historyofvideogames-playsta-blog

[karmaalwayswins]

@quezify eggtober 2024

Nurse Kylie poked her head into the emergency department’s provider room. “Dr. T?”

“Yeah?”

“David wants you to come to room 12.”

“It’s a sprained ankle, he can handle that.”

“He already saw the patient, but he said you’ll need to see him too.”

Dr. T stood up from the computer and walked to room 12. David, the physician assistant, met her in the hallway across from the room. 

“Patient is Allen Spencer, age 29. He signed in for a sprained ankle. His xrays are fine, but when he opened up his bag… Well, see for yourself.”

The patient, a brown haired man wearing a sweatshirt and track pants, was sitting on the stretcher watching TV. Next to him was an approximately one foot tall egg with arms and legs. It was faceless. Neither the patient or the egg seemed to be in any acute distress. 

“That’s an egg who has arms and legs,” Dr. T said. 

“It is.”

On the TV screen, a football game was playing. A wide receiver caught a pass and started doing an end zone dance. The patient let out a little squeal and high fived the egg. The egg then stood up and started imitating the end zone dance. 

“It has no eyes but it can see.”

David passed her a notepad. “It asked for a pen and then wrote this.” 

On the notepad was a neatly written message in blue ink. Dr. T read it out loud in an annoyed voice. “Turn on the game.” She shook her head, then said, “This looks like an Institute problem. Did you check the guy for a chip?”

David answered, “I did. His scan flags for Spiceland Institute.”

“Did you call them?”

“Figured I should let you see him first.”

“Does he have any complaints other than his ankle?”

“He’s fine other than that.”

“OK. I’ll check his ankle just to say I did. Call the institute so they can come and get him and his egg. Get a sitter for the room until their team shows up.”

Dr. T. entered the room. “Hi Mr. Spencer, I’m Dr. T. They told me you hurt your ankle.”

“I twisted it in the woods.”

“I’ll take a look at it. Who’s your friend here?”

“He’s Buddy. He likes football.”

“Let’s have Buddy sit in the chair while I look at your ankle.”

The egg athletically jumped down off of the bed, walked over to the chair, turned the chair to face the TV screen, and then climbed into it to sit. Dr. T raised her eyebrows as this series of events occurred, let out a breath, and then started looking at Mr. Spencer’s ankle.

“I barely see any swelling here. Can you bend your foot up and down for me? Good. Wiggle your toes. Good.” She stood up. “I’m going to go talk to PA David. You can just rest for now and watch the game. OK?”

“OK.”

When she exited the room, a panda-man wearing scrubs was stationed in a chair next to the door, on sitter duty. His arms were crossed over his broad chest. He nodded his head and asked, “How you doing, Dr. T?”

“Depends on how much paperwork I have to do about this,” she said. 

She walked over to Helen, the charge nurse. “You’ve got Tai Shan doing sitter duty?”

Helen shrugged. “He’s trying to buy a house. He needs the extra hours.”

A couple of hours later, staff from Spiceland Institute arrived. Dr. T shook hands with the two men, who were wearing black baseball hats and black jumpsuits.

“I’m Dr. T.”

“Specialist Allen Kemper.”

“Specialist Dale Chavez. I gave your charge nurse the transfer paperwork. Can I get your name for our records?”

“First name’s Wendy, with a Y. I’ll just spell my last name. T-A-P-A-Z-O-C-L-O-L-I-N-E-A-B-E-U hyphen D-I-A-Z.”

“Got it. We’ll take him off of your hands.”

“And the egg?”

Specialist Chavez rolled his eyes. “We’ll take the egg too. The two of them are kind of a package deal. We've been looking for them for the past day and a half.”

Specialist Kemper cleared his throat.

Specialist Chavez shifted his eyes in response, then asked, "Which room are they in?"

"Room 12," Dr. T answered.

Specialist Kemper was helping Mr. Spencer into his coat when Dr. T went back into the room with the discharge paperwork.

Mr. Spencer was talking. “I watched the football game. And I had two cookies!”

“Two cookies are better than one cookie,” Specialist Kemper said.

Mr. Spencer asked, "Did you notice that it gets dark earlier now?"

"I did," Specialist Kemper answered.

On the floor, Buddy the Egg was enclosed in a carrier. By body position, he seemed forlorn. 

As the Spiceland Institute team walked out with Mr. Spencer and Buddy, Tai Shan glared at the specialists from his chair. 

Helen came up to Dr. T. “We’ve got a cardiac arrest coming in five.”

“What bed are you going to?”

“Thirty-four.”

“OK.”

[highonakuweeds]

Who Says Money Can't Buy Happiness?

Sylus/right hand man!reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | ao3

You just had the best sleep of your life. You woke up, flushed, yes, but you also had nicer skin, the silk pajamas you had on were smoothly gliding along you, tickling you in the process. And you woke up… early for once. Since you got used to Sylus’ schedule of things (which made it significantly harder for you to wake up for your “day job”), you always had to begrudgingly force yourself to wake up. But for the first time in forever, you felt energized, just like how a person is supposed to be after sleeping.

Wait, you don’t remember changing into pajamas last night. Nor removing your makeup. And wait, when did you turn on your vinyl player—

Oh.

…OH DEAR GOD—

Your face immediately heated up when you remembered the events of last night. You also clearly remembered passing out after… the best fucking orgasm of your life—Jesus Christ, where did Sylus learn how to please you that well?

Rushes of memories coursed through your brain as a replay of Sylus’ voice echoed. “Use me,” he whispered in your ear, making your heart jump. Ugh, it’s too early in the morning for this.

You sat up on your bed and checked the clock; you had a good amount of time before you needed to go to the Hunter’s Association. With a very, very red face, you sat on the side of your bed, taking deep breaths as you calmed yourself. “Don’t worry,” you whispered to yourself. “It didn’t mean anything.” 

But, fuck, the look in his eyes when you moaned, or his easy compliance when you grabbed his hair to ride his face. All of that stuck with you. By all means, you aren’t a virgin, but no man had ever made you cum that hard and that quickly. So embarrassingly quickly….

You squealed, patting your cheeks to snap you out of it. Could you blame yourself? You had the leader of Onichynus eating you out ! Normally, you were unphased by the borderline-romantic gestures he would do to you, but were you really wrong for thinking otherwise after he’d seen you literally bare ? He changed your damn clothes for you, for God’s sake!

