#I can’t be the Gus in this relationship | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

webslingingslasher · 1 year

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just horrifically bombed a math test so… peter comforting reader after failing a test but accidentally making her feel really stupid?

don't worry bestie, as somone several years out of high school, and a college dropout, grades really don't matter in the grand sceme of things. my testing has never once affected my life, but me (and peter) believe in you!

“C’mon, gimme a kiss.”

Normally kissing Peter Parker would snap you out of any kind of upsetting mood, however today nothing felt like it could get you out of your funk, and nothing could; not even the escape of sighing into your boyfriend's mouth.

You also weren’t one to turn down a kiss, so when he pressed a kiss to your mouth upside down, your head laying on his lap, his neck bent to kiss you, you still enjoyed it but it couldn’t wipe the frown from your mouth.

“Not even a Peter kiss can help? You must be really upset.”

You give him a big frown, his thumb rubs between your eyebrows.

“Tell me, baby.” His words are a whisper.

With a groan you sit up and stretch over the bed to grab your backpack, Peter takes this time to appreciate the view and smack down your ass, you whimper a ‘heyy,’ before grabbing a paper and shuffling back to him.

“Here, look at my failures and dump the dummy.”

Peter snatched the paper with a grumpy face, a sympathetic frown takes front when he sees the grade circled on top.

“Oh, baby.”

You take it as patronizing.

You rip the paper from his hands, it tears at the edges. “Nevermind, Peter. My fault for thinking you would have some form of sympathy, I forgot I was talking to the genius of Midtown.” Peter’s hands chase you, frantic, “No, no, no! I wasn’t being mean, baby! I swear I wasn’t being mean, c’mere, lemme see it.” You look him up and down wearily, he seems authentic, you hand it over one more time.

Peter looks over the test, front and back, flipping it multiple times to line up numbers. He looks your way a few times and back at the sheet, he’s trying to figure out how to say what you did wrong without you thinking he thinks you’re an idiot.

Finally he pats the space next to him, you slink over on your knees, the sheets scrunching around your pants. His left hand holds your worksheet, his right is resting on your thigh. “You made a common mistake, most people get it wrong, no biggie.” You lean against his arm, “show me, please.”

Peter grabs a pen and starts circling your missteps and rewrites the formula, he runs it through one more time. “And I just multiply that for the answer?” Peter was really pretty when he was explaining things to you, most of the time you were checked out, blissfully blinking at each word curled around his lips; you were trying to piece together what he was saying. “Correctomundo, babe.”

“Ew, don’t say that.”

Peter shoulder checked you, “disrespect me now but without me you’d be failing every class.”

He laughed. Peter laughed, like what he said was funny. Like he didn’t understand how that made you feel, not like you just basically hinted that your biggest insecurity was being dumber than him.

Fine, if he thinks you can’t pass without him, you’ll show him you can.

You fake a laugh with him, usually he can catch it. This time he doesn’t. You put away the test after that, not that you’ll tell him but you’ll ask for a retest, and pass, and then not tell Peter so he doesn’t feel like he can take the credit.

—----------------------------------

Peter is, what he thinks, jealous for the first time in his life.

Well, he’s been jealous before. Like when Ned got that new monitor for his gaming setup, or when MJ was able to solve a rubik's cube in under a minute. Even that one time when Ashley Mulligan, a third grader, cheated off his test and that made her win star student of the week.

But he’s never been jealous before in his relationship with you, he’s never felt the need to. But after you spent so much time with Jeremy, he can’t even think of his name without souring, he can’t help the bubble forming in his gut.

“I really don’t mind helping you out, baby! I even cleared the desk for you!” Peter’s been grasping at straws for you to study with him, he’s always loved the extra time with you, and you actually learned from him and he feels like he helpt, and he loves helping you, he feels needed.

Maybe you felt like you didn’t have enough space?

You check to make sure everything is in your bag, “It’s not a problem, I don’t want to keep J waiting.”

She has a fucking nickname for J.

“J?”

You tilt your head like a dog, “Jeremy?”

Peter scoffs, his arms cross defensively. “Oh, we’re on nickname basis with this dude?”

“This dude,” you air quote, “is helping me with school.”

Peter runs a hovering hand down his body, “so was this dude!”

You understand now, he’s jealous and you switching up on him really hurt his feelings. But he did too, and if he thinks it was funny then so do you.

“He just understands me better.”

Peter feels like he’s been shot, his head is underwater. The one thing he thought he had, the thing he thought he was the best at, wasn’t good enough for you anymore. He doesn’t know when you started to feel this way, he’s only ever tried to help you and he thought he was doing it well, did he misread the signs?

“Oh, okay.”

Does he have something to worry about?

You feel bad, he looks upset. But maybe you’re too dumb to read it well.

“Okay? I’ll call you on my way home.”

Peter’s smile didn’t match his eyes.

—-----------------------

Peter flopped on the couch next to his aunt.

May looked to her side at her nephew and continued watching ID TV, Peter sighs loudly, May speaks without breaking eye contact on the screen. “It’s always the husband, watch it be the husband.” Peter sighs again loudly, May again talks, “everytime I watch these I always expect a twist and guess what? It’s the husband.” For the third time Peter sighs, this time May lets one out of her own and raises the remote to pause the channel.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s wrong, Peter?”

Pouty lips mumble words, his fingers play with the fringe on a throw pillow.

“Y/N’s gonna break up with me.”

May thinks her eyes are going to pop out of her head, “what?!”

Peter nods like it can’t be true, but it is. “Yup. So she can be with this guy, ‘J,’’ he uses air quotes, “she has a nickname for him now.”

Her eyebrows furrow, “what’s his name?”

Peter mocks a high pitched tone, “Jeremy.”

May snorts, “that’s a shit name, don’t worry.”

“My name is a euphemism for penis.”

May waves her hand, “when did she start hanging around him?”

Peter shrugs, “a few weeks ago. Apparently they only study together.”

This bothers him a whole lot more than he’s saying but May can pick up on it, she always can.

“I thought she only studied with you?”

“So did I.”

May hums, “any idea why she might?”

“She failed a math test and she thought I was going to call her dumb, but I never have!”

A gentle smile, “Pete, honey. Do you think it’s possible she feels intimidated by you? You’re smart, and you have a good heart but when you’re already embarrassed for flunking and you have a super smart boyfriend over your shoulder who you know thinks it’s childs math, you start to feel intimidated.”

Peter deflates, “but I’ve never made her feel inferior, and I don’t think of her as any less! Math is hard, you have to be exact, I know it can be hard! Everyone thinks Peter’s a genius, but Peter gets stuck on problems too!”

May tilts her head, he’s proved her point. “Does she know that?”

You’ve never seen him struggle but he’s watched you do it a million times. He doesn’t think you’re stupid or below him in any way, everyone has different strengths, yours isn’t math and that’s perfectly okay. Maybe if he shows you that he’s not some all knowing mathematician you’d feel less threatened.

Peter looks over at the TV, then at May.

“It’s the husband, right?”

May clicks play, “oh, totally.”

—--------------------------------

Peter spun in his desk chair, a one eighty to face you.

He had almost forgotten.

“How’d you do on your test?”

You snap your neck up to see his face, he looks excited. It’s hard feeling upset when he only wants you to succeed, even when he’s not the one teaching you.

“I got a B.”

Peter rolls his eyes and huffs, “well, I would've gotten you an A, but I’m sure Jeremy is just fine.”

You blink, “he is, thanks,” you go back to reading, Peter decides it’s time for a heart to heart. He comes to find you on his bed, rolling until his knees hit yours. Peter’s fingers tap on your knees getting your attention.

“Baby, I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

You freeze, “nothing’s wrong.”

His fingers squeeze your knees, “don’t lie, it doesn’t look cute on you.”

Peter reaches for your face, his hands cup the sides and forces you to look at him. Your lips are slightly squashed from his placement, you can’t avoid him now.

His voice comes out as a delicate whisper, he’s begging for the truth. “Be honest, did I make you feel dumb?” Peter feels your cheeks warm under his touch, your eyes dart around the room, anywhere but his face. “Baby?” Your eyes close, you can’t cry, not now.

“Oh, c’mon, baby. No crying, I’m the one that made you feel like a dummy.”

Your silence was answer enough, “hey, look at me,” he taps against your cheeks until you blink them open. His smile made you feel safe.

“I’m sorry. I promise you baby, there is nothing, shy of getting yourself hurt, that could make me think you’re dumb. Anything after algebra is useless math anyways, I just do it to keep my ego in check.” He smiles when you snort, “And if I did or said something to make you think otherwise then I’m sorry, but I really, really hate you’re getting help from another dude with a nickname.”

Your words are jumbled because of his hands, “you said I’d fail every class without your help.”

Peter frowns, “fuck, that’s mean.” His head shakes disapprovingly, “I didn’t mean it, I don’t even remember that, baby. I swear, it was just a shitty joke.”

“It might’ve been a joke but it really hurt my feelings.” Peter moves his right hand to brush some hair behind your ear, “I know I did, you had to outsource another man.” You smack his wrist away, “are you actually sorry or do you just feel threatened?”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t pleasing you and you had to find someone who could, I can’t blame you for that.”

You groan, “you’re impossible.”

Peter gets serious again, when the moment gets too much he can always break the tension for a second. “Hey, I mean it. I’m sorry, it was a stupid thing to say and I really, really miss having you over. And I promise if you ever feel that way again, let me know and I’ll dial it back. Sometimes I even get ahead of myself.”

You push your forehead against his and pull back, “it’s okay, I didn’t tell you so it’s not your fault you didn’t know.”

Peter holds his breath, “does this mean Jeremy fucks off now?”

You can’t help the laugh that tumbles, “yes, Jeremy can fuck off now.”

“Good.” Peter’s hand pulls you in, right before you connect you grab a hand at his shoulder and clench the fabric as he settles his mouth against yours. He tries to pull away but you hold him there, just a moment longer.

“I wanna show you something.”

You’re in a post kiss haze, you’d say yes to anything he wants right now. He kicks his feet off the floor and it sends the chair back to his desk, his hands digging through his drawers. Peter finally untucks a leather notebook from the back of a drawer, you’ve never seen it before, and you’ve been together for a while.

Consider your interest peaked.

Peter pats his thigh, an invitation to a seat. Who are you to ignore the call?

His left arm loops around your waist when you sit.

“This notebook holds all my dirty little secrets, wanna see?” Peter chuckles at your amusement, your head bobbles with your nod, he pinches your side, you lean into his body to escape his fingers.

“Contrary to popular belief, Peter Parker, the thoughtless, no effort, mega genius who knows everything, does not know everything. And I’m definitely not always perfect on the first try, most of the time I’m just lucky.”

You tried to question where this was going, how did it have any connection to a journal?

He pushes it in front of you.

“Open.”

Your fingers twitch, you open the front cover, it creaks. The inside page is empty, no ‘this journal belongs to,’ no name, no number, nothing. The next page is full of notes, cursive letters you’d need a moment to decipher, circled markings and animated question marks.

The next page had numbers all over it, it bled into the opposite page. Numbers written over and over and over, each one crossed out, arrows to move numbers around, swapping patterns and numbers. Frustrated scribbles that broke through the page behind it when you turned.

The same combination of numbers jumbled on the page, now a string of ‘fuck’s’ gradually got bigger in the collums of the page, finally a number and equestion was circled in bright red three times. You flipped through seven more pages, each one riddled with most of the same math patterns, some of them were with spanish triple underlined with a ‘dumb fuck,’ written in the corner, it drew your lip down, he wasn’t allowed to think of himself that way.

Peter wasn’t perfect. He struggled with things too, and he wasn’t always right. Sometimes he had to get through thirty possibilities until he found one that worked, other times he just couldn’t remember that damn word. He had just shown you an incredibly private thing in his life, something that you knew he’d never planned to show someone. Something that showed the human in him, he wasn’t so superb all the time.

“Math is fucking hard sometimes.”

Peter was nervous, your Peter was nervous that you saw that. You saw his breakdowns and frustrations and negative self talk. He’s glad you stopped when you did, the next section was AP probability and statistics, and if you saw the things he said about himself then? You’d have him committed.

You blow air from your mouth, “tell me about it, champ.”

His fingers tickled along your hips, your stomach tightened with butterflies and pulses when his hands sneaked under your t-shirt and layed above your beltline. “Why’d you never show me before?”

Peter places a kiss on your arm, “it’s embarrassing.”

You scoff and turn to him with fervor, “it’s not! I don’t think it’s embarrassing, and I don’t think you’re dumb at all! I’d never judge you for that, petey. Math is fucking hard sometimes, you’re right! But no, not embarrassing and definitely not a dumb fuck, please never call yourself that, I’d have to fight you and I don’t want to actually embarrass you.”

Peter tries to stop the growing grin, he has to bite his lip, the irony is sticky sweet to him. You wait for a response, his amusement both aggravating and confusing you. After a moment in silence and staring at his smug grin you connect the dots.

“Oh, fuck. It’s a ditto, moment, huh?”

He just nods happily.

#peter parker blurb #peter parker x reader #peter parker angst #peter parker fluff #tasm! peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm angst #mcu peter parker #peter parker #my writing

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mayflora-18 · 1 month

Text

Incorrect CoD Quotes #9

Price: There’s something wrong with the kid.

Laswell: Like what?

Price: *holds up a photo of a spider*

Roach: Ew.

Price: *holds up a photo of a cockroach*

Roach: Me.

Price: *holds up a photo of a lady bug*

Roach: *tips his helmet* Evening, ma’am.

Price: You see what I mean?

———

Roach: *sneaks into the barracks at 2am*

Price: *turns in a swivel chair* Care to to tell me where you were?

Roach: I was with… uh… Ghost!

Ghost: *also turns in swivel chair* Care to tr- *keeps spinning* uh Boss- I can’t stop the chair-

Roach: I meant… I was with Garrick.

Gaz: *turns on the light* Honestly Sanderson, you would think Roach would know how to be sneakier.

Roach:

———

Price, walking in: The training grounds are closed because of the ice storm.

Soap: Great! No training!

Soap: *looks out the window* Is Ghost still walking to the training grounds?

Soap: *opens window* HEY DIPSHIT, TRAINING’S CANCELLED!

Ghost: *looks around, confused* GOD?!

———

Ghost: Remember what I taught you.

Farah: The quickest way to a man’s heart is through the fourth and fifth ribs.

Alex: Ghost no!

———

Ghost: *can’t sleep because of nightmares*

Ghost: Listen to your therapist they said.

Ghost: You’ve been through a lot of trauma they said.

Ghost: *throws pillow* WELL YOUR BREATHING EXERCISES AREN’T WORKING NOW, ARE THEY DEBORAH!!

———

Rudy: I have a bad feeling about this.

Alejandro: What do you mean?

Rudy: Don’t you ever get that little voice in your head that tells you if something will get you into trouble?

Alejandro: No?

Rudy: That actually explains so much.

(This could work between Rudy and Soap too, honestly).

———

Nikolai: Physically I’m here but spiritually I’m lying in a Waffle House parking lot somewhere in rural Kentucky, slowly bleeding out from several stab wounds.

Sherlock: Mood.

———

Roach: I want to be a caterpillar.

Sherlock: Explain?

Roach: Eat a lot, sleep for a while. Wake up beautiful.

Sherlock: You know that they have a lifespan of, like, two weeks right?

Roach: That’s another highlight.

Soap: ROACH NO-

———

Sherlock: How do people just stay motivated their entire lives? What drives you? I got out of bed once and I’ve been exhausted ever since.

Ghost: You need to learn to hate life to the point where you want revenge on existence itself.

The rest of the 141:

Nikolai: *nods in agreement*

Roach: *furiously takes notes*

———

Soap: Is e seo do choire gu lèir.

Ghost: I know, I know.

Gaz: You know Gaelic??

Ghost: No, I just know the phrase “this is all your fault” in every language he speaks.

———

Roach: Sleeping is nice because you’re not exactly dead and you’re not awake so it’s a win-win situation.

Sherlock: It’s like being dead without the commitment.

Nikolai: An open relationship with death.

Farah: Death with benefits.

Ghost: An every night stand.

Meanwhile, everyone else in the background: *absolutely horrified*

———

*1am at 141 base*

Soap: If I drink Red Bull and NyQuil will I stay up or pass out?

Ghost: …Get off the fridge and go to bed like a normal human being.

*Later*

Ghost: SHERLOCK I HAVE A QUESTION!

Sherlock: Ghost what the fuck it’s 3am.

