of them sits down. From the huff, probably Hopper. Folding your arms across your chest, you exhale another breath as you let your gaze travel the room.
It’s exactly how you’d imagine Murray’s place would be. There are... things everywhere, on every surface, some things you don’t even recognise like devices and folders with foreign writing on them, all just strewn around. To your left on a counter there’s even a corked jar marked ‘DO NOT TOUCH’, filled with a russet-coloured liquid, an unfamiliar, what was once probably red, flower head submerged in it. It looks rather like a lily, but there are strange, swirling patterns on the petals that you don’t recognise.
Your attention is diverted by the sound of the chair squeaking again, boots on wood, and then Murray’s voice.
“Ah, ah, ah, what do I get, Chief?”
“What?”
“What do I get for my services?”
“What do you get? You don’t get a fuckin’ broken nose, you asshole.”
There’s the sound of paper sliding against skin.
“... What the fuck is this?”
“It’s what was written for me, word for word, so unless you got something wrong, then that’s it.”
There’s silence, then the sound of Hopper striding closer to the room you’re in.
“You’re welcome,” Murray calls as Hopper exits the room, and you press your lips together at his thunderous expression.
“Thank you, Murray,” you answer for him, raising your voice a little.
“Ah, you’re welcome.”
Dropping your arms as Hopper nears, you raise your eyebrows. “So?”
“It doesn’t make any fuckin’ sense,” he mutters, thrusting the note towards you.
Taking it from him, you read it, then frown as you read it again.
The week is long. The silver cat feeds when blue meets yellow in the west. A trip to China sounds nice if you tread lightly.
Inhaling a long breath, you shrug and look up at him. “Yeah, that makes no sense to me.”
“Yeah, I thought it wouldn’t.”
You make yourself interpret that in a kind way as you look at him, watching him lean against the counter beside you and take the note from you, shoving it into his pocket.
It’s complicated. It doesn’t make any sense. He’s not making a comment on my intelligence.
Licking your lips, pressing them together for a moment, you open your mouth, then close it... then open it again, your voice low, “Do you think this maybe has something to do with what Joyce was saying about the magnets? And the lab?”
If his expression was thunderous before, it’s just full on pissed off now. His gaze darting up to you, you can see how tight his jaw is.
“We don’t know that.”
“I know we don’t, but it’s a little suspicious—”
“Or it could just be some people communicating via code.”
“Uh, yeah, that’s suspicious, isn’t it—”
“Not necessarily—”
He goes to put a hand on his hip as he huffs out a breath, but his elbow knocks against the jar, pushing it off the ledge, and your eyes widen as your hands dart out in the same moment Hopper’s do. Both of you acting on instinct, it fumbles in both your hands for all but two seconds as you try to catch it, in the process the cork top sliding off and some of the liquid spilling onto your hands and his arms and you’re waiting for it to sting and burn but it doesn’t and then—
And then it’s falling and smashing on the floor.
You stare at the spreading liquid, the flower resting limply on it before your eyes dart up to meet Hopper’s, your mouth open. His is closed firmly, his hands, like yours, still raised.
“What was that?!” Murray calls, and you hear him approaching, your eyes now darting to the archway.
“Uh, it—”
“Nothin’, bye, Murray.”
Hopper grabs your hand and pulls you towards the front door, shoving it open and leading you out into the fresh air. He releases you and pulls his car keys out of his pocket as you head for the passenger side of the Blazer, both of you swiftly climbing in once he’s opened it. He’s starting the engine and turning the Blazer around before either of your seatbelts are on properly. Good. There’s only so much shit a human being can take from Murray.
Your seatbelt secured, a glance in the wing-mirror shows you the man himself, waving his arms frantically and faintly yelling for you to come back.
Absolutely fucking not.
Whatever it was, you’re sure it’s replaceable. Sure he collects weird things but it was just a flower, how precious could it be?
You hear Hopper blow out a breath as you head back to the main road, both of you relaxing. Leaning your head back, you keep your eyes on the road, letting the riddle swirl in your mind. You’re certain it’s connected to Joyce’s theories; in all the time you’ve been working at the Station you’ve not once heard someone speaking in code over the radio that wasn’t one of your own or kids, and as for Russian? You’d be very surprised if anyone in the little old town of Hawkins spoke it.
You want to broach the subject with him again, but maybe not now when you’re stuck in a hot car with him and only just starting a nearly two hour drive.
Boy, is it hot.
It’s just gone noon and it’s already sweltering. Rolling the window down, you tilt your head towards it, expecting some kind of breeze. There’s a light one, but it does nothing, so you grip the front of your shirt between your thumb and forefinger and waft it, trying to create some air. The way the shirt moves against your skin... every time it touches against it, slides against you with the movement, you’re hyper-aware of it. Maybe it’s just because you’re more aware of your body in general considering how hot you are.
God, it is uncomfortably hot.
You’re about to ask Hop to put the aircon on when he does so, angling a few of the grates towards himself. Glancing at him, you notice a few beads of sweat at his hairline.
“It’s hot, isn’t it?”
“Hm.”
Oh, well, that’s that conversation over.
You give him the benefit of the doubt, assuming he’s probably thinking about the riddle, too, so you return your thoughts to it, repeating it, turning it over and over—
It’s so hot it’s actually quite hard to think.
Blinking and widening your eyes a little, you say each word of the riddle slowly in your mind, but they just end up being words, and when you try and say it all together again you just end up stopping halfway through, forgetting it momentarily.
Just wait until you’re back, you can have a cool drink, whack the aircon right up and think about it until you go mad.
You angle the grates on your side so one’s sending a cool breeze to your face, the other your body, and then drop your hand into your lap—
Jesus Christ.
Your leg jerks a little, involuntarily, as you register the sensation of your fingers on your clothed inner thigh. You quickly move your hand to your side but even that, your fingers gliding over your leg, makes your stomach muscles tighten.
It had felt good. Far better than it usually did.
You’re just hyper-aware of yourself because of how hot you feel, it’s fine.
You shift a little in your seat and—
You catch yourself before a sound escapes you.
Fucking hell, that had felt good. So good in fact, your pussy is actually starting to ache.
Usually when you’re turned on, very turned on, the smallest of touches can have you gasping but... Are you turned on? You take a moment to consider it and find... Fuck, you are. Where the fuck has this come from?
Hopper clearing his throat pulls you from your thoughts, glancing at him. He’s sweating a little more and he’s gripping the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles almost white, but that’ll just be the heat, another thing that pisses him off.
You need a distraction from... whatever this is your body has decided to feel.
“Maybe it’s from another town.”
“What?” He says it so sharply, almost like you’ve said something completely ridiculous.
“The message? Maybe it’s from another town and just carried over—”
“Nah, I don’t think so.”
Your mouth closes tightly and you return your gaze to the road, staring at it.
Take a breath. He’s in one of his moods. Murray has riled him up. Just let him ride it out... Fuck that, I really need to say something to him about his attitude.