“‘It would be rude of me to not accept it, right?’” You mocked, standing up to turn off the vinyl player. Your voice was significantly lower than your usual and you honestly surprised yourself as well when you noticed just how well you did a Sylus impression. “‘Want a view, don’t you’? I will shove a shovel up your ass.” You grumbled to yourself, cursing your boss quietly as you sat down on your vanity to brush away your bedhead.

—--

Sylus did not sleep at all last night. Well, when has he ever?

But it seemed like no matter what he tried, whether it be going through the agenda for the day or rummaging through his vinyls, he couldn’t get your pretty little moans out of his mind. And no matter what he drank, what he ate afterwards, he couldn’t get the taste of you off his tongue.

Not like he wanted it to fade, though. Sylus wanted to give into vices and sin, indulge in gluttony for once. And it’s not like you didn’t give into your own, either; you were as greedy as they come.

Sylus’ jaw tightened when he realized he was getting distracted. A certain little hunter was going to be paying him a visit today, and he was going to make sure she resonates with him.

Ah, he knew. Since you also worked in the same workplace as her, he could ask you about her.

—--

You went out of your room, your hair away from your face as you walked towards the kitchen. There, you found your boss, head rolled up as he silently slept. You snorted at his vulnerable state before glancing at the chef, who just raised his brows, a playful smirk on his face as he glanced at your boss. 

You huffed, pouting at his implications. A slight glint from the light caught your eye, and you grimaced when you saw caviar and oysters on the ready for Sylus to eat when he woke up. Sure they were expensive, but it was too salty for you. Too… ocean…y? Is that even a word?

Fortunately for you, though, the chef knew you well; you were well acquainted with him due to your frequent midnight meals. He just stifled his laughter, putting on a big smile as he brought out a lighter meal, something more in your comfort zone. The ingredients in it were still a higher quality of it (hence making it more expensive nonetheless), but it was way better than pretentious rich food.

You squealed softly at it before whispering a small, “thank you” at the chef, to which he bowed. Silently, you walked towards your room once more—or maybe you should try the balcony; you could finally finish that book you were meaning to read—

“(Nickname)?” Sylus’ voice made you jump, almost making you drop your plate. Every morning, he sounded lower and gravelly than usual, and you never thought anything about it until you thought about what it would sound like if you woke him up on your knees and sucking his co—

“Sylus! Hi, hello.” You turned on your heels, grasping your breakfast plate with two, very shaky hands. Your boss’ eyes glanced down at them, confusion and intrigue flashing on his face for a split second. The chef placed his breakfast (or lunch? You don’t know when he woke up) and resumed to his spot behind the counter, idly checking everything. And just when you were about to race towards the balcony,

“Eat with me.” 

You froze, wincing at the three-worded sentence before turning with your heels, walking stiffly towards him. Sylus pretended not to notice, the only thing evident that he did was a small smirk on his face. You sat down with an awkward smile before digging into your food; you weren’t sure for Sylus, but you were hungry as hell.

So you two sat there in comfortable (awkward?) silence, the only noise filling up the air being the scraping of utensils on plates. And just when you were about to bring up what happened last night, Sylus’ voice interrupted you.

“What information is there about a certain MC ?” He didn’t even look up at you as he spoke, and you just huffed, pushing around some of the more decorative pieces of your breakfast. Even in simplicity, the chef couldn’t say no to some random herbs to spice up the aesthetics. Here you thought he was going to talk about how he ate you out last night, but nooo. Of course it was business immediately.

Eh, what did you expect?

You rolled your eyes, grumbling something about “talking about work while there’s breakfast in front of us” before tapping your wrist, an organized info sheet about an MC popping up immediately. Suddenly, you knit your brows together, recognizing the woman in the picture provided. “I know her; she’s from my sector.” You narrowed your eyes at Sylus, clearly suspicious. “...Why do you need to know about her?”

He just smirked at you, finally looking up from his food, a brow raised. Ah, he’s expecting you to dig for it. With a grunt, you closed your eyes. Instead of darkness, however, you found yourself looking through endless amounts of strings of possible answers until you found one. You opened your eyes groggily as you grimaced, feeling a headache coming on. The Hunter’s Association surely knows how to keep their secrets confidential. But not confidential enough.

“She’s going to the Nest tonight.” You hummed, impressed, also realizing she most probably won’t be at work today, then. Placing your inner wrist on the table, your eyes stuck to a spot behind Sylus as you figured everything out. “Huh, she has a good chance of coming here, too.” A surge of protectiveness and skepticism rushed through you as your eyes darted towards your boss, jaw tightening. “What are you planning on doing with her?”

He just tilted his head, a pointer finger finding its way to his temple. A habit you’ve seen so much you know when he would do it. “So you can see the future now? What an ability you have, hmm?”

You laughed humorlessly before pushing your food away, no longer having an appetite. “She’s one of my friends’ friends, okay? Don’t break her. And answer my question, Sylus.” You picked your plate from the table to place it on the counter near the sink. He leaned back with a scoff, amused brow raised. “Who are you to boss me around?”

You locked eyes with him with an uninterested glare, and he just sighed deeply. “I’m just planning on having a little chat with her. Are you happy now?” 

With a scrunch of your nose, you dumped the extra food into a small take-out container, making a small high-pitched hum to show your unenthusiasm. “I still don’t believe you.”

Your breath hitched the moment you felt arms wrapped around your waist, hot breath meeting the skin of your neck. You prayed the Sylus couldn’t see just how red your ears were getting despite your face’s expression remaining that of indifference. “Oh, so you’re jealous.” He muttered into your ear, smirking when he saw your ears. Fuck.

You scoffed, slipping from his grip easily and slapping his ass. Sylus scoffed at your action, turning back at you before letting a smirk grow on his face, realizing you had his wallet. “Sure. Whatever rocks your boat. Now, after work, I’m going to be doing a bit of shopping with Tara, and I wanna spoil her, so I’ll see you in a bit.”

He rolled his eyes, placing a hand on his hip as you walked towards your room to get ready for work. “You have to be present when she comes here.”

She? Tara? You tilted your head in confusion before coming to the understanding that he was talking about MC. There was a certain sharp feeling in your stomach whenever he mentioned her name, but maybe it was just because you had just eaten and you were scared for her life. 

—--

“Here you go, baby,” you muttered at the small puppy you had been feeding your leftovers, placing the tupperware on the floor for him to enjoy. He barked out at you before digging into the food, and you couldn’t help but smile. 

You heard a familiar voice call your name over, and you turned to look at who. Ah, Tara. You joined her going inside of the Hunter’s Association as she blabbered about the latest gossip she was somehow able to acquire in the span of just a day or two. How she was able to do so, you weren’t quite sure.

