#bar alignment tips | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lucky-bucky-boy · 4 months ago

Text

Casual

Paring: Techbro!Peter x BestFriend!Reader

Word Count: 6564

Summary: What happens when you finally aren't with your shitty ex of two years?

moodboard here

Warnings: 18+, afab reader, limited use of Y/N, LOTS of pet names (pretty girl, baby, babe, good girl), praise kink, consent talk, oral f. receiving, techbro!(fuckboy)peter au, talk of drinking and joints

A/N: this ended up way longer than i expected. it's my first longer piece in a while, and definitely poorly proofread so sorry in advance.

I do not own these characters. Do NOT repost any of writings for any reason. Comments and reblogs are welcomed and highly appreciated!

Warm lights highlighted the cozy atmosphere of the bar, the chatter a pleasant background noise to fill any lull in the conversation - not that there was one. The once clean round table top was becoming slightly sticky, evidence of a good night in the form of mixed drinks and dripping beer mugs; broken soft pretzels, half-drank beers, and crumpled napkins nearly being forgotten as laughter filled the table in rumbling spurts.

Gwen had orchestrated it all, making sure that schedules lined up to finally get everyone together. It was desperately needed. Not only had it been over a month since the metaphorical stars aligned, but it had been just over two weeks since Jake.

Jake, or “jake-ass” as MJ has recently dubbed him, and his absolute gull had the wonderful idea of breaking up with you during the week of midterms. Almost two years being washed down the drain, your hands trying to desperately cup the dissipating water and subsequently making you barely pass your midterms. Who knew opening your boyfriend's phone to take a silly picture during a study break would reveal his betrayal? Or that he would leave relieved while you sat in your bed heartbroken?

But, who needs Jake-ass when there's vodka sodas and friends? Surely, not you.

“Come on,” Harry’s hand softly hit the table as Gwen continued recounting the next bullet on her list of everything that was wrong with Jake. The relationship was over, which meant a round of roasting the fateful ex with all cards being left on the table. His voice cut Gwen off, staring at you intently from his spot further in the booth. “Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on a man who- who,” his hands flailed some, his disbelief evident in the way his mouth was gaping.

“Who wouldn’t wash his hands after shitting? Didn’t believe in climate change? Had shit stains on his underwear?” MJ piped in from her spot in-between Harry and Peter.

Peter’s shock resulted in a snort of a laugh that drew your attention to the man next to you, his hand coming to cover his face as he shook his head.

“Or, that you spent over a thousand dollars in less than three months? Who’s family you didn’t meet even after two years of dating?” Gwen added, her tone a little more sharp as she reminded you of the more concerning things of the questionable relationship.

“Who couldn’t make you cum?” MJ added one last note before the table erupted in laughter, your skin burning hot at the admission that didn’t even leave your own lips that night.

The thought immediately had you grimacing the moment it conjured a hint of a memory. “I could strangle the both of you,” your words coming out as a mutter before bringing your straw to your lips and downing what was left of your drink. You had only planned to drink two vodka sodas before switching to water, but that was being thrown out the window as the heat of embarrassment still warmed your ears.

Harry must’ve sensed your discomfort because he was sliding you the rest of his beer before waving down the waitress. In a blur of a few moments, the table was cleared and fresh drinks were being sat in front of you, feeling like an oasis in a desert of your messy mind.

Peter clicked his tongue, drawing all the attention to him. His hand held the top of his beer mug, his frosted tips from his previously bleached hair falling into his face as he shook his head in disbelief. “You three really know how to pick ‘em,” he sighed out, his hand flexing down around his mug as he brought it to his lips.

Your eyes caught a glimpse of the way the light bounced off his rings, an accessory he’s been wearing more since he started working at Oscorp full time last year. The observation was cut short as MJ’s disbelief cut through, “Might I remind you, that you and Gwen date-”

“In high school.” The two in question rang out in unison.

“Besides, it would have never worked out long term.” Gwen finished, hand reaching out for her own drink. Despite the friend group being close, that subject was always a bit convoluted. There were days you wondered if what-if’s filled them, or if they were both satisfied with the friendship they had.

Peter let out an amused scoff, “We’d be so boring if it did.”

There was a moment of laughter, but the second it died down the aforementioned memory threatened to plague your thoughts, Harry’s question repeating itself in your mind. You looked over to him, taking a quick sip of your drink and relishing in the way it warmed you before speaking, “It’s not that I’m hung up on Jake. It’s just that-”

“You need to get laid.” MJ quickly quipped, “Girl, I am telling you once you get laid, you won’t even think about that prick.”

The scoff that left Gwen had you laughing, “No, she does not need to get laid,” she all but exclaimed, “She needs to process that loss of the relationship she wasted two years on.”

There was a burst of bickering between the two girls, going back and forth with their logic. Admittedly, they both had points, but they were points you weren’t currently interested in processing. The back and forth pulled the attention from you, and without much thought you found yourself opening up your phone gallery.

However, the moment your fingertip lifted from the phone after pressing on a photo you definitely should have, a ringed hand reached out, slender fingers wrapping around your phone and swiping it away. “You’re not gonna be a party pooper when it’s our first time seeing you in weeks. You’ll get your phone back when we leave.” Peter said firmly, pulling your gaze to him.

You couldn’t stop the rolling of your eyes as you held your hand out to him, expecting him to immediately cave and give you your phone back. Instead, he doubled-down in his efforts, slipping the device into his pocket. You really should have known better. Peter was never one to bend, not easily at least. If anything, you’ve learned he was as stubborn as a mule and the biggest tease you’ve ever met.

All he did was grab his mug and take a long swig, gaze holding yours over the rim as he did. For the first time in months, there was an echo of heat that ran through you, subtle enough that it definitely had to be from the vodka, right?

There was a sudden vibration, pulling your attention from Peter over to Gwen who let out a sigh before putting her phone away. Her demeanor shifted, slumping back against the booth seat. “This is the last round. I need to be in the office by 7 am tomorrow now.”

The door of the bar closed behind you, creating a barrier to the warmth inside as the wind of the city hit you. The evening had been nice, but the fully dark sky paved the way for the cooler temperatures. As much as you had been dreading coming out originally, it felt like your legs wanted to take you right back into the bar.

The alcohol made it easier to feel normal. Weeks of constant limbo, constant questioning years of your life, constant critiquing every square inch of your appearance, put on pause. It was a relief, one that felt miles away with each step you were taking since leaving the table. There was an itch to tell them you were going to stay later, but you knew that wouldn’t fly.

Gwen was always especially pressed about the rule that if you all went together, you left together. Over a decade of being Peter’s friend had made her even more gravely aware of what could happen, and even though her overbearing concern could be frustrating, all she wanted was for everyone to be safe.

It wasn’t until Peter was invading your space, his lanky frame leaning closer as he threw an arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer to his side, that lopsided grin you had grown to know him for pulling at his lips had you realizing they had all been talking about something while you mind wandered. “You all know who I am,” the statement earned groans from the other girls, Harry snickering at them. There was a moment of confusion in you before he continued, “I’ll get Ms. Heartbreak home safely.”

The nickname immediately made your eyes roll, nudging his side just slightly and pulling a chuckle from him. Your eyes glancing back at Gwen and M.J. “I can get home fine,” You offered, smiling softly at them. Gwen’s concern was written on her face. “And I’ll text you when I do, assuming someone doesn’t kill me with his antics.” You narrowed your eyes up at Peter, his hands coming up in faux defence as he backed away.

The dramatics didn’t stop there as Peter moved his hand to his heart, falling against a lamppost and slowly collapsing to the ground, all while wearing a pained look on his face. “Oh, how you wound me, fair maiden.”

Harry snorted out a laugh, M.J. following suit with her own giggles, and Gwen sighing. This was how it always was with them, ever since you joined their unorthodox friend group a few years ago. ”Fine, fine! Text me when you get home, and MJ and I will see you Sunday for brunch.” Gwen conceded, a small smiling gracing her lips, “Keep her safe, Parker. Please.”

“I will, I will.” He jumped up from the ground, dusting himself off. “You say that every time.” He commented, “As if we don’t live in the same direction and I don’t walk her home every time we come to this bar.”

MJ nodded, her face contorting as she held back laughter at her friend’s annoyance, “He’s got a point, Gwen. Just like Harry always gives us a ride to our apartment.”

“Yeah, I would just feel better if (Y/N) would finally cave and get an apartment with us.” Gwen muttered, ensuing another round of lighthearted bickering between them.

There was a comment that quickly died on your tongue as Peter’s arm wrapped around your shoulders again, turning you around towards the direction of your apartment. “Alright, love you dorks, have a goodnight.” He called back as your steps fell into a comfortable stride and his arm fell from his place on you.

The walk was comfortable, a quiet routine set into place after countless times of taking the same route home. Cars bustling by, muffled conversations, the occasional street cat and comically chasing a cat down an alleyway. A train or cab would definitely be quick this time of night, but there was something nice about walking off the alcohol and bar food that felt refreshing.

Cool air prickled your skin, the cars throwing additional gusts of wind at you, only briefly blocked by Peter’s frame. It had been so warm and nice out, but the current temperature had you regretting your disregard for a jacket, missing the warmth of the bar from just 20 minutes ago. Another 10 minute walk, your apartment building finally coming into view a few blocks down as you two crossed the street and rounded a corner.

Peter moved from your right side, falling a pace behind you before reappearing on his left. The sight of his bare arms in your peripheral making you do a double take before his was maneuvering his hoodie onto your shoulders. The suddenness had you pausing in your steps, the scent of his cinnamon and woodsy cologne enveloping your senses as he lips pulled, adam’s apple bobbing in amusement at your slightly bewilderment.

“Put the damn thing on properly,” he laughed out, “Don’t say you don’t need it. You’ve been rubbing your arms that past two blocks.”

Had you really been rubbing your arms that much? You slipped your arms into their designated space, adjusting the fabric some. The gray material fell against you, immediately enveloping you in warmth and sending a wave of heat that amplified the echo from earlier through you.

Once he was seemingly satisfied with your obligingness, he turned to continue his stride, nodding for you to continue on with him. “So, what did John do to make you finally leave him?” Peter’s hummed out.

The sigh you left out was quickly met with a soft chuckle. He hadn’t arrived yet when you had been recounting to Harry the scene that played out, and by the time he did get there the conversation was already in full swing that the only explanation he was given was “They finally broke up.”

“Jake cheated,” the shrug you gave did nothing to ease the anxiety that was swimming in your chest, filling your lungs with smoke and your throat with discomfort. “Found out while studying for my midterms. And, he left me, by the way.”

Peter tripped over your admission, glancing at you with furrowed brows before recovering, “So, let me get this straight, you found out but he left you?” The click of your tongue was enough of a confirmation for Peter to let out his own sigh, “Babe,” the pet name, albeit common in his vocabulary, sent a rush of heat through you, singeing the anxiety in is path to sitting lowly in you, “He was a grade a piece of shit. Couldn’t even be honest with what he wanted and you wanted to stay?”

“Coming from the resident fuck boy of the friend group?” The words came out more acrimoniously than you anticipated, but they did nothing to Peter but make him shrug and laugh. It was oddly comforting to see how much he’d grown, how words seemingly rolled off his back now when they used to all pierce him.

“At least the people I see know what I want. I don’t expect to have my cake and eat it too,” he offered, never faltering from it’s normal lackadaisical tone. It never came off as disinterest or indifferent with Peter, but in the way that you could tell he was confident with himself. Other people’s opinions didn’t matter.

“Is that how you did it?” Your question was seeming incomplete, but the indication was still there. It always was whenever someone brought up exes.

“Did what?” There was a dryness to his tone that was serving as a warning. Clarify, or turn away from the can of worms that everyone looked at but never opened.

But, if you had to spend the entire night recounting your past relationships, someone else should too. “Got over Gwen.” You clarified, hands tucking into the front pocket of the hoodie.

Peter came to a stop, turning to look at you fully. The streetlight hand overhead, bright and yellow, washing him in an angelic like brightness while the bulb on your doorstep flickered softly. “MJ is right. You need to get laid.”

The deflection was answer enough. Yes, and no, and no he wouldn’t be talking about it. His gaze never left yours, waiting and anticipating your next move.

His breath of relief wasn’t lost on you as you turned to your lobby door, pulling your keys out to let the two of you in. Gwen wouldn’t be satisfied unless Peter watched you go into your apartment, and Peter wouldn’t be satisfied until he heard the lock of your deadbolt.

The ascent up the stairs was quiet, the sense of something looming heavy on you. Peter’s steps were in line behind you as you climbed. First floor, second, then third, your apartment door coming into view as you reached the landing. The gimmicky Spiderman doormat he’d gifted during a white elephant exchange was like a beam against the dingy floor, the ‘go away’ sticker above your peephole making you smile softly with the relief of home being so close.

Just as you unlocked your door and started turning the handle, Peter’s voice broke the silence, “Shit wait-” as you were turning to look at him, he pulled your phone out of his pocket and held it out to you. “Here.”

Something about the exchange cracked a piece of you. Your phone acting as a token to remembering the way he looked at you over his mug. Reaching out to grab it, your fingertips brushing along his and the coolness of his rings, inhibitions died. “You said I need to get laid, right?”

Your movements were quick, shoving your phone into your jean pocket and preparing to flee at the first sign of rejection, eyes looking anywhere but Peter’s face. The package in front of your neighbors door, Peter’s untied shoe, the suggestion of a bulge twitching underneath his zipper.

Was it desire or anxiety that was making your mouth water, skin warming with anticipation, breath short and halted as you waited for his response. “Look me in the eye and ask that again.”

Peter’s tone was firm in a way you had never heard before. Commanding but warm and inviting, the type of tone to have your eyes shooting up to meet his to make sure you heard it correctly. He was otherwise emotionless, his own gaze studying you as if he was assessing the pros and cons of the situation being presented. “You said I need to get laid.”

He nodded curtly, foot bouncing incrementally. It was subtle, other than the sound of his jeans moving against the fabric of his shoe. “That, I did.”

“Do you want to do something about that?” You weren’t even sure your voice made it above a whisper, hands becoming clammy as they flexed at your sides.

“Do you want me to?” He countered.

It felt like a chess match, each of you moving a pawn on the board as you figured out what was worth sacrificing. One of you should forfeit, call bluff and turn away, but neither of you made the indication that backing down was an option.

“I asked you fir-” You were cut off by Peter lips, hands moving to cup your jaw as all space between you two disappeared.

Feverish. That’s the only word that could come close to describing the way he was moving. Slightly chapped lips from the cold, the taste of rich beer and the minty gum he always chewed, one hand moving to hold the back of your neck to keep you against him while the other was reaching for the door handle.

He moved you two inside like he’d done it a million times, or at least thought of it million times. Your back was pressed against the wall, his foot kicking your door closing and reaching for the deadbolt. His hand waved a few times before he pulled away with a displeased grunt, reaching over to lock the metal into place with it’s infamous screech.