It’s the perfect distraction, planning in your mind what you’re going to say when you get back to Hawkins, coming up with retorts and come-backs to whatever he could say, acting out the conversation in your head and going down every route imaginable. You get so in to it, in fact, that you manage to just about forget how warm you are, and you don’t notice that Hopper is sweating profusely, his hips shifting every few minutes.
—
Your clothes are sticking to every inch of you. Your entire body aches.
What the hell is going on.
You’ve been in the car for a total of thirty minutes now, but it feels like a God damn lifetime. Thinking about arguing with Hop had only gotten you so far; it had channelled some of this weird energy you’re feeling but then suddenly you’d thought about ripping his shirt off and shoving him onto his God damn uncomfortable couch and sitting in his lap while you told him all about how God damn annoying he is.
And then the aches, the bone deep aches, had started.
Fuck, do I have the flu?
You just feel awful. Your elbow rests against the car door, your hand supporting your head, and you stare out of the window, taking slow, deep, steadying breaths. You feel nauseous and your skin is on fire. You’ve tried to keep quiet but you actually think you might be sick, and between throwing up in his car and asking him to pull over, you think the latter will annoy him less.
“Hop’.”
“What?” He doesn’t snap this time, instead he sounds... strained.
“Can we pull over soon? I don’t feel well.”
“Yeah.”
Wow.
Okay.
That hadn’t been so hard.
His voice is still strained and short, but, again, that could just be the heat. He doesn’t pull over immediately and as you glance up you notice a sign for a motel not too far ahead.
Oh, good.
Ten minutes later, the tyres of the Blazer are screeching as he turns sharply into the parking lot of the motel. You have to grip at the handle of the door as he swings in, parking swiftly and braking hard.
“I’ll get rooms.” The words are said so sharply it’s like they’ve been punched out of him.
God, he really doesn’t want me to throw up in here.
Wait, ‘rooms’? Are we staying for a night? That’d be nice.
You both climb out, and you’re almost dizzy from the action. Hopper’s already striding towards the reception booth and you slowly follow after him, wiping the sweat from your brow. You have to walk with your legs slightly apart because your thighs rubbing together... What the fuck is going on? By the time you reach Hopper he’s already got a key and is turning on his heel, walking back behind you.
“C’mon.”
As he passes you, his elbow brushes against your arm and you both flinch because, fuck, a weird little electric shock thing happens. Except, whereas when that usually happens you only feel it on your skin, this time you feel it all over your body, spreading down and curling somewhere in your lower stomach.
And it felt good.
Beads of sweat run down your arms, back and chest as you follow him up a flight of stairs to the first floor. It takes every ounce of energy you have to get up there, whereas Hopper’s almost running. The door’s open when you finally reach it and he’s got the aircon on high which you’re grateful for. Closing the door behind yourself, you’re about to thank him when you look over at him and you notice that he’s drenched in sweat, just as you are.
He glances up and briefly meets your gaze before he runs a hand through his damp hair, his eyes sweeping the room as he paces, his eyebrows raised.
“Only one room left. Sorry.”
You shake your head, the action just increasing your nausea, as you shrug. “No, it’s okay. It’s not like we need to spend the night. Just... think I need a nap, or something. Feel like I’m gonna be sick.”
There’s a short silence in which you sit down on the nearest of the two double beds, your hands on your knees.
“Me, too.”
You look up at him, your brow dipping. “What?”
Hopper gestures at himself before he drops his hand, exhaling a hard breath. “Feel like... feel like I’m gonna be sick, too. Feel so fuckin’ hot, can’t think straight.”
“Yeah, me as well...” Your frown deepens. “Are we both sick?”
“How’s that possible?”
“I don’t know. It came on so suddenly, too, only after we left...”
You meet his gaze as he presses his lips together, following your train of thought.
“That son of a bitch...”
Crossing the room, he grabs the phone from the bedside table and dials Murray’s number. At any other time you would have laughed that he had it memorised. Like they’re pals.
His tongue darting over his lips, your eyes following it for some reason, he holds the phone to his ear, his jaw clenched.
Murray answers on the first ring.
“Hey, Murray—”
You can hear the other man even from where you’re sat.
“You broke the jar, didn’t you.”
“Uh, yeah, but I can—”
“Oh, you fucking idiot. Is she with you?”
Hopper’s eyes briefly dart to you. “Uh, yeah, hey, I’m sure it’s replaceable, I can pay—”
“One, no, it’s not, and two, it’s not me you should be thinking about, you ass.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means, are you feelin’ a little weird, Jim? Huh? Is your lady friend?”
“Uh...” He glances at you again before turning his back, lowering his voice slightly. “Yeah, why?”
You stood up instantly as he turned, and, ooff, there’s the dizziness again, though you manage to move closer to him, a frown pulling at your features as you tut, so you hear Murray’s humourlessly chuckled reply.
“Oooh, hoooo, you’re both in for quite a day.”
“Why, you fuckin’ asshole?”
“Let’s just say you’re going to be feeling certain urges... or maybe you’re already feeling them?”
Hopper glances at you yet again before turning his back away from you again. You hiss and move closer, brushing against him, which just makes you both grimace because there’s the electric current again. You try to stay as close as possible without touching him.
“Just tell me what’s fuckin’ goin’ on, Murray.”
“The best and most polite thing to call it would be an aphrodisiac.”
You frown as you glance up at Hopper, but he’s just staring at the wall.
“What? Why the fuck do you have something like this, Murray?”
“I was going to dilute it to sell in certain markets.”
“As what?”
“An aphrodisiac, dumbass.”
As Hopper snarls and opens his mouth, you grab the phone, your fingers brushing together making your stomach flip and something clench inside you.
Holding the phone to your ear, you swallow before exhaling a breath and murmuring, “What do we do, Murray? How do we stop feeling awful?”
He sighs, and you’re surprised and also slightly unsettled by his tone softening a little. “There’s not much you can do, except what you have wanted to do for a long time that neither of you will admit.”
Before you can speak, Hopper calls, even though he’s right beside you, “And what the hell does that mean?”
“Fuck each other!”
Your mouth drops open as you think your heart stops, and Hopper freezes beside you.
“I’m sorry... what?”
“Oh, come on, you know what I mean—”
“No, Murray, I mean,” you quickly cut him off, rubbing at your damp forehead as you lick your dry lips, your cheeks burning. “What did you, why would we need to, uhm, do that?”
"It’s the only way to ease the aches and pains, honey, that—”
“Pain?”
You’re aching, yes, but you wouldn’t say you’re in pain.
“Stop interrupting me, Jesus...” You press your lips together at his exasperated sigh, before he takes a breath. “The pollen from that flower is like an instant aphrodisiac. If it comes into contact with your skin, that’s it, kiddos, you’re horny. I was diluting it so it’s less lethal, hence why it was in that jar marinating in that liquid. I’m assuming you got some of it on you when you oh so cleverly broke it for no reason?”