“Oh, and you know MC, right? One of my other friends?” You tensed at the name, remembering the morning before you had to go to work before nodding, hoping that Tara didn’t see the tension under your skin. Thankfully, she didn’t since she began to ramble on about how MC was going to go on a business trip for a while, complaining and whining about how the workload will be piling up now that she would be gone. You just snorted at her antics, not really minding the extra work. Jenna wasn’t a monster; she was probably going to raise your pay a bit more for compensation.

Speaking of Jenna, you were greeted by your day job boss, who was teasing Tara about her complaining. It didn’t take long for your friend to start apologizing profusely.

Sometimes, you wondered what would’ve happened if you just came to the Hunter’s Association immediately, or if you just stayed at Sylus’ side as promised. But no, you were a greedy little thing, and you wanted a bit of hard-earned money and not just what Sylus had given you. Plus having someone inside of the most prestigious association for wanderers would be easier for you to gather information and report back to Sylus. 

It’s always Sylus, Sylus, Sylus. You need to have a life outside of that man.

As Jenna left, you grabbed Tara’s arm excitedly, a greedy gleam in your eyes. “Are we still up for shopping later?” You asked her, trying your best not to sound too eager.

Air passed through your friend’s lips before she laughed. “Of course!”

—--

“Are you sure I could get this?” Tara asked, her voice high-pitched with elation. Beside her was the vintage Serpentine Duo bag from Bulgari and a sales associate trying her best not to let Tara brandish the bag itself. You nodded, grinning with your arms crossed. You walked towards the woman near the bag and asked her just how much it was. And just when she was about to answer you out loud, you pursed your lips, a clear smirk on them before you told her to whisper it to you.

When she whispered the answer to you, you hummed, surprised. “It’s actually cheaper than I expected it to be…” You muttered, before beaming at Tara. “Go ahead; I’ll take care of the payment.”

In just a blink of an eye, Tara was crushing you with her embrace, and you struggled to find oxygen. You shot a glance at the saleswoman then at the bag, indicating to her to get it fixed up. She did so immediately, leaving you with your friend.

Fortunately for you and your airway, Tara let go, still looking like she was about to burst with joy. She took multiple deep breaths to calm herself down, which made you snort. “So,” she said before exhaling deeply one last time. “Why are you spoiling me all of a sudden? Not that you don’t regularly, but this is Bulgari ! My mother could only dream of having a bag like the one you just bought me.” Her grin turned into a smirk, and swiftly, she was behind you, both hands on each shoulder respectively. “Do you have a sugar daddy?”

Ah, the most prevailing question that she teases you about endlessly. You would always joke about money being your boyfriend, and very shortly after would spoil your friends until they were drowning in expensive gifts. 

You just sighed, smiling. But just as you were about to answer her and deny it one more time, your phone pinged, its vibrations startling you. Ah, crap, did you forget to mute your phone? Wait no, you clearly remembered turning it off before going to the Hunter’s Association. There’s only one person you have sounds on for.

You grimaced, glancing at the time before picking up the call. “Yes, I know; I’ll be there in a minute.” You whispered, making Tara raise a brow skeptically.

“I need you here, (Nickname); it better be in just a minute.” Sylus’ voice, though your phone was on its lowest volume, rang in your ears. You rolled your eyes, passing air through your lips. “Whatever. You’ll see me.”

“I’ll see you.”

You ended the call with an annoyed huff, nodding in acknowledgement at the saleswoman as she gave the bag to your friend. You were quick to drag her out of the Bulgari store, however, which made her yelp in surprise. Tara snapped out of it, though, when she processed what was happening.

“Was that your sugar daddy?” 

“TARA!”

—--

The doors opened with a loud crack as you rushed into the living room, sighing in relief when you noticed your signature hood hanging on one of the chairs. To your left was Sylus whose brow was raised due to the commotion you caused, and to your right were the twins, who were both waving at you.

With an exhausted smile, you waved at them back, legs aching from running. “You ran.” It wasn’t a question; Sylus knew that you always took his calls seriously no matter how you retaliated. 

You pressed your lips into a thin line—a pathetic excuse of a smile—before grabbing your hood and pulling it on yourself. Before you were even in the room, you made sure that you covered your forearm to hand in bandages other than a small slit showing the faint glow of your inner wrist. You always thought taking even more precautions in hiding your identity was even better than just carelessly throwing on your hood.

“So, she’s here already?” You glanced at your wrist, the glow flickering slightly. 

Sylus shook his head, the smirk that never seemed to fade growing. “No, not yet. I’ll personally make sure she comes here.”

At that, your head whipped towards him, clear concern written all over your face. “Are you sure? I mean, you have Luke and Kieran—”

“—who will be going with me. The reason why I needed you here so urgently is because you’ll take charge until I come back.”

You snorted at that. “So what am I, a house sitter—and he’s gone.” 

—--

You sat and waited for two hours. Two. Whole Hours. It’s like Sylus didn’t even value your own time! With a groan, you racked your brain for another tune to hum; you were running out by the minute. Luckily, a familiar 6’2 man with a… certain knocked out person behind him came bursting through the door. You gaped at the sight of our own colleague, eyes darting towards your boss in disbelief. 

“What did you do to her!?” You rushed towards her, but he placed a hand in front of you, telling you to stop. Having no choice, you obeyed; you hated the times where he actually felt like a ruthless boss. So much more boring than the usual teasing.

Sylus plopped MC’s body onto the middle of the floor before taking a seat calmly, indicating you to stand by his side by a swipe of two fingers. With a grumble, you did as he “said” and walked towards your original spot. At this point, you were surprised that the floor hadn’t worn out from under it after all those years of standing there.

It took not that long for MC to wake up, and when she did, you quickly pulled your hood down, hiding some of the sympathy you were feeling for the poor girl. Seriously, what did Sylus want from her? 

You saw her glance at you, at the moment you noticed it, you made a big show of gathering intel from your wrist (as if you didn’t know anything about her). Unease settled in your stomach when you new information popped up; her Aether core was something similar to Sylus’, which was why he needed her in the first place. With a cock of your head towards your boss, you crossed your arms, loose sleeves revealing more of your bandaged arms.

Sylus looked at you with no trace of a smirk on his face, but unadulterated seriousness. Not towards you though, but towards the woman trembling and kneeling in front of the both of you.

“You…” MC’s voice was raw and rough, as if it took her an endless amount of strength to speak alone. It probably did.