Peter looked back at you, mouth slightly parted and tongue swiping along his lip as if he was trying to taste your own against his still. “Tell me this is what you want.” His voice was breathless, quiet, but something lay beneath it. It was a type of yearning you hadn’t felt in months, maybe even years if you were being honest.

“Well, obviously.” You offered, baffled that he would even ask.

As you reached up to grab at his shirt, he stopped you, his own hands holding your wrists in place between the two of you. “No. I need to hear you say it. Tell me this is what you want. Tell me you want me to fuck you or I’m leaving.”

It didn’t sound like a threat, but your heart still started beating like it was one. Your ears burned hot, feet becoming clammy and the mere thought that he could be trying to find a way out, that he actually wanted to leave. Eyes wide and lips puckered out in a pout, trying to process his words.

Your hesitation broke something in Peter, the look on his face softening as his grip let go of your hands. One hand cupped your chin, palm spreading wide and cold rings cooling your heated skin, the other wrapping around your waist as he pulled you from the wall and closed some of the space again.

“I want to get on my knees while you lay on your bed, legs spread wide for me while I eat your pussy until you’ve cum on my tongue. Then, I want to fuck you nice and deep until your legs are shaking and you’ve cum again. Does that sound good to you, baby? Can I do that for you?” Peter's voice was raspy, scratching an itch you didn’t know you had.

Once you nodded, Peter smiled, placing the softest of kisses to your cheek, then your nose, then your other cheek, and finally your forehead. His breath came out fanning against your skin, eyes fluttering closed. “Then, you are going to look me in the eye and tell me you want this, that you want me. Yeah?”

With another soft nod from you, Peter pulled back, your eyes opened, voice feeling lost in your body as you breathed out, “I want you to fuck me, Peter. I want you,” he didn’t need to know for how long, you weren’t even sure for how long you’ve craved him. That was a conversation for later.

“Good fucking girl,” he purred out before pressing his lips to yours again. This time, with a soft fervor, more exploratory as his tongue slid between your lips, hands moving to your hips and his thumbs rubbing soft circles against your jeans.

Everything about Peter, about this moment was dizzying. It was more dizzying than the vodka earlier, his touch lighting every inch of skin in his wake ablaze. Between his heady scent and the beer you could still taste on him, you questioned if you had ever actually been drunk, ever actually knew what intoxication felt like. The drinks you shared, joints you’ve passed back and forth, nothing could quite touch the way his kiss alone was making you feel.

Peter’s lips left yours, trailing along your jawline and down your neck, soft kisses becoming little nips as he began guiding you backwards throughout your apartment. It wasn’t hard to get to your room, the small space working in your favor for the first time since moving in. Somewhere along the way, he had toed off his shoes, his hands already deftly unbuttoning your jeans the moment the back of your legs his the edge of your bed.

He pulled back, much to your dismay, a small laugh leaving him as he felt you trying to chase after his lips once they left your skin. “So needy,” he hummed, a hand coming up to hold your chin, lidded eyes darting from your lips to your eyes, “Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

The question sent a wave of heat through you, almost reminiscent of embarrassment as your thighs clenched tightly, seeking any sort of friction. “Okay,” you breathed out, an unexpected whine leaving you at the sound of how breathy you were.

The noise that left you had Peter’s jaw clenching, his lip pulling between his teeth for a moment while he gathered himself. “Lay down for me, pretty girl,” Peter commanded, eyes holding your gaze as he slowly knelt down in front of you.

The image was worth committing to memory. Peter’s fluffy hair was slightly disheveled, lips glistening and kiss swollen, eyes lidded and dark with desire, sitting back on his calves with his hands clasped in his lap, waiting patiently. There was something so intimate in the way he was sitting before you, a subtle desperation with how his fingers were twitching to touch you again.

You couldn’t look away from him if you tried, couldn’t bring yourself to deprive him even if you wanted to. “Do you wa-”

“Just lay down,” his resolve broke a little, hands reaching up to grip your thighs, massaging softly. “I’ll do the work this time, baby.”

This time. He said it like he was already planning on their being a next time, like he’d been waiting for this time.

Peter’s hands gripped a little tighter as you sat down on the edge of your bed, leaning back on your elbows to keep your gaze connected with his. It felt like a million years as his hands worked their way up your thighs, gripping the top of your jeans and pulling them down, leaving your panties in place as he helped you out of the restrictive material.

“Fuck,” he let out a heavy breath as he settled himself better between your spread legs, “So wet and all I’ve done is kiss you.” His hands returned back to your thighs, squeezing at the fat of them softly and relishing in the way you squirmed.

His hands reached for the band of your underwear, eyes taking in the way you looked in his hoodie with your underwear soaked through. The coolness of his rings was a stark contrast to the heat of your skin as his fingers hooked around the fabric. “Can I take these off?” He asked, eyes flicking back up to yours.

There was something about the way he was constantly checking in, the slight restraint in his movements as he made sure you were still wanting this. “Yes,” tilting your hips up some, Peter pulled them down, maneuvering your legs until your panties had been tossed somewhere and your thighs had been sat atop his shoulders.

That was the last big of resolve Peter had though, hands gripping your hips again and pulling you towards him. His hands wrapped underneath you, hands gripping at your ass as he held you up to his mouth, just slightly off the bed, and the perfect height for him to close the space between the two of you. He wasted no time, tongue swiping from your weeping core to your aching clit, a pleased noise vibrating against you as he messily licked up everything you were offering to him.

From where you laid, Peter looked like he was experiencing heaven on Earth. His eyes had fluttered close, hand gripping you like if he loosened up even the slightest you’d squirm away. In his defense, it was damn near impossible to stay still, his contentment to be knelt between your thighs having your hips jutting in pure desire.

“Peter,” his name tumbling out of your lips, had his eyes open, looking up at you just as his lips wrapped around your clit. The moan that left you sounding exaggerated even to your own ears and your hand reaching down to card through his hair.

He hummed against you as your nails scratched his scalp softly, sending vibrations through you that somersaulted you closer to the edge. It was humiliating how quickly you felt that high coming, especially when you were admittedly doubting his ability to make you cum with his mouth. It had never happened before, but here Peter was feasting on you like you were his last meal, like a man who just walked days in the Sahara and you were his first drink.

“Peter- I-” your words were lost between moans, the glance down to him revealing his intent gaze still locked on your face. Even with him still buried between your thighs, you could see the sheen of arousal coating his nose and cheeks that poked out from between your folds.

There was no other warning as pleasure ripped through you, washing over you like a tsunami as you reached your high. Peter didn’t let up, moans ripping from your in breathy pitches, broken with squeaks and almost giggles as his ministrations bordered on overstimulating you. It wasn’t until you were pulling his hair in an attempt to pull him away that he stopped.

Peter pulled away, sucking in a deep breath that fanned across your soaked skin as he breathed out. The entire bottom half of his face was slick with your arousal, lips puffy from sucking and kissing at you. He gently sat you down, pressing light kisses to your thighs as he did. “You taste so fucking good,” he suddenly wrapped and suctioned his lips to the sensitive part of your inner thighs, sucking roughly and nibbling, instantly pulling a shocked gasp from his lips.

The moment he felt you tug at his hair he stopped, his eyes glancing over the mark he left on your skin - faint now but sure to blossom into a bruise to remind you for days to come. “Couldn’t help myself,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to the spot before glancing up at you, “‘m sorry.”

It was obvious by his lidded gaze that he was, in fact, not sorry. Not that you could care at the moment. It was quick after that, Peter standing from his kneeling position as he discarded his shirt and jeans, his boxer briefs leaving little to the imagination as his dick struggled against the fabric, a darkened stain where precum leaked from him. He shuffled you back, helping you to take off his hoodie and your shirt, fingers making quick work of your break the second he could and tossing it along with the other forgotten clothing.

“Look at you,” he hummed out as his hands started trailing along your sides, his body moving to hover over yours as he settled atop you on the bed. “Might actually need to thank Justin if I ever see that bastard again.”

You weren’t going to correct Peter this time, you didn’t even want to be thinking about that asshole. Not when Peter was in your bed, and especially not when he just made you cum in a matter of minutes. Reaching up to card your fingers through hair and pulling him close to shut him up with a kiss.

Peter didn’t complain, lips and tongue kissing back with messy need. He tasted like you, cheeks sticky with the remnants of your release. One arm planted next to your head, his free hand roaming along your side. As he trailed it upward, his thumb bruised along your breast, tentative and experimental. His touch moved inward with each motion until he was brushing your nipple, flicking the hardened nub softly.

The soft touch sent waves of pleasure, lighting a whole new level of desire in you. It was making you nearly insatiable, like every touch was making you spiral further from wanting and closer to needing him. It wasn’t until you were squirming and whimpering against his lips that he pulled back some, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Sound so pretty and I haven’t even fucked you yet,” the kiss he pressed to your nose was a drastic juxtaposition to the filthy words leaving his mouth, “You gonna let me, hm?” He asked, kissing your cheek and lips moving towards your ear, “Gonna let me stretch you out?”

Your nod was instant, eyes opening to stare at him as he pulled off of you. Your complaint died on your lips as he reached for his jeans, watching as he pulled out his wallet and the subsequent metallic wrapper of a condom. His eyes glanced at you, your chest heaving, thighs glistening with your own arousal, the image causing his cock to strain and twitch in the confines of his boxers.

There was silence as he ripped open the condom, pulling down his boxers to finally reveal his cock. It was embarrassing the way your mouth watered at the sight. He was easily the longest you’ve had, a drastic difference to the last one, bright red and leaking pre-cum, a strong vein running along the underside, curved up just slightly.

He was on you again before you could protest, wanting to admire him just a little longer. He was quick, hands gripping your hips and pulling you down to where he was kneeling, pulling the tiniest squeak from you. He watched as you trying to instinctively wrap your legs around him, but he stopped you, moving your legs until your calves rested against his shoulders, legs encasing his face like a picture frame.

“Please,” you whined, squirming slightly as you felt his tip grazing your sopping folds.

“Such a quick learner, but you’re gonna have to be more specific than that.” His tone was dripping with tease, the slightest thrust of his hips forcing his tip to just barely nudge inside you.

“Please fuck me,” you whined, “Please , Peter, I-”

The moment you said his name he was thrusting inside of you with one push.Thick cock pushing inside, tight walls squeezing him, the lubricated condom and sheer wetness between your legs allowing him the ability to spear himself in. He didn’t wait, a loud groaning leaving him before he was pulling all the way out and pushing right back in.

His pace was brutal. Sharp thrusts causing his thighs to slam against yours with a slap, the loud, wet squelching noise every time he pulled out indication of just how much you fucking loved it. There was no denying it even if you wanted to, back arching each time he hit a spot you honestly didn’t believe existed, loud moans leaving your parted lips as you eyes threatened to leave his gaze and roll back into your skull.

Peter leaned forward some, the new angle allowing him to go even deeper as his thrusts were starting to turn into a deep grind. His hand moved one of your legs to wrap around his waist, leaning down even more until you could feel his weight being held up by partly your leg still against his chest.

“I can feel it,” his voice was more gravelly than you’ve ever heard it before, his palm sitting against your lower abdomen now and pushing, the pressure sending your mind whirling. “Can you, baby? Can you feel how deep I am?”

His words made a whine leave your lips but when you didn’t answer, he started pressing even harder, “Answer me, and I’ll rub your pretty little clit until you're cumming on me.”

The thought had a choked noise leaving you, desire like a hot iron rod piercing through you with his every move. You were so close, and his offer would be the thing to undoubtedly unravel you. “Y-yes- So deep, Pe-Peter. So fucking deep,” your hands reached under your thighs, desperate to touch any part of him, nails digging softly into his skin and trailing down towards his knees, leaving angry marks in their wake.

Peter groaned, his own eyes fluttering at the scratches and head tilting back some. The hand on you ventured lower, thumb parting between your folds and rubbing figure eights on the sensitive bundle. Four, maybe five goes before the breath was stuck in your lungs, body seizing up as pleasure wreaked havoc on every nerve in your body.

His hips faltered at the way your walls were starting to grip him, sucking him in impossibly more. Moans were falling past your lips with stuttering breath, broken and loud. Your nails anchoring into his skin for something to hold onto once your hips begin rocking against his, riding out your own orgasm with the intensity of a storm.

The scene alone with your mouth parted, a sheen of sweat on your skin, and watching you rock against him pushed Peter towards his own high. You could feel the way his cock pulsed inside the condom, a strangled whimper and moan leaving his own lips.

With a shaky breath, he moved your other leg to wrap around his thigh, collapsing softly on top of you with his cock still buried deep. Immediately, a soft giggle left your lips, baffled and amused once reality finally hit. Your best friend just fucked you.

Peter glanced up at you, his eyebrows furrowing and lips twitching to fight his own laughter, “What’s so funny?”

“This,” you shrugged, suddenly feeling bashful despite what just transpired. “Never in a million years did I think this would happen.”

There was a ghost of concern on his face, one of his arms moving to hold himself up so he could get a better look at you. “Do you regret it?”

The softness of his words sent a pang of guilt through you. Do you regret it? Could you regret it? “No,” you answered softly, “Though I- I’m just- What do we do after this?”

Your answer seemed to relieve him, a breath leaving him before he pressed a quick kiss to your nose and was moving again. Peter softly pulled himself out, standing and tying the condom up before tossing it in your trash bin by your desk. “Depends on what you want. We can never talk about it again, or keep it casual if you’re looking for something low risk,” he shrugged as he offered.

It wasn’t lost on you that he wasn’t looking at you as you spoke. “What does casual entail?” You found yourself asking a little too quickly.

Peter looked at you for a moment before turning to leave the room, his sudden, and naked, departure confusing until he returned a minute later with a washcloth. He came back over to you, spreading your legs and moving you like some doll as he wiped you clean, not missing your thighs as he did before doing the same to himself. “Casual is exactly as it sounds. You’re one of my best friends, but we can fuck every now an then, whenever you need it or the mood strikes. Could be next week, could be months.”

You found yourself sitting up, throwing the blanket over yourself as you watched him start getting dressed. “And I’m assuming we tell no one?”

Peter chuckled softly, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks, “Not no one, necessarily, just not our friends, ya know? Don’t want it to make the friend group messy.” It made sense, and it would be nice to have someone competent to scratch the occasional itch without needing to put your safety or sanity at risk. Peter pulled his shirt on before looking back at you, “So, choice is yours, babe.”

You let out a shaky breath, pushing down the cloud of anxiety that was threatening to swirl a storm in you. “Casual it is then.”

Peter smiled, something closer to a smirk but softer, and like it was meant only for you. “Casual.” He nodded in agreement. He grabbed your pajamas that had been sitting on your desk from the previous night, tossing them to you. “Come let me out so you can lock the door,” he requested, heading out of your bedroom. From where you sat you could see him toeing his shoes back one.