#call of duty #incorrect call of duty quotes #incorrect cod quotes #captain john price #kate laswell #gary roach sanderson #simon ghost riley #inspired by pinterest #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #farah karim #alex keller #rudolfo parra #alejandro vargas #call of duty oc #cod sherlock #chimera sherlock #cod nikolai

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sl-ut · 1 year

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tipsy

pairing: jake lockley x fem!reader, slight marc spector and steven grant x fem!reader (reader is in a relationship with the system)

description: y/n returns from a night out with her girls and can’t resist from how beautiful her boyfriend is.

warnings: SMUT, reader is intoxicated (just tipsy, not wasted) and kind of a bitch, mocking, oral (m receiving), shower sex, moonboys arguing

words: 3K

date posted: 18/01/23

The apartment was silent when Jake jolted awake, save for the bubbling of Gus’s fish tank and the faded roar of London’s nightlife. He groaned, neck clicking back into place as he leaned back into the desk chair, cursing at Steven for nodding off in such an uncomfortable position. His sight was fuzzy, eyes still heavy with sleep as he glanced at his surroundings; several books on Egyptology laid spread open across the top of the desk, an uncapped highlighter tossed carelessly on the floor and a series of fluorescent yellow smudges staining his fingertips. Sighing, he pushed himself away from the desk, leaving it exactly how he found it–Steven could clean up his own mess–as he reached into the cupboard for a bottle of amber whiskey.

He took three small sips from it, careful not to allow himself to feel any sort of strong effects from the alcohol, as he always did when Y/n went out with her friends, always prepared to go pick her up in the early hours of the morning if he needed. He glanced at the clock on the oven, squinting to read the bright green letters.

3:36 AM.

His eyes immediately shot over to the bed, alarmed when he found the blankets in the same haphazardly made fashion that Steven had left them in as he rushed out the door to work; the boys had quickly learned to do so in order to avoid a lecture from their girlfriend.

“Damn it Steven, you were supposed to stay awake until she got home,” He swore as he turned to meet Steven’s snarky stare in the reflection of the window.

I’m sorry, but she’s not normally out this late, Steven huffed, Usually a night out has her home and in bed by midnight.

Jake, He turned his head to find Marc in the reflection of Gus’s tank, He's right, she should be home by now.

Panic arose in his chest. Quickly, he abandoned the bottle of whiskey on the desk as he crossed the small studio apartment, forcing himself through the closed bathroom door. He called her name frantically, catching Steven once again in the bathroom mirror.

I’m sure she’s alright, maybe she called after I nodded off.

Jake nodded, turning into the bedroom and pausing. The personal cell phone that they all shared was not in its usual place on the bedside table, nor was it in the pants that Steven had worn to work that day, or small pocket inside his satchel. Jake ignored the Brit’s yelling of discontent as he watched him dump the contents of his brown leather bag on the floor, searching through the mess of papers and granola bar wrappers.

“Where the hell did you leave it, Steven?”

He stopped in his tracks at the sound of a key shakily being jammed into the lock, trained eyes watching as the lock began to turn and the door slowly creaked open, and finally letting out a breath of air as he watched his girlfriend stumble over the threshold of the apartment.

“Helloooooo,” She sang out, jumbled giggled falling from her lips, “I’m here, somebody come love me, please!”

Jake shook his head as he stifled his chuckle, stepping forward and into the dim lighting provided by Steven’s desk lamp. His eyes did a quick scan over her body, searching for any sign of blood or injury, though the only sign of a struggle was the long run in her tights and her lack of shoes.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of him, though a mischievous grin spread across her cheeks as she leaned across the back of the couch, “Well hey there, big boy.”

He smirked, copying her posture as he rested his shoulder against one of the many vertical beams. He could tell by the way that she was looking at him that she was attempting to figure out exactly who she was talking to. Her eyes flickered over to the desk, taking in the dishevelled appearance of the books and the man who had once been sitting there.

“Are you just gonna stand there?”

He nodded at her, refusing to speak so that she would need to guess which one of the three it was. On a regular day, it would be easy for her, but in her state it might have been more difficult.

“Well,” she slid forward to stand in front of the desk, “These are all Steven’s books here, but from the looks of them,” she fingered at the crumpled and folded pages before glancing over her shoulder at him, “And you, he fell asleep.” She turned, pushing the books back so that she could boost herself onto the edge of the wooden desk, “But Steven doesn’t drink whiskey.”

Jake nodded once more as she gazed at him through hooded eyes, slowly fluttering her lashes in a manner that she knew would have any of them weak in the knees. He shifted, crossing his arms over his chest to mock the way that Marc might stand.

“Hi Jake.”

He scoffed, dropping his arms as he crossed the room to stand right in front of her. He allowed her to tug him closer, wrapping her legs around his waist and sliding her hands over his arms to knead his biceps gently.

“How’d you know it wasn’t Marc?”

She smirked up at him, leaning closer to whisper into his ear, “You didn’t look grumpy enough.”

His head rolled back as a hearty laugh rumbled out of his chest, growing even deeper as Marc shouted in protest and Steven agreed with her.

“Oh,” He rested his hand on his belly, “He didn’t like that, princesa.”

She shrugged, leaning forward to nudge his nose with her own, “He can punish me for it later. But for now…” Her hands slid down his arms, around his back and landed just above his bum as she tightened her legs around him, “I’m all yours.”

He allowed her to press a warm, sloppy kiss to his awaiting lips, but didn’t allow it go any further as she began to wiggle against him.

“We were worried about you,” He told her, “You’re usually home a lot earlier.”

“I know,” She shrugged, “I called and texted.”

“I couldn’t find the phone,” He admitted.

She raised a brow as she glanced down, nodding in the direction of where the phone was almost entirely covered in scattered paper, save for the corner.

“Well apparently I didn’t look quite as hard as I could have.”

“Apparently not.”

Where are her shoes?

“What happened to your shoes?” He asked, both genuinely concerned and hoping to change the subject from his failure to find a scarcely hidden cell phone.

“I took them off.” She shrugged, “I think Jenny has them.”

Now what if she had stepped on a needle or-or a sharp rock?

Check her feet, they might be bleeding.

Jake did as Marc instructed, stepping away and unwrapping himself from her limbs so that he could inspect her feet. They were dirty, of course, and the sheer fabric around the bottoms of her feet was torn up. There appeared to have been a few scrapes from the sidewalk, but the worst of the injuries were the two large busted blisters on each of her heels, oozing blood and various other fluids.

“Shit, cariño.” Jake rushed to the bathroom, returning a moment later with the first aid kit.

“That’s why I took ��em off.” She shrugged, leaning back on her palms and allowing him to care for her feet, flinching as his fingers touched the swollen areas around the blisters.

He sat in the unsteady office chair, carefully pulling her feet into his lap and tugging at the tights, “Can I rip these?”

She barked out a laugh, “Now you’re asking? You’ve ripped a lot of my nicer things off of me without any notice.”

He grinned up at her, ignoring the heat that grew in the tips of his ears at her lewdness. One thing that he always appreciated about these nights out was that she always lost all shyness and reservation the moment that a single drop of alcohol touched her tongue.

“You certainly didn’t mind all those other times.”

“That’s because you rocked my world right afterwards. You gonna do that now?”

He glanced down, not ignorant to the way that his pants grew tighter at her words.

She’s drunk, Steven argued, Don’t take advantage of her.

“You’re drunk,” He noted, tearing the material away from her feet and beginning to dab at the open sores.

“Tipsy,” She corrected, “And horny. Please?”

He shook his head softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her kneecap, “Tomorrow, cariño.”

Y/n groaned, “I don’t want it tomorrow.”

He raised his brow as he finished cleaning her heels, “Oh really? I’ll keep that in mind. Now come on, let’s go to bed.”

She shook her head, pushing past him–making sure to bump his shoulder as she did so–and pausing in the bathroom doorway, “I need to shower.”

He sighed, carefully packing the first-aid kit back up and leaving it on the desk before making his way over to the bed. He leaned back against the headboard, glancing over to the partially closed bathroom door, only allowing him to see the vanity, though the mirror allowed him to see the figure he’d been longing for.

He watched the reflection as she carefully peeled herself free of the ruined tights before reaching for the zipper on the side of her dress. His breathing became laboured as he watched each article to fall away, leaving her bare to the world as the mirror began to gloss over with steam.

Go for it, Marc advised, If she’s really that mad about it then she’s definitely not that drunk. She’s never this unreasonable when she’s drunk.

Don’t, Steven argued, She’ll get over it.

Jake groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly as the two argued in his mind, “Shut up, both of you. I can’t even hear myself think.”

He pondered for a moment, then finally made his decision.

The bathroom was frosted in steam, Jake’s body temperature skyrocketing as he stepped inside. He glanced down at the pile of discarded clothing on the floor, withholding a groan as he recognized the familiar pair of pink lace panties that had been thrown on top, carefully dropping his own clothes on top.

The curtain prevented him from spotting any details, but he could faintly make out her figure as she stood beneath the pounding stream of hot water. She did not seem surprised to hear the curtain run quietly along the track as he stepped in, refusing to turn to face him as he stepped into the stream as well, wrapping his arms carefully around her waist and holding her back to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” He murmured into her neck, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake, “I don’t wanna take advantage of you, mi amor.”

She was frustrated with him, but she simply couldn’t avoid the way that she slumped into his embrace so easily. She sighed, tilting her head back to rest against his shoulder as their eyes met, a silent understanding.

“You wouldn’t be,” She argued softly, “But it’s okay.”

He kissed her lips softly, one hand coming up to grasp at her hair and help her to remove the remaining suds of shampoo. He pushed her gently to stand a bit further from him, allowing him to run a generous amount of conditioner through the ends of her hair. When he was finished, she turned, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist and pressing herself against him.

“I love you,” She whispered into his shoulder, but he heard nonetheless.

“Yo también te amo angel.”

He felt the corners of her lips turn up against his flesh as she glanced up at him, wickedness clear in her eyes.

“What are you–oh!”

He gasped as her hand moved down, wrapping firmly around his length, which had been unabashedly erect against her thigh as they embraced, proving to her that he truly did want her.

“Let me do you,” She whispered to him, beginning to administer slow pumps, “That’s all. Please, Jakey.”

NO!

Looks like she’s going to either way, bud. May as well enjoy it.

She kissed him softly, taking his eager response to her as permission. Cautious not to slip, she lowered herself to kneel in front of him, gazing up at him through her lashes as she carefully dragged her tongue up the bottom of him, cupping his sack in her slick palm.

He groaned, leaning back against the wall in submission to her. She giggled, pressing the softest of kisses to his flesh before finally taking as much of him into her mouth as she could manage. Jake choked on his own spit, one hand carefully finding the nape of her neck to support her movements while the other ran through his own locks, smoothing the wet curls out of his face so they couldn’t obstruct his view.

“Baby-shit,” His hips stuttered forward, his tip grazing the back of her throat.

Her mouth curved around him, though she did not pause or slow her movements to respond with some witty comment, as he knew she had wanted to.

Hey!

His eyes snapped up, finding Steven staring back at him in the reflection of the stainless steel shower head.

“W-what now?” He stammered out, not noticing the way that she glanced up at him, but didn’t stop; she was more than accustomed to the boys talking and arguing with one another while she was having sex with one of them.

Shut the water off! I don’t even wanna look at the bill we’re gonna get this month.

Jake almost laughed, hell, he probably would have if he hadn’t been balls-deep in his girlfriend’s mouth. Reaching over, he grasped the handle and turned the water off before turning back to watching her. She raised a brow, a silent question.

“Steven complained about the water bill,” He explained, groaning as she choked slightly around him as a small laugh vibrated around her body.

He pressed on the back of her neck, prolonging the feeling of her choking around him for a few moments before pulling her back and hauling her up to her feet. His lips met hers in a furious kiss, tongues intertwining and teeth gnashing as he grasped at her thighs, carrying her out of the shower and dropping her onto the countertop as if she were a doll.

Eagerly, she spread her legs, grinding against him. He pulled away, moving down her body in hopes of returning the favour, though he was stopped by her, grasping his chin tightly and pulling him back up.

“No, no,” She gasped, “I need you. Please, I just need–”

“It’s okay,” He soothed, pulling her to the edge of the counter and lining himself up, “I got you, I got you.”

He slid into her easily, her folds sopping with arousal. Another perk of these nights out was that she was always so ready for him, and was always so responsive to his touch. He laughed as she squirmed against him, crying out louder than she normally would as his tip kissed her cervix.

Y/n rocked against him, meeting his every thrust without fail and shivering as her clit continued to be tickled by the dark curls on his pubis. Her arms wound around him, nails leaving crescent-shaped indents in his muscular back as she gripped him for dear-life.

“Jake,” she gasped, “I’m not gonna last long.”

“I know,” He grunted, hands grasping her bum to pull her into his thrusts even more, “Me neither, princesa.”

“I love you,” She cried out over and over as if it were some spell that she might have been using to bewitch him–that was the only way that Jake could explain how he was so easily manipulated by her every whim and became so enthralled by her simple presence.

“I love you,” He panted, “I fucking love you.”

His mouth took her lips, absorbing every sigh and moan that dared escape and committing them to memory. He wanted to encase every little bit of her being within himself, consume anything that she was willing to offer, especially her jerking movements and desperate whines as she tightened around him, spilling her release all over his member as he struggled to hold on.

“Come on,” She urged him, eyes hooded and hazy as she came down from her high, “Jake, come on. Please give it to me.”

Her words were enough, his hips stuttering through his final few thrusts before white-hot pleasure exploded within him. He groaned out loudly, following through with a few gentle movements to work himself through it before he slipped out.

They remained there for a few moments, wrapped in each other’s arms as they both came down, melting into one another and whispering sweet nothings. She kissed his shoulder softly, then reached up to meet his lips once more, allowing herself to force every ounce of love she had for him to flow through the embrace.

He chuckled when she pulled away, “Aren’t you glad I said no now?”

She shook her head, “You only made yourself suffer, I could have woken up Marc or Steven to do me the second you fell asleep. I was getting it one way or another.”

He frowned at her, pinching her thigh in retaliation, “You think that either of them could do what I just did?”

Watch it, amigo. I could have done her twice as hard as you did.

Jake grinned at his reflection over her shoulder turning back to his girlfriend, “By the way, Marc called you unreasonable.”

HEY!

#jake lockely imagine #jake lockely smut #jake lockely x reader #marc spector #marc spector fic #steven grant #steven grant x reader #moon knight #jake lockely fic #marvel #mcu #moon knight x reader #moon knight imagine

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hoss-bonaventure · 3 months

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i want to expand on this post just cause i can.

so much of gus and jesse’s relationship is played as an affair. this is only because it makes walt’s anger about their dynamic feel more jilted, like a lover. when he confronts jesse about the two of them having dinner he uses language an excusatory husband would use if he caught his spouse cheating such as “tell me you weren’t as his house last night?” it’s very clearly written as jesse being disloyal to walt and their partnership. now the audience knows that’s just simply not true with jesse literally saying “if you kill mr. white, you’re going to have to kill me too” when he thinks gus is suggesting killing him. he’s devoted to mr. white throughly. even when he’s being shoved into these new situations by mike and gus, there’s never a moment where he thinks about abandoning him. he’s still in the back of his mind through everything, and every character knows this except for walt. that’s what makes most of the build-up leading to gus’s death so ironic. to walt, gus is the other woman who needs to be killed for fraternizing with what’s “his”. in reality, it’s his own brutality and sadistic behavior that is putting a wedge between him and jesse.

it’s very reminiscent of walt finding out about skyler’s affair with ted. he lashes out and throws a tantrum but he never stops for a second and asks why it happened. he never comes to the conclusion that his actions are what’s driving skyler into another’s arms. he plots to get revenge on ted, but it’s never more serious than toxic masculine how-dare-you-sleep-with-my-wife bullshit. he wants to kill him, i don’t doubt that, but he can’t. how can he? killing, torturing, and all that depravity belongs in the “heisenberg” part of his life. he cannot touch ted because he is as mundane as the life he is fronting.

now, i will admit, the skyler affair storyline and jesse’s so-called adultery are really not that similar at all. like i said, jesse is not betraying anyone--he is still fiercely dedicated to mr. white. his unfaithfulness is only interpreted as much by walt himself, and it’s walt’s delusions drive him away in the first place. skyler cheats as a means of revenge, as a way to take back some autonomy that walt had stripped her of. however, it’s the way that walt handles these individual perfidies that’s so captivating to me. when deciding what to do with gus, he immediately decides he needs to kill him. this was his plan prior, but now it’s more dire. jesse is gone. he needs to kill two birds with one stone: win back jesse and kill gus. more importantly, he needs to show jesse that him killing gus was something he did for the both of them. so thus he embarks on this convoluted, deplorable, fucked-up scheme. and hey! it works. he successfully manipulates jesse once again, implanting in his brain that no one will have your best interests at heart but me. “gus had to go” and jesse has to agree because this pseudo-son is dying and mr. white is right there and he saved him right? he saved brock and he saved jesse and it doesn’t matter that their love has a body count. their reunion is so impactful because they’re like magnets in a way. the connection they share is so strong that it doesn’t matter how hard they fight or run away, they will cling to each other once more. but what’s devastating this time around is that jesse doesn’t have a leg to stand on with mr. white anymore. he almost fucking killed him and it turns out the “real” mastermind was gus all along. so he offers his submission as an apology, when mr. white holds out his hand he takes it because this is how he can say he’s sorry. and walt? how could he not fall in love all over again. he has jesse, freshly martyred and in his arms once again.