You prevented yourself from taking any course of action, knowing that in this state, you cannot defy Sylus one bit. It was part of your deal with him, after all. And you’d rather kill yourself than get killed by a man like him.

“So, you do remember me.” Sylus responded with a raise of his brow, using his Evol to force MC to kneel in front of him, and with two fingers, he lifted her chin up. You took a deep breath; you can sit through this. You’ve sat through worse before.

But it was different now that you know her.

MC’s face contorted in confusion and fear, though it was masked by a face of indignation. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve only met you today.”

Sylus hummed lowly, shaking his head slightly before gripping her chin tightly. MC sucked in a breath before exhaling sharply. “Resonate with me.”

Your head sharply turned towards him. They couldn’t do that; from the conclusions you drew earlier, it would be too powerful for them to resonate so suddenly. And given just how terrified your colleague was of him, it would be near impossible. 

You made sure your voice was lower than your true voice. “Sir, are you sure—” 

“Did I tell you to speak?” His voice was sharp in comparison to how he usually talked to you, making you draw back into your indifferent expression, bowing your head slightly in apology. Damnit.

Sylus’ hand dipped lower to her hand and forcibly made their hands intertwined with each other, making the same sharp twist in your stomach appear once more. You gritted your teeth, taking a shaky yet quiet breath to compose yourself. You watched as he attempted to resonate with her, but to no avail. 

“A shame.” He muttered, though even with it, his voice commanded the room with ease. From your limited vision, you could see MC clearly fighting something in her head, and the groans and grunts you were hearing from her weren’t contradicting your small theory, either.

Like you said, it was near impossible for them to resonate.

Silence engulfed the room before Sylus exhaled sharply. “We’ll do this again tomorrow. If you can’t resonate with me by then, you won’t be having any dinner.”

“What!?”

Sylus’ Evol snuck around her mouth and neck, causing her difficulty to breathe, and it was only then did you actually interfere. You knew he would never actually kill her, but it was already enough torture as is.

“Sylus.” Your changed voice boomed all around the room. And in the last moments of MC’s consciousness, she saw the man suffocating and choking her obey you, as if his name was enough for him to understand. 

Her limbs grew limp the moment Sylus let go, and you took a deep sigh. “You didn’t have to go that far.” You whispered as you slung her across your shoulders, one shoulder slotted between her legs and the other supporting her chest, making sure all the blood in her body wouldn’t accumulate in her head and make her even more unconscious.

Sylus didn’t respond to you, and the only thing he gave you was a small huff and a twitch of his brow. Without anything left to say or do, he stood up from his throne, walking towards the big doors in which he came from. You grit your teeth, walking towards the hidden side door of the room with a passed out MC on your shoulders.

—--

“Luke, Kieran, see to it that this girl still eats something when she wakes up. I don’t think she’ll be able to survive having this weak of an immune system without any sustenance.” You told the two henchmen as you placed MC on a small bed somewhere deep in Sylus’ base. They nodded hesitantly before leaving the room, and you sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed as you stared at the colleague you weren’t quite affiliated with, but knew due to mutual friends. From her breathing, you could tell just how close she was to actually dying, which made your nose scrunch in concern for her and anger for your boss.

Jesus, he didn’t have to go that far. He could’ve asked you to befriend her, then you’d introduce her to him, then the whole resonate thing probably would’ve been easier for the both of them.

No, MC would’ve gone to the N109 Zone nevertheless; it was inevitable.

Just as you were about to leave, you heard the shifting of clothes, making you pull your hood down to cover your eyes, leaving a shadow to cover the rest of your face. 

The next thing you heard was a small voice. “Who are you?”

Well, you couldn’t disclose that information, duh. So, you went with something… Sylus themed. If Luke and Kieran means light-bringer and little dark one (respectively), of course you’d have to go for something within that range.

“...Call me Nyx for now.” You flashed her a smile, lowering your voice to match what she heard in the throne room.

MC’s brows furrowed, her body tense. She was clearly agitated, and you had no right to tell her that she shouldn’t be. Though you could barely see with the hood over your eyes, you were able to get a glimpse of her silhouette shifting on the small bed you put her on. “Where am I?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” you muttered, pursing your lips. “To save our time, I’ll answer all of them. I can’t tell where you are nor can I tell you where Sylus is, though rest assured we are still in the N109 Zone. Sylus told us that you shouldn’t be fed, however I had told them to give you a little something to keep your spark alive. Oh, and the two people you saw with masks were Sylus’ henchmen, Luke and Kieran. You’ll be… seeing them more often.”

The information processed in MC’s head, making her lay her head down on the headboard. “So, you have the same power as Sylus in this place?”

You furrowed your brows, your full attention piqued now. Crossing your arms, you shook your head. “No. What gave you that idea?”

“Well, you were able to counter the command of Sylus by telling ‘them’ to give me food. So, I assume you do…?”

You opened your mouth to speak before closing it again. How do you explain the complicated stand you have in the N109 Zone? Yes, you were below Sylus in terms of the hierarchy, but if you were reasonable enough, he would allow you to give your own commands—even if it countered his—towards his men.

“It’s complicated. But all I can say is that I do not. Just as he is Luke and Kieran’s boss, he is also mine.”

You could feel the mistrust of MC filling the entire atmosphere, and you sighed, dropping your head down low before sitting down on the edge of the bed. She flinched, hand quickly going towards her holster, only to find it empty. Despite your eyes being covered, you deadpanned at her. “Of course we’re going to be taking your guns; can’t have you shooting the entire place up. Listen, uhm,” you patted your thighs awkwardly, sighing. “All I can tell you is that I will make sure you don’t die here; it’s a very shitty place to live your last moments in, believe me. And that, you’ll be able to do it.”

MC tilted her head. “...Do what?”

You just smiled. Your words could mean anything, honestly. From the resonance to winning Sylus over (as must as the latter hurt you). So, to fit into the mysterious aura of being Sylus’ right hand woman, you merely shrugged. “You’ll see for yourself.”

Mm, vague. Perfect.

And with that, you left, giving MC a bunch of unanswered questions in her mind. 

—--

The next day, Sylus had called MC back for another attempt at resonance, however you didn’t stay by his side this time. You were at the opposite wing of the base, preparing a little snack for yourself to fuel your mind for the upcoming research your boss had told you to do. Luckily, Luke and Kieran were by your side as they had agreed to be a listener to your mumbles in order for you to not forget anything.