Pulling your pajamas on, you followed behind him, offering him a hushed goodbye that he gave in turn with a kiss to your hairline before making his way out your door. Once he heard the noise of your deadbolt twisting into place he was gone, leaving you to wander back to your bed as you began processing what just happened.

It felt surreal, but the sight of his hoodie hanging off you bed was the confirmation you brain needed.

#peter parker #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader smut #techbro!peter parker #techbro!peter #techbro!peter parker x reader #techbro!peter x reader #techbro!peter x bestfriend!reader #techbro!peter parker x bestfriend!reader #smut #tasm peter #tasm peter parker #tasm peter smut #tasm peter parker smut #x reader #x reader smut #techbro!peter smut #techbro!peter parker smut

429 notes · View notes

mattsstarlet · 18 days ago

Text

⋆˚࿔ slut era ⟢

matt finds physical comfort in a stranger after a heartbreak.

your drunken giggles fill up the quiet air of matt’s cold, dark apartment, if you were sober, you would’ve never guessed that someone even called this lonesome a home. he didn’t bother turning on the lights, instead, he guided you towards his bedroom, plopping himself down on the edge of the bed.

his eyes flickered up to yours, needy and a tiny hint of something else that you couldn’t quite grasp onto. he positioned you to stand between his legs, his hands slowly running up from your thighs to your hips, gently gripping the flesh. “c’mere,” he mumbles, and you obey, the cushion dipping underneath you as you straddle his lap. you could almost taste the lingering alcohol on his tongue with how close his mouth was to yours.

“shh,” you whisper, smiling gently as you cup his cheeks, placing a soft, wet kiss onto his lips. “let me do all the work, yeah?” you tease, your hands finding the hem of his shirt, lifting it up over his head. he lets you kiss his neck, his own hands palming your plushy ass over the fabric of your mini skirt, squeezing and groping.

little by little, his clothes disappear from his figure, his back resting on the pillows as you disregard your skimpy clothes, the outfit he had been eyeing all night at the bar once he had been sure the alcohol had set into his system. you lifted your hips above his, holding his cock in your fist as you aligned the tip at your entrance, letting out a soft moan while he stretched you open.

“fuck.” he breathes out, guiding your hips to rock back and forth, he was memorized with your body, palming your tits here and there, his eyes following your every move, tracing your contours as if he wasn’t gonna forget you and this night when the morning comes.

his hands reached around your bare back, pushing you down to lay your chest on his, he wanted this— skin to skin with some stranger, he just wanted to feel. his legs prop up on the bed, plowing up into you just the way he likes it when he’s angry.

“mhm— fuck me, baby,” you moan out. matt’s eyes squeezed shut at the tight grip of your walls and that stupid pet name, one hand rested on your lower back while the other lingered on the round flesh of your ass. he wished it was someone else, someone who had broken his heart a few weeks ago.

“you like it rough?” he swallows, flipping you both over, taking control. he wrapped your legs around his waist, his hands on each side of your head, caging you in. his pelvis picked up the pace, your pornograpic moans becoming louder with each thrust. “i’ll give it to you rough then, sweetheart.”

you choke on a gasp, rolling your eyes back as the sudden wave of pleasure. his balls slapped against your ass while you dug your fingernails into his back, leaving behind opened wounds.

he watches your expressions with furrowed brows and a half-opened mouth. he puts his entire weight on his elbow, using his free hand to wrap around your throat, gaining a heated moan from you. “yeah? thought you were gonna do all the work, hm?” he shakes out, scoffing while you go dumb on his cock.

his hand moves upwards, gently tapping your cheek. “look at me,” he commands, kissing you feverishly as soon as your gaze locks with his. it was messy and sloppy but you loved it while he tolerated it. he didn’t want to be a full on asshole and leave you unsatisfied, after all you didn’t know his backstory— you were just a hookup.

matt didn’t stop until he felt your gushy walls clench around his cock pushing him over the edge. your body trembles underneath him as you cum, gasping and sobbing as the pleasure washes over you like a wave. he follows right after, pulling out just in time and coating your bare tummy with ropes of his cum, hissing and grunting.

he lays beside you as he catches his breath, so many thoughts running through his mind— he didn’t want you here, in his place he once called a home with someone special but he didn’t want to sleep alone, at least not tonight.

note ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ i love role model and i love romanticizing romance… im sad now but i hope u enjoy.

328 notes · View notes

writerunnamed · 9 months ago

Text

note: This is something I've wanted to write for a while but I am well aware that not everyone will be into it. There are a few stories I want to tell that aren't the norm so I decided to start this nameless blog to tell them. I am not tagging anyone, if you find it then you find it. xo Joel(stepdad), significant age gap, female reader. 18+ legal, reader is 20 (warnings: pov sex, Joel spits on the 😸, boobie play, really inappropriate dirty talk, an unused sex toy [will make an appearance in another chapter], female masturbation, daddy kink, unfit parent) 5.6k word count masterlist • series masterlist • part 2

He takes up so much space, and it wasn’t just physically. He took up space emotionally, mentally. Mentally most of all. Your thoughts always drifted back to him. Cyclical. An elliptical pattern making him the top of every list you’d go through in your head. He seemed to know it too, in a stoic, quiet, largely unsettling way. Older, attractive men tended to do that.

It started during that in-between time, when summer, losing your job, and having to move back home pushed you to figure out what the fuck you actually wanted to do with your life seemed to come together like the planets aligning. The precipice of a turning point, a ticking clock counting down the days until your childhood bedroom would be turned into a gym, or an office, or a guest bedroom. The lukewarm welcome from your mother would ice over and you’d really have to get your shit together.

Your mother was what people who didn’t know her would call ‘a free spirit’, what you called her, was a fucking mess.

Your earliest memories consist of having to remind her to buy milk or to pay the bill because the electricity had turned off while watching cartoons in front of the tiny, living room tv. You’d had to remind her, in not so many words, that she was the mother, and you were the child.

To your friends, she was the cool mom. The party mom. Your house was the place to be because she didn’t ask questions, she left her cigarettes unattended and didn’t mind if a few went missing. She kept the bar cart stocked, even if there was nothing but flies in the cupboard and nothing but half-empty condiment bottles in the fridge. Your friends loved it.

She flirted with the boys your age, she gave sex tips to the girls.

You smiled when they congratulated you on having the cool mom, and when they all went home, you retreated and pretended to be happy.

Joel settled her down. Met her in a bar and moved in quick. He came into the picture when you were fifteen and you were almost sure he’d be just like the rest of the lovers she’d taken over the years. You’d given the whole thing six months. Half a year for him to see what a fucking disaster she was. Six months to be a fucking creep, to cheat or get cheated on.

The only differences you could clock at first were that he was self-employed, and marginally better looking than his predecessors.

He was firmer though, less malleable than the others she’d brought around, he seemed immune to her charms and that only inflamed her. It made her desperate for his approval and his attention. She would throw a tantrum, or play one of her mind games but he’d never rise to her bait. He was patient for the most part, until he hit his breaking point and his temper reared its head. A temper only she seemed to bring out in him.

To you, it was pathetic.

He didn’t try with you though, there was no flattery or strong hand, only a silent respect. In a sense, he treated you as the adult, and her as the child. It worked for you, if he’d expected you to call him dad he would have been laughed at mercilessly and he seemed to know this.

The disturbing part was his respect and his healthy avoidance of you worked its own kind of magic. It made him an enigma, made you curious as to what he got out of the whole thing. A home, sure. A woman who was obsessed with him, yes. Sex–yes. You heard it enough for it to turn your stomach. By the sounds of it, he knew what he was doing.

The thought sickened the healthy part of your brain. The other part though, the part flooding your body with hormones, making it come to life with curiously intense sexual feelings, that part wanted to know what it was he was so good at. How could he pull those sounds out of anyone? It was easier to imagine him with some faceless woman.

It was shameful to imagine yourself.

The thought–although enough to fuel a desperate journey of self-exploration–always filled you with an insurmountable guilt.

For those first few years you could barely look at him. Your mother took it as a healthy dose of teenage rebellion. That only aggravated you more. She never asked questions, never dug to see what the cause of your obvious distaste for her partner was about and so again, you retreated. He, however, kept to the outs of your path. He followed your lead, he let you control any and every part of all of your interactions. He didn’t ask questions. He kept the lights on. He kept the fridge full.

He burrowed his way in, whether you liked it or not.

When you turned eighteen, you moved out. He helped, did his ‘fatherly’ duties and moved you into the apartment, he urged your mother to take you on an extensive grocery trip, spoke to your landlord about the safety of the building. You supposed you should have been grateful, you should have said thank you, given him some sort of acknowledgement that you appreciated his help but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Instead you said your mumbling goodbyes, and promptly closed the door on them. Neither of them complained.

The euphoria of venturing out on your own had lost its shine depressingly quick. A string of chronically unserious boyfriends came and went, the rent climbed higher than you could keep up with, and while already living paycheck to paycheck, you lost your job. Your cellphone had taken the brunt of your frustration at having to call your mother, begging her to let you come back home while you got back on your feet a little more than two years after you’d left.

Your teeth gnawed at your lips, your fingernails dug into the skin around your cuticles in the attempt to keep your voice sweet and pleading, in the end it was his voice that you’d heard in the background, telling–no, commanding her to say yes. That he would be your champion twisted at your insides. Maybe a small, healthy part of you hoped he’d put up a fight, tell you that you were too old to be coming back home and that you had to figure it out on your own like an adult.

A healthy part of you hoped that he’d save you again, only from yourself. Hanging up with a heavy, resigned sigh, you set about starting the trek home, ignoring the swirling mess of annoyance, confusion, and perverse glee in your stomach.

The first few days were spent in a depressive episode, a seemingly inescapable loop of sleeping in late, leaving your room only when the house was empty to raid the kitchen for something to eat, scrolling mindlessly–blindly–on your phone and then staying up way too late only to do it all over again.

They didn’t bother you, but if the annoyed sighs and narrowed eyes from your mother were anything to go by, the talk was coming soon. After the third day of the cycle, you circumvent it and wake up early-ish to shower and dress in something other than ratty old sweats long forgotten by an ex you couldn’t quite remember.

You came down to find Joel sitting at the kitchen table. His eyes tracked the lines of you, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

Your heart leapt. He should have been at work by now.

“Good morning.” It came out croaky, your voice almost reluctant to come out.

“Mornin’.” His hair was slicked back, the gray almost sparkling in the golden light. You fiddled with the hem of your shirt. His eyes were so intense, you found yourself stuck in place, like a deer in headlights and that ever present, deep-seeded anger reared its head. It was irrational that he should frustrate you so much with his calm presence.

“Coffee’s fresh, if you want some.” He jut his chin out to the pot, lowering his eyes to his paper once more. Once his gaze had shifted, you found you could breathe again. You mumbled a thanks and moved to pour yourself a cup, thankful, if unsure why, to focus on something concrete instead of abstract self-reflection.

“Your mama’s gon’ be late tonight. I thought I could pick up a pizza on the way home.” He says it offhand and again, your heart races.

“Whatever.” You scrunch your face up in annoyance, it sounded like such a bullshit, teen response. He doesn’t comment on it, and that somehow makes it worse. You beat yourself about it as you root around in the fridge for the milk. The cereal you liked was in the top cupboard, and you’re not quite tall enough to reach it.

You heard his chair scoot back and then suddenly he’s there, beside you, pressed up tight. You follow the long line of his throat as he stares up, reaching the box with ease while one big, warm hand lands on your lower back. He smells like the laundry detergent your mother insists on buying mixed with something else. Manly, smoky, with coffee laced through. Your cunt clenches nonconsensually as he stands there and stares down at you, his whole front pressed against your side, his hand still holding your lower back. Your mouth hangs open, stupidly, and he raises an eyebrow again forcing something to kickstart deep in your gut.

“You okay there babygirl?” The endearment feels unwholesome.

It triggers something strange, strengthening the underlying conflict for him. There’s a lilt in his tone you don’t like, maybe because deep down you like it too much. Maybe you don’t want to admit that, or analyze anything about what the fuck is happening in your body. In your psyche.

“Yeah.” You step out of his bubble, barely managing not to trip over yourself in your haste to get away and put a healthy distance between you.

“Yes. Thank you.” You take a deep breath, pressing your lips together tight in what you hope to God is a neutral expression.

He lets out a bemused huff through his nose, a mischief in his eyes shining out at you that you’ve never seen directed at you. You’ve seen it used on your mom. You’ve seen her go giggly and flirty whenever he looked at her like that. A half-formed escape plan starts to form but he saves you from the need, he puts his things in the dishwasher, and nods his head in goodbye.

You practically hold your breath until you hear his truck rumble out of the driveway, and down the street.

You manage to avoid him for a few days, staying out late catching up with friends, or feigning a need for rest. You’ve convinced your mother that your days are now spent job hunting, and for the most part they are. You leave in the morning, avoiding any and all contact and you get home late, creeping up the stairs much like you did in your teens even though you’d really never needed to. Your mother never enforced a curfew, and when Joel joined the picture, he didn’t pry.

The luck didn’t last though, you got over-confident. He was sprawled out on the sofa, up uncharacteristically late one night when you padded through the house.

“You’re up late.” You quickly check the accusatory tone, “Don’t you have to get up early?” Better, it comes out more concerned than annoyed and he nods. He wore a threadbare t-shirt, the fabric of it having been through the wash too many times to keep its shape. Light, gray sweats were stretched almost obscenely tight over his spread thighs, pooling at his crotch from being shoved up by the couch.

“Couldn’t sleep. Come sit, we can watch some tv.” He pats the seat next to him and despite the deep desire to retreat into the Joel-free haven of your bedroom, you cannot seem to disobey him.

You settle beside him on the couch, a little further away than was necessary. He chuckles softly.

“I ain’t gonna bite you, girl. Not unless you ask nicely.”

You pretend you don’t hear it, choosing instead to compartmentalize whatever game he’s playing and stare at the screen. He flips through the channels, settling on one thing for a few minutes before moving to something else until he finds a movie that’s already close to midway. There’s an electricity in the air, something about him galvanizing the space between you, charging it enough to make the hairs on your arms stand on end. You frown to yourself, barely paying attention while fighting an increasingly confusing mental battle. Why is it so hard to be around him? Why does he inspire such scorn? Is it scorn at all?

You rub at your eyes, scrubbing your hands down your face in a feeble attempt to wipe the slate clean.

He’s just a man, a man your mother had chosen and for better or worse they seem to work. She is happy with him and he is seemingly happy with her, why then is it so hard to accept him for what he is? Something slithers around in your brain, something that laughs darkly, something pulsing through the network of thoughts and ideas that threatens to crack open your subconscious and throw it right in your face.

“Well now, ain’t that somethin’?” You pull your hands away from your face to see a very explicit scene playing out on the screen. Heat floods every inch of your body.