#i found this in my drafts #tbh i cooked #i miss being able to watch breaking bad without crying #now i can't look at jesse's baby blues without fucking sobbing up a storm #takes me 2 days now to finish one episode #waltjesse #walter white #jesse pinkman #brba #Breaking Bad #Aaron Paul #bryan cranston

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despairots · 5 months

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#A NIGHT TO REMEMBER, o. dazai!

a special oneshot!

description, it’s special to know how the other feels. to communicate is the best, though, dazai isn’t one for words but it’s fine, you’re the same. neither of you can put the feelings you have into words.

— story contains, angst, established relationship, swearing, suicide mentions, depressing talks, “no longer human” connections i think?, r! psychoanalysis’s i guess?, mental health, trauma talking, character deaths, if i missed anything let me know! gender neutral! reader.

“why are you writing this?” bc dazai is one of the characters i heavily relate to on another level. hes so much different from mizuki akiyama and satoru gojo. and this is just me talking a lot about dazai’s character and analyzing him… btw, r! wears a black blazer (or leather jacket) white button up with a black waist coat, either brown shorts or pants (maybe black of u want), underneath the shorts or pants are like black tights and slip on penny loafers.

long before you started dating dazai, there was an obvious connection that you only saw and felt. obviously, you were friends during those time periods because you worked in the same place, everyone there were friends.

though, the friendship you two had were entirely different from the rest, had the same humour but showing it differently. you wouldn’t lie and say that dazai flirting with you just to ask for a double suicide didn’t concern you, because it did. there’s no doubt that he’ll try and eventually succeed (although, death doesn’t accept him).

there’s nothing that can kill this man, no matter how hard he tries. you picked that up during one of his failed attempts, it almost succeeded if kunikida wasn’t there, you thanked him a ton. all he said in response is that; “i have to look over that idiot one way or another.” no matter how much dazai annoys his coworkers, they still care.

when dazai tries to commit and somewhat fails, it’s almost like he’s punishing himself for still being alive. you know his past, after all, you were in port mafia with him, even though you two didn’t work together or how he didn’t know you during that time, you sure knew him.

he was surrounded by death, in the port mafia and the ada, it follows him yet never accepts it’s his time to come to the afterlife. he makes these plans that somewhat end up succeeding though he hurts himself in the process, always worrying you. what if eventually death actually accepts him at some point?

dazai has been extraordinarily smart every since he was a kid to the point where he’s been dehumanized by dubbing him; “the demon prodigy”. you didn’t know anything about his parents, you did know what drove him to be tired of living. he’s tired living, bored by life and the people around him, to him, they are easily predictable and manipulated that nothing can surprise him.

he can’t find sense to the world but most importantly, he doesn’t find sense in life, he ends up reverting to extensional depression, continuing the cycle he lives in.

dazai has been exploited ever since he was 14 and taken into the port mafia by mori. he was kept alive by mori, by chuuya, by everyone. he was used until there was nothing left. he never had any love nor hope (that he’d ever have someone to understand him) until a friend he later brought up to you, oda.

he truly believed he deserved everything that happened to him in the port mafia.

you believe that younger dazai never believed that he could be better, but if he’s changing now than he always had the ability to change, just never tried. he was sure the mafia was the only fate he had and the only place to escape of living.

then oda died. dazai was free, with ango’s help of wiping his criminal records. without ango’s help, he would’ve never been free from mafia, though he knows his past will always haunt him, he’s accepted that. he also knows that his indebted to ango, he knows he owes him.

since oda’s death, dazai’s trust had ran thin and he’s always on guard, his ability to open up to anyone had been cut off because he can not lose anyone again. the things he cares about and didn’t wanna lose, is lost the moment he gains it.

his plans always evolve other people, rather to manipulate or exploit. you don’t blame him, if it meant surviving, you would do it too.

he is someone who jokes but never opens up nor can be his true self. he’s a wreck who will drag anyone else down with him, that was a price you had to pay for dating him. he repulsed the idea of love and being in a relationship with you because of how he’ll be afraid of losing you.

dazai dated you as a joke, to see how thing will end, until he realized that you were somewhat different. you were always one step of ahead, had almost the same ability that involved contact, and you had this missing glint in your eyes. that’s just the surface though.

dazai knows there’s more to you— he doesn’t know about your connections to the port mafia though— but he doesn’t bother bringing the topic up to you though nor does he like talking about it.

at nights like this, where he’s staring aimlessly somewhere and devoid of emotion, he’s completely vulnerable in your shared dorm. sitting on the couch, cheek on the palm of his hand as the other searches the cold touch of your hand, seeking for some company.

—and you’re there. sitting on the couch with him and a book discarded in your lap, only staring at dazai with a look of curiosity and content, he looks peaceful despite the war going on in his head.

(you were memorized by the destruction he creates and has, it was peaceful to know what beautiful destruction that dazai carries with him).

when dazai feels the cold skin of your hand, he could feel his ability cancelling yours out as your hand covers his, holding it tightly yet so soft that he wonders if you’re even there. dazai finally looks at you, face still devoid of emotion, watching you reopen your book.

“morning, sleeping beauty.” you hummed softly, an amused tone with your words. dazai groaned and knocked your book off your lap, kicking his legs up into your lap and laying down, now staring up at the ceiling.

hearing dazai go silent wasn’t rare, it was rather common when you two are in your shared dorm, but not hearing him say something stupid back confused you.

you turned your head to dazai, taking notice of his eyes that threatened to pour tears in front of you, “you okay, ‘samu?” knowing him for a while now, he wouldn’t open up and talk about his feelings. it’s fine though, you’re like that too, and you wouldn’t mind waiting forever even if it didn’t come.

dazai didn’t respond.

he never did.

he closed his eyes and if you listened closer, you could hear the shaky breath that he exhaled. taking his hand in yours, you placed a chaste kiss to his palm, the contact making dazai open his eyes slowly and sit up on his elbows.

“when are you gonna leave?” he’s says stupid shit all the time, it doesn’t effect you, none of his words effect you. it should’ve effected you but it didn’t, and dazai could tell by the unamused look on your face, “when are you gonna take your life seriously?” you lightly jabbed at him, hearing him scoff and mutter ‘hypocrite’ underneath his breath.

dazai sat up properly, scooting closer to you and grabbing your hand, setting his head on your shoulder. dazai’s touch starved but refuses any contact that doesn’t involve him initiating it, you’re an expectation, you’ve always been every since the relationship started.

silence took over you, the fan in the background aswell as dazai’s calming breath stirring you into a tired state, laying your head on dazai’s head (knowing the neck pain wouldn’t be worth it tomorrow).

“y’know i’d wait, right?” dazai hums underneath his breath as a response, “how do i know you’re not lying?” and you scoff. rolling your tired eyes, for a guy like him to ask you that question is amusing. “we’ve been lying to eachother for a while but i’m not lying about this, ‘samu.”

the former executive makes himself more comfortable in the crook of your neck, forcing you to lay down and keep him close, “i know.” the words came out muffled, and alas, his eyes are shut again and his sleeping in your arms that are now warm.

with him being asleep, you could pick out the smallest details about the boy in your arms. in your arms, he isn’t the former demon prodigy, in your arms, he isn’t a former port mafia member, in your arms, he isn’t a dehumanized person.

he’s just a boy.

osamu dazai isn’t one for words, but it’s okay, because you’re not one for words either. it’s gonna be like that for awhile, or forever, only time could tell. dazai knows this; you know this. and since dazai’s betrayal to the port mafia, he’s changing, but if he’s changing now, he was always capable of changing, he just never cared enough to try.

osamu dazai isn’t one for words, neither are you.

tick.

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year

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𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐝

pairing: pre outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader

genre: angst, smut, romance, slow burn, mutual pining, secret relationship

series summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

word count: 4.8k

chapter summary: Your brother comes for a visit and of course, he wants to meet the Millers. Things with Joel come to a boiling point, threatening to pour over.

warnings: joel dissociating, family dynamics, criticizing of war, some angst, arguing, hints of grief, brief mention of parents being emotionally distant, explicit make out scene at the end

a/n: August is the reader's stepbrother, reader still has no physical descriptions. His face claim ended up being Oscar Isaac, ofc you don't have to imagine him that way, but I just wanted to let y'all know lmaodbf I was trying to think of what he should look like and it kinda happened

Chapter Seven || Chapter Nine

Your brother is already sitting on the kitchen stool when you walk in with silent, socked feet. He hears you though. Always does. Perking up, he turns with a smile. Your heart jumps as you notice a magazine in his hand, but realizing it can’t be the one with Joel’s picture in it, you relax, making a beeline to the coffee machine.

“You still like your coffee black?”

“Yup. Just like my wretched soul.”

You shake your head. Smiling, you grind the coffee beans, the sound breaking the peaceful silence of the morning. When you’re done, you turn to him and pour the coffee into the portafilter. You tamp it down.

“Your soul isn’t black.”

“Hmm?” He rests his cheek in the palm of his hand, his elbow propped up on the kitchen counter. A soft smile tugs at his lips, always amused by your rantings. “And what color is my soul?”

“Golden. Sparkly, shiny.”

“You’re just saying that because of my name.”

“Why would Auggie remind me of gold?”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it. Idiot.” he grins. He leans over and squeezes your cheeks with one hand, hallowing them out. You let out a whine. “Come on now. Say it. Say my actual name and not the one you would call your sheepdog.”

You push out your bottom lip, pouting, you glare at him. He laughs.

“I’m not letting go until you say it.”

“Fine,” you snap, your voice muffled. “August. There, happy? Now let me go, you menace.”

“See, was that so hard?” he lets go and you stumble back. His strength always coming a bit of a shock. You draw your brows together, rubbing your chin. August rolls his eyes. “Why can’t you be normal and just call me Gus if you’re going to be lazy about it.”

“Because it sounds like goose and I don’t like geese. And Auggie sounds cute,” you answer. The hiss of the coffee maker fills the kitchen and you take two mugs from the cabinet. “How’s mom and dad by the way?”

“Not thrilled that you’re here on your own. Living with ghosts.”

Shaking your head, you place a red colored mug in front of him. Your parents had a habit of think you were drowning in melancholy. Which…was true, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be on your own. You’re about to say just that, looking at him but the thin gold chain on his neck reflects the soft morning hue and catches your gaze. Briefly, you stare at it, blinking.

“You’re wearing it again?”

August raises a sole brow, confused, that is until he looks down and realizes what you meant. He licks his lips and smooths his palms over the marble counter.

“Well…no point in being mad at him anymore is there? The old man’s gone.”

“He’d be happy knowing you still care.”

“I always cared,” he snaps with a hint of annoyance. “Need I remind you that pops was the one mad at me. Not the other way around.”

“He was mad because you were throwing your life away,” you level him a serious look and add. “You still are.”

“I don’t want to do this first thing in the morning,” he groans. “You’re just saying that because you don’t like the idea of your big brother with a gun.”

You fill his mug with piping hot coffee. Steam curls into the air. You start warming up milk for yourself, your back turned to him.

“I don’t like the idea of my big brother being shipped off to war on a whim. It’s not a hunting trip. Don’t act like it’s not a big deal.”

“It isn’t.”

“You’ll die.”

You suck in a sharp breath. You hadn’t meant to say it like that. He’s already aware that he can die. You close your eyes and keep them like that. The sounds of the kitchen fade into the background. The sound of a clock echoes in your mind. You remember the last time August was here, in this house. Your grandfather was alive then. The house was full of his voice and scent. Unlike your parents, who were somewhat distant, your grandpa hated the thought of August wasting his potential. Meanwhile, August was trying hard to prove that he didn’t have any potential to waste. You’re not even sure what your big brother does anymore. You stopped asking the day you and him buried your grandpa.

It’s been the two of you for the longest time. Your mother remarried when you were four, August was six. Not having many friends, you were quick to leach on to him, and he seemed happy by that. He was your family, and you were his. Blood didn’t matter. And your grandfather, and grandmother, agreed with the sentiment, never separating the two of you.

You remember when you were still in university, August didn’t tell you he was in the city. And one late night he was on your doorstep. Rain soaked through his shirt and his hair curled at the ends. Your heart breaks when you remember those times. He refused to tell you what happened that night. Later on, you learned he came to meet his mom. The exchange hadn’t gone well.

You jump when you feel a set of hands on your shoulders. The sound of your name follows soon after, it sounds rushed like it had been repeated a couple of times before you heard it.

Everything comes flooding back. The coffee. The milk. Your brother standing behind you.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Christ. Where’s your head at?”

“Shit—” you hiss, seeing that the milk had overflowed. You quickly turn off the stove. “Sorry, sorry. Must’ve zoned out.”

“This is why I said I didn’t want to have this conversation first thing in the morning,” he grumbles, picking up a handful of napkins. “You need to stop worrying about me okay? I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I don’t want to constantly fight about this. I’m tired.”

“Yeah, okay.”

You realize your answer is less than ideal but it is what it is. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, fine. You’ll at least make him highly aware of how you feel about it.

After cleaning the stove and finally making yourself a decent cup of coffee, you sigh into the mug. “So what do you want to do during your visit? Sightseeing?”

He chuckles, “Why are you acting like this is my first time here?”

“I don’t know. I feel awkward now. I probably need breakfast.”

“You’re fine,” he answers, booping your nose. Your wrinkle your nose, a soft smile blossoming on your lips. “I’ve seen your paintings, they look good.”

You nod, silently sipping your coffee.

“Any plans on showing them off, or whatever it is that artists do—put them in a museum?”

“Gallery.” you correct him. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Not so fun is it? Being questioned?” when you fix him a glare, he grins. “Anyway…I love what you’ve done with the room. About time something changed here.”

You finally crack a proper smile and he quickly follows up with more series of thoughts. With a soft giggle parting your lips, you shake your head.

“Which one was it that helped you?” he asks. “The brothers?”

“Both helped. But the credit has to go to Tommy, he’s the one who came up with the idea.”

“Wise man,” he hums, tongue moving over his teeth thoughtfully. “Was he the one in Desert Storm?”

“Yup,” you answer unenthusiastically, popping your lips at the p.

“When am I going to meet the famous Millers? I want to thank them for helping out my baby sister.”

“Tonight. They’re coming over for dinner.”

Another unenthusiastic response. It’s been almost a week since your date with Tommy, and since you’ve moved out from Joel’s and back into your own. You’ve seen Tommy a bunch after that, but the older Miller not so much. Guilt burrows in your heart. You might’ve been a bit too short with Joel, now that you think about it. His intentions obviously weren’t bad. But that didn’t really matter to you, did it? Your heart skips a beat every time you think of him. And you stared at his picture nearly every night since you returned.

Meanwhile, despite seeing him almost every day whenever he came over to fix up the room, your friendship with Tommy felt…off. Some part of you thinks he knows about your feelings, and Joel’s. He never said anything about it. He hadn’t even mentioned the date, it was like business as usual.

It was just a crush then. It has to be. You and Tommy were close, he was lonely, figured he’d ask you out. Nothing serious. You preferred to think about it that way.

“What are we having?” your brother asks, drawing you away from your, not so fun, thoughts.

“I was thinking chicken.”

Joel holds a bottle of wine in hand and Sarah is holding a tupperware full of homemade brownies. Upon getting the invite, Sarah had been adamant about perfecting her recipe to bring over. Joel was not allowed in the kitchen. Deeming to be a jinx whenever Sarah tried to cook. He had no objections to that. He was more than happy to listen to his daughter hum in the kitchen as he watched TV in the living room.

They walk toward your place with her arm crossed over his. Tommy is getting out of the truck just as they reach the porch. His younger brother meets Joel’s gaze briefly before turning his head, walking up to them. He ruffles Sarah’s hair, greeting them both with a small nod of his head.

“Better get this over then,” Tommy mutters, reaching from between the father and daughter duo to knock on the door.

But before he can, Sarah smacks his hand away. The gesture earns her a solid fix of Tommy’s glare. Joel’s shoulders raise, his eyes nervously flitting between Sarah and Tommy. He’d kept Sarah out of the loop. It felt like the right thing to do. Your dating life should be no concern to her. And as far as Joel was concerned, Sarah wasn’t ready to hear about his love life with another woman.

“Sarah.” Tommy warns, the last syllable of her name bouncing off his grit teeth. “What do you think you’re doin’?”

“You two have been so weird all week,” she chides, the crease between her brows similar to her father’s. “If you’re not going to be nice, you should leave.”