“Yeah, but we didn’t mean to—”
“What did I say about interrupting? Depending on how much you got on you, you’re gonna feel hot, then your whole body’s gonna ache, then’ll come the urges and the pain, and once those hit, hooo... so you two had better get to it.”
You feel like you’re having some kind of a fever dream. Rubbing your forehead again, you close your eyes for a few moments as you almost trip over your words, “What, hang on, w-what do you mean by lethal, what happens if we don’t, you know, do anything? It’ll just wear off, won’t it?”
Murray’s silent.
Oh... this is bad.
“C’mon, Murray, answer her.” Hopper’s sudden voice makes you jump.
There’s a quiet sigh. “You gotta take care of each other, together, or... or you’ll die.”
It’s the first time you’ve ever heard Murray speak in an entirely gentle tone.
You don’t know what stuns you more; that, or his words.
“... What.” Your voice is so quiet.
Hopper is silent.
“I don’t know how much you were exposed to but no matter how much, the need and the pain, if nothing is done, can get so bad that your organs start to fail and shut down. If it was just a little, it’ll take longer, if it was a lot then I’d say it’s only a matter of time.”
“No, it... it was just a little. Few splashes. I think.” Your voice sounds far away to your own ears.
“Well, you’ve got some time, then. But it’s gonna be uncomfortable so get to it.”
“Right... Thanks, Murray.” You place the phone down, feeling so far out of your body, hanging up before he can say another word.
Silence.
You look up at Hopper as he clears his throat and moves away, being very careful not to brush against you, his hand running through his hair again. As he sits down in the armchair, you sit on the edge of the bed opposite, staring at the floor.
It’s... it’s... You don’t have the word for it. Wild. Outlandish. Crazy.
“He could be lying, right.” You look up at Hopper as he speaks, meeting his gaze. “He could be mad that we broke somethin’ of his and is just makin’ this all up.”
“Yeah,” is all you can think to say.
“This could just be a reaction to it.”
“Yeah...” You shrug after a moment, blowing out a breath. “Pretty fucking bizarre thing to make up.”
“Well, that’s Murray.”
You both fall silent as he stares at the wall and you stare at the bed. It’s got a patchwork blanket on it, all red squares with other panels of red floral designs. It reminds you of the damn flower. It’s like it’s taunting you. As are the beads of sweat sliding down your spine. And the new, faint, throbbing in your cunt.
You believe Murray.
It’s... wild and bizarre and you don’t understand it at all but, yes, you believe him. Your lips are suddenly dry, either from the realisation or the flower, and you lick them as you lift your gaze to Hopper. He’s still staring so intently at the wall, hands gripping the armrests.
His eyes flick to you as you speak gently.
“I think we should stay the night. Until this wears off. Don’t want to infect anyone else, if that’s possible.”
He nods curtly, expressionless. “Okay.”
Thankfully, Joyce has El for the night, Hopper having asked her to take her in case you both stayed longer than you thought you would, so that’s one less thing. You think about saying that out loud to him, then swiftly decide against it. Of course he’ll already thought about that, will probably take offence at you asking and think it implies you think he hasn’t.
You hate the silence of the room, though, hate the space it provides to think, so you continue instead with, “We’ll just... ride this shit out. It was only a few drops. We’ll be fine.”
Hopper may be expressionless, but what you can’t see are his blunt nails digging into the fabric of the chair.
“Okay.”
—
It was a mistake, turning the TV on.
It’s too loud, too bright, but, fuck, you need the distraction. Your eyes are fixed on it like you’re possessed, and your shirt is soaked, sticking to your skin. Uncomfortable. Your skin is slick, you can feel sweat sliding down your face, arms, back. A loud commercial comes on and you grab the TV remote, turning it off as a wild burst of irritation suddenly flashes through you.
Focus on the room. Two double beds. Bare desk. Mini fridge. Bathroom. Standard motel room. Boring. Plain. Dull. So dull. Think about how dull it is.
It doesn’t work. It hasn’t been working for the last twenty minutes. Has it been twenty minutes? Longer? Less? You don’t know and you don’t want to know. Your body is aching, not only physically but with need, like you’ve never, ever felt before. You feel almost drunk, too, unchallenged words on the tip of your tongue, your brain doing the bare minimum to stop them from coming out... but they’re not just words, they’re pleas.
Touch me.
Kiss me.
Fuck me.
Your eyes dart to Hopper. He’s not moved but his shirt is soaked, too, the hair on his chest, peeking out the top of the grey, flannel button down, damp. That hair... You stare at it. How far down does it go... What would it feel like if you ran your fingers through it...
Your pussy clenches around nothing and tears start to sting at your eyes.
Fuck, I need to be touched.
The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, thick with unshed tears. “Hop’, I feel awful.”
A muscle in his jaw moves. “It’s just a reaction to whatever it is—”
“Yeah, and what if it’s the kind of reaction he was talking about?”
Hopper finally looks at you, brow dipping. “You believe him?”
You hate the way he says it, all disbelieving, making you feel like you’re an idiot.
“Yeah, I do. Why would he lie, especially about something like this? Yes, he’s a dick, but he’s not this much of a dick. He’s more likely to just rip into us and go on and on than make something up.”
“You can’t say that, you don’t know him.”
Brushed off. Again.
Your chin rises slightly, meeting a challenge you might be imagining. “I’ve known him long enough.”
His jaw moves as he arches an eyebrow. “Oh, you hang out all the time do you? You best pals, know everythin’ about him?”
“No, it just doesn’t seem like him—”
“Doesn’t seem like your good pal Murray? How would you know? You can’t just make assumptions like that, he is a—”
The words lash out of you. “Oh, just shut the fuck up, Hopper.”
He pauses, lips still parted, his own words dying on his tongue... until new ones return, his eyebrows raising as his head tilts. “... Excuse me?”
Anger feels good, it channels some of this increasingly restless energy swirling inside you. “Just shut up, you’ve been a real asshole all week, all month, all the time I’ve God damn known you, actually—”
“You didn’t think I was an asshole at the Christmas party.”
You freeze, staring at him.
Last year’s Station Christmas party.
Why did he bring that up.
Was he thinking about that.
You know he was thinking about that.
Because you’ve been thinking about it, too, minutes earlier, intently. It had suddenly come rushing back to you, his hands on your waist, your lips on his, tongues stroking at each other, the moaned sigh you’d released as he’d pressed against you.
You’d both been drunk, though, and lonely and alcohol makes you horny so you’d wanted him to kiss you and he’d spent the last hour before it looking like he’d wanted to, too, your eyes constantly finding each other, looking, really looking, and then you’d just bumped into each other as you’d come out of the bathroom, but it seemed like he’d almost been waiting for you and then you’d talked, no, you’d flirted, he liked your dress, you liked his comically festive tie, and you were both laughing, your hands somehow on each other, maybe to steady yourselves, and then you’d... then you’d kissed.