“Almost looks like she’s enjoyin’ herself.” He leaves it on, and you feel stuck, your body betraying you yet again to see the way the woman on screen moans wantonly while under a very handsome man. You let out a non-committal sound, teetering on the edge of madness. You scold yourself, you are an adult, an adult that has had sex before and this isn’t even real.

“Looks like fake bullshit to me.” The strength in your voice lends credence to the illusion that you aren’t affected. He laughs, calm and completely at ease and that only pulls the anger to the forefront again.

“They can’t show the real stuff on these channels. If it were real, he’d be doin’ what she needs.”

“And what’s that?” It comes out before you can stop it.

“Well,” He smiles to himself, winning a duel you hadn’t even known you were fighting.

“If it were real, he’d be pressin’ on her clit, he’d be makin’ sure she felt every inch of him and make her take his cock like a good girl.” You let out a heavy breath, half shocked, half grateful it wasn’t a whimper.

Warning bells go off in your head, just as a heartbeat starts in your cunt because you can see it. You can see him. His face twisted up in pleasure but cocky, his hips moving, his thumb dipped into your mouth and then swirling around your clit. He smiles at catching you looking at his hands and you want to yell at him. You want to smack him across the face and kick him in the balls for saying something like that to you, his partner's daughter, but you don’t.

Your body almost catapults you out of your seat. Barely unintelligible words come out, something about needing sleep, about being tired and then you hightailed it out of there like a bat out of hell.

The shower was cold enough to make your teeth chatter, but it did nothing to cool the heat blooming in your core and it was with a terrifying desperation that you ground against your fingers. The slick pooling at the mouth of your pussy was enough to feel even with the water washing everything away except your shame.

You bit your tongue to keep from moaning out the taboo and entirely inappropriate name you were dying to say out loud. His firm thighs spread on that couch filled your mind, the calloused, work-roughened hands you could practically feel on your hips, on your thighs. You could feel them holding and spreading your legs open so he could make you make those same noises you’d heard over the years. Make you take it like a good girl, his good girl.

You came with a shudder, sagging against the chilly tile. You warmed the water with a sigh, disappointed and ashamed with yourself, trying, and failing, to put the whole thing out of your mind.

You doubled down on avoiding him after that.

Your mother worked most of the time but when she was home, things were easier. He reverted to the healthy avoidance, the proverbial disinterest that she didn’t seem to have a problem with. You still heard them some nights, the bed creaking, throaty cries, deep grunts but now they haunted you in a different way. Now you heard his words on that couch and couldn’t help but picture all manner of unsavory things that both disgusted and thrilled you.

Being unemployed didn’t help. There was nothing to keep you out of the house most of the day, and there were only so many places that would accept you looking for a job in person.

There was only so much time you could spend with friends too, they had their own lives and jobs and relationships. Too busy to save you from unwanted free time.

Old habits resurface, and you retreat within yourself while pushing yourself harder. A job would fix things enough to help, you could save up enough money to leave for good and take yourself out of the equation.

The powers that be momentarily take pity on you, and after what seems like a lifetime's worth of job hunting you blessedly get a call back. It’s a part time job, but at this point beggars can’t exactly be choosers. It’s a steady, if insufficient source of income that hadn’t been available to you before. Determined, you buckle down, you channel every guidance counselor you’ve ever had and ace the fuck out of that interview.

It’s not taxing work, but you put your head down and focus with the hope that if you worked hard enough, if you made a good enough impression, made yourself indispensable they’d throw you enough shifts to make up a full time job.

It helps. Time spent away from the house, from your mothers dried up welcome, from Joel altogether genuinely helps. You feel a bit lighter, less guilty, less prone to imagine the unimaginable. You find comfort in the absence of self-imposed temptation. There is peace in the mindless work, in the life outside of the house that no longer feels like a home.

It's a double edged sword though, because at the end of every shift, the luck–the peace–runs out. If being at work and out of the house is a respite, returning home only thickens the tension. Time spent outside the house only sharpens the discomfort, clarifies the glaring wrongness of it all when you enter it at the end of the day. What it all is, you won’t name. That way madness lies. Issue is, with every interaction, with every chance encounter in the hallway, or living room, every second spent with him in the kitchen watching his lips touch the rim of his mug the thing inside grows. Parts of him fill the corners of your mind. The curve of his shoulders filling out the flannel shirts he favors. The fullness of his bottom lip when he purses them, something he does while squinting at the paper that you’re almost sure he isn’t aware of. His neck, his hands, the dimple in his cheek when he laughs at something really funny.

These things jump out, innocent as they may be, but other not so innocent things start to creep in. The bulge in his jeans is a mental mine, it lies in wait and every so often when you think you’ve avoided it, it detonates and you catch yourself staring, both ashamed and so inappropriately curious it eats away at you like acid.

What you needed was something to fill the emptiness, both emotionally and physically. So you did what any modern, adult woman would do; you bought a sex toy.

Nothing too crazy, or expensive. After perusing the site for a while you finally settled on a plain, non-threatening dildo. Nothing too big, nothing noisy, just something to be able to focus on, something to use while imagining someone giving you what you need. You ignored that dark thing inside that hissed his name, shooed it away and ordered the package for express delivery. With your mom constantly working, and Joel keeping to himself you figured it wouldn’t be an issue. Neither of them would question a package addressed to you.

You still aren’t sure whether or not you’d do it all over again had you known the Pandora’s box that little package would open.

You all but rushed home after work. All day, you’d imagined the relief that toy would bring. You imagined yourself using it in the shower, steam swirling as you took your pleasure. You imagined yourself laying in bed in the safety of the dark, setting a towel down on your chair and riding it to your heart's content.

Joel’s truck is in the driveway when you pull in, but it’s secondary to the excitement at the chance to sequester yourself with your new best friend and so when you walk into the house, you don’t give him much attention. Until he opens his mouth.

“You got a package today babygirl. I put it on your bed.” He sits on his spot on the sofa, a funny little smile on his face. A bad feeling swells in your chest, and you look up the stairs before meeting his eyes again.

“Thanks.” You drop your bag on the little bench near the front door, trying, and failing to keep the nervous feeling out of your voice. He nods, and you make your way up, stopping yourself from taking the stairs two at a time.

Ice flows through your veins when you see the package is open.

He’d opened your package, he knew what you’d bought.

Blood pounds in your ears as you stand there, limbs cold and numb at the realization that he saw it. He saw it. He opened it, and he placed it here, on the very place you fantasized about using it. Sweat beaded on your brow, the bottom of your stomach fell out of your ass as you stood there, barely feeling the soft, worn carpet under your feet.

“Little small, f’you ask me.” His voice at the mouth of your room made your head twist fast enough to hurt your neck. You hadn’t heard him follow you up the stairs, hadn’t heard him open your door and lean against the frame, arms crossed in haughty amusement.

“Why would you open my package?” You clutched at it, as though he could forget what he’d seen if you held it tightly enough.

“I didn’t open it on purpose, I’m expectin’ somethin’ and I didn’t read the name.” He pushes away from the door frame, making his way closer and it’s like the air thins as the space between you shrinks.

“I mean, I could tell you been frustrated, but this doesn’t seem like it’s gon’ help much.” He reaches out, and takes the package from you. You watch him do it, watch him, frozen as he plucks it from your hands and takes the toy out.

“This all you can take?” He holds it, contemptuously–pityingly.

You wanted to snatch it out of his hands, the dimming voice of reason urges you to push him out of your room and remind him that he needs to keep a healthy distance but you say nothing, you stand there, and watch him. He puts it all down on your dresser, before stepping a little closer, close enough for you to have to crane your neck up to look into his eyes.

“No boyfriends around to give you what you want?” His hand comes up, the tips of his fingers sliding across the apple of your cheek, slipping down until his thumb pressed against the cushion of your bottom lip.

“No one around to give you what you obviously need?” He steps a little closer, until your bodies meet. This is wrong, your mind screams it but your body is frozen under his eyes, under his touch. That part, the frozen part is cheering, it’s running victory laps as it floods your cunt with slick in preparation for something unholy.

That same, writhing, traitorous thing whispers that this is your chance, the house is empty and your body obeys. You look your fill, you take in the curve of his nose and the furrow in his brow. His eyes are black as a crow's wing, lust-blown and completely focused on your parted lips and your shallow panting.

Adrenaline spikes and you do something you cannot take back. You rise on your tip-toes and press your mouth to his.

He hums into it, smiling and once again you get that feeling that you’d made the exact move he’d expected you to. A vague, but fleeting inkling that you were just a pawn on his chessboard.

At any other time you would have stepped away and repented, ate yourself alive with guilt but his hands pulled you closer, his tongue swiped at the seam of your mouth and you opened up for him. That only made it all the more real, the taste of his tongue in your mouth, feeling his hands lower to hold onto your ass.

The rational part of you shrinks down to nothing, and that other part, the wrong part–it swells and preens under his hands. He pulls away, and embarrassingly, you chase his mouth in a daze.

“Oh honey, you’re just dyin’ for it aren’t you?” He herds you towards your tiny bed, the twin mattress that has been the stage for every taboo fantasy about this man, your stepfather. You shoo the word away with a shiver.

“It’s wrong-” You almost whisper, but you don’t push him away, you let him lay you down in that bed and he laughs.

“It is, isn't it?” He pulls at the hem of your shirt, you raise your arms for him and the picture of it is wrong, daddy taking off your clothes. The thought, the word, should disgust you but it only pulls your hands to him. You join in, and pull his shirt up and off, biting your lip at the broadness of him. You take in each freckle, the sprinkling of hair on his chest, the dip of his throat calling out for your tongue like a siren.

He presses his lips to yours again, licking into your mouth obscenely. Unseemly.

“You been wantin’ this for a long time, haven’t you babygirl?” He pulls your bra off, and the shock of cold air hardens your nipples. He bites his lip to see it, unable to stop himself from flattening his tongue against a hardened bud. A sound you’ve never let yourself make out loud in this room fills the space between you and that slithering thing luxuriates.

He moves, languidly, unhurried to the other breast and holds the plump of it in his big hand and sucks at the second bud, sucks as much of the peak as he can into his mouth, breathing through his nose while you slowly spiral into madness.

When he lets go, he presses a kiss to your nipple and his facial hair tickles your skin.

He pulls your leggings off along with your underwear in one go and the reality of it all hits you when the air hits your soaked core. That’s when the urge to put a stop to it is the clearest, when he kneels between your legs and spreads them wide, stares at the place where he’s already filled a million times in your mind. The place that’s drenched at the mere thought of him.

“Joel-” You start, but he pushes your legs up, folding you and then he lets a glob of spit fall from his mouth slowly, aiming it, a bullseye right on the lips of your cunt. It’s too much, too filthy and you let out a whimper.

“I think you wanna call me somethin’ else right now.” He undoes his belt and his jeans, keeping his eyes on where his saliva slides down over the open mouth of your cunt, down towards your asshole. He pulls his cock out and part of you shatters. Your eyes flit to the toy sitting on your dresser, your eyes flit to the open door of your bedroom.

“Don’t worry, your mama ain’t gonna be home for a while.” He smiles, conspiratorially. It's too real, it’s too hypnotic, seeing him there with his cock in his hand while your legs already ache from holding them up and open. He slides the blunt end of it through the mess he’s caused, through his spit and he groans at the sight of it.

Your heart races so hard to feel him there, that you see the pulse of it in your vision.

“Deep breath baby.” he warns before slipping inside the tight fist of your pussy, the size of him making you gasp. This is it, there’s no coming back from this and right now, with him seated deep, his groin pressed up tight and the tip of his cock kissing your womb you cannot even think of why you’d ever care.

This is where he's meant to be. This is where you need him.

“Oh baby, that’s so good huh?” He thrusts shallowly, pulling out a little more than halfway before shoving his hips forward again. You don’t really know how to form words, you don’t know how to take in what’s happening. This is Joel, your step-dad, fucking you in the bed you grew up in. One hand sits heavy on your shin, holding it, the other slides up and holds onto your breast.

“Look how fuckin’ wet this little pussy is for me,” he moans the words, “you like daddy fuckin’ you?” He thrusts harder and you moan despite the word hitting you in the stomach like a big drop on a rollercoaster. He shouldn’t say that, shouldn’t call himself that, not now.

“No-” it doesn’t come out like you mean it to, it sounds wrong, like a caress.

“No? But I think you do-” He leans forward, keeping his pace while pressing his chest to yours, his mouth all but lining up and despite your bullshit protest, you hitch your knees high on his ribs to make room because if he stopped you’d probably die.

“I think you want me to be your daddy, don’t you baby, it’s okay, I want to be.” He speeds up and the sounds between your legs are so wet, so filthy.

“You can say it, I want you to say it.” He holds himself up, his elbows caging in your skull and before you can complain or moan or cry he sticks his tongue down your throat again. Your hands finally join the fray and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him tight to you.

“Come on baby, say it for me, tell me how good daddy fucks you.” You moan, closing your eyes while your cunt floods him with wave after wave of slick, enough to drip down your ass and onto your bed, down his balls. Enough for it to soak the curls at the base of him.

“Look at me when I’m fuckin’ you honey.” His hips speed up and it's hard now, his thrusts making your bounce, hitting a part of you that toy would never touch in a million years.

You open your eyes, and look at him above you, sweat beading on his hairline. Never has he looked more fucking appealing than he does right then. The word is there, in your mouth and you know it’ll taste sweeter than anything in this world.

The wrong thing wins.

“Yes daddy.” You moan it, and the shameful thing sets off fireworks in your being, he smiles, and tucks his head into the damp crook of your neck, feeding his lovely filth right into your ear.

“That’s my babygirl, that’s it, fuck baby you take it better than your mama.” Something inside recoils at that, but something else, another facet of that fucked up thing inside rejoices.

“Let me hear you say it again, say it when you come.” He licks a hot stripe up your neck. His words are a filthy groan, something to tuck away for later.

He reaches down, pressing his thumb to your clit just like he said on that couch and you keen, the slip and the pressure enough to toss you over the edge with an almost painfully intense orgasm.

“I’m coming, daddy.” It’s a shuddering whisper as your cunt clenches around him.

He moves quickly, kneeling between your legs to pull out and then he’s stroking himself over your cunt. It’s still pulsing when he paints it in his come. You catch your breath as he tugs at himself a few more times, milking himself against you with a disturbingly familiar groan.

The fog clears altogether too quickly. The lights are too bright, you’re naked, and he’s still got his jeans around his thighs while the guilt creeps into your veins, replacing the euphoria.

What have I done? What have you made me do?

#joel miller #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel x you #joel x y/n #pedro pascal #tw stepdad #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #unseemly #tlou #tlou fanfiction

999 notes · View notes

the-tarot-witch22 · 1 year ago

Text

Profession of your future spouse - Pick a pile

Pile 1/ Pile 2

Pile 3/ Pile 4

Hello everyone ! This is my another pick a pile or pac reading so please be kind and leave comment or reblog, and let me know if it resonated with you!