“Dammit Sarah, I—” he lets out a stuttering breath. “Fine. Just knock on the goddamn door.”

It’s instinct. Sarah knocks on the door and at the same time Joel brings a hand down to Tommy’s shoulder. Hard. The younger Miller’s entire body tilts to the side and Joel squeezes, making sure that his fingers make dents into Tommy’s skin. Tommy tenses under Joel’s hold but doesn’t move, he doesn’t even look back at him. He just patiently waits until the door opens, warm, soft light pouring through the door.

Sarah takes the first step, hugging you and handing you the Tupperware. You’re wearing a green dress that hugs your figure perfectly, his mouth floods with saliva. Joel already feels his cock twitching uncontrollably under his jeans. The way you smile is always so bright.

But first things first.

“Don’t you ever snap at my daughter like that again. You hear me, Tommy.” he says in a hushed tone, leaning into Tommy’s ear. Sarah already disappeared inside, and you’re patiently holding the door open for them.

“Your daughter?” he grimaces, taking a step back so the two of them are out of earshot. “You mean my niece? I didn’t do anythin’ Joel. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

Tommy takes the lead. He kisses your cheek and mutters pleasantries. Without waiting for Joel, Tommy takes his shoes off, heads to the kitchen. Joel huffs, glaring at his brother’s back.

“Is something wrong?”

Your voice peels him away from his anger, his hands suddenly feel foreign to him. He robotically hands you the wine.

“Nah,” he shakes his head. “Just brothers being brothers.”

“O…kay then. Well in any case, welcome. Thanks for the wine.”

If Tommy being mad at him isn’t enough, it looks like you’re still frustrated with him as well. You don’t look at him. And the smile you have on is nothing other than polite. It’s a small little curve. The type you would give to a stranger walking past you in the street. He hates it.

Thank god for Sarah. At least she’s not mad at him.

“Don’t mention it,” he mutters, purposefully brushing his arm against yours while passing you by. He hears you letting out a soft sigh. The hairs on his arms stand with delight at the sound.

He enters the kitchen where the dining table is at. Tommy’s already chatting up your brother, and Sarah is dragging her fingers through one of your dried oil paintings. She likes the texture of it, he told him once. The brother’s eyes meet Joel’s and he already feels his muscles growing taut. Tommy follows the brother’s gaze and nods.

Joel nearly jumps when your hand comes around his shoulder. The brother narrows his eyes.

“This is Joel,” you say, giving him a gentle shove. “And you already met Tommy. Joel, this is August. My brother.”

Joel takes in the brother’s appearance. He has sharp, angular cheekbones that give his face a chiseled look, and his intense gaze is accentuated by thick, dark eyebrows. His wavy, dark hair falls messily over his forehead. He has broad shoulders and a defined jawline. He exudes a quiet confidence that draws Joel's attention.

Swallowing multiple times, Joel quickly extends a hand. A weird sense of relief washes over him when August takes it, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, sitting back down. “I heard so much about you.”

“Good things I hope,” Joel grins sheepishly. A blush crawls up from his neck to his cheeks when the other winks. Joel’s gut is telling him that August already knows what’s going on in his head and it’s unnerving.

“They’re all good, don’t worry.” he smiles and pulls out a chair for Joel. “She tells me you two helped her with the room. Well, you have my thanks. I was a bit worried about her moving in here after…” he clears his throat. “I’m sure you know.”

August utters the last sentence with his eyes fixed on Joel. He shudders.

“Auggie, stop making me seem like I’m a damsel in distress. I’m not a child that needs to be taken care of.”

“That you’re not,” August answers. “But everyone needs help sometimes.”

You frown, “Says the man who never accepts it.”

The rest of the evening passes by with soft jazz music in the background and all of them setting the table together, which isn’t a five-man job, but they do it anyway. Sarah is rather bubbly, talking about school and a boy she doesn’t seem to like. He takes a mental note to ask about that later. You listen with interest, checking the rice and mixing the salad. Tommy and August hit it off instantly. Which isn’t at all a shock to him. August laughs at something Tommy says while placing a plate. Joel looks around, his pleading eyes landing on Sarah and you in the kitchen.

Neither of them notices him. He’s left standing awkwardly between kitchen and dining room. He rubs his sweaty palms on his jeans, gaze dropping to his socked feet.

He doesn’t want to bother anyone, so he slips away to the hall.

Maybe he should’ve asked you first, before going exploring. But he can’t really help it. Joel finds himself in the renovated room. It’s basically done, the room fully painted and bookshelves back in place. You even have a couple of easels holding your latest artwork. He stumbles inside, the conversations fading into the background.

It’s hard not to feel upset. He isn’t sure what he’s doing wrong. At the time, not allowing you to say what you had swirling in your mind felt like the right thing to do. Joel doesn’t know if he could’ve held back if you confessed. Even though he was rather close to confessing himself, that was before Tommy took initiative.

He observes the first painting. His initial thought is that it looks nice. There are a lot of colors in geometric shapes. He sees a lot of red and pink. Some blue. Some white. His eyes move up and down, and as it does, he slowly begins to realize the smaller shapes form a bigger one. It’s human. A naked one. He follows the vee of the adonis belt, the softened stomach. Suddenly it’s very clear to him that this is a man. Joel takes a step back. The face hasn’t been painted yet. No eyes, no nose, no mouth. A somber smile touches his lips. Sometimes he wishes he didn’t have any of those. Maybe he won’t fuck up so badly if he doesn’t.

Joel’s about to leave when he sees it. The smallest stain on the front of the silhouette’s hip. Tilting his head, he steps closer. His skin tight over his muscles, his breath hitches.

It’s a bullseye. The tiniest, you blink you miss it, bullseye.

He leans closer, it’s definitely a bullseye. Smaller than his tattoo, but it’s the same shape, in the same spot.

What the fuck?

He lifts his gaze, eyes flitting across the round shape that’s meant to be a face—his face. Is this…supposed to be him?

Shitshitshitshit

Joel jolts out of the room and stumbles into the small bathroom that’s on the first floor. He turns the faucet so hard that his fingers ache but he doesn’t care. He splashes cool water over his face until his breathing calms down. Then he flushes the toilet for some noise.

When he opens the door, his head is spinning. The walls wiggle and dance, the hardwood floor underneath his feet slips. Joel can barely stand. His fingers itch to have something pressed against them, something that can pull him out of the fog of his mind.

He doesn’t look inside and silently closes the door, his eyes glazed over. He makes his way down the hall. His heart is beating too fast. He can barely breathe. Some part of him believes he’s making it up. That the tattoo wasn’t there, that it was just smudged paint. He’s not an artist. It wouldn’t be hard for his brain to make something up. It wouldn’t be the first time.

The voices grow closer. He closes his eyes, lashes touching with his cheeks. He should’ve let you talk that day. At least then everything would be crystal clear. He hates not truly knowing. The heave of his chest forces him to open his eyes.

Everyone is already at the table. You’re serving the food, putting a chicken leg on your brother’s empty plate. His space is reserved next to Sarah, right across from Tommy and you, August is at the head of the table. Only Sarah notices him. She looks up, brows pinched together as she mouths: are you okay dad?

Joel nods and takes his seat. His vision finally clears. The scent of chicken and roasted vegetables wafts through the air, grounding him to the present. He feels the brush of Sarah’s fingers on his forearm, she still looks worried.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, reaching for the salad. With his tongue between his lips, his gaze follows your movements as you divide the chicken. “Everything looks amazing, tea. Thank you for having us.”

“Yeah,” Sarah chimes in. “It looks great. I didn’t know you could cook.”

You let out a snort and shake your head. “Why does everyone in this house think I can’t look after myself? What kind of image am I giving you guys?”

Laughter follows, Tommy, says something but Joel doesn’t catch it. His mind still in the room with the painting. He eats silently. Biting into his fork and savoring the taste of white meat. He watches Sarah neatly wrapping the base of the chicken leg with a napkin before she starts eating, he rolls his eyes but smiles anyway.

No one really discerns his silence. Which he concludes to be a good thing. The food is good and helps him settle down. His eyes flit between you and Tommy, a pleasant conversation taking place between the two people closest to him.

Suddenly he sees Tommy in a tux, you in a white dress. The sun is bright and Sarah is the flower girl. He’s standing next to his baby brother, waiting to hand the ring to Tommy as soon as the priest finishes his speech. He stares at you from above Tommy’s shoulder. Your smile is wide.

You meet his gaze and Joel fights the urge to jerk away. Your smile broadens into a grin, you wink at him.

You look back to Tommy. His heart sinks into his stomach.

If that ever happens, at least you'll still be close. Joel will forever have your eyes. He’ll get to stare at them as often as he wants to. Tommy doesn’t have to know. But that doesn't change the fact that Joel will still be lost, he'll still be lonely after Sarah leaves to live her own life.

He would always be searching for something more, something that he couldn't quite name or articulate. That yearning would remain, like an ache that refused to subside. He would try to fill that void with other things, other people, but it would never be enough. He would always come back to that sense of restlessness, that nagging feeling that there was something missing.

He’ll never be satisfied.

Joel hands you a wet plate and you smile, patting off the access water, you place it on the dishrack. Soft steps come from upstairs. A door closes, and the sound of the shower softly adds to the ambiance of domestic bliss.

Joel hands you another plate.

It’s been a while since dinner came to an end. Much to your delight, it turned out to be a pleasant evening. August and Tommy got along swimmingly, which came as no surprise to anyone. With her stomach full and warm, Sarah was practically sleeping on the couch. Joel had to nudge her awake, and you offered to show him the spare room, but he shook his head and woke her up. Sarah was briefly confused, but she managed to make her way back with Joel. Tommy left a bit later, thanking you and squeezing your hand as he left. You were quite surprised when Joel returned ten minutes later, offering to help with the dishes. August had already gone upstairs to take a shower.

You hate doing the dishes so you had no objections to that.

“I really should buy a dishwasher,” you say, breaking the silence. “Thanks again. You really didn’t have to.”

His lips part with a low chuckle, his gaze fixed on the sponge that suds up the plate. “I’ve heard you complain more than I can count, sweet tea. There was no way I was going to leave you with this monstrous pile.”

“My hero.”

A comfortable silence stretches between the two of you, though you're not sure how that's possible. He's been avoiding you for a week and has been silent all afternoon. You're not even sure he talked to Auggie much, except for introducing himself.

Some part of you doesn't want the stacks of porcelain to end. You internally curse at yourself for washing the pots and pans before dinner. This time, you take a bowl from him. It's slippery, and you nearly drop it, but his fingers curl around yours, tightening your grip before it can shatter against the floor.

Your breath catches in your throat. Joel's fingers remain on your hand, and a soft caress follows. Goosebumps rise over your body; it's so sudden that it tingles, a slight pain etching over your skin. Slowly lifting your eyes, you see that he's already staring at you. Joel holds your gaze, his eyes warm and inviting. A blissful sigh raises in your throat, threatening to spill, but you press your lips together.

Joel inhales, and on the exhale he asks, “Your date with Tommy must’ve been a good one, I reckon. You guys came back late.”

Blood rushes to your ears. You pull your hand back, like you’ve been burned with boiling water, soap bubbles fly into the air. The bowl slips back into the sink and you hear it crack but refuse to look down. Your heart is beating too fast, too hard—shit. Why is he saying this out of the blue? Rage pounds underneath your fingernails. You’re not sure why you’re so mad. And you’re not surprised Tommy didn’t tell him anything. Those two are constipated when it comes to talking.

Your glare and his soft gaze clashes, lighting crackling in the still air.

“Why are you suddenly mentioning Tommy?” you hiss out. Tears sting your eyes. “And it’s none of your business. If you want to know you should ask hi—”

“I saw your little art project.”

Your mouth dries up, the rage replaced by a childlike terror. You pull your hand close to your chest. Breathing heavily.

“What?”

Joel takes a step forward, leaning into you and crowding your personal bubble. You’re glued to the floor. The blood rush loud in your ears. You feel so vulnerable that it hurts, your body trembling uncontrollably.

“It was…me, wasn’t it?” he shakes his head. “What if Tommy saw? You can’t do shit like that when you’re datin’ him. You can’t just paint another man.”

His voice is both hushed and forceful. You’ shake your head, attempting to blink away the tears. All the emotions you feel like a balloon in your chest waiting to explode. Your head drops. You stare at his chest. It’s moving with every rapid breath.

“Fuck you.”

“Excuse me?” Joel sounds flabbergasted. He takes a step back and stares at you—really stares at you with narrowed eyes, as if he’s seeing you for the first time.

“I said,” you bite out through clenched teeth. You step forward and shove him in the chest, it does little to move him and his fingers wrap tightly around your wrists. You refuse to look at him. “Fuck. You. You don’t get to shame me in the ways I heal. The art I create. You’re the one who has a girlfriend. You’re the one that allowed me to get as close as I did, saying cryptic shit knowing that I had a crush on you! So yeah—” your eyes snap up, looking him dead in the eye. His mouth hangs open, shock etched between his brows. “Fuck you, Joel Miller.”

His grip tightens, it’s rough and it stings. A shiver runs up your spine. “I’m not dating your brother.” you say with a sense of finality.

“I didn’t know you had a crush on me.” Joel’s thumb moves down your wrist. His hardened gaze softens, the smallest of gasps escaping from between lips. “Asha and I broke up.”

“You did?”

Your world starts spinning, your stomach flips in your stomach. He nods.

“The day you came to the garden. Before your date with Tommy. I broke it off.”

“Why?” you ask, holding your breath.

“Because I had someone else on my mind.”

He’s fully stroking your arm now, the roughness of his hold gone. Textured fingertips move up and down your skin, sending shudder after shudder up your very being. Heat gathers between your legs, and you feel a dampness that makes you ache. Joel leans closer and you feel his hot breath fanning your cheeks, mixed with the lingering scent of beer. You hold your breath. The kitchen doesn’t seem to stop spinning.

Without another word Joel tugs you flush against him, his firm chest pressing up yours, a tingle starting from your pebbled nipples and buzzing throughout your body. He sucks the air from your lungs. He groans into your mouth. You feel his hands skimming the frame of your body, dipping into every curve. Joel pulls and tugs at the fabric of your dress. You hear a small rip. You don’t care about it in the slightest. But he must’ve heard it too because a soft growl emanates from his chest. He tugs at the fabric again, the following noise louder. His teeth sink into your bottom lip, pulling it along with him as he parts. You let out a debauched whine and you swear he grins, the cocky bastard.

His hands cup your ass, kneading it tenderly. You sigh into his mouth, your hands feeling numb and weak from where they rest above his chest. He lets go of your bottom lip, pressing his mouth into the swollen flesh before moving away.

You gasp and let out a shaky bubble of laughter. “If this ‘someone else’ you speak of isn’t me this is about to get really awkward really fast.”

“Don’t worry that pretty lil’ head of yours darlin’,” his forehead touches yours, the skin damp. He breathes heavily, the tone of his voice oddly serious and deep. “It’s you.”

a/n: THEY KISSED! FINALLY. I think this is the longest thing I've ever written without the characters getting at it immediately, it's been a fun ride lmaodfbfd

Normally, this chapter was supposed to have smut as well. But I loved the ending "it's you" so much that I decided it was a good way to end the chapter. But believe me, the next chapter is going to get as filthy as it gets. I already have it outlined. (feel free to hop into my askbox to tell me what filthy things you want to see them get to 🤭)

Thank you to everyone who is still with me on this little journey that started out with a mere thought after seeing a bts Instagram story, I never thought so many people would be eager to read such a thing and all of you have my appreciation. I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, in all honestly I'm nervous as hell posting it. Hopefully I hit all the right parts.

Sending all of you many hugs and kisses 🧡

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x female reader #tommy miller x f!reader #tommy miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

969 notes · View notes

ominoose · 8 months

Text

𝐏𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐨

Character: Steven Grant Prompt: Being Recorded & Pumpkin Summary: Steven has an onlyfans and does a Halloween special stream featuring a pumpkin. Warning: Onlyfans, smut, pumpkin gets violated. WC: 2.1K

Kinktober Masterlist

The camera angled towards his waist, showing only his lower half. His olive skin washed over by the white lighting sitting behind the camera, adding shadows to each curve. A plain, white sheet hung up behind him acting as the backdrop, although now a few fake candles and a single, plump pumpkin now joined him.

It was a basic set up, but Steven found he didn’t need anything too elaborate to keep his viewers entertained.

After being fired from the museum, a job he can’t even remember getting but one he adored, he turned to alcohol for one measly night. It was far from a normal coping mechanism for him, but the pathetic circumstances called for it. As horrid as Steven's tiny attic flat was, it was still located in central London which made the rent sky high. Even with his full time job he’d barely managed to scrape by with what he made, but now? Unemployed? He was days away from the streets.