Neither of you had brought it up, ever, until now. You’d been so horribly hungover the next day that you hadn’t even remembered it until late in the evening and you’d felt so embarrassed. You’d fretted for the rest of the night, wondering if you’d ruined your friendship and a relationship that meant so much to you, but when you’d gone into work the following Monday he hadn’t said a thing, hadn’t even looked at you differently. You’d been so incredibly relieved, but it had come back to you every now and then; how good his lips had felt, how passionate the kiss was, how his hands had felt on you.
All this time you’d thought he had just forgotten it... and it appeared that wasn’t the case at all.
Your already warm face becomes warmer.
“I was drunk.”
He’s got a fucking smug look on his face, like a fucking petty bastard.
“You kissed me.”
“I did not.”
“You did, you pulled me in.”
“Oh, just shut up, Hopper, it doesn’t matter or count anyway because we were drunk.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“I saw the way you were lookin’ at me—”
“Why does it matter so much to you?” you snap, staring at him.
He pauses, the smug look quickly fading. Then, he shrugs, the corners of his mouth turning down. “It doesn’t.”
“Good, shut up, then.”
Silence descends.
And you fucking hate it. At least while snapping at one another you don’t think about how your panties are now soaked and you just want to feel some fingers against your cunt and a cock deep inside you...
A strained groan slips from your lips.
“You okay?” he mumbles, and you blow out a harsh breath.
“No, I’m not, I just—”
Oh, fuck.
You were just about to say it. You were just about to ask him to fuck you. Rolling your neck, your breaths slightly shorter, ragged, you lick your dry lips again.
What the fuck do I do, I’m literally about to ask my boss, my friend, the absolute pain in my ass to fuck me so I don’t, possibly, die.
Then, it comes to you.
“... You just what—”
“Just need the bathroom,” you cut him off exasperatedly, every intonation of his voice prickling your skin, and not in an entirely unpleasant way.
“Jesus, fine,” he mutters, and you hope he doesn’t notice how quickly you turn your back to him as you stand, striding towards the wooden door to the bathroom.
Closing it firmly behind you and turning the lock, you step back from it, releasing a breath that has your shoulders relaxing minutely. You catch your reflection in the mirror to your left and release another breath at your expression; sweaty, tense, and, yes, there’s a trace of panic in your eyes.
Just do it. Do it then you’ll stop thinking about it and then it’ll be over and you’ll feel okay.
Your fingers, seemingly of their own accord, move to your jeans, fumbling with the button and zip. In your haste, the zip catches on the material and tears fill your eyes again.
Oh, come on, come on, come on, please...
You don’t realise you’re murmuring the words out loud, so fixated on what your fingers are doing. Finally after a moment or so you can shove them down, your panties with them, and then you’re spreading your legs as one hand braces against the door and the other slides between your pussy lips.
You can just about muffle the moan that falls from your mouth as your finger tips glide back and forth over your clit, your teeth sinking into your lower lip.
Oh, fuck...
It feels heavenly, unlike any pleasure you’ve felt before from a first touch. You’re dripping, too, so soaking wet that you can hear it as your fingers quicken their pace... but it’s not enough.
How is it not enough?
Tears are slipping out of the corners of your eyes as you grit your teeth, a need so desperate coursing through you that it’s painful.
What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck... Why isn’t it working?
You slip two fingers inside your pussy, hoping filling yourself even a little will help but... no. It just makes you crave a cock inside you even more, increasing the aching that’s running through your entire body.
Oh, please, come on—
Two gentle knocks sound against the door. You freeze again, mouth open as your fingers stay buried inside you.
A throat clears on the other side, and then Hopper speaks, voice slightly muffled.
“Hey, uh... I’m sorry for snappin’, and for my shitty attitude, I... I know I haven’t been the best to be around lately...”
His words just become sounds as a kind of white-noise, ringing starts in your head.
Oh, no, no, no... No...
Your cunt is throbbing. You can’t help but think about him murmuring those apologies in your ear as his cock thrusts slow and deep inside you, as he tells you he’ll make it all up to you, everything, that you feel so good around his cock and he wants to make you feel so good all the time...
As your hand drops and you straighten, you don’t think you have absolute control of your body anymore.
And you don’t fucking care.
Unlocking and yanking the door open, you instantly meet Hopper’s gaze, watching him blink as he abruptly silences whatever he was saying.
“Woah, you okay?”
How is he so normal? Yes, he’s sweating, profusely, but that’s it, seemingly. What a sight you must look in comparison. You watch his gaze travel down you, settling on your jeans and panties that are around your knees. His eyes dart back up to yours, and you watch his slick throat bob as he swallows hard.
“What the hell you doin’.”
You can hear your own breathing, ragged, short. Staring at him, you don’t know if it’s sweat or tears running down your cheeks.
“Hop’, I need you to touch me.”
It’s as if you’ve just asked him to detonate a bomb. His eyes widening, his mouth moves but nothing comes out for quite a few moments.
“I... Hey, now, hang on—”
“Please.” At any other time you might have been embarrassed for sounding so tragically desperate. “I tried, I tried to touch myself and it didn’t work, I’m aching so bad, please—”
“Sweetheart—”
That nearly has your knees weakening, a faint sound emitting from the back of your throat. He swallows again at hearing it and runs a hand down his mouth, shaking his head.
“I mean—”
“Fuck, Hop’, please. Don’t you feel it, too? I feel like, my, my, my whole body is just in pain, it fucking hurts, Hop’.”
You don’t know whether he feels it, too, or he’s just pitying you, because confliction is rife across his face.
And then he takes a step back, and he might as well have punched you in the stomach with the gasped breath that releases from you.
No, no, no, no...
“Hop’...”
He takes another step back, unable to stop his gaze from flicking down to where your hands are pushing your jeans and panties down and off, your shoes with them, kicking them aside. Then, he looks away, so sharply and suddenly, his fingers flexing by his sides.
“I can’t.”
“Why.”
You can’t think of any reason that would be damn good enough right now.
Hopper can’t look at you as he shakes his head again. “It’s not right, you don’t want this, it’s just the flower—”
“I want this, I want you, Hop’, I need you...” You’ve stepped towards him, your hands on his chest, sliding over his damp shirt, fisting it in your hands. “... I need you inside me...”
His jaw is so tight, his whole body is, you can feel his muscles underneath your hands, and his breathing is harsher. He raises a hand, which you don’t notice is shaking until he places it on one of your forearms. You wait for him to try and pull it away, but he just grips it lightly.
“You... You don’t want me really, this, this isn’t right—”
“I do, I do...” Your chin lifts and your lips brush against his jaw, and you swear you hear him groan quietly. You cling onto it, even if it isn’t real, and the words tumble out of you. “... I’ve thought about you before, inside me, making me cum, I’ve fucked myself imagining it was you before, so many times, please, Hop’, I’m begging you...”
He must have groaned because now his head is tilted against yours, lips against your cheekbone. His thumb is brushing against your inner wrist, too, so lightly. You press against him... and feel it.