Note : This is a general reading or collective reading. It may or may not resonate with you. Please take what resonates and leave what doesn't. And it's totally okay if our energies aren't aligned!

How to pick : Take a deep breath and choose a pile which you feel most connected to! You can choose more than one pile, it just means both pile have messages for you!

Note : This reading is based on my intuition and channeled messages from tarot cards.

I worked really hard on this pile please show some love by leaving comments, likes and reblogs!

Liked my blog or readings? Tip me!

Pile 1

The cards I got for you - ace of wands, 3 of cups, 3 of pentacles, the chariot

1. Creative jobs (Graphic Design, 3D, interior, photography, anything to do with creativity they might be into art too.) In which they have to use their hands, they can be good with their hands as well.

2. Event planner, wedding planner, some sort of celebrative type of occupation like a DJ, or they might own a bar.

3. They can be a teacher/leader/boss/ higher or upper position than you, project manager, they are very well respected in their work.

4. Leader, medics, a politician? something to do with ethical hacking or computer.

Pile 2

(The cards I got for you - 6 of cups, 3 of swords, 4 of swords, the star, or hierophant)

1. I feel daycare teacher, or babysitter in their free time, taking care of children's and animals, they might teach younger childrens.

2. Sports or athletic

3.Nurse, surgeon, therapist.

4. Teacher again or own an institute or teach somewhere online (they might know two languages)

5. Manager

Pile 3

(Queen of wands, The magician, two of pentacles, knight of swords)

They find hard to balance between work and personal life but they do it, flawlessly.

1. Model, (something to do with their looks) , confident job, like they need to be confident in their own body, even can be famous or a bit known in crowd.

2. They are very skilled they might have juggled many jobs and they are good in all type of things

3. Sales executive, Carpenter

4. Call center, the kind of work they need to give order to someone

5. Their work might require travelling.

6. A navy officer, cop

7. Advocate, CEO, business person

8. med field (ayurvedic type or medicine pharmacist)

Pile 4:

The cards I got for you - Ace of pentacles, 4 of wands, 8 of swords, king of cups and wheel of fortune)

The work they do might have them be overwhelmed orburdened, like stressful but they love their work.

1. Bank worker or finance like finance analayst, tech, data scientist, data analyst.

2. Wedding planner, or they work something in event planner.

3. counsellor in schools, or judge.

4. They might deal with criminals too in a way, or might involve to travel, military.

Thank you for stopping by! Take care and remember you are loved <3

635 notes · View notes

illusioninfnty · 2 years ago

Text

wake up call ↠ day 29 ; somnophilia

↠ roronoa zoro x reader

fandom: one piece word count: 825 warnings: nsfw 18+, implied consent, blowjob, unprotected sex, slight overstimulation

kinktober m.list || read on ao3

“Zoro?” You peek your head into the men’s cabin looking for your crewmate. He, of course, is napping, laying on his back with his hands behind his head, his swords propped up onto the wall near him.

He looked good even when he slept. His shirt had been hitched up, exposing his chiseled abs. The arms of the shirt were tight against his bulging muscles, even more prominent with the way his arms were pulled back.

You weren’t really sure what to call your relationship with Zoro. You two certainly weren’t exclusive, not with the way you sometimes take up the company of strangers whenever the crew goes out to bars, feeling Zoro’s stare on you the entire time you whisk away with a new person.

Yet in the end, you also go back to him, back into his bed, and back under his body and touch.

As you enter, you slowly close the door behind you so as to not awaken Zoro just yet. You make your way over to where he sleeps on the bed and start undoing his pants. His cock is soft, and you need to give it only a couple of kitten licks before it begins to harden and come to life.

You place the head of it in your mouth, sucking on it as it throbs. You lower your head, taking him up to the base. You can barely breathe as his cock takes over every crevice of your mouth.

He feels heavy on your tongue, and you relish in the sensation. Zoro rarely lets you suck him off, instead opting to give you oral instead. You weren’t necessarily opposed to it, but sometimes you just wanted to worship his long, thick cock.

You bob your head up and down his length for a good while, slobbering all of it. Spit dribbles out the sides of your mouth. You keep an eye on Zoro, as he remains sleeping the whole time you blow him.

After a couple of minutes you release his cock with a soft pop, and you take his now wet length in your hands, stroking it in its entirety. You shimmy out of your bottoms, your bottom half now fully nude. Your juices stick to your panties as you pull them off, kicking them to the side.

Your slit is wet, aching with need to have Zoro stuffed full inside you. You swipe your fingers around your entrance, gathering globs of what is proof of your horniness. Stroking Zoro, you mix your juices with the precum that beads the tip of his cock.

Climbing over him, exposing his abs more as you cautiously open up his top, you align yourself with the head of his cock.

You sink down slowly, knowing well the pain of having his large cock stuffed inside you too quickly. Despite the numerous times you’ve slept with Zoro, there’s still a subtle stinging pain as you lower yourself past his cock head and take him all the way to the base.

Whimpers escape your lips uncontrollable, and you don’t pay attention to if you’re waking Zoro up with your sounds or not. You begin to bounce on top of him, the sounds of skin slapping becoming the loudest in the room.

Your eyes roll back into your head as his cock fills you completely, you love the stinging pain that fills you up whenever you fuck him. Your back arches, chasing the pleasure that takes over your body as you ride him with all the vigor you can muster.

It doesn’t take long for your orgasm to approach. Zoro’s still body lays below you, and you take all the pleasure you can from him. Your hips move faster and faster on him, his cock throbbing harshly inside of you.

Your walls clench down on Zoro tightly, like a vice. You can’t help the short gasps and low moans that escape your lips as your hands travel across his chest, gripping him for some sort of stability as your orgasm washes over you, your juices squirting all over his cock that stays nestled deep inside you.

As you ride out your orgasm, clenching down furiously onto Zoro’s aching cock, you feel him shift beneath you. He peeks through one of his eyes, and suddenly his cock bucks into you, hitting spots you couldn’t on your own. You gasp, falling into his chest as he fucks up into you.

“Did I say to stop?” His voice is rough and gravelly as he awakens, and you can’t help the way your walls flutter around his cock hearing how sexy he sounds.

One of his thick hands comes to grip your waist, grounding himself as his hips slap into you, the overstimulation making your eyes roll into the back of your head.

He gives you his trademark smirk that never fails to make your heart flutter in your chest. “You still didn’t make me cum yet.”

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #one piece x reader #roronoa zoro smut #one piece smut #opla zoro x reader #opla x reader #one piece live action #one piece live action x reader #opla!zoro

3K notes · View notes

srjsteel · 1 day ago

Text

Mistakes to Avoid When Installing Dowel Bars in Roads

Installing dowel bars in rigid pavement isn't only a technical necessity—it's an essential structural decision. When performed properly, it guarantees that load is transferred smoothly across slabs, stopping cracks, settlement, and long-term degradation. But too frequently, avoidable mistakes compromise the whole pavement. These errors aren’t just about bad work; they regularly stem from underestimating the function of alignment systems like construction rings and Super Rings, which might be essential for correct, long-lasting dowel placement.

1. Incorrect Alignment Compromises Structural Integrity

One of the first and most costly mistakes is incorrect alignment. Dowel bars must sit parallel to both the traffic flow and pavement surface. Any tilt, even slight, can lock the slab’s movement, causing cracking under stress. This issue is worsened when installers skip using construction rings or choose inferior alignment systems. Quality rings help keep dowel bars steady and aligned, especially under the vibration of concrete pouring.

2. Inconsistent Spacing Leads to Early Joint Failure

Closely related is the error of inconsistent spacing. Misplaced bars lead to uneven load distribution, which accelerates wear and tear at joints. This is where Super Rings prove vital. These specially designed holders ensure uniform spacing across the joint and maintain bar position even in high-speed construction settings. Without them, installers often rely on visual estimations, which almost always lead to performance failures.

3. Lack of Support During Concrete Pouring

Another frequent problem is insufficient support during concrete pouring. Dowel bars shift easily without firm anchoring, especially when heavy machinery moves across the pour zone. Without Super Rings, bars may sink or tilt, leading to long-term structural issues. Strong anchorage systems like construction rings provide the stability needed to prevent vertical movement and displacement.

4. Skipping Sleeves or Bond-Breakers Locks the Joints

Failing to use proper sleeves or bond-breakers on dowel bars is also a critical error. These allow the bar to move slightly within the concrete, accommodating natural slab expansion and contraction. Without this, joints lock, and cracks form rapidly. While dowel sleeves play their role, construction rings further ensure that bars don’t twist or bind within the joint, offering a secondary safeguard against restraint.

Using Super Rings with built-in protection features significantly reduces this risk. Combined with anti-corrosive construction rings, they extend the lifespan of both the dowel and the pavement structure itself.

5. Ignoring Cleanliness of the Joint Area

Debris and dust in the joint area are often overlooked but highly detrimental. A dirty joint prevents proper bonding and can cause the dowel bar to be misaligned or ineffective. Proper installation includes cleaning the joint and using Super Rings that resist moisture and prevent slippage. This attention to detail makes the difference between a five-year road and a twenty-year one.

6. Rushing the Curing Process Creates Irreversible Errors

Rushing the curing process is another common mistake. If concrete sets before final dowel bar checks, there’s no turning back. Using clearly marked construction rings allows for rapid visual confirmation of alignment and spacing before the pour hardens, preventing irreversible errors.

7. Compromising on Quality Costs More in the Long Run

Finally, cutting costs on materials leads to a chain reaction of problems. Choosing low-grade bars or cheap accessories might seem economical, but the long-term costs in maintenance and failures quickly add up. High-quality Super Rings and construction rings are not optional accessories—they are precision tools that ensure engineering integrity and project success.

Final Thoughts: Precision is Non-Negotiable in Rigid Pavement Installation

For engineers, contractors, and decision-makers, the takeaway is clear: installing dowel bars in rigid pavement requires more than bars and concrete. It demands precision, expertise, and the right supporting products. Every poorly aligned bar, every missing ring, adds risk. Investing in tested, durable solutions like construction rings and Super Rings doesn’t just prevent mistakes — it ensures a road performs the way it was designed to.

0 notes

winged-self-indulgence · 28 days ago

Text

I was daydreaming about the different TS characters playing with my MC's hair and the one for Leander grew legs. Hoping to do Ais later but I had to get this down for my own sake lmao. Leander x GN!Unnamed!MC with long hair (I use the gender neutral "you" but my MC is female so the POV might seem more fem-aligned).

You know it is Leander at the door before he ever knocks.

The noise from the bar is low this early in the day and muffled by the layers of wood and the thin carpet that covers part of the dusty floor. No matter how much you mop and sweep, your room remains frustratingly grimy – courtesy of Eridia’s dismal weather. The humid weather and the rising river waters transform the already battered streets into muddy lanes. Then the yellow blazing sun by day bakes it hard, allowing the hurried steps of Lowtown crowds to kick clouds of dirt into every open window that must be left as such lest the room turn into an oven.

You know Leander’s steps almost as well as you know your own. You suspect most people do, clad as he is in thick-soled boots tipped with shimmering gold. They thump when he walks, a particularly solid sound that makes you tilt your head.

“Come in!” You call. That is the best you can do, as you are too focused on the task at hand to open the door for him.

He peers around the door courteously, smiling when he sees you. “There you are! Are you busy?” He asks, leaning against the doorframe.

The afternoon sun flickers over his dagger shaped earring and draws your attention to the inviting crease of his lips. Leander smiles a lot, which is still a little disconcerting. No one has ever smiled at you so genuinely before, at least not without expectation of a reward. The most devout of your temple, the priests who had cared for you in that isolated sanctuary, had always been strict with you. Growing up you were at once a prophet, a deity, a divine herald, a messiah. Everything except a child.

You do not know what to do with the fluttering feeling in your chest, so you just shrug. “Not particularly. Why?”

It is true, you aren’t strictly busy, but you are currently engaged in a task. Specifically, your hair. Being on the road for so long had taken its toll, and now that you had a room and access to (somewhat) clean water, you’d taken the opportunity to wash away the grime of the past several weeks.

You are sitting in front of the desk and peering into the shard of mirror you’d snagged from a merchant. The broken thing is propped up in front of you, and you are working an almost toothless comb through the tangles.

“Well, I was planning to swing by a cafe to take my afternoon break, and then I remembered my favourite oracle hadn’t gotten a chance to try the local cuisine,” he steps into the room, accessories chiming softly as he approaches you with the grace of a famed thespian. “If we get there before the lunch rush, I promise to buy you the best muhallebi this side of Lowtown. I know you’ve got a sweet tooth.”

“Muhallebi?” You try not to give away the way your spine straightens at the mention of milk pudding. You wonder if the cafe makes it with pistachios. You want to say yes, but then you remember the solid weight of your still damp locks and the comb in your hand. “Oh…thanks for the offer, but I’m a little busy…”

You cannot see his face in the mirror, it only shows your own and his broad chest filling up the scuffed glass. Yet you feel more than you see his approach, the looming presence of his being as it casts a green-tinged shadow over your seated form.

“You have lovely hair,” he comments, idle but no less frank. “May I…?”

Confusion stymies your tongue until you notice an ungloved hand in your periphery. Then you nod jerkily and fight back the urge to shudder when you feel long fingers running through your hair. The touch is gentle, as though your split-ends and knotted locks are gossamer and spun gold. The air behind you thrums, and you snap without thinking, “Don’t you dare use magic on my hair!”

He laughs, breathy and warm. “I wouldn’t dare. Not without your permission, anyhow,” he shows you what he has conjured: a comb, golden and fine. It runs through your hair like water, and you lower your own snapped instrument to the table.

“I’ll admit, I’ve never seen hair so long before,” Leander comments as he works a knot smooth. “Is there a reason you keep it this way?”

“It was…encouraged back home,” you say evasively. Required. Demanded even. All of you was seen as sacred, and what little needed to be snipped off for the sake of proper grooming was ritualistically burned in the temple flames. After all, what if some nefarious evil got hold of a piece of you and used it to cast some horrific spell?

You didn’t know if magic really worked like that, but you had never lost the aversion to cutting your hair.

“We can’t really cast love spells with people’s hair, you know.”

“What-?!” You jump and whip around, wondering if he’d read your mind.

Leander chuckles at your expression, his dark eyes creasing with amusement that makes your stomach swoop. “A lot of visitors to Eridia think that. One of the problems of having all the world’s magic concentrated in one place. Stories get spread with no one around to correct fact from deeply exaggerated fiction.”

“Ah,” you blush and turn back to the mirror, glad you can’t see his face. Still, you can’t help but tease, “I take it you also can’t cast moneymaking spells with fingernails?”