In his drunken spiral his depressive thoughts moved from his unemployment status to his barren relationship status. Self deprecating words torrented through his mind. Was he ugly? Unsightly? Was he really that unattractive? Steven made a point of being friendly and open to everyone he came across, so it only made sense that his chronic loneliness stemmed from his appearance.

Through frustrated and self conscious tears he fell into another less productive vice; porn. If there was no one in reality to hold him, touch him or make him feel something, he’d find someone on a screen to do it. That was how he drunkenly ended up on onlyfans, scrolling through explicit content, eyes widening at the outrageous prices. Did people really spend that amount of money just to watch someone get off, wear costumes and moan into a mic? Without even seeing their face? It was ludicrous, but the more he scrolled, the more it became clear that people were more than happy to pay.

After a sad wank, a few more tears and two more drinks, Steven Grant was officially pished and about to make questionable decisions. In his drunken haze, with a mind whirling with money problems and a need to be wanted, he signed up. With one hand in his pants and another hitting his phones record button, he pointed the camera down at his crotch and went for it. Whimpers and moans filled the room, with Steven panting breathily into the mic and begging with every honest thought he would never have said aloud before.

“Please… please love I’m beggin you, please touch me, I need you,” He fisted his hard, aching cock faster, lips trembling as he lost himself to desperation, “Want you so bad, please, I’ll take anyone, want to be a good boy, I can be such a good boy.”

His voice cracked as he spoke, an emotional and horny wreck, pent up with all sorts of pathetic need. In a matter of minutes he’s spilling over his hands and trousers, crying out at his own sensitivity and jerking into his calloused hand.

The video ended as he dropped the phone, lazily hitting upload as he typed the title “Just Want To Be A Good Boy.” It was amazing that he managed to spell it all correctly in his state, blinking through self pitying tears. The title was him spelling out his hearts truth, Steven just wanted someone to want him, it was that simple.

As the worst post nut clarity of his life hit he flung the phone to the side of the bed, rolled over with a frustrated huff and forced himself to sleep.

The hangover hit like the London Metro on a monday morning, crowding his head with throbs and aches. Most of last night was a blur, and if the translucent stains on his jeans were anything to go by, it had been another sad and depressing night.

Steven made his way begrudgingly through the motions, with cornflakes and almond milk, a one sided conversation with Gus and whatever David Attenborough documentary was on the telly. He made it through twenty minutes of the routine before realising his phone had been buzzing. Assuming it was another LinkdIn alert email he ignored them, but after the fifth notification he heaved himself up, trotting over to it the phone with a pout at being bullied via notifications.

Onlyfans: You have 17 new Subscribers!

With a knitted brow, Steven read over the words twice, then thrice more. Individually the words made sense, but together he was stumped. He had subscribers? On Onlyfans? The porn subscription site? When on earth had he been on there? Dismissing it as some marketing email, he opened the notification with the intent to report it as spam but was instead redirect to the app, which only furthered his confusion.

Notification bubbles on the app told him he’d gained 127 new subscribers, with 345 likes on his last post. Anxiety and confusion coiled deep within his gut as he clicked onto the post, and the video that played back at him, or rather the voice that did, sent him into the beginning stages of a panic attack.

It was him from the waist down, curled into himself, arching off his bed. It was his voice begging some unknown person to touch him, want him, need him with passionate fervour. Within his broken mind a handful of pieces began to fit together and he buckled against the bed, completely aghast at what he and apparently many others had witnessed.

A new comment popped up live in front of him, and his finger expanded the comment section before his mind could stop him.

“God I need you so bad…”

“Need him to whine right in my ear.”“Ur my good boy”

“what i wouldnt give to edge him till he begs”

“Pleaseeee I need more of this content!”

Stevens heart stopped. His eyes widened in disbelief. They wanted more? Of him? They’d seen him, seen his privates, heard his deepest desires and wants, viewed him at his most raw and they wanted more? The pound sign caught his eye as he saw the automatic base subscription fee being £3, and his eyes flew open once again. With fumbling fingers he opened his bank app and nearly dropped the phone.

£381 had been added to his bank account.

That was the story of how Steven Grant, former chronically single giftshoppist, found himself with a successful and growing Onlyfans account. Turns out the whimpery, British men market was ripe for the taking, and he took it by the neck. It didn’t take long before he was adding more tiers, going from posting videos to live streams, he even has a few whales that regularly drop obscene amounts of money to make him buy new toys or costumes. Safe to say Steven was making far more than he did at the museum and missing rent was no longer a problem.

The idea of a Halloween special was something a few of his fans had mentioned, and he saw no reason not to. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t constantly drunk on the praise thrown at him, the very fact that he had a high subscriber count and tons of regulars did more to bolster him than therapy ever could.

What special things he’d do however, was something he was still stuck on. Besides the prop pieces and the new halloween themed thigh highs sent to his PO box by a subscriber that loved his ‘gazelle like legs’, he had nothing. Steven prided himself on putting effort into his streams, not half assing them, but with the event fast approaching he was left fumbling. On the morning of Halloween, he stared down the pumpkin and decided he could carve it on stream while edging himself with a toy, letting his viewers watch him get increasingly needy and bothered whilst doing a nice seasonal activity. It wasn’t his best idea, but it would have to do.

As the clock struck midnight, the stream began. Steven was curled in front of the camera, waving his hand down towards where the frame would see him.

“Evening everyone! Happy Halloween! Hope you’re all doing well, promise there will be only treats tonight, no tricks.”

When he first began streaming he was a nervous wreck, barely able to get a full sentence out coherently, but after a few months he felt a bit more at ease. He could ramble on about anything he wanted, from his newest French poetry book to niche Egyptology and so long as he was hard, no one cared. Some comments could be extremely vulgar, a few even hateful, but with the outpouring of love and lust directed and tailored towards him drowned it all out.

On went the stream, with Steven chatting with his viewers before bringing out the pumpkin and slowly carving it, taking his time so both he and his viewers would get worked up. The vibrator he attached to himself was linked up to his laptop, a nifty bit of tech that he barely figured out, but it meant that viewers could pay to turn up the intensity of the vibrator.

Several times they did so, always catching him off guard and leaving him spluttering.

“O-Oi! You nearly made me mess up the carving, you cheeky thing.”

For an even higher price point, viewers could make their own unique requests for the stream. It had only happened twice before, both at Stevens discretion, and he certainly hadn’t expected it to happen now.

@red-hydra: “fuck the pumpkin”

Steven froze mid-carving, knife stuck halfway through a triangular eye, a choked moan escaping him as the vibrator buzzes violently at the wrong moment.

“Bloody hell, I- Y-You want me to… shag the pumpkin?”

The chat was going by so fast he could barely keep up, but the few messages he could discern were all rabid to see him commit to the request.

“Alright, a-alright dears, um… I-I’ll try.”

Slowly Steven pulled the carving knife from the pumpkin, and angled it beside him, prodding the small hole with his finger and gasping at the wet innards. He hadn’t emptied it yet, and he wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad, but it meant there was no need for lube.

With barely restrained trepidation Steven gently grabbed his weeping cock and placed it in front of the opening, gasping at the odd, cold sensation. After a deep breath he takes the plunge and pushes in, grunting at the tightness of the space before an open mouthed groan escaped him.

The feeling was absolutely unlike anything Steven had felt before. It was cold and almost slimy, but it was soft and spongy, and the small, snug space his penis had to fit through made his throbs all the more prominent. He couldn’t restrain the soft whimpers that left him, the way his hips bucked ever so slightly and desperately against his will.

Steven liked to take things slow for his streams, wanting to stretch them to an hour or two long max, however there were odd occasions were he couldn’t help himself. This was one of them.

His fingers were whitening with how hard he was gripping the pumpkin, his chest heaving at the sudden pleasure. It seemed his fans were lapping the sight of him up as the vibrator was constantly buzzing, hitting its highest settings over and over and over. It was too much, and Steven was left moaning without remorse against the walls of his flat, thrusting into the pumpkin as his thighs trembled with the onslaught of pleasure.

Only a few minutes in and he’d already made a mess, just like he was. Strings of pumpkin flesh stuck to the inside of his thighs, a small bead of precum was leaking down his shaft. The entire scene was one of wet and panting chaos, and the chat wasn’t any better.

Out of view of the camera, Steven managed to lift his head, peering at his screen through lust heavy eyes and groaned at what he saw. Comments were flooding, an array of encouragement, vulgar observations all overly descriptive and ravenous over him.

The barrage of compliments, the horde of people egging him on had him nearly piercing the pumpkin with his grip as he fucked into it with the full force of his hips, mewling and whining desperately for more.

It didn’t take long for him to break, cumming with a cry and a gasp, arching whorishly into the abused fruit as pearly white beads bubbled out of the small opening. Steven needed a few moments to gather himself, slowly pulling out of the pumpkin with a wince, finally aware of the stringy orange mess he’d made of himself.

He sat back on his haunches, glancing back towards the camera with a sigh and panting still.

“Well… That’s one way to make vegan pumpkin pie. Happy Halloween lovelies.”

#steven grant #moon knight #oscar isaac #omiwrites

253 notes · View notes

mangoisms · 9 months

Text

circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter eight: where did i go wrong? | read chapter seven

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 3.7k

━ warnings: canon typical violence, blood, etc

━ masterlist

━ a/n: sorry for disappearing! essentially, i started grad school and it is So Much Work. but if you'd like some unnecessary rambles on tim and wally's relationship here and in light of their og meeting in robin (1993), you can also find my thoughts on that here <3

The next day, you don’t hear much from Steph.

She does text you a few times, mostly reassurances and that she’s working to pull something together. You don’t quite understand but she was so convincing the day before, you let it go.

You mostly spend the day—after sleeping in—learning your new phone, excited at having something new and so high-tech to play with. Flash texts you several times during the day. Blurry selfies and equally blurry pictures of Keystone and Central. Even a couple of the New York skyline, as he informs you he decided to drop in and visit a few friends.

You can’t send him much. The clouds that hang in the sky, waiting to pour down on unsuspecting Gothamites at a moment’s notice. The feral cat that hangs out in the alley by your apartments, who you get close enough to to catch mid-hiss. The person on the subway carrying what you suspect to be a possum in their bag but Flash insists is actually an opossum. Whatever the difference is.

There is a difference!

idk sounds made up

You’re from the city. Of course you think that.

ok WOW

you’re blaming my dead parents for where they settled????

Yes.

wow

You go into work in relatively high spirits, considering everything.

Black Bat stops by for some gummy worms and a can of Red Bull and you tease her a bit for it.

“Signal’s influence?”

“Better than coffee.”

“Fair enough.”

Red hasn’t been by, you think, watching her go. Not yesterday and not today, though it’s early. He usually stops by nearly every night, if not for a couple minutes. But nothing specifically decrees that he comes by… You’re just used to it, you suppose, and last night’s absence was noticeable.

There’s still time, though. Maybe you’ll see him later tonight.

Overhead, the AC turns on. They fixed it, along with that electrical issue Red Robin caused last week. It works a little too well, though. These last few days have had you uncomfortably cold, so today, you come armed with a hoodie—Tim’s hoodie, the only piece of clothing you’ve ever managed to steal from him. A bit baggy on him and even more so on you, it’s a pleasant shade of azure blue. One of your more precious possessions since it’s, like you said, the only thing you really have from him. Also a bit of an indulgence right now but… you’re past the point of caring.

Maritza pops by a little while later, waving at you.

“Hey, Mari. Here for a Slurpee?”

“That, and I was wondering if you guys have any pain cream… Abuela’s back is hurting her and we ran out yesterday,” she says, lips pursed, glancing at the aisles.

“Pain cream,” you repeat thoughtfully, stepping around the counter. “We should. Let’s see.”

She follows you to one of the center aisles.

“How’s summer break been so far?” you ask, running your eyes over displays of toothpaste, disposable toothbrushes, and other basic items.

“Boring,” she sighs. “It’s too hot to do anything.”

You chuckle, tucking your hands in the pocket of Tim’s hoodie; your fingers are cold. They always seem to be. “Books are excellent ways to preoccupy the time.”

“Think I’ve read every book at the library,” she grumbles, which probably isn’t that much of an exaggeration. Gotham’s public library system is drastically lacking; it was only in May did Wayne Enterprises announce that they were investing more money into it. By now, they probably haven’t reached the library here in the Upper West Side.

“You should check out GU’s then. Kids get free library cards and our selection is fairly expansive. I’m sure you could get away with checking out some things for your abuela, too. At least until they fix everything in the one here.”

“Huh. Maybe.” She moves ahead of you, scanning the rest of the aisle. “Oh, hey, you guys do have some.”

She reaches for a box.

The door opens. You turn.

The wink of the kitchen knife is the first thing you see, then the trembling hand, and then the owner to whom it belongs, too. A scrawny man wearing a grey hoodie, the same hood pulled over his head.

It’s not great at hiding his face, you think dimly, every muscle inside you locking into place. Mari freezes behind you, breath audibly catching in a gasp as he turns the knife sharply on you.

For a second, the three of you just look at each other.

You break the silence first.

“All the money is in the register. Take it.”

A lengthy pause, one that amplifies the dread petrifying your insides. Your new phone, with Flash’s contact info, sits in the pocket of your hoodie, weighing it down; your fingers are laced together, cold, hovering right above it and you recall the rundown you’d been given by Flash last night, the… other not-quite-normal aspects of your new phone.

“Okay, so, on top of the League encryption stuff, there is something else.”

“Are you tracking me?”

“Not… exactly.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Your location is logged with the League,” he admits. “But it’s secure. You’re registered with me, so only I can look at it. My wife’s phone is like yours. Her information is there, too. A lot of us do it with our families. Not just to keep sensitive information secure, but there’s… a risk that comes with being with us.”

You frown at him. “Does she know?”

He looks horrified. “Of course she does. I don’t go around just tracking her without her knowledge. That’s weird. And messed up. I don’t even actively do it. Not unless she’s been kidnapped or she wants me to. That’s what I’m trying to say. Your location is being tracked but I’m not peeking in on it. No one is, unless a need comes up. An emergency kind of need. And that brings me to my next thing.”

He pauses, looking at you, calculating, but you just nod for him to continue.

“You have my number,” he says. “So, you can call me. For emergencies or if you just want to talk about your day. But in the case that you can’t call me, if you’re in some kind of danger…” He plucks the phone out of your grasp, turning it over in his hands, pointing to the power button on the side. “Press this three times and it’ll send an SOS signal to me, along with your location. I’ll come. Okay?”

“Are you… sure?”

He seems affronted. “I don’t just do this for anyone. I thought you’d have seen that by now. You’re…” he stops, frowning deeply. “You mean a lot to me, kid. If I can save you, if I have the opportunity to keep you safe, I’ll take it. I wouldn’t ever ask you to leave Gotham because it’s your home and I know the Bats hang around but… this just makes me feel better. You have a direct line to me. Use it.”

“Batman probably won’t like that.”

“Batman can suck it,” he says petulantly. “Especially after what he did to you last week. I take care of my own. No matter where they are. Got it?”

You got it.

The thought still astounds you even now, that Flash cares that much about you and how ironic it is that you don’t even know who he is under the cowl but maybe you don’t need to. This is still him, isn’t it?

And you would heed his words. Of course you would. You have no interest in dying. You have no hangups about being saved. Flash didn’t think you incompetent, it was just a precaution, a necessity for living in the world you do.

That is true now more than ever.

Especially with how aware you are of Mari behind you, too.

“Take your hands outta your pockets,” he says.

Your pulse pounds in your ears.

“Just take the money, man.”

You have to be careful but quick. If you could just unlace your fingers and reach for your phone…

Of course, you have no idea how quickly the signal will reach Flash or how fast he’ll even be able to get here…

You guess you’ll just have to trust him. Trust him and his capabilities.

A step forward. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You can hear Mari behind you, her breath quick and uneven. You’re most worried about her, to be honest. If you go down, what’s going to happen to her? You dread to think about it.

“Take your hands out of your fuckin’ pocket,” he hisses; despite the severity of his voice, his hand is trembling. You don’t get why he won’t just grab the money and go.

He must think you can call the police or something but even then, it’s not as if the GCPD are reliable. As if they can do anything.

As for you, there is nothing else you can do. You need to call him.

“Mari, run!”

Your hand grapples for your phone at the same time.

You hear the snick of sneakers on the tiled floors, your fingers slip over the sides of the new case currently hugging your phone, and he surges forward and then—

Just a mere spark, one that jolts you as you realize what happened. It’s small at first, then bigger, then massive, a forest fire eating you alive from the inside out, burning white-hot.

You can’t do anything.

You stare at the man in front of you, closer now, close enough to dig his knife right into the soft flesh of your belly. His eyes are wide, too. Like he can’t believe he just did that. Neither can you.