You sat down on the edge of the large couch, crossing your legs as you placed a sleek laptop and your plate of snacks on the table. Shrugging your silk jacket over your shoulders, your hands idly played with the same fabric of your shorts. “Okay, so, the thing with resonance between these two is that it’s completely risky, right? Well, the only way Sylus can actually have a chance in this little plan of his—which he never told me about, by the way; it’s very insulting—is if, and only if, he stops being an ass towards her. He needs to lower his pride.”

Luke snorted at your words, reaching across the table to nonverbally ask if he could get a piece of your food. You nodded absentmindedly, not looking at him as you typed something down on the laptop. Having multiple paragraphs running through your mind sometimes made you forget your actual train of thought, so Sylus had gifted this laptop which only he and you had access to to help you with it. “If Boss heard you, he would’ve killed you.”

His brother hummed, lounging on the couch until his head reached your shoulder and his legs laid across Luke’s lap. “I don’t know, Boss seems to favor (Name).”

You rolled your eyes at what Kieran had said, trying to ignore the reddening of your ears. “Please. His new toy is MC; I probably would’ve gotten killed.”

“Sure.” The both of them had replied, making you knit your brows together as you looked at them. “Luke, weren’t you just saying that Sylus would’ve killed me?”

“Changed my mind; he definitely favors you.”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing. “Whatever.”

Your idle chatter with the two men got cut short the moment you got a ping from Sylus on your computer, telling you to come pick MC up. You clicked your tongue, standing up. You ignored Kieran’s yelp as his head fell onto the couch as you shook your head. “He’s being too harsh with her.” You muttered to yourself, sprinting towards the throne room once more.

What really ticked you off was the last time your boss had tried to resonate with MC.

Even with the secret food and water you were giving her, she was clearly still so weak, though that fire in her never faded. So imagine your surprise when she was forced by Sylus to kill him. 

Your mask of indifference and stone broke the moment blood splattered on your cheek and hood. Normally, you were accustomed to it, with it happening so many times before. However, this wasn’t just anyone’s blood, no, this was Sylus’. 

Your eyes widened in horror as Sylus threw the gun away, and your throat closed up the moment you saw MC desperately trying to “save” Sylus, despite her not realizing that he just. Could not. Die. 

But to inflict that kind of trauma onto somebody you knew…

The blood dissipated from where MC held his heart, and the wound in it disappeared, too. The shock and panic of it all, however, led MC to pass out once more. Mix that with the sheer fatigue of the past couple days, and you weren’t even sure if you could keep your promise to her of making sure she doesn’t die here.

You were quick to catch her and sling her arm around your neck, and just as Sylus was about to stand up, you pulled your hood down and slapped him as hard as you could across the cheek. He didn’t react, only stared at where his head was facing from the blow. Though through your boss’ peripheral vision, he could see the pure anger in your stare. “Never do that to any of my friends again,” you whispered, but it was loud enough.

“She isn’t your friend.” He growled in response.

“A friend of a friend is , Sylus.” You raised your voice slightly, holding MC closer to you. “She hasn’t done anything to deserve this.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You heard her, right? How she ‘doesn’t remember’ you.” Sylus finally looked at you, his gaze cold, though you didn’t let the sign of angst in his eyes go unnoticed. “I don’t know what happened before, but she’s more than changed, Sylus. Accept that.” You took a deep breath, shaking your head. “When she wakes up, be kinder. Consider where she’s coming from.”

And with that, you left the throne room, not looking back once. Though whether it was to make him contemplate his actions or for you to hide your tears, you weren’t sure.

—--

You stormed into your room the moment you placed MC on her bed, a much better bed than the initial one she was in. She was finally placed in a room much closer to the surface, which should hopefully put her more at ease the moment she wakes up.

If she wakes up.

You clicked your tongue as you shed your hood, sitting down on your bed with shaky hands. From your position, you glanced at the full body mirror just beside your bed. Sylus’ blood was still on you.

You may have overreacted, maybe, but that horrid sinking feeling in your stomach prevented you from thinking rationally. 

You were going to honest, the reason why you’d done that wasn’t just because of what he did to MC. It was the sheer lack of care that Sylus had for his own life and lack of care that you had seen. Yes, you knew he couldn’t be killed, but it still felt like he could. Just for a split second, you cared for Sylus , not your boss .

Your mind drifted towards a couple nights before, making you grit your teeth and tick your head sharply once. How had he gotten so obsessed with a different woman just a couple hours after he’d done something so… intimate to you? After he had expressed care, not the kind of care that a boss would have to his subordinates, but the kind of care that a lover would have to his significant other.

Ugh, you felt so selfish.

Well, he did say he was just going to help you. So that you wouldn’t get hurt. Feel any more pain.

If that was so, then how come he’d forced someone to place a gun against his chest? How come he’d forced MC to pull the trigger? If he truly didn’t want you to feel any pain, then he’d know just how much care you had for him and wouldn’t have done that at all.

Multiple thoughts ran through your head, and it wasn’t long until you were crying again. The tears mixed with the blood on your face, and stained your clothes as they dripped down. The metallic scent filled your nostrils, forcing you to stand up and finally take that hot shower you needed to relax your mind.

When you get out of your shower, sighing at the feeling of fresh, clean skin, it was only then did you notice a pretty bouquet of your favorite flowers on top of your nightstand. Your heart skipped at it, and it was embarrassing how quick you were to read the note beside it.

You sighed sharply when you realized it was from Aries. In all honesty, you’d totally forgotten about him. I haven’t heard from you in a while, it read in his pretty handwriting. Here’s some flowers to calm you down if you’re having a stressful week. You mentioned these to be your favorite, right? 

Your eyes stung once more at the message. It actually felt quite nice having someone other than Sylus give you flowers. Whenever your boss would give you flowers, it would probably just be to make sure that you don’t develop a random hatred for him. But this somehow felt… different. 

You slept with a smile on your face, though memories of hours before still plagued your mind.

—--

How did your slap hurt more than a gunshot to his heart?

That was what Sylus wondered, holding his cheek in his room. Even after he’d freshened up, he could still feel that sting of your hand, and for some reason it hurt more than anything else he’d ever experienced.

He knew that you wanted him to apologize to both you and MC, but he wasn’t going to do that; what was he going to apologize for towards any of you? He did what he had to do.

…

Granted, he may have overreacted. And granted, he did see pain covered by the anger in your glare. 

He was the one shot; why were you the one that looked so hurt?

He’ll just… make up for it tomorrow somehow.