“Only under the waxing moon on the third month of every leap year,” he replies blithely, and you share a laugh. This is nice. You haven’t felt this relaxed around another person in…months? Years? The moment is honey-sweet. Sticky and slow and golden in the afternoon sunlight. You don't even mind the arid heat, or the noise of the Lowtown streets below.

As soon as he is done combing your hair, you gather it into your hands and begin braiding. Leander offers to help, but you prefer to do this part yourself. You enjoy the easy rhythm of twisting and twining the now smooth strands, though his rapt attention makes you feel a little clumsy. You can almost feel his rapt gaze on the back of your head. Emerald eyes singeing the nape of your neck and burning the tips of your fingers.

Once you’re done, you reach for your ribbon to tie the bun in place, but find it gone from the table. You turn, expecting it to have fallen to the floor, and find Leander at your side. You hadn’t even heard him approach.

“Here, let me…” he murmurs, and a gentle hand covers yours. He takes your hair and deftly twists your hair into a neat series of loops before securing it in place. “There we go. Gorgeous.”

“Thanks Leander,” you admire the neat hairdo in the mirror. Your hair feels more secure, and you assume he must have tied it a little more firmly than you are able to.

"You should call me next time," he offers. There's a boyish smile on his face as he offers his bicep to you. "My invitation still stands, by the way."

"Lead on then," you roll your eyes, feeling a heady thrill as you rest your bandaged fingers on the exposed skin of his forearm. "That pudding better be delicious."

"It will be," he promises grandly as he shuts the door behind you, "And if it's not, I'll just have to take you out again until we find the best muhallebi in Eridia."

On the floor, your ribbon lies decaying into grey ash that you will sweep away come evening. You will not notice its absence, or its replacement, but others will. The Adders will hide their stares, but you will feel their attention regardless and chalk it up to your status as a newcomer. Mhin will glance at the top of your head and grimace, hesitate, and then take their pay without comment. Kuras's luminous eyes will widen ever so slightly, but the doctor will not push where he isn't wanted.

Ais and Vere would have said something, but they are not here, and so you will not know. You will not know until night falls and you retire to your room. You will not know until you raise your hand, and rather than meet roughspun fabric, your fingers will bump up against cool gemstone.

You will pull it free, and find within your grasp a jade hairpin, pale and intricately carved, and set with shimmering ivory lilies.

#leander being the most unsettling sugar daddy ever #this man cannot give presents normally. its either lovebombing or sneaky shit #touchstarved game #touchstarved x reader #touchstarved leander

96 notes · View notes

l1tw1ck · 2 years ago

Text

Recklessness in the Restroom

bottom!ftm Itto x top!masc reader

☆ Word Count: 1,012 ☆

↳ [REQUEST] | [No AFAB Language Version]

CW: Semi-Public Sex, Size Difference, Drunk Sex, Deepthroating, Cum Swallowing, Fingering, Daddy Kink, Hair Pulling, Squirting, Creampie, Degradation, Getting Caught

You and Itto met because he decided to sit down next to you at the bar. He didn't sit next to you on purpose, but he's glad he did. And so were you. When you turned to look at him, you were greeted with the very attractive sight of a big, strong man. And maybe it was the alcohol talking, but you wanted to fuck him. Itto felt the same, maybe even more intensely than you did. He wanted you to bend him over at the bar and show the entire club what a whore he is. Itto took a few shots before finally talking to you. He grabbed onto your shirt collar and brought you close to his face, lifting you out of the seat to do so. You looked at him with impure lust in your eyes, a fiery need to press your lips against his. Yours and Itto’s lips smashed together and you started to make out with him sloppily and passionately. You wanted more, and the both of you knew this wouldn't end with just a kiss.

And that knowledge landed the two of you in the staff bathroom, thanks to a good friend who lent you the keys.

Itto gets down on his knees and looks up at you, bearing his fangs as he smiles. “I promise I won't bite.” He drags his tongue along your shaft, pressing kisses along it as he goes. You're a lot shorter than him but your cock makes up for the height that you lack. He brings his hand into his pants and strokes his t-dick. He kisses the tip of your cock before opening up his mouth and fully taking in your length. He closes his eyes and deep throats you at a decently fast pace. He doesn't have a gag reflex and he's taking full advantage of it.

“Shit- I’ve never met someone who could take all of me.”

He smiles, feeling good about himself. He picks up the pace, determined to make you come in his mouth. You throw your head back in pleasure. Your moans encourage him to keep going. You can feel his fangs lightly drag along your shaft and you never thought it'd feel this good.

“‘M gonna come-” You moan. Itto keeps going, wordlessly giving you the okay to come in his mouth. You do just that, flooding his throat with your cum. He slurps it all up before pulling away and standing up. He goes over to the sink and bends over, looking back at you with a grin. You pull down his pants and boxers, exposing his dripping wet pussy to the cold bathroom air. You slide two fingers inside of him one by one.

“Your fingers are too small.” He frowns. You laugh and add two more. “That’s better.”

You lean in to kiss him as you start fingering him. He reciprocates it with added passion, kissing you very aggressively. The pace of your fingers matches his aggressiveness. He pulls away for air and watches you finger fuck his cunt as he catches his breath.

He knows that with how drunk he is, he’ll definitely come relatively fast and he doesn't want to wait any longer for you to fuck him. “Hurry up and fuck me already.” He puts his hand on your wrist.

“You’re quite impatient, I was having fun with this.” You chuckle and pull your fingers out.

“You’ll have a lot more fun fucking me.”

“Fair enough.” You align your length with his hole.

Itto grips the sink as you slide inside of his warmth, stretching out his pussy with your thick length. “Yes—” He gasps, finally getting the stretch he desired. You slowly slide in and out of him, getting him used to the feeling. He's clearly enjoying himself despite how slow you're fucking him. “Fa- faster-” He moans. You grip his waist and pick up the pace. He doesn't even consider trying to be quiet as loud and shameless moans escape his pretty lips. He isn't usually this loud during sex but you're so big and the fact that he's having unprotected sex with a stranger in a public fucking bathroom makes this feel a thousands times better than normal. He didn't know it before, but this is definitely a kink of his.

“You're so loud, are you trying to get caught?” You spank him.

“It juh~ feels so good, Daddy~!”

“Fucking slut.” You grab his hair and pull his head back, a grin growing on his face. “You like this? Getting fucked raw in a bathroom? Huh?”

“Fuck yes~”

You let go of his hair and bring your hand down to stroke his t-dick, his pussy squeezing your cock tightly. He rolls his eyes back, barely able to handle it all. “yes- yes- yes-” He repeats it over and over as his orgasm quickly approaches. He lets out a breathy “Daddy” before squirting, leaving something for the janitor to come clean. “Keep going- fuck-” Itto looks at himself in the dirty, graffiti ridden mirror through very hazy vision and smirks. He's a mess and he loves it.

You pound into him even harder than before. He’s gonna need help walking after this. The sounds in the room are so obscene, it makes it feel like you're in a porn video. The sound of Itto’s wet pussy, your hips snapping against his fat ass, and his unabashed moans all make this feel very pornographic.

“I’m close.”

“Co- come inside~” He moans. “Fill me up, Daddy~”

You thrust into him a few more times before coming inside of him. He comes just from that, his pussy squeezing a few extra drops out of you. You lean into his ear. “Dirty slut.” You emphasize your words with a smack to his ass. He giggles in response.

The door swings open, the owner of the club standing in the doorway. “What the hell is going on in here?”

#wicks🕯works #wicks🕯requests #top male reader #male reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #itto x male reader #arataki itto x male reader #itto smut #sub itto #arataki itto smut #afab character #ftm character #dom male reader #tw daddy kink

2K notes · View notes

nerdyjaw · 2 months ago

Note

How would yandere Levi be like with a civilian reader, since she doesn't really fall under his command like a cadet would?

girl in a bar | yandere levi ackerman & civilian reader hcs

content warnings (please read before continuing.): yandere themes, stalking, drinking, bars, people being aggy (not levi), manipulation, forced isolation, forced dependency, reader is tricked into a relationship, reader is deceived into thinking they are in love. mdni.

age in bio or you will be blocked.

this media is in no way being romanticized or normalized.

the actions in this media are a work of fiction and are not to be portrayed or mimicked in real life.

you are responsible for the media you consume. you have been warned.

if you’re a civilian, things would probably be much more complicated for levi.

he can’t bark orders at you or change your schedule to no longer align with your friends.

so, he makes you do it all yourself. the isolation. the dependency. the start of your relationship.

he tricks you into doing it all yourself.

i imagine you two would meet at a bar. the scouts went out drinking, loud and half drunk on survival. levi didn’t even want to be there. he was just lurking in the corner, doing his whole brooding and unapproachable thing.

you were working. nothing special— just serving drinks, dodging drunk hands, and avoiding eye contact with soldiers who think a smile means “come talk to me.” yikes.

but levi notices you. not because you’re flashy or flirting in attempt to get some extra tips— but because you aren’t. you’re quiet. you look like someone who knows how to disappear.

he doesn’t approach you that night. just watches.

but after that, he starts showing up more. alone. always when you’re working. always ordering the same thing, but never finishing it. just sits and makes small talk until you’re off your shift.

he’s not pushy. never really flirty. he’s just.. present. every time. like clockwork. like he knows when you’re working. (he does.)

one night, some drunk grabs your wrist. you try to play it off, but you’re clearly uncomfortable. before you even say anything, levi’s there. he doesn’t yell. doesn’t raise his voice. just grabs the guy’s arm and squeezes. hard. then there’s a crack. and finally.. silence.

you thank him. he doesn’t say anything. just stares at you.

after that, things get closer. slowly, naturally. you two become "friends." he walks you home.

he brings you little things—tea, cloths, cleaning supplies. just trinkets. helps you fix things in your house. lingers longer and longer every visit.

and at some point, it just becomes.. normal that he's around.

you don’t really question it. you could use the company.

you start to wait for him. not in a romantic way (at first), but you enjoy the safety his presence offers.

your friends notice. they start to ask questions.

“is he your boyfriend?”

“he’s around alot.”

“thats’s a survey corps member. i wouldn’t trust him if i were you.”

you laugh it off— even going as far as defending him. tell them they’re overthinking it. “he’s just nice,” you say. they don’t get it. they don’t know what he’s actually like.

next time he visits, you tell him about it.

“they seem nosey. they treat you like you can’t make decisions for yourself.”

“do they even respect your choices?”

and that’s all it takes.

before you know it,

your friends are now strangers.

you don’t realize it— but he’s isolating you.

and you’re helping him do it.

he never told you to cut them off.

but he planted the seed.

eventually, you start to crave his presence.

your house feels so empty without him.

because he becomes the only person who checks in on you. the only person who really gets you. its only natural you begin to confide in him. its only natural you begin to feel empty without him.

and by the time you look around and realize there’s no one else left,

you’re already completely dependent on him.

then things shift.

he never really asks you out. it kind of just.. happens.

he touches you more. sleeps over more. talks to you like you’re already his.

you don’t correct him.

why would you?

you start to call it a relationship.

what else would it be?

you’re just two people in love.

..or atleast that’s what you think.

and when you lay beside levi in your bed, whispering a “i love you”, he kisses your forehead and says,

“im glad you finally realized it.”

#yandere aot #aot x reader #levi x reader #aot headcanons #aot fanfiction #yandere levi ackerman #yandere levi x reader #yandere insert #yandere imagines #yandere drabble #yandere headcanons #yandere fanfiction #levi x you #levi x y/n #levi fanfiction #yandere scenarios #yandere

94 notes · View notes

drewsephrry · 7 months ago

Note

Hello! Can I request 💋 smut and number 18??? Also CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!

hi!! thank you so so much!! 🤍🤍

2k celebration!!!

warnings: 18+ under the cut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), bathroom sex, dom!rafe, mentions of alcohol consumption, cuss words

words: 840

His hands tighten on your hips as he feels your body sway in rhythm to the music. Both of you are drunk, caught in a wave of desire, but you're determined to share this moment with your boyfriend on the dance floor.

“You're driving me crazy.” He breathes, leaning close enough to whisper in your ear over the pounding beats. A smirk spreads across your lips and with a slight shift, you grind against him a little too hard. He groans, his chest vibrating against your back.

“Baby…” He sighs, his voice strained. “God, you're irresistible.” He kisses your neck and you lean back into him, offering him more access. You close your eyes, lost in the moment, but when you open them again, he's pulling away. Confused, you watch as he turns you around and takes your hand.

Without a word, he leads you through the bar to the back, knocking on the bathroom door before stepping inside. He locks it behind you and presses you against the counter.

“You've got me so damn hard.” He mutters, his hand gripping your chin as his eyes darken. “You think this is funny?”

You bite your lip, shaking your head, feeling the heat rise between you both.

“Words, baby.” His voice is low, commanding, and you struggle to form a response. Instead, you giggle, half-drunk and gaze up at him.

“I just... I want you. Rafe, please. I need you.” Your words come out in a slur, but it only makes him chuckle darkly. He spins you around so you face the mirror, your reflection meeting his intense gaze. You bite your lip as he lifts your dress, pulling down your soaked, lace underwear with practiced hands. His fingers slide down, teasing your sensitive skin, rubbing over your clit as you gasp, your head falling back.

“I'm going to fuck you until you're begging me to stop.” He murmurs against your ear, sending another wave of heat through your body. He pulls his hand away, swatting your ass, watching it ripple with a groan of appreciation.

“Fuck. You're so hot.” He chuckles darkly, doing it again and you push your hips back, aching for more. Your hands search for his belt, finding it and unbuckling it carefully.

“Come on, sweet girl. Go ahead.” His lips find

your neck as you reach inside his boxers, feeling his hardness. He groans loudly, his grip tightening on you. You stroke him slowly, moving your hand up and down, feeling him pulse beneath your touch.

“Oh my god…” He moans, and after a moment, he pulls your hand away.

“I can't take it anymore. I need... I need to be inside you.” He exclaims, his voice thick with desire. You nod in response, arching your back as Rafe pulls himself free from his boxers. His erection stands tall, the tip flushed and leaking and you can't help but admire the sight, feeling a rush of arousal. He smirks, aligning himself with you and slowly pushes in. Both of you moan at the sensation.

You grip the counter as he begins to thrust, slow at first, then picking up speed. The alcohol has already made you dizzy, but this sensation is only intensifying the feeling.

“Just like that, Rafe.” You whisper when he hits your sweet spot. His pace quickens at your words, each thrust driven by the singular need to bring you to your peak. Your moans grow louder as his movements become faster, more urgent. One of his hands leaves your hips, traveling down to your clit, where he begins to rub it gently. You hold his hand tightly, arching your back more to meet him.

“Can I come inside you?” He asks, his voice strained, slowing his thrusts as he nears the edge. You nod, a pleading look in your eyes.

“Please, please, please baby.” You beg, and he kisses your neck, his body tensing as you tighten around him. He groans deeply, surrendering to the pleasure as he comes inside you, his movements becoming lazy but still deep. He quickens the rhythm of his fingers as you feel yourself nearing your climax.