But the worst of it comes when he pulls the knife out.

The sound that escapes you is foreign to your ears. Your knees give out. One hand presses to the source of your pain, the other lands hard on the tiled floor; your wrist smarts, your arm trembling as you hold yourself up.

You’re barely aware of anything other than the pain. Throbbing heat, warmth rapidly spreading through the front of your shirt and hoodie. Your vision blurs, from tears and from the pain, your heart pounds so hard, you feel it in your teeth, hear it in your ears above the rush of your blood.

You manage a glance behind you, relieved to see Mari is gone and hopefully back in the safety of the apartment building next door. Ahead of you, the man is scrambling to get the cash register open, cursing like a sailor and eventually yanking it off the counter and smashing it on the ground, ducking out of your view.

God, you need to call Flash. Not 911, they won’t get here in time, no way, you need him. Before the man decides to cut his losses and kill you. You hope he’ll just take the money and run, but you’ve seen his face, surely he knows that puts him in that much more danger of being arrested—

The door opens. You hear your name from a familiar voice and then someone steps into view.

Tim’s eyes are wide as he looks at you, horrified, but behind him, your attacker shoots up from the ground and you choke out a warning, an urging to run, to get out of here, you don’t know what you’d do if anything happened to him, no, no, you can’t lose him like that.

He whips around just as the man swings himself over the counter, letting out something of a war cry, cash held in one hand and the knife in the other. It gleams red under the light. He lunges.

“Tim!”

But his fatal injury does not happen. Instead, you watch him duck out of the way, moving faster, more gracefully than you’ve ever seen, like he’s done this before and the man doesn’t expect it, stumbling with his own momentum. Not stopping, either, Tim grabs the man’s wrist, heaving him over his shoulder until he slams into the ground hard. It’s brutal. It’s violent. It’s nothing you’ve ever seen from Tim, your Tim who… who hates needles and always bemoans going to get the yearly flu shot with you and Steph, your Tim who can get impatient, snippy, but not violent.

You don’t understand. With the haze of pain, that fact feels oddly upsetting.

The door opens again. He whips around, geared up for another fight, but it’s just Spoiler, it’s—

Golden hair, familiar blue eyes. A face you know by heart. Even with the bottom of her face hidden.

They’re both at your side in an instant. In good timing, too, because your arm gives out but before you can crash to the ground, Tim catches you, turning you over in his arms and gently laying you back onto the tile.

“You’re okay,” he says quickly, eyes scanning you frantically. “You’re okay.”

All the movement tugs at your belly, flames flaring for a brief moment, making you dizzy with pain, choking out your voice, leaving you to blink the tears out of your eyes and look up at your friends.

You don’t like the look on their faces. Horrified. Full of dread. It hurts you.

“Fuck,” Stephanie Brown, also known as Spoiler, says, digging through pouches in her utility belt. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Oracle, where is the nearest hospital?”

“I know where it is,” Tim says, snapping into action, his hands reaching for the hoodie. “Off Murphy Ave.”

Rrrrrrip.

He tears through the front part of your hoodie—his hoodie—like it’s nothing. Both their faces drop as they see your shirt underneath it but you’re more focused on the first part of what just happened.

“Did you—have to tear it?” you whine. “This is the only hoodie I have from you…”

“You can have all of my hoodies,” he promises, reaching for the hem of your shirt.

Another ripping sound.

Steph reaches underneath you. “Didn’t go through.”

Tim nods. “The sooner we get her to the hospital, the better. I don’t like how much blood she’s losing.”

“I can hear you, you know,” you mutter, more petulant than you want but considering you are bleeding from a stab wound, you think you get to be.

They both let out strained chuckles. Tim reaches for one of the pouches of Steph’s belt. You wonder how he knows which one to open. You wonder a lot of things. Where he learned to kick ass. Whether he has always known Steph is Spoiler. How he is so calm right now. It tickles at you, like you have all the pieces to the puzzle but the full picture still isn’t coming out.

And oh, yeah, the burning throb of the stab wound is really sapping your concentration, too. Cold creeps in at the edges, your fingers feeling icy as you clench them. You shiver violently, though it hurts to move like that.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Steph says soothingly, squeezing your hand. “We just really need to get you to a hospital to guarantee that.”

“You should—fuck!” The gauze Tim presses to the wound sends shockwaves of pain through you. Black spots appearing in your vision, breath squeezing in your throat.

He says your name loudly. “Breathe.”

“Fuck you,” you wheeze out, trying and failing to curl away from the pressure he is currently applying to your wound. “That—hurts—”

“I know,” he says, pained. “But I have to. We have to. I’m sorry.”

“He’s right,” Steph says, brushing some of your hair away from your face. “Come on, talk to me. Ignore what he’s doing. What were you going to say before?”

“My phone,” you mumble, shivering. “Flash gave it to me. S-Said if I press the power button three times, it sends a distress signal to him.”

“That’s kind of him,” Tim mutters, sounding, dare you say it, jealous, which, in your haze of pain, just pisses you off.

“You absolute asshole, you don’t get to—”

“Stop it!” Steph snaps, lunging for your phone. “Tim, focus on saving her life and not on being an ass right now, okay? I’m calling him. We need that kind of speed. She’s losing too much blood and the hospital is too far.”

He sobers significantly. A bloodied hand reaches for yours. You’re only aware of it because you see it, the sight of his pale skin covered in your blood, his fingers wrapping around yours. He squeezes.

“Can you feel that?”

“K-Kind of.”

“Do it, Spoiler.”

“I’m doing it, Timothy.”

She is. She holds your phone in gloved hands, pressing the button three times, then scoots away from your head, lifting your feet over her lap.

Tim continues his work, the pressure he continues to apply to the wound making your head spin. Exhaustion creeps in at the edges, making your eyelids drag with each blink.

No, no, falling asleep is bad. You’ve seen enough movies and TV shows of injured characters to know that. You have to stay awake.

Steph watches you, concerned. “How long—”

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence as a sharp gust of wind hits all of you. It knocks things off the shelves and then, all of you are blinking up at the Flash, blue lightning fading away.

He breathes your name and in the next blink, he’s next to you, on his knees.

“Hey, Flash,” you croak.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says softly, a gloved hand resting tenderly on your forehead. He looks at Tim and Steph. “Hospital?”

“It’s—”

Tim cuts Steph off, staring hard at Flash. “She’ll most likely need a blood transfusion. Her blood type is AB positive—”

“And she’s allergic to penicillin,” Steph tacks on quickly.

“Got it.” He sweeps you into his arms and you whimper at the movement. “And the hospital?”

“Intersection of Murphy Avenue and Elliot Circle,” Steph tells him.

“Be careful,” Tim stresses.

Flash gives him a frosty look. “I got it. You’ve done enough.”

Stop fighting, you want to say, but Flash is delightfully warm and you’re so tired. If you rest your eyes for just a little bit, that’s fine, right?

“Flash—!”

A sharp tug in your belly, gravity pulling on you, and darkness falls over you like a blanket. You surrender without fight.

Voices puncture the veil of darkness. Soft murmurs, soothing tones.

“She’ll be okay, Red,” a woman murmurs. “You got her here on time.”

“I know, Lin,” someone else says and wait, you know that voice. It’s Flash. He sounds so… harrowed. “But I just… I don’t know.”

“You know what the doctors said. The danger is gone. And with you here… maybe…” she trails off, tone implying something you aren’t privy to.

A deep breath. “Do you think so? I could’ve, earlier, but I didn’t know if it would hurt her and I didn’t want to take the chance…”

“Well… I think you’re a big softy and she means a lot more to you than you ever realized. So… maybe.”

“Maybe,” he echoes back and you want to know, want to ask what exactly it is he and this mystery woman are talking about but you slip back under again.

The next time you resurface, it’s to cutting words and a tension so thick, you feel it, too, even with all your senses muddled, knee-deep in a haze.

“I don’t mind her,” Flash says coldly. “But you, too?”

“She’s my friend. I have a right to see her, too,” someone else says—Tim, you realize. It’s Tim, his tone cutting, temper on the rise.

“The way you’ve treated her these past two months doesn’t say much about friendship to me.”

“I was going to tell her—”

“Oh, you were going to tell her? Only after you finally fucked it all up being caught hanging out with your friends when you explicitly said you were too busy to hang out with her? Yeah, that’s real great.”

“You haven’t told her,” Tim points out petulantly.

“Really mature,” Flash scoffs. “I have a good reason to keep it from her. What’s yours? It’s not like you were deprived of her attention. You’re friends. Why the hell would you favor Red Robin over Tim Drake?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand—”

“No, I bet you don’t, because it’s easier to excuse yourself that way, isn’t it?” he seethes. “You’re just like him, you know. Just like him.”

You don’t know who they’re talking about. Or maybe you do and it’s just not coming to you. But the comparison isn’t a kind one. The way Tim snaps back in the next second affirms that.

“She wasn’t talking to me! I was—worried!”

“So, you should’ve talked to her! Instead of going behind her back and befriending her as Red Robin! What the hell did you achieve by doing that?”

“We were going to tell her, too, you know,” the woman from before says, her tone disapproving. “Very soon, in fact. But his situation is different from yours and you know that.”

Silence stretches on.

“Well, I still want to see her,” Tim says quietly, the fight leaving his voice.

“How—” Steph. Her voice cuts out, thick in a way that is unfamiliar to you. She clears her throat. “How is she?”

“Stable,” the mystery woman informs her.

“Why hasn’t she woken up?” Tim asks. You can just hear the frown in his voice and the vision of him forms easily in your mind, that familiar wrinkle between his brows, pretty pink lips pursed.

“Anesthesia still needs to wear off,” the woman says. “She’ll wake up soon.”

“But until then,” Flash cuts in, tone still severe. “Feel free to make yourself scarce. Stephanie can hang around. But you? No way in hell.”

“You think she wants that?” Tim shoots back, anger returning. “You don’t know anything. You have no idea. You’re assuming—”

“Yeah, I am. She’s not awake. She can’t tell us. Until then, I—we—can make those decisions.”

“Oh, that’s great. I’m sure she’ll love that—”

“I know what you’re thinking and we’re doing this with good intentions. You can’t say the same, can you?”

That doesn’t help. Fans the flames, if anything, as they keep arguing.

Ugh. You don’t want to hear this.

Like mercy, you slip under again.

reblogs are appreciated!

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#tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #dc comics imagine #dc comics x reader #tim drake imagine #red robin imagine #tim drake x y/n #tim drake x you #red robin x y/n #red robin x you #batfam x reader #batfam x you #batfam x y/n

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vampirzina · 4 months

Note

Hi! Can you do the pet headcannon thing with the moonknight system with a hedgehog, rabbit, or fish? Because I have all three! ♥️

warning(s): gn pronouns, spikes, fluff, sfw, established relationship, mdni

notes: an old request. it will be answered now .. 🤍

masterlist | sharing is caring series

Someone like Marc Spector wouldn’t have much of a reaction, at first.

— A rabbit and fish, fine. As long as they aren’t too clingy, he can deal with it.

— He may pay more attention to the kinder and more unassuming of your trio, the rabbit, but it’s not much more attention than he gives you. It’s more of fleeting affectionate moments between them.

— But when your hedgehog becomes rather picky and seems totally averse to his touch, he leaves them alone and doesn’t try. However, if they bite, he’d complain to you about it.

“I can’t not tell them to bite. It’s probably because you keep ignoring them,” you stated rather annoyedly. “Why don’t you try and be nice?”

— Helping him befriend your hedgehog was actually… Endearing, in a way. But he still doesn’t go looking for them on his own (he likes your rabbit more, and although he doesn’t say so, it’s obvious).

— After a long day, if you so happen not to be there or away, he finds comfort in your rabbit the most.

Steven Grant is more attentive than his peers, and he gets along fast with your pets.

— Obviously, he’s more into your fish. If they’re not an aggressive breed, he thinks they could make a good friend for Gus and offers to move them in with each other. Your fish is never not spoiled, having just as many nice things as Gus.

— Your fish is the first thing he checks on when you both come home, and the last thing he checks on when he leaves.

— He’s okay with your rabbit, and if you looked hard enough, there’s a resemblance in them. Still, he lets them relax on his lap as he’s looking over something some nights.

— As for your hedgehog, he’s nice to them, but their adamance on avoiding him when he’s next to you is a little saddening. He retracts his hand at the slightest flare of spikes.

— Unlike Marc, he doesn’t need you to tell him to make an effort to befriend them. He apologizes to your “Gus,” who is used to his attention, to focus on making the hedgehog comfortable enough.

— Treats them like a baby, honestly. You’d come home one day to a balled up hedgehog napping on him

“Home late, aren’t you,” he didn’t need to look up from his flip phone as he mashes at the buttons, arms caging the resting ball of spikes on his lap. “How was work?”

— He’d be lying if he said he loved them all equally, but his bond with your rabbit and hedgehog have tripled.

Jake Lockley wouldn’t pursue it, at first.

— He would eye them as the ones with feet would patter around, and he’s become warier of where he steps, especially because of the hedgehog.

— He’d be standing in the kitchen when they nipped at his ankle, and when he’d curse at the pinch, he wouldn’t become upset with them per se, but he’d frustratedly keep his ankles off the floor.

— He’d maintain a sort of roommate-like relationship with them, for the most part. The way he’d bond with them, over time, would actually be because he’d take the hedgehogs shedded spike and poke you with it.

A swift hand comes to slap your partner at the sudden sharp poke. Jake laughs when you give him a scowl.

“Throw that away. Matter of fact,” you grumbled, but you sat up anyway to snatch it from him. “Give it to me.”

— He’d come to like your hedgehog the most out of all your pets. Your rabbit was a rabbit, fine, and your fish swam and did things; but none of them had the potential to tease and pester you like your hedgehog.

— He calls them by a different name than what you named them, and you reckon if you didn’t keep an eye on him, he’d have your hedgehog for himself.

— It’s definitely become one of his favorite animals.

@𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐀೨

#marc spector x reader #moon knight fanfic #marc spector x you #moon knight x reader #steven grant x gender neutral reader #steven grant x you #steven grant x reader #marc spector x gn!reader #jake lockley x gender neutral reader #jake lockely x you #jake lockley x reader #moon knight hc #marc spector headcanon #passion-75 #vampirzina

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ken-dom · 5 months

Text

Lars and sexual energy

Lars Lindstrom thoughts + gn!reader imagine

∘₊✧ Thoughts: 500 words - imagine: 900 words

∘₊✧ Author’s notes: I started writing a few thoughts about Lars and why I’m so attracted to him based on his character, the screenplay and things I’ve enjoyed in the movie, and it ended up in me writing a bit of a smut imagine to go along with it, so I thought it might be worth sharing. It starts with thoughts on Lars’s sexual energy, desires, urges, and how he deals with them. Until you come along. And then he has no idea how to deal with them at all.

∘₊✧ Warnings/content: nsfw, masturbation, possessive streak, rough sex (and soft, tender sex), blow job mentions, making out, crying, switch!Lars, touch starved Lars

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

You know what half the appeal with Lars is?

He’s not supposed to feel sexual desire. At least, he doesn’t let himself. Starting with the basics, he won’t allow himself sleep in the same room — or even building — as Bianca until she’s taken ill. He says right at the start that it’s because he’s religious, and I’m sure that does mean something to him, but I’m also sure it’s not just that.

At the beginning of the movie, he cant stand psychical touch and wears layer upon layer to avoid the excruciating pain it causes him. He sleeps in layers. He eventually says (in the script, but not in the movie) that he’s the one with issues around nudity, not Bianca, who comes from a culture that is very comfortable with it. I think he's reached a point here where he’s experimenting a little. If she’s perfectly comfortable, he could maybe get used to it, too. And maybe he secretly wants to see what she looks like under her clothes out of curiosity or to learn a thing or two from her; but he can’t just take them off without good reason. And she needs her nightly bath, right?

Then, looking back to the script, we have his ‘sexual energy’ which he canonically burns off by chopping wood (in his own words, he’s really good at that, and in Karin’s thoughts, he’s sexy while he does it). When Mrs Gruner asks him about partners, she tells him, ‘Don’t wait too long, it’s not good for you,’ which could easily be interpreted to be about sex. Lars plucks up the courage to ask Gus if it’s sex that will make him feel like a man; both admitting his virginity and in a roundabout way asking his older brother’s permission to lose it. And yet, he never (that we know of) shares any physical affection, other than innocent hand holding, cuddling, dancing and that one tearful goodbye kiss with Bianca. Bianca, a doll who was created for sex.

Add into this that Lars can be possessive. Part of me wants to think that it’s simply in his nature, buried somewhere deep under his trauma and social difficulties, because according to his family, he ‘wouldn’t hurt a fly.’ And in that case it surfaces in the right circumstances, because in all other ways he’s so soft and gentle and caring. The other part of me wants to think it comes from his sexual desires and urges being pushed so far down that he doesn’t know what to do with them and ends up losing his temper and needing to take it out on the firewood i.e. a good fuck might calm him down. Maybe it’s both, maybe it’s neither. Maybe he’s confused about it himself.