[kaliforniahigh]

Dad!Noah and Wife!Reader taking pics of each other while napping with the babe. Like she sees him napping holding the little one (also napping) in his arms or on his chest. And viceversa. just fluff.

This is soo cute, I'm gonna cry!!!!

Warning: I don't know how Noah used to celebrate birthdays/halloween, the description is just for the sake of the story. This became more of a Halloween fic rather than a birthday fic LOL

WC: 1.1k (not proofread)

This is basically just fluff.

There was a time when you and Noah used to go crazy for Halloween and his birthday. Young and in love, the night felt endless and so did the drinks.

Before Noah met you, he wasn't really big on celebrating the date. But you came into his life and he didn't really understand how had you went for Halloween when he spent it with you the first time.

He remembers you planning your costume months before the date. And after he saw your excitement, he couldn't help but ask you to put something together for him as well. So you started celebrating Halloween every year after that.

You had one condition though. Halloween needed to be celebrated on the 30th, because you insisted that the 31st and his day only.

He protested at first, but then saw that you wouldn't budge on your decision. So that's when he also started to celebrate his birthday.

The boys always congratulated him, obviously, but he never wanted anything too crazy. Maybe order his favorite fruit and have some cake. But that was the extent of it.

Now, you and him go out to eat, you buy him a fancy cake with decorations and writing on top and you sing happy birthdays while the candle is lit.

This year though, your October is looking very different.

First, you both feel dead tired everyday - have been since your daughter was born - and the preparations were a little last minute, since neither you nor Noah remembered your daughter's daycare Halloween party.

It was just your luck that they decided to celebrate it on the 30th, so you could have the 31st to celebrate with family and friends.

So you took care of the food, and Noah ran to the store to pick up a last minute costume. You didn't give him any instructions, which scared you a little bit.

When he came home though, with two bags in hand and you opened them to find a Fred, Wilma and Pebbles Flintstones costume, you were sure you wouldn't be able to pick a better one even if you tried.

So with food in your hands and an almost one year old baby on Noah's arms, you headed to the "party".

It wasn't anything crazy, since it was only a bunch of babies and parents in one room, eating nice food and giving each other - sometimes unsolicited - advice on how to make the baby fall asleep at night and other stuff. There also weren't any drinks, which didn't bother you and Noah in the slightest, since you both stopped drinking since before you found out you were pregnant.

But, taking care of a baby in that environment still took a lot out of you and him. Aurora cried from time to time, mainly from the amount of people in the room, or simply because another baby started crying too. So Noah had to take her on a walk and show her some toys to try and distract her.

The thing that tired you the most was having to interact with other parents. You didn't sleep well last night - like many other nights - and you just wanted to be home, resting with your family.

But you understood the importance of participating in these events. Both for your baby and for you and Noah as new parents.

You tried to stay for as long as you could, but right when it was approaching 8:00 PM, your daughter began to get even more fussy in Noah's arms, and he suggested you head home.

Saying goodbye to everyone, Noah secured Aurora on the car seat, and got in the driver's seat next to you.

"I didn't know these baby parties could drain you so much", you said as you sighed out loud.

"Tell me about it", he gave you a look of disbelief and turned on the car, driving off into the streets. "Evan literally wouldn't stop talking about how well his son sleeps through the night", he huffed in annoyance.

"Ugh, these kinds of people piss me off", you rolled your eyes, resting your head on the window.

"He could tell I was falling asleep at any minute, and he just wanted to feel like the better parent"

Usually, you and Noah didn't care about these comments. You knew you were giving your best to your daughter, while also having to balance a marriage.

But it was times like these, where you felt overwhelmed, that you couldn't lie and say that these comments didn't piss you off.

You two were vey lucky to have each other during this journey and you wouldn't choose doing this with anyone else.

When you got home, you unbuckled Aurora while Noah opened the door. Making your way inside, Noah took the sleepy baby from your arms.

"Let me feed her, you can go take a shower", he said, and kissed you on the forehead.

You thanked him silently, making your way up the stairs to take a warm and steamy shower.

You took longer than usual, just needing a few minutes to clear your head and relax by yourself.

Cleaning the fog from the mirror, you dried yourself, brushed your teeh and picked some comfortable clothes - usually Noah's - to sleep in.

You silently made your way to the nursery to put the baby to sleep and give Noah his turn in the shower. The door was wide open, Noah sitting on the recliner, shirtless, as that was his preferred way of holding Aurora when he was home. You were about to softly call out his name for him to look at you, when you noticed soft breaths coming from his lips.

Getting closer, you noticed that both of them were in a deep slumber, Violet's cheeks smushed on her dad's chest, her little hand making a thight fist.

Noah's large hand was sprawled on her back, holding her close to him, head lulled to the side.

You were frozen in your spot for a few minutes, just watching the two most important people in your life share an indescribable moment together.

You thought about snapping a picture, when you remember you left your phone on your bed when you went to take a shower. Tiptoeing your way out of the room as silently as you could, you went to the bedroom to grab your phone.

When you came back, you wanted to chuckle at how knocked out they both were. You noticed that Aurora slept with her little mouth slightly open, just like her dad.

After snapping a few pictures from different angles, you decided to print it tomorrow to add to your endless collection of you daughter sleeping with either you or Noah.

You watched for a few more minutes, realizing that eventually, you would have to wake him up.

But for now, you went to the kitchen to snack on something before bed, deciding to let them be for a while longer.

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

The Wizard of Wolff

Word count: 1.1k

Pairing: Toto Wolff x reader

Summery: As Halloween approaches, Y/n convinces her reluctant husband, Toto Wolff, to a hilarious dog costume as her sidekick Toto while she embraces her role as Dorothy, leading to a night filled with laughter and unexpected fame

______________________________________________________________

It was a few weeks before Halloween, and Y/n was in full preparation mode. Halloween was her absolute favorite holiday—everything from spooky decorations to haunted houses, but especially the costumes. Every year, she went all out, carefully planning her outfits and crafting the perfect look. Toto, on the other hand, couldn't have cared less about the whole affair. He loathed dressing up, always feeling awkward and out of place at costume parties. But for Y/n, he’d bite the bullet, year after year, because he could never say no to the woman he adored.

This year, they had been invited to an exclusive Halloween party hosted by one of Monaco’s elite, where the guest list included celebrities, socialites, and their closest friends. Y/n was thrilled about the event, scrolling through costume ideas while sipping her morning coffee. Toto, however, was far less enthusiastic, already dreading whatever outrageous outfit Y/n would come up with this time.