A minute later, you come undone, your body trembling as you fall forward against the counter. Rafe gently rubs your back and the curve of your ass, before pulling away. He grabs a few paper towels, cleaning both of you up, then helps you get dressed. Turning you around, he checks in with a concerned expression.

“You okay?” He asks softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I'm great.” You smile, your words slurred, and he chuckles, leaning down to kiss you. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, deepening the kiss. But suddenly, there's a knock on the door.

“Dude, you done in there? I gotta shit!” A guy yells, continuing to knock.

You both pull away, chuckling and Rafe grabs your hand. As you exit, he walks with a confident stride while you keep your eyes on the floor, mortified by the interruption.

A/N: hope you enjoyed this!! so sorry for taking so long🤍🤍

103 notes · View notes

leejenowrld · 2 months ago

Note

I always think of Mark and Areum as a relatively vanilla couple

I mean ….. definitely when compared to everyone else in that universe

What are their top 6 freaky moments?

they’re definitely the most vanilla but they can spice it up !! <3 i realised all of these are dom areum… lol. i think im just in the mood of making the oc a dom but if you wanna request dom mark stuff then send me it please.

1. mark facefucks areum for the camera, no safe angle the camera’s already recording—tripod balanced at the foot of the bed, the red light blinking soft in the dark. areum adjusts the focus, then looks down at him with her fingers in his hair. “you’re not doing this for me,” she says, voice smooth. “you’re doing it for playback.” mark groans low in his throat, cock already twitching against his stomach, and she doesn’t waste time. she straddles his face and sinks down slow, grinding her pussy into his mouth while keeping his wrists pinned to the mattress. her hips roll with purpose, with weight, with so much practiced dominance that his eyes flutter closed, lashes wet from how messy it’s getting. the camera sees everything—the slick sheen on his cheeks, the bruises forming under her fingertips, the way she slaps him when he stops licking just right. “watch this back tomorrow,” she pants, “and remind yourself why you don’t come without permission.”

2. she ties him to a balcony chair and makes him take her calls mark’s naked, hands cuffed behind the lounge chair, cock straining against nothing but night air. areum’s calm, still dressed, sipping her wine while she takes a conference call on speaker. her bare foot traces lazy lines up and down his shaft, teasing the tip every time she says “mmhmm” into the phone. he’s whimpering—silent, desperate, shaking from the restraint—but she doesn’t give in. not until the call ends. “spread your legs wider,” she says, and when he obeys, she straddles him and sinks down without a word, fucking herself slow on his cock, one hand in his hair, the other pressed over his mouth. “you don’t speak unless someone asks you a question,” she reminds him, and that’s when he nearly comes on the spot.

3. mark gets choked out in the backseat of a car in a valet line they’ve just left a gala. he’s tipsy, breathless, already half-hard by the time she drags him into the car and straddles him in the backseat. “five minutes before the valet pulls around,” areum says, gripping his jaw, lipstick already smeared. she doesn’t bother with prep. just yanks his belt loose, aligns herself, and sinks down hard—tight, punishing, grinding into his lap with every cruel roll of her hips. the windows fog. his hands shake. and then she wraps one hand around his throat and squeezes. “you gonna embarrass me in public?” she whispers. “come before i say?” and mark, dizzy and cock-deep in her, can only shake his head, jaw clenched, voice strangled in the best way.

4. fucking him with a strap against the penthouse window mark’s on his knees, hands behind his back, blindfold tight over his eyes. areum’s behind him with a slick, thick strap already coated in lube, teasing his ass slow, deliberate, until he starts to tremble. the lights of the city are bright behind the glass, but he can’t see them—only feel her breath on his neck, her hands guiding him open, her voice in his ear: “you look prettier ruined.” she fucks him steady, deep, grinding against that one spot that makes him shudder all the way down to his knees. he moans, shameless, throat raw, forehead pressed to the glass as her fingers dig into his hips, and she doesn’t let up—not until his voice breaks on a sob and she comes untouched from the sound of it.

5. shower scene, begging for every inch he’s cuffed to the bar in the hotel shower, water pounding down, muscles twitching under the strain. areum hasn’t touched him in twenty minutes. just her voice in his ear, her hand on his cock, stroking slow, deliberate, torturously light. “say it again,” she whispers. “say please like you mean it.” mark’s moaning now, whole body shaking, water dripping off his lashes. she finally gets on her knees, mouth parting, and takes just the head of his cock between her lips before pulling off again. “still not pretty enough.” it takes four more tries before she swallows him whole and makes him come so hard he nearly collapses.

6. remote vibe at a formal dinner he doesn’t know she packed the plug. doesn’t know it’s already buried inside him, charged and waiting, until they’re seated at a long, candlelit table surrounded by colleagues. areum taps the remote once—just enough to make him jolt—and sips her wine like nothing’s wrong. “everything okay, baby?” she purrs. mark nods too fast. she turns it up again. by the time dessert comes, he’s flushed, sweating, hands gripping the tablecloth. “don’t you dare come,” she mouths across the table, and he doesn’t—barely—but he almost passes out from the pressure. she takes him to the bathroom afterward and makes him beg to come against the door.

58 notes · View notes

rebelliousstories · 2 months ago

Text

One Hell of a Drink

Relationship: Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x Reader

Fandom: Top Gun

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Brief Action, Inappropriate Behavior towards Women

Word Count: 917

Main Masterlist: Here

Top Gun Masterlist: Here

Summary: An evening at the O-Club takes a sharp turn one night. Maybe Tom should come here more often when he has the time.

Consider Donating: Here

There was a sea of white uniforms that night. Though she could hardly be surprised; according to some of the looser lipped sailors, they had just gotten back from deployment and were in need of a celebration. Which led her to be hustling around, bringing drinks to eager men whose inhibitions were dropping fast.

Normally, she did not mind these kinds of nights. Great tips, double the pay since it was so busy, and the men were respectful. Usually. Tonight for some reason, maybe the moon was full, or the planets were in the wrong alignment, but everyone was rowdier than usual.

She had been the subject of comments that she would rather not repeat. Thankfully no one had yet to put their hands on her, but the crowds were just getting worse. Her one saving grace that evening was a delicious piece of eye candy hanging around the opposite end of the bar from her.

He was blonde, tanned, not too tall and not too short, and all around perfect for her. Clad in an all too familiar white uniform, she took each of her mini breaks as she was grabbing more drinks to bring around, to lean against the counter and stare at him. Whoever he was, she had yet to see him around before. Maybe he had just returned from deployment like the rest of them.

“Hey!” One of the bartenders called over the sound of the music, snapping his fingers at the daydreaming woman. Shaking her head, she looked confused for a moment. “Go take these out.”

Hurrying away from the counter with the tray full of drinks, she was thrust into work again. The tips she kept getting along the way were great, but she was starting to get really distracted by the mystery man who had now moved to a tall table to stand at as he drank with his buddies.

Unfortunately, with her tray empty, she needed to make her way back over to the bar to reload and continue serving. But before she could, a dark haired man caught her attention. “Excuse me!”

Strapping a customer service smile on her face, she went over to where she was being called. However, she got a genuine smile on her face as she saw that the blonde was at that same table. “What can I get you boys?”

“Three beers, for us please, princess.” The other, much taller blonde drawled, crowding around behind her.

“Sly, back off.” The preferable blonde stepped in, slapping his shoulder. Turning around, the woman arched an eyebrow at him.

“‘Princess’?” She asked sharply, staring whoever this “Sly” guy was.

Smirking, the ridiculously tall man continued on, even when his two friends were trying to get him to stop. “I could be your prince. I’m Slider.”

“I’m not interested.” She shrugged off the advance, eyes darting around. Her eyes cut over to her favorite blonde, who looks torn between what to do.

“Slider, seriously man.” The blonde tries again, chuckling lightly to help soften the blow for him. But he was not listening.

“Come on, princess,” Slider tried once more to charm the lady, placing a hand on her shoulder.

What he did to know, was that she was not going to be some damsel in distress in need of a prince. Using the brunt of her arm, she spun around, knocking the hand off. Keeping that same momentum, the woman slapped the man who had dared to touch her.

Everything was totally on instinct, which meant that as soon as it was done, she recoiled herself.

“Well…” she thought to herself, “there goes my job.”

Right as she was about to start apologizing, the blonde who had caught her eyes earlier grabbed the taller man. “Ron, that’s what you get when you put your hand on someone who isn’t interested. Now apologize to her and go home. Take the keys.”

Ron, who looked good and dazed, did not stand to his full height as he cradled his cheek in one hand, and kept his eyes down. “I’m sorry, miss.”

His friend passed him a set of car keys, before shoving him lightly towards the door. Once Slider was gone, the blonde turned back to her with a soft expression. “My apologies. Sli just doesn’t know when to stop sometimes. You okay?”

“Yeah,” she replied breathlessly. “Yeah, I’m alright. Thanks mister…?”

Holding out his hand, the blonde smiled a million watts. “Kazansky. Tom Kazansky. Friends call me Iceman, or Ice for short.”

She offered her own name as she pressed her hand into his. He felt so warm and inviting, just from a handshake. “Why Iceman?”

“It’s a call sign. Naval aviator. My buddy who better be on his way home is my backseater, or a RIO.” Iceman explained, reluctantly letting go of her hand.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind hearing more about this, though I regretfully must return to work. Um… I get off at eleven tonight if you wanna grab a bite to eat after?” Her hopeful tone made the Tom beam even more.

“I’d love to. I’ll be here.” When she could not wait any longer, the woman waved at him briefly, before turning to head back to her job.

“Ice-man. You’ve got some game, I’ll tell you that. She is one drink of water.” Maverick cheered, clapping the man on his shoulder.

“She’s one hell of a drink, period, Mav.” Kazansky sighed, keeping his eyes on the woman as she darted around the bar.

#rebelliousstories #writing #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun fandom #top gun fanfiction #top gun iceman #top gun 1986 #top gun fic #tom kazansky imagine #tom kazansky x reader #tom iceman kazansky #tom kazansky #iceman x reader #iceman fanfiction #iceman imagine #iceman val kilmer

54 notes · View notes

luciferlightbringer · 1 year ago

Text

Love in a Hopeless Place

Chapter 9

I'm sorry for being so evil... Just kidding, here is a little more pain before it gets better 😘

Chapter 8|Chapter 9|Chapter 10|Updated through Chapter 12

Lucifer x prostitute fem!reader Word Count: 3.9k CW: Slowburn, Angst, Prostitution, Hurt/comfort, trauma, fluff, depression, anxiety, insecurity, alcohol/intoxication, fuckboi flirting

You get to the hotel and check in, it wasn't crazy fancy or anything, but it was nice, quieter, didn't reek of sex and drugs. You got up to the hotel room and, maybe because you were somewhere that didn't remind you of all of the pain from the night before, you were able to flop on the bed and fall asleep. You slept without any dreams, not a healing sleep per-se, but you had caught up on the sleep you had lost from the night before.

You look at your phone, damn, you basically slept your first day of vacation away. Oh well, vacations don't need to be productive. You stare up and the ceiling, your mind wandering from what you should do, back to Lucifer. You wonder how his day was, he probably knew his next few appointments were canceled at this point, would he be mad or disappointed? Would he remember what happened last night?

You shake your head and growl at yourself, tugging at your own hair in frustration, 'Why do I fucking care so much?!' You got up and paced the room. You ran your hands up your face and through your hair as you walked over to the window, and pressed your forehead to the glass looking out at your view for the next few days. You saw a few restaurants, bars, and stores that littered the main drag, until the name of one grabbed your attention, and made you chuckle.

"Rock Bottom, huh? Feels appropriate for tonight," you say out loud to yourself as you change into more appropriate "out in public" clothes. You were feeling like a loser, but at least you didn't want to look like one. You grabbed your purse, strapped on some heels, and hopped across the street to the bar that felt it aligned with how you felt about life at the moment.

The bar was a dive, but it was not bad. There was a chill downstairs and a spiral staircase off to one side that twisted up to another floor with some flashing colored lights and some guys singing some sad and off-pitch karaoke. Yup, this was the vibe for the night. Luckily, this bar did not seem super crowded and you were able to find a seat with ample space over near the side of the bar to set yourself at.

The bartender saw you and nodded in your direction while they were finishing a couple of drinks. "Be right with you in just a moment, sweetheart," the woman said while juggling her bottles and shakers.

"No problem," you said with a tired smile. You watched the woman flip and spin the bottles as the customers in front of her watched with excitement. You loved watching bartenders who could do cool tricks, it was not a requirement for their job of course, but you were sure it got them more tips and it always made you hope that they enjoyed what they did. Or maybe they were just trying to give themself some amount of joy in their hellhole of a job working with drunk people and their bullshit.

Eventually she passed off the drinks to the customers, tossed her towel over her shoulder, and headed over to you.

"Thanks for waiting, welcome to Rock Bottom, what can I get ya?" the woman asked you. She gave off a "cool biker mom" kinda vibe, lots of tattoos and piercings all over her, a biker looking vest and short cropped slicked back black hair with one big pink streak jutting back from her right temple, all being held back by a red bandana.

"Just a long island iced tea, please," you said softly.

"Ah, one of those nights huh?" She said cocking an eyebrow, "No problem, coming right up."

You lean more on the bar, "What do you mean by that?" you say with a sly smile and a squint.

The bartender waved her hand, "I'm sorry, you're not one of my regulars, I shouldn't joke so bluntly right off the bat. Normally, the heavier the starting drink, the more sorrow the customer is trying to drown out."

"Hmm. Well, you're observations are quiet astute, as that is exactly why I ordered it," you say with a cocky smile.

"Well, the down on their luck do happen to be our target audience," the woman says flipping her shaker and bottles again, "May I ask what we are drowning today?"

You make a raspberry sound and then rub your face.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," the woman said to you.

You laugh, "No it's fine, just hard to sum up in a quick statement. Just... work bullshit and... I don't know... utter fucking confusion of my life and what to do."

The woman nods sympathetically, "Sounds like hell." She looks at you, you both crack a smile and laugh. She hands you your drink.

"Sure is Hell... Just... almost felt like I had escaped it for a little... But anyways... I won't bother you more with my bullshit," you say looking down at your drink and taking it in your hands.

The woman shrugged, "Hell doesn't got therapists, bartenders are as close as they come. Name's Brooklyn if you need anything else, sweetheart." Brooklyn said, flipping the towel over her shoulder again as she went to greet another new guest who had settled on the other side of the bar. By the way Brooklyn greeted them, they looked like a regular.

You sipped on your drink and people watched for a while. As the night went on, you ordered some food and a few more drinks, watching people some and go. The room started to fill up with more patrons.