Throughout the film, Lars gradually learns to enjoy the sensation of touch, starts to forge meaningful human relationships, experiences jealousy (with little bit of that delicious possession peeking through with it) toward someone he’s scared to pursue despite knowing she has romantic interest in him, and the layers he wears as armour gradually reduce to his underclothes. So we could take from this that given the right conditions, he could learn how to enjoy being physical with someone.

And, with that in mind...

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

Imagine being the one who finally turns his head. You catch his eye so unexpectedly, it snowballs faster than he can control it. He’s never felt like this before, never fought so hard to keep his thoughts clean and his physical urges at bay.

Lars, who uses his religion as a reason not to even sleep in the same house as his partner and doesn’t want anyone close enough to touch him, who can’t even get through a conversation with you without scrunching his eyes shut or running away, suddenly can’t get you off his mind. And the pain of carrying that pining, longing feeling around with him far outweighs the pain he might feel if you actually touched him, or so he convinces himself. Something must be done about that.

Chopping wood doesn’t distract him. Church doesn’t distract him. Driving to the lake doesn’t distract him. And neither does reading his favourite book or going to work or even accepting dinner invitations from Gus and Karin.

Lars goes from completely avoiding any hint of sexual desire his mind or body might conjure, to furiously jerking off every time he's seen you, rushing home and forcing down his pants to relieve the ache between his thighs. When he can’t sleep because his mind is buzzing with fantasies of you, his delicate, precise fingers wrap around his length before he can find a way to calm himself, and before he knows it, his thick, hot seed is spilling inside his pyjamas and he falls asleep in the mess, guiltily washing away the evidence in the morning. But not before indulging the wet dream he was having about you first.

It’s filthy. He feels filthy. And he likes it, whatever it is that you’ve done to him.

Lars ‘it’s always the quiet ones’ Lindstrom, has gone from sitting on the edge of his bed cringing at the conversations he’s had with you replaying in his mind because he feels so awkward and embarrassed about them, to daydreaming about his fingers wound in your hair while your soft, wet lips are wrapped around his cock, or fucking you hard against the tree by the lake while his tongue is shoved down your throat, or slipping one hand into your underwear and one over your mouth in the kitchen at work to quickly get you off while you steal a few minutes alone.

All the while, he’s breathless and trembling with anticipation, his hand wrapped tight around his cock as he pumps furiously, or stroking himself, soft and slow until he’s a whining, whimpering mess, moaning your name as his release washes over him.

Through this, he learns how to enjoy pleasure, learns his body, and starts to crave touch. Your touch. His own simply won’t do any longer.

So when he finally gets you all to himself? When you’re kissing him all chaste and sweet?

I hope you’re ready to have your clothes torn off, to be grabbed at until he leaves bruises, to have his fingertips driving into your flesh, his breath hot against your ear as he murmurs, ‘I’ve dreamed of doing this with you,’ through shaky breaths, to feel the burning heat of his flesh against yours, his mustache tickling at your skin when he stays in the same spot for long enough, his teeth dragging down your throat, pausing to suck at your pulse point, strong arms controlling your movements because he knows what he likes now, and when he’s around you, he loses all semblance of self control and has to have you just the way he’s fantasised.

In the thrill of desperation, he doesn’t even get his clothes all the way off, completely lost in a haze of excitement, but he manages it eventually, needing to feel as much of you as possible against as much of him as possible.

His hair is a mess, his cheeks are burning up, he’s completely ruffled, and he switches wildly from being a possessive, commanding lover to giving you the sweetest, most sensual fuck of your life.

His possessive side takes on a whole new meaning as he completely devours you — soft, sweet, innocent Lars — moaning loudly as he watches you cum from his touch over and over, bunches your hair into a fist to feel the bobbing of your head while you suck him dry, snaps his hips hard and fast against yours, followed by what feels like hours of slow, tender lovemaking while he whimpers needily and drips dirty words and praise into your ear like warm honey between breathless begging, revelling in this new sensation of the touch of another, until he’s spent, trembling and sobbing into your shoulder, overwhelmed and thankful and incredulous. Finding the soothing strokes of your fingers through his hair incredibly calming.

After so many years of repressing all these urges, and not finding any pleasure in touch, it could take a while to tire him out. But even when he’s temporarily sated, he will snuggle into you, press his lips gently to yours, and make out with you in a languid, sloppy kiss that doesn’t end until you’re both so worn out you’re falling asleep humming and sighing into one another’s mouths, limbs tangled together because now he's experienced your skin against his he will never get enough.

As he sleeps with you pressed against his chest and his strong arms keeping you safe with him, he has the biggest, warmest smile on his handsome face, but when he greets you in the morning, that naughty streak is back, and he’s smirking at you with a glint in his eye that you’ve already come to associate with nothing but pleasure.

#not s f w 💀#lars lindstrom smut #lars lindstrom x reader #lars lindstrom imagines #lars lindstrom thoughts #lars lindstrom #lars and the real girl #ken-dom writes #if you’re wondering what the other half of the appeal is #his relatable autism beautiful singing and soft belly have captivated me

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wkngsnds · 10 months

Text

, I can also see Huntlow mutually pining at the beginning of their relationship like

Willow: I wish I could go on a date with Hunter

Amity: Just ask him???

Willow, flustered: I can’t just ask him!! What if he says no?!

Amity: You’re dating????

Willow: Yeah, but WHAT IF Amity?

Amity: Girl…

Willow: He’s just so cute and smart and….

Amity, concerned as she rambles off

AND

Hunter: Tee hee hee…

Luz: Uh, what’s up with Hunter?

Gus, not looking up from his magazine: Willow called him her ‘handsome prince’ this morning

Luz: But she does that every morning?

Gus: I know.

Hunter, sighing wistfully: My pretty knight…do you think she’ll say yes if I ask her out?

Luz: You’re dating!! They’re dating!!!

Gus, sighing heavily: I know

#huntlow #lumity doesn’t know but Gus does #Gus has been putting up with them since before the Day of Unity #it was cute at first but now he’s over it #not entirely because they ask him to tag along and he gets some pretty neat stuff out of it #but mostly over it

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dadriusbiggestfan · 5 months

Text

Some more somewhat sad owl house headcanons but there also funny??

Eda tells people she lost her arm in the most elaborate stories because she doesn’t want a single person judging Raine.

Darius can’t watch Zootopia without crying at ‘And I made life so much worse for so many innocent predators’ because it really reminds him of his relationship with Hunter for some reason.

Gus sometimes thinks his trauma will never be the same as Luz’s or Hunters or Vees, and that he doesn’t have the right to be traumatised when they’ve been through that they have.

#hunter deamonne #darius deamonne #the owl house #eda clawthorne #gus porter #amity blight #luz noceda #zootopia #vee noceda #raine whispers

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melodygatesauthor · 1 year

Text

Chapter 7: The Goldfish Problem

prof!Steven Grant-Jake Lockley-Marc Spector X f!Reader

Edited by: @welcometostayingawake (she's the real MVP)

Mood Boards - Book Cover - Masterlist

Chapter Summary:

Steven asks you for a big favor. You get stuck in a snow storm.

Tags/Summary (these are for the ENTIRE fic):

college AU, no powers/not in MCU/no Khonshu, talk of mental illness, Marc has DID, forbidden relationship, age gap, reader is 21y/o, Boys are 38y/o, reader attends college in America but isn't necessarily American, smut, sex, masturbation, p in v, creampies galore, reader is on birth control, dubious consent due to identity issues, ANGST, romance, fluff and smut, oral sex, falling in love, reader is not race coded.

Word Count: 6k

School had quickly become a daze, just an interruption in between the time you got to spend with Steven. You went to his office nearly every free moment you could spare during the week following your date. Sometimes you were straddled over him with his cock slick between your folds, gliding over your entrance without ever feeling the satisfaction of penetration. Other times you were spread out on his desk while he mouthed at your cunt, slurping your juices like he might die of thirst.

He surprised you on Wednesday night though when he had a small sheet of paper to hand to you, along with a key. You looked at the paper, it was titled, How To Care for Gus the Goldfish. You looked at Steven, puzzled. Normally, the moment you walked into his office he was running his hands all over you like you might evaporate if he didn’t touch you.

“What’s this?”

“Thought I might ask if you can do me a favor?” He raised his brows, his big brown eyes pleading with you.

“I mean, of course I’ll help you, but what exactly…are you going somewhere?” You felt a pang in your chest. The idea of Steven leaving was upsetting.

“Oh, darling, I can see you’re upset, but I promise I won’t be gone long.” He walked closer to you and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “It’s a weekend seminar for some of the departmental staff and I’ve been invited. Thought it would be good f’me to go.”

“So you need me to…watch your goldfish?” You held up the note, “and you needed to write me a note on how to take care of him?”

“It’s not that I think you can’t handle it, it’s just…erm, well, he’s all I’ve got.”

If Steven could get any more precious, you weren’t sure you’d feel comfortable doing all the depraved things you normally came to his office to do. You gave him a smile for reassurance before looking up to kiss him, hoping that would somehow make him feel more secure in your ability to care for his goldfish.

“I’ll take good care of him, but uh, where’s your apartment? You don’t want to show it to me before you go?”

“S’not a good idea, to have you go there with me. Too risky.” He shook his head before pointing at the paper in your hand, “the address is on there.”

You gulped, wondering why he wouldn’t want to be there at the same time as you. Tampering down the negative feelings, you tried to think about the fact that he entrusted you with this task, and not Jane. The note was simple, to feed Gus three times a day, with instructions on where his food was kept and an emergency vet number. Once in the morning, once in the afternoon, and once in the evening. You put the paper and key in your school bag and then turned back to Steven.

“I’ll take care of him, no problem.” You agreed enthusiastically.

Steven wasted no more time with pleasantries. You often watched his demeanor shift from timid to dark and aroused the moment before he scooped you in for passionate kisses. In a matter of moments, you were stroking his cock while he fingered you once again, both chasing your release at the hand of the other.

He loved making you squirm, watching your parted lips glistening while you moaned under his touch. He relished the way your walls squeezed the life out of his finger when you reached your orgasm. Steven was mesmerized by the way you tasted, too, taking that same finger and cleaning it with his tongue.

Steven had taken to walking you home that night. It was chilly, and he held your hand to help keep you warm. It was late enough that you were sure you wouldn’t run into another student. He didn’t dare to kiss you though, the thought of it was too risky, and he had to be cautious.

When you got to your room, Layla was still up. The clock read 9:05pm. You dropped your bag on the floor and groaned before plopping down on your bed.

“Steven keeps you out late for tutoring, huh?” She asked.

“Yeah, he really wants to make sure I grasp the material.”

You realized when she said that, that you didn’t really learn much of anything from his tutoring. It had turned into an excuse for the two of you to continue your secret affair, barely touching your textbooks in his presence.

“A few friends and I are all going out this weekend, wanna come?” She asked, turning out the light.

The lie rolled off the tip of your tongue, as if you’d been planning this for ages.

“I can’t, my cousin is coming to visit and I promised I’d stay with her for the weekend.”

It was quiet for a moment. You wondered if she was going to question the truth about what you’d said, but she had no reason to.

“Alright, well if you decide you wanna come, she can come, too. Open invite.” Layla was silent after that, and so were you.

----

On Friday evening, you were standing outside of Steven’s apartment door, twisting the deadbolt before hearing the latch come undone. There was something nerve wracking about walking into his apartment without him there. It would be so tempting to go through all of his things and learn as much about him as you could, but you felt a sense of guilt. It wasn’t right to go through someone else’s things, even if you were certain there was no way he would know.

You opened the door and stepped inside, being met with the smell of old books and a hint of chai right off the bat. It was a smell you enjoyed, a relaxing and warming scent. Looking around you could easily see the source from the copious amounts of books lining the several bookshelves throughout Steven’s lofty apartment.

You were in complete awe at the sheer amount of stuff Steven owned. His apartment wasn’t dirty, he seemed to pick up after himself, but there was clutter all over. It was obvious that he’d tried to tidy a little bit though, judging from the fresh smell of linen hidden beneath the scent of the books.

Steven’s apartment was roughly a thirty minute walk from your dorm, so you didn’t want to take too long there, but your curiosity was piqued. You decided to start poking through Steven’s things. Despite it being a major invasion of privacy, you couldn’t help yourself.

----

Steven was just getting out of his car around the time he assumed you’d be arriving at his apartment. He realized he should’ve exchanged numbers with you before leaving for the weekend, but he still felt nervous about intertwining your lives a little too much. There was no way for you to contact him though if there were some kind of emergency.

“It’s a damn goldfish, what kind of emergency are we talking about? You not taking her number is the smartest thing you’ve done so far.”

Steven had been ignoring Marc and his commentary for days, but that didn’t stop him from constantly leaving his two cents whenever he had the opportunity. He went to the front desk of the hotel where the seminar was taking place, quickly retrieving his key and making his way up to his room.

It was quiet in there, but it felt bare, not at all like what he was used to at home. He turned on the television; it was already playing the weather channel which he let lull in the background as he began to unpack.

“What was supposed to be a sunny weekend is unfortunately going to turn into a nor’easter. The storm changed course unexpectedly so New England will in fact be seeing over a foot of snow, beginning early tomorrow morning and throughout the weekend.”

Steven immediately thought of you and wondered how you were going to get from your dorm all the way to his home in the midst of a snow storm. Surely, you wouldn’t. This would’ve been the perfect time to have your number to check up on you. If there was ever a goldfish emergency, this was it.

----

You felt like a creep, going through Steven’s things, but you were so, so curious to know what you’d be able to find out about him. Of course, he had an insurmountable collection of books scattered throughout the apartment. Every open bookshelf was stacked full with more than just paperbacks. He had knick knacks, paperweights and other odds and ends.

Your eyes were soon drawn to the bed. For a moment you thought about yourself, a wet and gasping mess at the large hands of Steven, gripping his sheets while he defiled you. On your way to the bed, you noticed the closet, his signature patterned shirts half visible. If Steven was hiding something, surely he would keep it in there.

His clothes were both plain, and too much all at once. Some of the patterns were a downright eyesore and you wondered what it was he saw in those clothes, but you also found it a little cute that he liked to express himself with patterns like that. A hat caught your eye, peeking out under a white button-down tucked in the corner of the closet. You’d never seen Steven wear a hat, nevermind a paperboy cap, you knelt to it curiously. It was black and looked hardly worn. When you picked it up you noticed a couple of leather gloves underneath. You supposed Steven must wear the hat and gloves when it got exceptionally cold.

Other than some jackets that you’d never seen him wear before, and an array of button-downs and ties, Steven’s closet was…boring. You weren’t sure what you’d expected to find in there when you walked in, but everyone had secrets. Maybe Steven was just a normal college professor.

You spent far too long in there, checking out some of the other things Steven’s apartment had to offer, and then finally feeding the goldfish like you were supposed to. When you looked outside, you noticed that it had snowed quite a bit since you arrived.

“Shit.”

It was going to be too cold to walk back yet, and the sidewalk would be covered in snow until the plow came through. Not to mention, you weren’t exactly dressed for snow. You looked over at the fish tank.

“Well Gus, looks like you and I are going to have a little sleepover.” You smirked at him, as though he could understand you.

----

Steven was breaking out into a sweat over the thought that he might be coming home to a dead goldfish, and the fact that you would probably blame yourself. He didn’t blame you, not one bit, but he felt the need to pack his things and go home. The seminar wasn’t mandatory, and in fact, they had already told people that they could go home and attend the seminar virtually due to the weather. It was only going to get worse as the night went on.

He’d made up his mind, he was going back home.

“Let me drive amigo, the weather is horrible.” Jake insisted.

“No, nope I’m not doing that.” Steven said, getting into the car and slamming the door.

“Steven, let him drive. Are you trying to get us killed? I mean honestly,” Marc chimed in.

Steven ignored them, and shortly found himself white knuckling his steering wheel, driving toward the apartment. It was a two hour drive in normal conditions, so in the snow it would probably take a couple more. He only hoped that Gus wasn’t too hungry by the time he got there.

----

You’d been scrolling through your phone for long enough and decided to find something comfortable to wear to bed. Out of Steven’s array of clothes, you found a comfortable dark blue long sleeve to slide on. It was long enough that it hung to your mid-thigh and still smelled like him. You resolved to make the bed in the morning and hoped he wouldn’t notice that you’d slept over.

You didn’t always read yourself to sleep, but you did that night, opting to peruse his collection. Steven had so many books, you thought you should at least take advantage of his library. While you knew you should read something new, you couldn’t help yourself from gravitating toward Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. It was your favorite, and you were feeling like a familiar story would be comforting in that moment.