His cock straining against his jeans.
Maybe it’s not just you, then. The arm he isn’t gripping moves, your hand dropping to settle on his thigh, your fingers caressing.
“Please, Hop’...” you whisper.
You know he groans this time, his lips so close to your ear. You know he’s seconds from crumbling, too, his hips angling towards your hand, his hand sliding from your wrist to your bicep, head turning closer towards yours, lips inches away—
Then, he freezes, a breath hissing out through his teeth.
He doesn’t move away but, staring at him, you can see the confliction return and even some anger that washes over his features.
“Hop’—”
“This isn’t the way I wanted it to be.”
You pause, lips parted so your harsh breaths can escape audibly. He hadn’t wanted to say that. He’d hissed the words out, eyes unable to meet yours, in fact he’s now closed them; regret swirling inside him.
But you can only think about one thing right now.
You’re shaking with relief and anticipation. “... You’ve thought about me, too, then.”
A statement, not a question.
His eyes open, finding yours. “Yeah.”
You relish every word you say. “Then fuck me like you’ve wanted to.”
Any last restraint he has crumbles.
And he must have be in just as much pain as you because it happens in mere seconds.
Hopper’s hand grips the back of your head, holding you close and tight against him as his lips crash against yours. A combination of a sob and a moan emits from the back of your throat as you grip at his shirt, desire burning through your veins. His other arm wraps around your lower back and part of your brain is grateful for his strong grip because then he’s suddenly turning you and walking you back towards the closest bed.
The backs of your legs knock against it and you fall back on the soft covers, and it’s like he didn’t let you go at all as he’s already on top of you, one arm by the side of your head, the hand of the other resting on your torso, fingers splayed. One leg is between yours to hold himself up and your brain is working so fast, trying to find any way to soothe what your body is crying out for, that it takes you a moment to initiate its plan. Shifting down, your back arching with the movement, you start to rock your bare cunt against his thigh. The moaned cry you release is swallowed by his mouth, but he gives a groan in return.
“Fuck...” he hisses, feeling how wet you are as you’ve already soaking through his jeans.
The material is rough but that just makes it more heavenly against your swollen, aching clit and folds. Gripping his biceps, your lips tear from his as you tip your head back with a loud moan, eyes closed tightly. It’s not enough but it still feels so fucking good.
It takes you a few moments to realise he’s pushed your shirt and bra up, and his lips instantly descend upon your hard nipples, kissing, licking, sucking, pulling with his teeth slightly.
Tears are sliding down your cheeks in relief and a smile is pulling at your lips because—
“Yes...” you gasp, fingers curling tightly into his hair, tugging at his scalp.
His hips jerk as you do, and his grunts tell you just how much he likes it. So you do it again, and again, and again... and realise he’s grinding his hips against your thigh, just like you’re doing to him.
“Fu-uck...” he growls against your chest, his mouth moving in a deliciously sloppy way up your skin to your neck.
You whine as he kisses you there, your head tipping back, teeth sinking into your lower lip.
It’s so, so fucking good... but it’s still not enough.
“Hop’, need more...”
“Shh, don’t worry, baby, I know...”
How can he string words together? You had just about managed to breathe yours out.
What delicious words they were, though.
You must have done something in response to them, bucked your hips a certain way or made a sound, you don’t quite know because your mind is starting to feel like liquid, because he’s suddenly smiling now.
A lazy, smug smile that makes you clench.
Gazing down at you, his hands splay across your waist, and he presses his thigh a little harder against your cunt, which has your back arching.
“You like when I call you baby, huh? When I talk to you?”
“Yeah…” is all you can so eloquently answer with.
“That’s good to know.”
How is he capable of this much talking? Does the pollen enhance sexual characteristics that are already there?
Whatever it does, you can’t think on it much further because the hand on your waist is now travelling down your stomach, and you’re about to complain at his thigh suddenly disappearing when they’re now replaced by his long fingers sliding over your cunt.
“Oh, fuck…” you gasp as he groans, your eyes falling shut.
“Jesus, baby, you’re so fuckin’ wet, you’re fuckin’ dripping…”
You don’t even bother trying to respond. Gripping at his shoulders, all you can do is moan as three of his fingers drag up and down your folds. When they move over your clit, you don’t know whether it’s a sob or a moan that falls from your open mouth. Either way, pure pleasure courses through you. Maybe at any other point you would have cum right there and then from how intense it is, but you need something inside you. Whatever is happening, that’s all you know.
“God, Hop’, please…”
“I know, baby…”
And as he says the words, he pushes two of his fingers inside you.
“Yes…” you cry, your hips pushing down so they slide all the way inside you, but if you’d been coherent enough to you would have bet he would have done so anyway.
“Jesus…” he hisses, tone strained, and he instantly starts to slip them in and out of you, sinking them in as far as he can each time. “… You’re so fuckin’ wet…”
He groans again when you clench down on his fingers, and it seems to break whatever kind of resolve he was still holding onto, however the hell he was holding on to it.
A pitiful whine of protest escapes you when his fingers pull out, and he just nods swiftly, strands of hair falling over his forehead as he rises up onto his knees.
“I know, sweetheart, I know, just let me… Fuck…”
Lifting your head, you watch him shift backwards until his boots can touch down on the ground, but it’s only a moment before he’s kneeling on the floor and then his hands are wrapping around your thighs, widening them, and then he’s lowering his head and then… and then…
Your mouth drops open wider as your hands dart to his hair, plunging in once again as his tongue licks a long, wide path up your folds.
“Just needed to fuckin’ taste you…” he mumbles against you, the vibration of his voice making you mewl.
If his hands weren’t keeping your thighs apart you would have wrapped them around his head. All you can do, though, is rock your hips and grind against his tongue. He growls with pleasure, and just as you inhale a breath to beg for more, he pushes three fingers inside of you.
Three.
Three of his thick, long fingers slide inside you with no resistance or pain at all, and you throw your head back with a loud cry as you clench around them.
“Fu-uck...” he groans, curling them a little, stroking inside you. “... Look how fuckin’ easy that was, huh... How fuckin’ easy are you gonna take my cock, baby? Huh? Is it gonna slide right in? Fill you all up on the first stroke?”
Again, at any other time, you would have cum right there and then, but... somehow it’s just not enough.
Gritting your teeth, because while it’s not enough, the pleasure is still so fucking good, you release a sound between a sob and a moan.
“Hop’... Fucking need more...”
“You want my cock in you, sweetheart, huh?”
“Please.”
He groans again, and then you hear it.
He’s stroking his cock in swift, firm movements, and you want to be doing that, you want to be touching him, tasting him, pleasuring him, and—
“Want you to cum on my tongue, wanna fuckin’ taste you,” he mumbles against your pussy, lapping at you again, and you have to take in a few ragged breaths before you can speak.
“... Can’t... Not enough... Need your cock...”