As he wandered into the living room, towel slung over his shoulder after a morning workout, Y/n looked up from her phone with an excited grin.

"Toto, I’ve found it!" she said, practically bouncing in her seat.

"Found what?" he asked, already a little suspicious. He knew that tone.

"Our Halloween costumes!" she exclaimed, holding up her phone to show him an image of Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz. "I’m going to be Dorothy—blue dress, ruby slippers, the whole deal."

Toto leaned in, glancing at the photo. "I see. So what am I supposed to be? The Tin Man?"

Y/n bit her lip, trying to stifle her giggles. "Nope. You’re going to be Toto!"

He blinked, staring at her as if she had spoken a foreign language. "Wait… What? You want me to be a dog?"

She burst out laughing, unable to contain herself anymore. "Yes! You’ll be my adorable little dog, Toto!" She swiped to the next photo on her phone—a fluffy brown dog costume complete with floppy ears, a furry tail, and even a leash. "Isn’t it perfect?"

Toto shook his head, chuckling in disbelief. "You’ve got to be kidding me. You want me, a grown man, to wear dog ears and follow you around on a leash?"

Y/n was practically tearing up from laughter at this point, barely able to respond. "Yes! You’ll be the cutest little Toto ever!"

He couldn’t help but laugh along with her, though he still found the idea utterly ridiculous. "Y/n, I’m 6’5". No one is going to mistake me for a dog. If anything, they’ll think I’m a wolf."

Without missing a beat, Y/n leaned in closer, eyes twinkling. "Well, that’s the genius part. When you’re alone, you can be Wolff with your last name, but when you’re with me, you’re Toto with your first name." She paused for dramatic effect. "Two costumes in one!"

Toto laughed, shaking his head as he sat down beside her. "So you’re saying I have no escape from this, either way?"

"Exactly," she said triumphantly, moving closer and wrapping her arms around him. "But think about it—it’s going to be hilarious. And besides, everyone will be focused on me as Dorothy. You just have to play the sidekick."

Toto let out a dramatic sigh, leaning back against the couch. "I’m really going to regret this, aren’t I?"

"Nope," she said with a playful grin, kissing him on the cheek. "You’re going to have fun, and deep down, you know you love it when we do these things together."

He looked down at her, his soft smile betraying any annoyance he might have tried to muster. "I only do this for you, Y/n."

"And that’s why I love you," she said, pecking him on the lips. "Because deep down, you’re a big softie."

Toto chuckled, pulling her closer. "I must be, if I’m agreeing to this."

The next few days flew by as Y/n excitedly prepped for the party. She ordered her Dorothy costume—a cute but modern twist on the classic look, complete with the iconic blue gingham dress, ruby red heels, and even a wicker basket with a stuffed animal Toto inside, just for good measure. She also picked out Toto’s "dog" costume, adding her own little touches to make it as humorous as possible.

When the night of the party arrived, Y/n was bouncing around their bedroom, getting ready. She zipped up her dress, twirling in front of the mirror, admiring the way it flared around her hips.

"How do I look?" she asked, turning to Toto with a dazzling smile.

Toto stood leaning against the doorframe, already dressed in his "Toto the Dog" costume. He looked utterly ridiculous, standing at his full height in the floppy ears and dog tail, but Y/n couldn’t have been more pleased.

"You look beautiful," he said with a smirk, his deep voice dripping with sarcasm. "And I look like a complete fool."

Y/n burst out laughing again. "You look adorable! Come here." She walked over, adjusting the ears on his head and smoothing down the furry tail. "There. Perfect."

Toto sighed, running a hand over his face. "I still can’t believe I’m doing this."

Y/n grinned mischievously, looping her arm through his. "You’ll survive. And trust me, once people see us together, they’re going to love it. Besides, who doesn’t want to see the famous Toto Wolff in a dog costume?"

They made their way to the party, the night buzzing with excitement. As expected, when they entered, heads turned, and a wave of laughter followed them through the crowd. People were in awe of Y/n’s flawless Dorothy look, but the sight of Toto in his ridiculous dog outfit stole the show. Friends and fellow party-goers couldn’t stop making jokes about how fitting it was for him to be a "wolff in dog’s clothing."

And just as Y/n predicted, when Toto was alone, people couldn’t help but comment on his name.

"You’re not even trying, are you?" one guest teased.

Toto simply smiled, raising an eyebrow. "It’s a costume that works on multiple levels."

But whenever Y/n was by his side, they quickly became the highlight of the night—the most talked-about couple at the party. And while Toto rolled his eyes and grumbled about how much he hated Halloween, deep down, he loved seeing Y/n so happy. Her laughter, the way her face lit up when they joked together, made every minute of this ridiculous night worth it.

As they danced together later that evening, Y/n leaned into him, her arms wrapped around his neck. "See? I told you it would be fun."

Toto smiled down at her, his love for her far outweighing any embarrassment he might have felt. "You were right. But don’t get used to it. Next year, I’m picking the costume."

Y/n grinned mischievously. "We’ll see about that."

[crushpunky]

rafe cameron x girlfriend!reader thoughts !!!

met during the events of season three, and grew closer following ward’s death. y/n really inspired him to be a better person and see the best in himself.

at the beginning of their relationship, rafe was very hesitant to show any type of vulnerability or emotion, worried he would come off as “weak” or “overbearing” and scare y/n off. slowly but surely, y/n showed him that he doesn’t have to hide and can express himself however he needs to when he’s with her.

rafe’s love languages are definitely physical touch and gift giving… and he loves to shower y/n in both

y/n’s love languages are definitely quality time and words of affirmation. she loves spending time with rafe doing anything or nothing, as long as they’re together she’s fine with that.

y/n wasn’t nervous about introducing rafe to her family. she loved him so much and was well aware of his own familial issues, but she also knew her family would care for him as much as she did.

on the other hand, she was very nervous about introducing rafe to her cat, kit kat:

“why are you sweating so much? do you need some water?” rafe asked as they pulled into y/n’s driveway. “no, it’s fine. i’m fine.” y/n trailed off. “you’re acting weird, baby," rafe reached across the console, taking y/n’s hand. “i’ve already met your parents, and they’re wonderful people. i don’t—” “no i’m just nervous about you meeting kit kat.” y/n mumbled, avoiding the small smirk that crept on rafe’s lips. “the cat?” rafe stifled a laugh. “don’t laugh, cameron! this is very serious!” y/n groaned, running a hand through her hair nervously. “what if he doesn’t like you, then what?” “you’ll just have to get rid of it i guess.” rafe said with a shrug, causing y/n to gasp. “that is not funny, rafe. and don’t call him ‘it’.” y/n scowled.