It was around 2am when Steven arrived at his apartment. Immediately, he sensed something was off when he was able to open the door without the deadbolt’s resistance. He stepped inside, eyes darting instantly to the tank where he saw Gus swimming around happily, the fish’s food moved from its original spot. Steven put his bags down gently, taking in the rest of the apartment before his eyes finally landed on you.

You were sleeping, in his bed, in his shirt, with his book spread across your chest. His hand reached up and pressed to his chest. You’d, once again, taken his breath away.

“Steven…” Marc said, like a muffled man calling from a distance, his voice sounding like a warning.

Steven shut him out, too focused on the beautiful display in front of him. He took a step forward, trying carefully not to wake you. The clumsy man was successful up until his foot hit a pile of books and they knocked over onto the floor.

You startled awake, jumping up to shockingly see Steven standing in front of you. The fog of sleep dissipated and you realized how embarrassing your situation was. You were in your underwear, in Steven’s shirt, in his bed, reading his book.

Oh no, you thought. Now you look like you’re obsessed with him.

You assumed he must be upset with you, this wasn’t part of the instructions he had given you. You were supposed to be gone by the time he came back.

“Steven I’m so sorry, I got here and there was snow and…I didn’t mean to…” You were trying to come up with some kind of excuse to explain why you were in his clothes and bed..

Steven didn’t care. He didn’t care in the slightest. His cock was already slowly growing, pressing against the confines of his pants in desperation. Your hair was a mess, face full of worry, and you were wearing his shirt. He was zoned out again, and you had been muttering and crawling out of the bed to collect your things, fumbling over your own tired feet.

“Love…” He said softly.

“-and I thought you were going to be gone so I was going to put everything back the way I found it before-”

“Love.” Steven said again while you continued collecting your things.

“-I just wanted to wear something comfy, I didn’t have anything else to wear. I’m really trying to help keep this on the down low, and I know you don’t want us to be here together.” You had your clothes in your arms and started walking toward the exit but Steven rushed to stand in front of you and grabbed your shoulders.

You dropped the clothes into a heap on the floor.

“Darling, to have you here…lookin’ like that I…I’m thrilled.”

He brought you in for a deep and mind-numbing kiss and you quickly brought your hands up to tangle between his locks. Steven lifted you by your rear, and you wrapped your legs around his waist almost on instinct. You could already feel his cock pressing against you, begging for attention. You let out a moan, feeding it to him in between desperate kisses.

He carried you to the bed, leaning down to place you there gently and following to hover over you. He never let his lips leave yours while he pulled off his jacket and tossed it aside. His hand slid up, under the shirt you wore and latched onto your waist. You felt him grinding his hips against you, searching for friction in any way he could. His lips trekked from yours down your jaw, and to your neck while you tried to catch your breath.

“Oh, Steven!” You arched your back, pressing your chest against his.

You grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it up over his head. He disconnected his lips from your skin only long enough for you to strip him before he latched onto your neck again. He groaned hungrily into you as you started working on his pants, undoing the button and zipper. It had felt like too long since you’d had him like this, even if it had only been a couple days. Regardless, every moment you spent away from Steven, you felt empty. Having him with you was the best feeling you could imagine.

“You’re really an eager little thing aren’t you, love?” He was out of breath, voice soft and heavy with arousal in your ear.

“Been wanting you, Steven.” You tried tugging at his pants but you couldn’t get them off. “Help me,” You whined with a chuckle.

Steven inhaled deeply as he got off the bed and took off his pants. You just watched in awe as his beautiful body was exposed to you, illuminated by the dim light of the apartment. His chest was heaving, and you were still surprised at how deceptively fit he was, even after feeling his body several times before.

“What?” He asked, giving you a side-smirk.

You shook your head slowly, “just love the way you look.”

He finished getting his pants and boxer-briefs off before kicking them to the side. He climbed back over you, hovering with his elbows on either side of your head, pressing his lips back to yours firmly. You felt his cock now, sliding on your inner thigh, transferring a trail of precum in its wake.

Steven was feeling anxious. He’d been with you before, several times, feeling your body and touching you, but he’d never had you in his bed before. He wanted to make sure he didn’t make you uncomfortable, or push you to do anything you didn’t want to do. He was just happy to have you there, but you were tempting him with the fire in your eyes, dragging your hands all over his body.

You trailed your fingertips down to his cock, tracing over his balls before caging your fingers around his girth. He had to separate his lips from yours to gasp at the sensations, the friction of you sliding over his cock forcing his body to tremble.

“Steven…” Your voice trembled as he pressed his forehead to yours.

“Yes, love?” His voice sounded rough with desire.

“I think…” you paused to contemplate your next words, not wanting to say it before you were sure.

As though he could hear your thoughts, Steven said, “there’s no pressure, love, we can just go watch a movie or something, I can even take you home if you like.”

His eyes connected with yours, so full of love for you. He wanted nothing more than to feel your cunt wrapped around him, listening to your little moans and whimpers while he filled you, but he didn’t want you to do something you’d regret. He brushed over your cheek with his thumb tenderly.

“I know.” You bit your bottom lip. “I’m ready.”

Steven couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face. You trusted him, and that was enough to make his heart thump deafeningly in his ears.

“Are you sure?” He watched your expression, looking for any sense of apprehension.

You smiled and kissed him again in your excitement, “yeah.”

“Alright, aces.”

Steven’s breathing was shaky with nerves, feeling the pressure of being the one person in the world you chose to care for you like this.

He leaned back, “c’mon.” He urged you to sit and helped you remove your shirt.

Your body was trembling in anticipation of what was to come. It was hard to believe that it was happening, that you were finally doing it, but it felt right. Steven was like no one you’d ever met before, and he made you feel like no one ever had before. It was the right person, the right time, and the right place. You couldn’t think of anyone else you’d rather have this moment with.

“If you change your mind at any point, or want me to stop, just say something, alright?” He was looking right into your eyes, despite the fact that you were wearing nothing now except for your underwear.

You nodded, looking down from his eyes to his lips, just wanting to have them melting into yours again. You closed the gap, relishing in the feeling of your bare chest against his while he lowered you back down to the soft bedding. He wasted no time kissing down your neck, working his way over your collarbone and softly dragging his tongue over one of your nipples. You let out a quiet gasp, arching your back into his mouth.

Steven moaned over your peaked mound, teething your nipple gently, cock throbbing just listening to the sounds you were making. There was still a quiet nagging in the back of his mind, not Marc, not even Jake, but just his own moral compass trying to tell him that you were too naive for him to corrupt you like this. He felt for a split second that he should stop but when he looked up at you, and you looked back at him with those pleading eyes, he knew it would be impossible to say no to you.

He grabbed the waistband of your panties and pulled them down your thighs, balling them up and then tossing them over with all the other discarded clothes. He kissed down your abdomen, leaving a wet one just below your navel, and worked his way down to your already glistening slit.

It sure was a sight, your sweet little cunt, and Steven couldn’t wait to bury himself inside, but he knew he had to at least try to prepare you first. It was going to hurt, no matter how much preparation he did, but he was going to try to make it as good as possible for you. He dragged a finger from the base of your opening upward circling over your clit, biting his lip at the sound of your whines and whimpers.

That little sound he loved so much, the high pitched gasp you always made when he started flicking his tongue over your clit only served to silence his conflicted thoughts. You grabbed Steven’s head, holding on tightly to his curls and enjoying the way his mouth felt, hot and soft against your folds. He slipped a finger inside easily, you were already soaked.

“Gonna try to get a second one in there, alright love? Gotta open you up a little, make it hurt less.” Steven said, never taking his lips off of you.

“Oh…okay.” You grabbed the sheets, bracing yourself for the impending pain and holding your breath.

Steven brought a second finger to your entrance, meeting resistance almost immediately. You were so tight he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to get his cock in there when the time came. Slowly, as he pushed through the threshold, he heard you wince and hiss. While he didn’t enjoy causing you pain, he loved feeling your cunt tighten around his fingers. Your walls were soft, like velvet, clenching over his digits violently.

“You alright, darling?” He asked.

“Mhm.” You managed, lips pressed together tightly.

Both of your hands reached out to grip the sheets tightly, letting go of his hair. You really were alright, despite the burn he brought with his thick fingers. You were wet enough that the digits slipped in fairly easily, despite being painful. Your knuckles were starting to ache from how tightly you held on to the sheets.

“Try to relax, just let go, it’ll feel better soon, promise.”

You let out a sharp exhale before letting your body fall limp on the mattress. Though you were still in agony, you knew that keeping your body tense would be counterproductive. Steven hummed in approval before closing his mouth over your clit once more, gently mouthing at it. He slowly started sliding his fingers in and out of you, dragging his fingertips over your walls gently. As your cunt eased into the delicious stretch, it started to feel good, so much better than anything you’d felt him do before.

“There you go, just like that.” He moaned over your clit before flicking his tongue around it some more.

Steven thought you could handle it, so he started pumping his fingers faster, fucking them into you all the way to the base. He could tell that you were starting to enjoy yourself more, based on the way your agonizing whimpers turned into deep moans. He could definitely tell when you started angling your hips to get his fingers into you even deeper.

He had to really focus to not lose himself prematurely. It would’ve been foolish for you to finally agree to trusting him with something so precious only for him to come all over the bedding before even getting the chance to feel you.

There it was, the soft fluttering of your walls, the tightening over his fingers, you were so close. He slurped over your clit, swirling his tongue in tandem with his pursed lips to create an inexplicable sensation over your entire body. Your thighs squeezed his shoulders while you tossed your head back. The delicious glide of his digits was becoming unbearable.

“Steven, ahhh, feels…feels so good.” You groaned, turning your head to the side and biting your lip tightly.

He was more than happy to oblige, but still mindful of how tender your tight hole would be. He was so glad that it was bringing you pleasure despite the initial pain. His fingers moved faster, curling on each plunge, and your breathing shallowed while you approached your climax.

“Just like that, keep moving your tongue like…oh like that!”

There it was, the squeeze that nearly crushed Steven’s fingers inside of you and the cries he worried might wake the neighbors, until he decided he didn’t care what they thought. You were shaking the bed as your body shook and trembled over him. He slowed down as your body relaxed, coming down from the brain-fogging high.

He climbed back over you, meeting his eyes with yours. Your lids were low, and you were looking at him lovingly with a sated gaze which he was so happy to see. He closed his lips over yours, sharing the taste of your juices with his tongue. You moaned, feeling his cock rubbing against you once again, dragging over your thigh with desperation. You felt your cunt spark alive once more, ready to take him, ready to feel him filling you up. You could only hope that it wouldn’t hurt too badly.

“Are you ready? You can still say no, I promise I won’t take it to heart. I’m happy to have whatever you’ll give me, even if it’s just a smile.”

You gave him a reassuring smile, “I can’t think of anything I’d want more than this, Steven.”

Steven nodded eagerly, kissing you again as though he were trying to give you another chance to change your mind. It felt like time was going by too slow and too fast at the same time. He lined himself up with your entrance, spreading the folds over his head and looked at you again.

“S’gonna hurt, love, nothing I can do about that. I’m sorry in advance. The prep should help but…”

“I know, it’s alright,” you cupped his face in your hands and nodded, “go ahead.”

Slowly, but intentionally, Steven started to push into you. At first you thought it would be okay, just the tip was fine, but then…

“Oh my…” You gasped, leaning upward and holding onto his neck for dear life.

You felt the searing pain in your core as he tore through you, eyes shutting instinctively as Steven immediately fell into a flurry of apologies.

“Love, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s just this part that’s the worst, it will get easier.” He held onto your back tightly as he continued thrusting himself to the hilt. You gripped his shoulders with all your might. “Sorry, I’m- Are you-”

“Yes.” You said through clenched teeth, “d-don’t stop, don’t…fuck.”

You were glad he prepped you ahead of time, because you couldn’t imagine what that would’ve felt like had he not done some sort of pre-stretching with his fingers. When he pulled back, you relaxed and let go of him, laying back onto the pillows. Steven smiled at you, pressing a hand to your cheek and brushing away a tear that you didn’t know you had shed. He looked so happy to be sharing this with you.

“Thank you for trusting me with this.” He said softly.

“I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else.”

You felt his body tremble with your words. His gaze changed from his smiling expression to a lusty gaze as he slid forward once again, your tight walls gripping him so well. You pressed your lips together in an effort not to show your pain and closed your eyes. He let out a sharp exhale while he churned inward slowly. He was so gentle, but his cock was so big. You weren’t sure when it was going to stop hurting.

“You’re doing great, love,” when you opened your eyes, his met with yours, sparkling and encouraging, “I know it hurts now, but it will start to feel good soon, I promise.”

It was tight, so tight. He’d never felt anything like it before and he was fighting the urge to piston his hips to oblivion. He was being confident for your sake, but he’d never taken someone’s virginity before. He only hoped it would feel good soon, he didn’t like to see you in pain. The sounds you were making though, the whines and whimpers of your agony, he hated to admit that they piqued his arousal, making his body tingle with desire.

Steven had an idea that he hoped might help. He leaned back, looking down between your legs but froze, seeing the streaks of red lining his cock. He’d really done a number splitting you open. The way your tight little pussy looked gripping him was mind numbing to say the least. His mouth fell open as his breathing turned ragged and you noticed.

“W-what?” You asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“I’m so sorry darling, looks like I’ve made you bleed a little.” His throat bobbed when he gulped, but then you heard him groan. He liked seeing that he spread you out like that, “looks quite nice though, sorry to say. Let me see if this helps.”

He took a bit of spit on his fingers and started rubbing his thumb over your clit gently. You were relieved when it did help negate the ache of the stretch even just a little. Steven felt it too, tossing his head back while he started churning his hips again.

“Guess it’s working, yeah? I can feel you making room for me, love.”

You nodded, breathing heavily and trying to push through the pain. It was working though, Steven’s slick movements around your sensitive bundle of nerves. His thrusts were becoming a little faster, and the delicious drag of his cock was hitting just the right spot deep inside of you. It was starting to feel good.

“Feels good…oh shit…feels really good, Steven.”

As if he wasn’t in control of his own body, he started fucking you faster, his arousal was building, and he was getting so close. Your whines turned to moans when he angled your hips to take him harder, and he knew what he was doing was working. Your eyes connected with his, and you bit your bottom lip as you reached your hands up to touch his abdomen. His toned body rippled under the soft flesh of his stomach.

“Is that feeling better love? Feels good f’me,” Steven groaned as he lifted your leg up to get in deeper. “Oh…yeah, s’really good darling.”

“It’s better…so much better I…I don’t think I’m gonna last much longer!”

“Where do you want me to…oh, love I’m so close, where do you-”

He was breathing heavily, struggling to get his sentence out.

“I have a thing, the uhh…” you were close, having a hard time speaking, “just…inside, please fucking come inside me, Steven!”

Your cunt started gushing over his cock in crushing waves, and he couldn’t last any longer. He moaned, heavier and louder than you’d ever heard as he filled you with a warmth you’d never felt before. He was pushing deep into you, far as he could go. While it pulsated, you felt the burn come back, stretching you just a little further. You felt so full.

When he was finished, glistening in sweat and face full of satisfaction, he pulled out of you. The cum burned on your freshly torn hole as it started to dribble out. You winced and tried to reach your hand down to collect what was falling out. Steven just chuckled at your efforts, watching his spend leak out of you.

“Bit late for that love, gonna need to toss these sheets right out after that.” He sighed before going to the bathroom.

You were in a mild state of shock. You couldn’t believe you’d just done that, and with your professor no less. He came back out, bearing a warm towel and some tylenol.

“Lay back, gotta get you cleaned up.”

You winced when he touched the towel to your tender folds. He was gentle, though, softly running the cloth over your skin and it helped soothe the burn.

“You’ve got to try and push it all out, then you should use the bathroom. That’s what I’ve been told.” He smirked a little, feeling a bit embarrassed trying to tell you how to care for your own body.

In truth though, you appreciated any knowledge he could give you. You didn’t know anything about this stuff, not having planned on tonight, but he seemed to know a lot. The thought struck you with a little jealousy. How many women had Steven been with before you to know all of this?

“So, you’ve done this a lot?” You said before you squeezed your abdomen, trying to get his cum out of you. You felt it dribble out.

He shook his head and let out a heavy sigh, “no, not a lot, just a couple times.”

He felt a little guilty for getting some enjoyment out of your jealousy. Who was he? An alter for a mentally ill man, playing professor at your college, far too old for you with looks that paled in comparison to yours. He was lucky to even be around you, at least that’s how he felt. To think that someone like you harbored any jealousy for him at all blew his mind.

“Wish I’d waited for you though, for what it’s worth.” He tapped your nose with his index finger before leaning in for a kiss.

“I’m glad I waited for you, Steven.”

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