At one point, you saw a young Imp couple come in and snuggle into a booth together, kissing and snuggling, happily tipsy and enjoying each other's company. You sighed, you missed Lucifer and the way he would hold you. You wished it was real, you wished you could figure out if anything about your relationship with him was real. It also still drove you crazy trying to figure out why you would want it to be real. It was just a job... right?

Eventually, some drunk guy sauntered up to you. 'Oh boy, here we go.'

"Hey hot stuff, what are you doing moping over here by yourself, you're to sexy to be sad," he slurred at you, leaning on the bar.

You sighed, turned on your barstool and kicked one leg over the other, "Actually, I'm just sexy enough to be sad, thank you very much. Also... just out of curiosity, does this tactic ever work for you? The whole drunken loser with a backhanded compliment shtick?" You cock and eyebrow and smile.

"Wha- pffttt. Wow, why you gotta be such a bitch? I was just wanting to show you a fun time," he said leaning more into your face.

"Oh ya? And what would that look like? A minute of disappointing fingering and unimaginative attempts at dirty talk followed by five minutes of lack-luster penetration, doggy style with my unstimulated, unenthused, bone dry cooch while you scream "You like that you dirty little slut? You like how daddy fucks your tight little pussy, babygirl?" before you combust and roll over saying you are too tired to even attempt to make me feel any amount of pleasure, let alone getting me off? That kind of fun time?" you say giving him a smug smile.

The man in front of you just stares at you slack-jawed, so mad and confused he did not know what to say. You smirk, kick one of your heels up onto the middle of his chest, "That little bit of fun public degradation is the most fun we will be having tonight. Now get out of my face." You say as you push your foot against his chest, sending the man toppling backwards into a few onlookers that parted to let him drop to the floor and flail. You get a couple of whistles, claps, and hollers as you turn back to your drink.

Brooklyn stood at your end of the bar with a big smile on her face, "Well then! I was about to get ready to tell him to piss off, but you seem to have already handled it."

You shrug, "Men like him know they have no chance with shit like lines like that. They know they are going to get shut down and honestly, they love being put in their place. It's a kink for them, even if they would never want to admit it outright. I did him a favor really. If he is able to remember any of that interaction tomorrow, he'll have jerk off material for weeks." You say looking at him still splayed out on the floor.

Brooklyn howled with laughter, "Wow! That's incredible! Hey, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"No, I won't do you next," you say, you and Brooklyn erupt into more laugher. "Sorry, yes, ask away."

"Are you a sex worker?" Brooklyn asked. You nod. "Nice! My ex-girlfriend used to be a sex worker and she used to be able to mentally bulldoze men like that, so I was just curious. It's always so fun to watch."

"Guilty as charged, but I'm off the clock for a few days," you say.

"Ah, very good. Doing anything fun?" Brooklyn asked.

You picked up your cup and shook it.

"Just drink away your sorrows? Sounds like a bummer of a vacation," she says wiping down the counter.

You shrugged and sighed, "I just... have some things I need to figure out. Just needed some space for a few days."

She leaned on the bar, "Space from what, if I may be so bold?"

You nod, "Ehhh, it's... not something I can talk about with others."

She shrugged, "Fair enough. I'm here every day if you change your mind."

"Thanks." You finish up a couple more drinks, happily drunk and numb, thanked Brooklyn and paid for your evening, and waddled your way back to the hotel before passing out for the night.

______________________________________________________________

The next morning you wake up with a hangover, which you expected, but it was worth it. You scroll through your phone for a while, but eventually you realize that you aren't actually looking at anything , just scrolling just to scroll. You sigh and stare at the ceiling of the hotel room, the thoughts of your issue with Lucifer drifting back.

You eventually feel the thoughts start to frustrate you and you start to cry. Why was this so hard?! The thoughts did not seem to want to organize themself into anything helpful, just stagnated in place in your mind, floating around like milk soaked Cheerios. Hells, you wish you could talk to someone, literally anyone about your issues, but you couldn't. You ended up getting up and pacing again until you ended up pressing your forehead against the cold window again. You looked out at all of the stores and people walking around, until your eyes landed on the Rock Bottom. You smiled, thinking about Brooklyn and the drunk guy from the night before.

Suddenly, a lightbulb went off in your head. Brooklyn, you COULD talk to Brooklyn! You just could not give her exact details like Lucifer, Charlie, the hotel, but you could talk to her about it in more general terms. Yes! This was the answer! Well... if Brooklyn was serious about being someone that you could talk to. It... wouldn't hurt to at least ask, right?

You quickly got dressed and popped back across the street to the Rock Bottom. You walked inside the bar, it was a lot more slow during the day, but there were still a few customers scattered around the downstairs area. You saw a young man at the bar, but no Brooklyn. You were disappointed not to see her.

"Hey there!" the young man called out to you, "Welcome in, how can I help you?"

"Hey... sorry, umm... I was kinda looking to see if Brooklyn was here. I can come back later," you start to turn to leave.

"Oh! No she is here, she's just in the back. I'll go get her for you!" the young man said before disappearing into the back. A few minutes later, Brooklyn emerged from the back storage room, and smiled when she saw you.

"Ah! Afternoon, sweetheart. How are you doing today?" Brooklyn smiled.

"Hey! I'm doing... alright... Hope I'm not interrupting anything," you say rubbing your arm.

Brooklyn waved a hand, "Don't worry about it, just doing inventory, earlier to do during the day when it's slower. What can I do for you?"

"Well..." you start, looking at the floor, then balled your hands into fits to get yourself to ask, "Did you mean what you said about being here... if I needed to talk?"

Brooklyn smiled, and looked at her watch, "I'm sure I can squeeze you in for an appointment, you good waiting for my lunchbreak?"

You waved you hands, "Oh! I don't want to take away from your lunch break! Plus, I don't want you to get in trouble or anything with your boss."

Brooklyn laughed, you looked at her confused, "Sweetheart, I am the boss, I can do what I want, and right now, I want to hear about what's got you sulking to my part of town and drowning your sorrows in my bar." You smiled and nodded, you don't know what it was about her, but you trusted her. She kinda reminded you of your grandmother, in the cool spunky kinda way, also maybe a little bit of how you used to be with your siblings. You waited about an hour and a half at the bar to finish up her inventory, and then you and her went up to a little balcony on the second level of the bar.

"Welcome to my office, now tell me miss... oh fuck... I just realized I've never asked your name," Brooklyn said embarrassed.

You laughed, "It's ok, it's (y/n)."

"Well alright, miss (y/n). What's going on?"

You start, without giving away exact details, tell Brooklyn the tale of the last several months, getting hired by a powerful person to secretly be their prostitute, the sex turning into nights of supports on both sides, helping them reconnect with their child and helping them achieve their goals, how they defended you against an abusive client, you left out the extermination fight but did mention that they were wanting to keep you safe during that event, and finally the night that brought you here. The whole time, Brooklyn listened intently, nodding and sometimes asking a clarifying question or two.

At the end of that all, Brooklyn sighed. "I can see why you'd be feeling overwhelmed right now. It would be confusing to love someone and got some drunk inducted, confusing confirmation of returned feeling while in a weird role/power dynamic with them."

You nodded, "Ya..." you blinked as you processed what she had said, "Wait... what?"

She looked at you and raised an eyebrow, "What?"

You stared at her, "I... I never said I loved him."

She nodded, "Yes you did."

You stared at her, "When???"

She smiled, "With every word you said about this person, how you treated them, how you felt about how they treated you... You do love them, right?"

You thought through everything, every look, every touch, every nickname, every night in his arms, every time he showed up in your room, the way he protected you, the way you thought of him when we were alone or with other clients, the way you felt being with him and Charlie at the hotel, the unbridled fear you felt at him telling him telling you he loved you. Why you cared if you lost him. It was all because you were afraid of losing the love you felt from him. The love you felt for him.

You loved him, you loved Lucifer.

Tears poured from your eyes as the realization sunk into you. You turned to look at Brooklyn, "Oh my god... I love him."

Brooklyn laughed, "Did you not realize until just now?"

You shook your head, the tears getting heavier, "No!" you choked out, your breath heaving, "I've never knew love could feel like this. I've never felt this before!" You start to crumple inward as the tears overtake you.

Brooklyn's smile faded, "Oh sweetheart," she pulled you into a hug as you sobbed. You tried to apologize and she just shushed you.

After you calmed down, you sigh, "Ok but... how do I know if he actually loves me?"

"He does," Brooklyn said.

"How do you know?" you sniffle.

She gives you a look, "Girl, how many guys that hire hookers introduce them to their daughters and then keep bringing them around their daughter and her friends?"

You blinked.

"And if that isn't enough, he beat up another client that hurt you. He doesn't just love you. He is down bad for you," Brooklyn smiled.

"And you're sure?" you ask.

Brooklyn nodded, "100%, on my afterlife, or may Satan take my bar."

You sniffled again and laughed, "Well, I wouldn't want Satan to take over your bar... I don't know him, but I get the feeling he wouldn't be as good of a bartender as you." You and Brooklyn laugh.

You look out from the balcony, thinking about how somewhere far away, on the other side of the circle, Lucifer, the King of Hell, was in love with you. Maybe thinking about you. Missing you. It made your heart ache, thinking of how you had run away from him, when you now realize he was probably just too scared to tell you how he felt.

"Do you think he'll be mad at me for running away from him?" you ask Brooklyn.

She shook her head, "If he is any man worth keeping, and if there really is that much of a power dynamic difference, he'll understand why you did what you did."

You nod. At this point, Brooklyn had to go back to work. You hung out at the bar the rest of the night, not getting nearly as drunk this time.

The next two days, you would go back to the bar during Brooklyn's breaks to talk through new thoughts and insecurities, and Brooklyn would softly but firmly refute each one. Damn, is this what therapy was like in the living world? Life would have turned out different maybe if this was something you had back then. Oh well, it's too late now.

On your last day, you packed up your room and went to say goodbye to Brooklyn, she gave you a hug and wished you goodbye. Telling you that you were always welcome to come back and talk, and that she expected an invite to the wedding if it worked out. You both laughed.

Soon, it was time to get int the car and head back home, back to the Lounge, back to Lucifer.

_____________________________________________________________

A little bit later, you arrived back at the Lounge. You got out of the car, headed up to your room to drop off your bag, then headed downstairs to see Larry and tell him you were back.

You found Larry and he smiled to see you, "Babydoll! I'm so glad you're back. How're ya feeling?"

You smiled, "Much better, thank you for being patient with me."

"Of course! Now, here is your rescheduled appointments for tomorrow," he said handing you a list. You looked through, and were disappointed to not see "Lance" in his usual time. You looked up at Larry.

"No Lance?"

Larry shook his head, "We called him and let him know you were going on vacation, and he said he would call back when he wanted to reschedule." Ok, no problem. You could get that, maybe he just didn't want to jump on when you were going to be getting home from your break. Ya, that sounds like something he would do. He loved you, right? You could be patient.

You were patient... as days turned to weeks, and Lucifer did not call to schedule with you. Every day you lost more hope, life slipped back into the way it was before you had ever known him. Cynthhhhia watched you from the shadows of the brothel, pleased to see your decent into misery as she started to get more well paying client's again. Sure, playing nice with the customers did pay off, but so did knocking Larry's favorite girl off of her groove. And the best part? No, one would ever know.

One day you looked out the window of your apartment and sighed, "Guess you were wrong after all, Brooklyn. Looks like Satan will be coming for the bar after all."

You wanted to laugh at the idea of Satan trying to run a bar, but all you could do was cry as your newly discovered heart was now broken.

Serves you right for thinking that love was actually possible in such a hopeless place.

______________________________________________________________

Charlie's phone rang, she looked over to see her dad's ID pop up on her phone. She scrambled to pick it up, she had called him several times over the last couple of week and he had not been answered. It had her worried, he had not done this since before his visit to the hotel that brought them back together.

"Dad! Hi! It's so good to see you call. Are you ok?" Charlie asked.

Lucifer cleared his throat on the other end of the phone, "O-Oh course! Why, why would anything be the matter?"

"Uhh... because you haven't answered any of my calls in weeks? Also you and (y/n) were basically here every day and now I haven't seen either of you..." Charlie waited for a moment, Lucifer struggled to figure out what to say. Hearing your name made his heart sear with pain.

"Oh uh... we've uh... it's just been busy." Lucifer said.

"Dad, did something happened?" Charlie pleaded.

"I... I'm sorry sweetie, I can't talk about this right now. I was just calling to see if you could go to a meeting for me? Please?" Lucifer pouted. That was not a good sign. Something must have happened, but now did not seem like a good time to press, not over the phone anyway.

Charlie sighed, "Ok Dad, on one condition."

Lucifer paused, "That condition being???"

"Just... just come visit sometime this week, come have dinner with me? Please?" Charlie pleaded again.

Lucifer sighed, he may not have you, but he did still have his daughter, he couldn't lose that again, "Ok, I will."

"Great! I'll see you later! Text me the details of the meeting. I love you, Dad."

Lucifer told Charlie he loved her too, then Charlie hung up, and turned to see Vaggie, Angel, Husk, Alastor, and Niffty all looking at her in anticipation.

"What kin'a scheme you cookin' up now, Princess?" Angel asked.

"Well, would anyone up for a little, community "Emotional Intervention" bonding?" Charlie was met with a room full of mischievous, sharp, approving smiles.

______________________________________________________________

You guys, the Cynthhhhia hate is giving me LIFE, I'm so happy how much y'all hate her. Keep up with the ideas, how should she be brought to justice? 😈 As usual, leave a comment if you want added to the taglist so that you can get notifications when future chapters drop! xoxo, dany (OMG there are so many of you!😍 Please let me know if the tag isn't working for you) Taglist :(red names are not tagging for some reason 😢)@froggybich @wonderlandangelsposts @glowinthedarkbones1150 @marydragneell @crescent-z @superdinosaurnacho @jam0001 @kyo-kyo1 @so-get-this-sammy @lilzebeth @kelppsstuff @loquacious-libra @pinkhoneydrop @luleck @writer-girl99 @lavenz @stormz369 @littleladydemon @soujiswife @melday0105 @luluxx118 @sseleniaa @futureittomainn @cktkat @zaneyyyy @uravitsy @liecoris @starlitvenus @hannahrose130 @elleofdragons @butch-medusae @concentratedconcrete @erosamasan @stranger-chan @aquaamethyst96 @lxkeee @holyspacething @hulyenl @leximus98 @lu-ferri12 @mixplara @katnisspeetaprim @rebecca-hvnstn @roboticsuccubus83 @nekemewlita @femboyfatalle @thelethex @cryptidghostgirl @snowlotr @bangchansdirty-slut @glowymxxn @mcueveryday @hotvillianapologist @oneiric-rotaerc

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x reader #fanfic #fanfic writing #lucifer x y/n #lucifer fanfiction #hazbin lucifer #lucifer #lucifer magne #lucifer hazbin #fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfiction #slow burn #angst #it will get better

375 notes · View notes