“Christ...” He exhales a breath that closely resembles another growl. “... Do you know what hearin’ those words does to me, huh? Oh, you’re gonna cum on my cock, baby, but I’ve fuckin’ dreamed about you cumming in my mouth so you know what you’re gonna do?” He lifts his head, and you open your half-lidded eyes to look at him. “... You’re gonna cum on my tongue.”
And lowering his head again, he sucks hard at your aching clit.
And maybe it is just enough, because your back is arching and you’re pulling at his hair and he’s having to tighten his grip on your thigh and tears of relief or maybe it’s beads of sweat are sliding down your cheeks because yes, yes, yes...
You don’t realise you’re chanting the word as your climax builds, and when it rolls through you, a blissful serenity follows it...
That lasts all of a few seconds before you’re squirming again, the throbbing in your core somehow sharper, more desperate.
Hopper, however, is sucking and licking at you still, lapping up your release as he moans, an arm moving to settle over your lower stomach. Opening your eyes, you gaze down at him and see his hand working over his cock still and you want to move and touch him but his arm is keeping you down and his tongue is continuing to move so deliciously against your cunt.
And then he’s releasing short, sharp groans, and his hips are jerking and his hand is starting to slow, and then he cums, and you can only watch as it trickles down his fingers.
No, no, no, you want to feel him cum, you want it inside you—
He lifts his head, licking his lips, and the hunger still burning in his eyes steals your breath away.
He rises, and you can only watch with ragged breaths as he kicks his boots away and pushes his trousers and boxers off. His dick is still hard, pressed flat against his stomach, tip red and weeping.
“You want my cock? You want my fuckin’ cock inside you...?” he’s murmuring, and your eyes dart up to meet his as you release a breath.
“God, fuck, yes, Hop’...”
“C’mere...” He’s suddenly on top of you, then, cupping the top of your head with his large hand as he props himself up on his elbow. It eases some more of the pain a little, having him crowd you, feeling his skin on yours, but you both know exactly what you need.
His eyes are boring down into yours, and your nails are digging into shoulders, and then, finally, you feel the tip of his cock against your cunt.
“Mhm, yeah, fuck, inside me...” you’re breathing, pleading, half out of your mind with need as you nod.
And then, without any more teasing or talking, his thick cock slides all the way inside you.
Your eyes squeeze shut as you cry out and your back arches. Pure pleasure and relief and bliss overwhelms you, and you haven’t even cum on him yet. In fact, he can’t move yet because you’re clenched so tightly around him, your slick walls gripping at him like your cunt doesn’t want him to ever leave.
His breaths are short, sharp, strained, and his hand has moved to rest under your head, a gesture that, at any other time, you would have recognised as tender.
“Oh, fuck, baby... Fuck... Feel every inch of my dick... You feel it, huh?”
Words aren’t possible anymore, so you can only nod, eyes still shut tight, and your breaths fall away into moans as he kisses at your neck, all of them sloppy, uncoordinated, needy, and you suddenly realise he’s murmuring to you.
“... Wanna fuckin’ move, wanna make you feel so fuckin’ good, wanna cum in your wet cunt and feel you cum on me, want you screamin’ my fuckin’ name...”
As if his words were the key, you unclench around him with a whine of desire, and, with a hiss, he instantly draws his hips back and then snaps them forward, sinking fully into you once again.
Fucking lighting zips through your body, you’ve never felt anything like it.
He must feel it, too, because he doesn’t stop for one moment, drawing all the way back and thrusting right back into you to the hilt, each time harder than the last and, distantly, you can hear the headboard smacking against the wall.
“... Good girl... Good fuckin’ girl...” he’s growling through gritted teeth, and you realise you are because you’re doing exactly as he wanted.
You’re shouting his name amongst your moans.
And not even just ‘Hop’ or ‘Hopper’; ‘Jim’ is falling from your lips, and each time he hears it his hips snap forward just that little bit harder.
“Yeah, baby, good fuckin’ girl... Good girl... Fuckin’ Christ... Can you hear how fuckin’ wet you are? Listen to how fuckin’ good you take my cock, baby... Take it... Fuck, take it...”
Nevermind listening, it’s how he feels inside you that’s making sparks skitter across your skin. He fills and stretches you perfectly, dragging and sliding against your sensitive walls deliciously each time. You’re not going to last much longer, the last coherent part of your mind knows, and it nearly makes you sob with both relief and dread.
You never want this fucking feeling to end, it’s all so good, so fucking good but you know it’s just going to feel even better when you cum, when you feel him cum.
Managing to open your eyes, you find his gaze still on you, flicking from your parted lips to your chest.
“... Cum...” you whisper, voice hoarse, and you have to swallow before you try again. “... Cum inside me, please... Want to feel you cum... Fill me with your cum...”
“Yeah?” His jaw is tight, eyes boring into your own again. “... Wanna feel my fuckin’ cum fillin’ you up, baby, huh? Want my fuckin’ cum leaking out of you?”
“Yes”, you chant over and over and over breathlessly, gaze fixed on his, unable to look away because his hips are stuttering in their rhythm, just slightly, but enough that you know.
He’s close.
“Cum, cum for me...” you start to plead now, “... Wanna feel you cum, cum inside me, Jim, please... I need it...”
“Yeah, you fuckin’ need it, baby?” he grunts, voice low, gravelling.
“Yeah, give it to me, please...”
“Take it, fuckin’ take it, take my cum...” He groans sharply then, mouth dropping open. “... Fuck...” His hand darts out from under your head and grips at the bedcovers, and with a few more thrusts, he then buries deep inside you and cums with a shout, eyes shut tight.
And euphoria spreads through you.
You feel his cum spill inside you, and the pleasure that courses through you from the sensation sends you spiralling into your own release. Gripping at his arms, nails digging in probably to the point of pain, you throw your head back and cry out.
It’s unlike any bliss you’ve ever felt before.
For a few moments you may even black out as it rolls through you in wave upon wave upon wave.
Hopper feels closer, as well, as if he’s collapsed slightly but just about managed to hold himself up in time. His lips are against your jaw, and you can feel his panted breaths, his lightly trembling frame.
Oh, you’re trembling, too, can hear it in your own breaths.
At least you can try and calm your heart rate, now, because it must be over, it has to be. It’s been done now, it’s...
It’s...
It’s...
It’s still there. That strange energy, whatever the hell it is. It’s not as intense now, but it’s there. Enough so that you lick your lips and gaze up at him, finger tips gliding down his arms.
“Hop’... I can still feel it.”
It’s a few moments before his eyes open, and when his gaze meets yours, and you realise he’s still hard inside you, you know before he speaks what he’s going to say.
“... Me, too.”
Neither of you speak, or move, just gaze at each other. Enough sense has returned that you take these few moments to breathe, but not enough that when those moments do start to stretch on... you just can’t help yourself.
Teeth sinking into your lower lip, you start to slowly roll your hips.
His eyes fall shut with a guttural groan, and your involuntary mewl answers him.
When his eyes then snap open, you also can’t help the smile that pulls at the corners of your mouth.
“You not satisfied yet?” he murmurs, voice dangerously low, and you shake your head as your tongue glides across your lips.
“Fuck me again, Jim.”
His thumb and forefinger are suddenly gripping your chin, and his lips hover over yours as he exhales a breath.
“It not enough that my cum is fillin’ you up? You need some fuckin’ more?”
“Yeah...” you breathe, trying to lift your chin higher so you can kiss him, but he holds firm.
“You want me to fuck you again, sweetheart?”
“Please, Jim...”
His lips brush against yours, and it’s the lightest of touches, but it’s enough to have you moaning as you rock your hips again.
“Please...”
“Well, seein’ as you’ve been a good fuckin’ girl...”
Pulling back, he rises up onto his knees, and pulls out of you. You mewl softly at feeling empty now, but you’re instantly distracted by his hands gripping your thighs, keeping them parted wide, and the fact his eyes are fixed on your cunt.
“Fuck... Your pussy looks so pretty with my cum spilling out of it...”
Fucking hell.
“Hop’, please, fuck me, I need you again, I need your cock—”
“I know, baby, I know.” Your words have his gaze tearing away and returning to your own, and he releases your thighs with a groan. “Turn over. On your stomach.”
You don’t need telling twice.
Except you have your own demand.
“Take your shirt off, I want to feel all of you.”
When his fingers fly to the buttons of it and start undoing them, then you roll over onto your front, resting your cheek against the covers.
You hear him toss it aside, and then his fingers are sliding down your back, over your ass and to your cunt. His fingertips caress your pussy lips lightly, gliding up and down, and your eyes fall shut at the gentle waves of pleasure that pulse through you. He’s toying with your mixed cum, gently pushing it back inside you and spreading it along your cunt.
“Jesus Christ...” he breathes, half in awe, half aroused.
Any other time you would have left him indulge himself for as long as he wanted, but the desperate need inside you is growing once more.
“Jim... Fuck me...”
You’ve only just finished pleading him, when his cock sinks inside you, this time in a slow, long thrust.
As your mouth drops open in a high moan, your fingers gripping onto the covers, he releases a long groan, eyes fixed on his dick disappearing inside you.
“Fuck, look at that...” His hands grip your ass, spreading you open wider. “... Take me so fuckin’ good... So fuckin’ good...”
Your eyes nearly roll back when you close them, as he starts to repeatedly give you slow, long thrusts, watching his own cock spread your soaked lips apart. You’re nearly delirious with pleasure, cunt pulsing around him, and when you feel him move, you can’t even open your eyes.
He settles over you, holding himself up on his forearm while his other hand slides under your neck and grips it gently, making you lift your head, tipping it back a little.
And now his lips are right against your ear.
“Fucking perfection... Like you were fuckin’ made for my cock, huh, sweetheart?”
You can only moan in reply as his thrusts speed up a little.
The position you’re now in somehow makes it feel more delicious than before, like his cock is somehow filling you even more. You now focus on the lewd sounds caused by how wet your pussy is, too, and it’s so lewd, so filthy and hot that it’s making your stomach clench.
You must clench around him again, too, because he inhales a ragged breath before speaking.
“You gonna cum for me again?”
“Yeah...” you breathe, mind starting to turn blank.
“Gonna cum on my hard cock? Soak it and the fuckin’ bed?”
“Please...”
It feels more intense this time, the mounting pleasure, and your fingers twist into the bed covers as you try and ground yourself. He’s murmuring into your ear still, hand on your throat still gentle.
“... what a good fuckin’ girl you are, taking my cock so good, gonna take my cum again, huh? How many times can I cum in this pretty little pussy, how many times can I fill you up until you’re satisfied, huh...”
It’s all too much, too good...
Your orgasm crashes over you.
Your brow dipping, your mouth dropping open, a scream is pulled from your throat, and the world goes dark.
—
Your eyes snap open.
Oh, fuck.
There’s a slight pounding in your head, the beginnings of a headache most likely from dehydration.
Annoying.
When did I last have a drink, though? Or eat? Must’ve been...
Oh.
It all comes flooding back to you.
That... That actually happened?
Releasing a soft groan, you lift a heavy hand to try and rub at your forehead—
Another hand catches it, and the space beside you dips slightly.
“Hey, hey, woah, you okay?”
Your gaze darts to the source, and you find Hopper sat there, concern etched across his features. You don’t have time to think about it or answer, though, as he swiftly releases your hand and a glass of water suddenly appears before you.
“Here, drink this.”
Sitting up a little, you drink deeply, your throat dry, raw, actually, and the entire contents is nearly gone when you finally lower it, gasping a breath in.
He takes the glass from you, placing it on the bedside table, and as you lick your lips and adjust against the pillows, he watches you, fingers rubbing against his mouth.
Clearing his throat after a few moments, he ask quietly, “You okay?”
Is it too soon to tell him that was probably the best fuck of your life?
Raising your eyebrows, a light smile pulls at your lips. “Yeah. A little sore, but...” Your smile fades as he looks down at his hands, his jaw moving. “... Oh, Hop’, I didn’t—”
He can’t look at you, his head shaking. “I am so... I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Hey, no, don’t be.” Leaning forward, you place your hand on his arm, hating that he stiffens. “We couldn’t control ourselves—”
“I could’ve, I could’ve held out longer, I could’ve locked myself in that fucking bathroom, I just...” He looks fucking devastated.
Shifting closer, you wrap your other hand around his arm, tightening your grip. “You shouldn’t be sorry. I mean it. I...” Well, it’s now or fucking never, and all things considered... “... I wanted it, Hop’. Even without that aphrodisiac thing. I wanted you. I have for a long time.”
Your face is burning and your heart is pounding but relief settles on your shoulders the moment you finish speaking.
His head turns towards you now, gaze darting to meet yours, searching it. “You... You’re not lyin’ to me?”
Your lips lifting again, you shake your head before murmuring, “No.”
Hopper exhales a breath, his hand setting over both of yours. “I’ve... Fuck, I’ve wanted you, too. Just... I imagined it going a little differently.”
You give a soft laugh as delight overwhelms you, and his thumb brushes against your skin. “Yeah, we really skipped the first date, didn’t we.”
“In the traditional sense.” He smiles as you laugh again, but it’s gone just as soon as it arrived. “... You sure you’re okay?”
You don’t care how foolish you look, with your tender smile, gaze openly filled with affection. Probably because his gaze is exactly the same.
“I am. Really. It’s a good sore.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Your teeth graze over your lower lip. “I wouldn’t mind getting used to it.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’d hoped you’d say that...”
Cupping your cheek, he closes the gap between you and kisses you tenderly, the pad of his thumb brushing against your skin gently. It’s sweet, gentler than you had ever imagined him to be.
It’s perfect.
When his lips leave yours but he remains close, you smile again. “I guess we can give Murray a thorough review, then.”
He growls quietly as he brushes his nose against yours. “Don’t talk about that man right now...”
As he moves closer, laying you back on the bed, your arms slide around his neck and your smile widens.
“Yes, Chief.”
—
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Backyard : Jason Todd x stripper!reader
The plan was simple.
Get inside the strip club, gather some intel on the newest and yet already one of the most influential crime lord in Gotham and get the f out.
The last part got a bit more complicated, when Jason figured out that on this particular day, in this particular club a bachelor’s party was taking place.
Shit was not enough of a word to describe the situation he found himself in.
Should have gone dressed in his Red Hood gear instead of civilian mode.
Should have never let Dick accompany him.
Two hot guys in the club full of horny men and girl strippers trying to lead a mission.
One dying inside, the other going with the flow.
What could possibly go wrong, right?
Well while Dick was having the time of his life, Jason actually tried to focus on the task and uncovering the identity of the guy who was recently raging terror on Gotham. Tried being the key word here. Instead of pursuing the wild game he found himself being a prey rather than a hunter. A bunch of unknown girls tried to grope him, seduce him, damn, even give him a lap dance, all that making Jason’s hair stand on his head as he struggled to reach the back door and break free.
What was a torture to him, seemed to be a lot of fun to his adopted brother though.
And what was even worse, was the fact that Dick, with his charming smile and ladies-swooning attitude, would probably end up knowing more than him and it made Jason grit his teeth and clench his fists.
“You look like you need a smoke.”
“What I need is five minute alone”
“Well I’m sorry to break it to you pea brain, but this-” the girl, who judged by the outfit was another stripper, waved her hand around the backyard of the club “-is as close to alone as you can get here.”
Right.
As if the couple making out against a wall, going way to close to public sex, a homeless man sleeping next to the dumpster and a few shabby wild cats, tearing with their teeth something that was definitely not suitable for eating, even by animals, could be described with that word.
Jason sighed half in frustration, half in relief.
“Fuck.”
“Mhm. Yeah, close enough.” the girl agreed as her eyes landed on the man who was now drilling the woman against the wall, apparently causing her enough pleasure to let out a breathless moans.
“You’re enjoying exhibitionism?” Jason raised an eyebrow at girl’s unamused gaze.
“I’m learning new techniques.” She spit out.
“What?”
“Don’t make me say it again, pea brain.”
“Hey!”
“What? If you believed it, you truly deserve the nickname. I’m a stripper not a prostitute.”
“Is she one?” Jason pointed towards the other woman and reached to his pocket in search of a lighter and cigarettes “Fuck!’
“Nah, she’s just faking for the hell of it. Touch starved one, if you ask my opinion. Would settle for what she can get at a club like this. ”
“Do you have a fag?” Jason couldn’t care less about the answer, more focused on getting his own high and calming nerves, that was something he needed at the moment.
“I’m not sharing with a stranger.” She chuckled “seems way too intimate to me.”
“So what, you only give the guy a pipe on a third date?”
“No one got that far.”
“So you’re a stripper with a high standards?” Jason smirked
“Well. As the movies show, there are only three reason of why a girl is a stripper.”
“Don’t tell me you are a sucker for Pretty woman or another bullshit like this.”
“Nah. I’m just a working girl who has to raise a three year old illegitimate child and has no real qualifications for other job.” She send him an innocent feigned smile and tossed a pack of cigarettes his way.
“Three year old kid huh?” he caught it mid-air and lighted one up immediately exhaling deeply, when the familiar scent and flavour of nicotine filled his lungs “How old are you?”
“Rude.” She leaned on the railing “And you only proving my point.”
“Which is?”
“Pea brain.”
“Made you believe I believed that bullshit story, didn’t I?” another cloud of smoke flew into the air, quickly joined by the other once the girl started to enjoy her own cigarette.
“Congratulations. A guy from a good house just tricked a stripper in the club. Great job, buddy.”
“What makes you think I am a guy from a good house? Maybe I’m a pervert who –“ he stopped for a second as the sound of woman and man coming chimed into the sentence “maybe I’m a guy like this?”
The unnamed girl only smiled and shook her head causing her hair to flow around her face.
“If you were a guy like that you would just stay inside letting Candy or Chastity give you a lap dance.”
“Are those real names?”
“Pea brain.”
“Right. Sorry.” Jason chuckled involuntarily, much to his own disbelief. “What’s yours then?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Pretty much why I asked.”
“Pretty much why you run away from the inside and found yourself here.”
“How do you even get clients? You’re insufferable.”
“And I got big mouth. Comes in handy sometimes.”
Before he could stop himself he chuckled again.
Jason Peter Todd, Red Hood, adopted son of Bruce Wayne was smoking outside the strip club, with a working girl, having more fun than he ever had in his entire life.
“It’s not comedy central, stop laughing.”
“You could be a stand upper for sure.”
“Well – if you think about it, I am kind of a stand upper…”
This time Jason fully laughed and the girl couldn’t help a tiny smile on her own face.
“Jerk.” She threw his direction biting on the inside of her cheek, focusing on the cigarette rather than on the guy next to her.
“Bitch.” Jason’s reaction was immediate and completely instinctive.
Any other girl would probably take that as an offence but she was familiar with the fandom and popculture classic.
“What demon are you after, Winchester?”
“Too many of my own to go looking for more.” He sighed
“Yeah tell me about it.” She did the same and for a moment they just stood in undisturbed silence. Even the cats seemed to sense something was going on and went completely quiet.
“What’s your name?” Jason finally asked “for real, not the stripper one and not the fake one you’re probably thinking about giving me.”
“You first.”
“Oh no. I’m a gentleman. Ladies comes first.”
“Idiot.”
“Moose.”
“Stop it!” she laughed at another TV series reference
“Tell me your name.”
“Yy/n” she said finally “Happy now?”
“Rapturous.”
“Splendid. You owe me a cigarette, now you know what girl to give it back to.”
“Sounds like you’re asking me on a second date.”
Before she got a chance to come up with some quick respond, another working girl came out the club clearly searching for y/n, giving her just one warning look before her eyes travelled to Jason and then back to y/n.
“Fine!” Y/N rolled her eyes in frustration “god damn it, there’s something like a break for fuck’s sake! What the hell is happening now? I swear one day I will burn this hell hole -” the rest of the sentence died behind the door along with the walking away girl.
Jason was finally left alone.
Truly alone.
But it felt oddly dissatisfying to smoke by himself in the dingy backyard, that suddenly became grey and empty.
Y/N.
A girl who seemed to have all the answers.
Infuriating and keeping a man on his toes since the first minute from the meeting.
And who called him pea brain.
Jason smirked to himself, while still smoking the borrowed cigarette in the empty backyard of the strip club.
Letting himself forget the mission for a moment.
don't worry people we'll get "there" ...
#jason todd x reader#red hood x reader#jason todd x y/n#red hood x y/n#jason todd x you#red hood x you#jason todd fanfiction#red hood fanfiction
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