while kit kat did in fact like rafe, rafe held some sort of one-sided beef with the small, fluffy gray cat. he was fine with cats, but what he didn’t appreciate was how the cat always stole y/n’s attention…

rafe picks her up every saturday at exactly 9 am (even though he despises getting up anytime before noon on the weekend) to get coffee and stop at her favorite flower shop. the look of “surprise” on her face when he gets her a bouquet always makes his heart melt. because of this, he always made sure the vase in y/n’s windowsill was always filled with fresh flowers.

when rafe made it to 100 days clean, y/n woke him up with a cake she had spent the whole night making and a new lingerie set she had seen him eyeing the last time the two of them went shopping on the mainland. he wasn’t used to this sort of celebration or attention on his accomplishments, but needless to say he was very happy with the surprise.

y/n pushed rafe to reconcile with his sisters, encouraging him to make an effort to apologize to them and tell them about how much he’s changed from this violent, drug addicted young man he used to be.

for christmas, y/n convinced rafe to wear matching sweaters with her to their friends’ christmas get together. never in his life would rafe cameron ever thought to find himself doing something as cheesy as that, but with y/n, it just felt natural. not even topper and kelce’s teasing could shake his commitment to seeing y/n smile at their identical sweaters:

“no fucking way.” topper scoffed. “what’s your problem, thornton?” rafe quirked an eyebrow, wrapping an arm around y/n’s torso. “dude you are so pussy-whipped.” kelce shook his head, taking a sip from his mug. “yeah, yeah, i love my girlfriend, what’s so fuckin wrong about that? hm?” rafe pulled y/n in to kiss the top of her head. “you should see kit kat’s sweater too.” y/n said, going to pull out her phone. “woah, woah, woah. you did not tell me we were matching with the cat—”

rafe was so head over heels for y/n it was crazy. he found himself thinking about her all the time, picturing a future for the two of them together. he had never thought about having a family before, after knowing how fucked up his own was, but with y/n he wanted that. he wanted everything, as long as it was with her.

[glittercorvid]

i told my team i was leaving and every single one of them decided to quit too. leadership skills may not be perfect but i sure led them to the lifeboats when i noticed the ship had started taking on water!!

[rogerhamleys]

I honestly believe that every real-life love story, no matter how mundane or drama-free or "boring", is beautiful

[rememberwren]

Skin Deep

Tattoo artist!Simon x fem!reader. Reader, looking to expand her horizons, gets her first tattoo from Simon. 8.4k. Features: soft!Simon who is bad at people-ing, vaginal sex, lots of nipples, like at least three nipples, poor writing, abrupt transitions, shy and awkward reader. Based on this post.

Sequel here.

-

“I bit the bullet!” you shout over the music, hand cupped around your friend’s ear to be better heard. She shrieks in delight at the sound of your voice, turning to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you close to her swaying body. Many eyes in the club follow her movements. She has always been the wild child to your wallflower, attracting attention wherever she goes.

“You bit what?” she shouts back, her breath like a mint julep. 

“The bullet,” you laugh. “I called that guy you recommended and set up an appointment. For the tattoo I wanted!” 

She stares at you blankly. Her silky little tank top is drooping off of one shoulder, so you reach out and tuck it back into place. The longer she stares, the more nervous you grow. She’d been so encouraging after your last boyfriend dumped you—encouraging you to step outside your comfort zone, to ‘make more mistakes’, to live life more fully. Now she’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head and it’s the one doing the talking. 

“What guy I recommended?” she asks. 

“Kevin!”

“Oh no. No, no, no. Not Kevin. Not Kevin. Why, Kevin?” 

You frown. “You said you went to Kevin.” 

“It wasn’t a recommendation, sweetie, if anything it was to caution you away from him! He’s a creep; there’s a reason why I never went back.” 

You deflate like a balloon, going limp and letting her drag you to the nearby free seats at the bar where you sit heavily. It’s not just the tattoo. It’s the icing on a shitcake of a day. 

A new song seamlessly starts, and the dancers nearby go wild with excitement. Your mood is the antithesis of the event; everyone seems to be having a great time except for you. Story of your life. 

“You conveniently left that out. Ugh. I’ll cancel it. What am I even fucking doing—thank you—” you accept the cup of ice water the bartender slides in front of you with a shy smile, sipping at it and keeping your hand curled over the top of it protectively. “—none of this is like me.” 

Your friend frowns. She steals your drink and sips at it. “You were the one who said you’d always wanted a tattoo. You’re an adult. These are exactly the kinds of decisions you’re old enough to make. Look, fuck Kevin. All my friends hate Kevin. I know another guy, and he’s highly recommended. Let me give you his number. Alright?” 

“Alright,” you sigh. You make a silent promise to yourself though: if it doesn’t work out with this next tattoo artist, then you won’t be getting one at all. You’ll take it as a sign from the universe to get back in your comfort zone and stay there, once and for all. 

-

What kind of a moniker is Ghost? you wonder to yourself as you skim the Instagram of the shop this Ghost owns. The profile picture is one of the building itself, and all of the pictures are of various inked body parts. Beautiful ones, admittedly. But no hint of the mysterious figure who owns the shop. There is a personal instagram linked @GHOST89 but it is private when you try to click on it. 

The phone number your friend gave you rings straight through to voicemail. You let out a shaky breath. Fuck, you hate voicemail. Talking to people was difficult enough; talking to people’s disembodied machines was even worse somehow. It isn’t until you’ve hung up after leaving your message that you realize you forgot to tell him your fucking name (genius!). Groaning, you contemplate dialing him back when the phone in your hand rings—and it’s him. 

“Hello?” 

“I’m free Wednesdays for consultations,” says a baritone voice from the other end of the line. 

Nice to talk to you too, you think dryly. Maybe this guy is as bad at the phone as you are. “I work Wednesdays. Are you free in the evenings?” 

He sighs, like this is going to be very strenuous for him. 

“Name a time. I’ll pencil you in. Half is due at the end of the consultation upon booking an appointment. Cash only,” he says. 

Jesus Christ, could he be anymore abrupt? While a tiny part of you is grateful that he isn’t trying to make small talk, a larger part is terrified that you’ve already made an impression so foul that it’s incurred his wrath. What other reason could he have for being so stilted? 

“Alright,” you answer cautiously. “How’s five?” 

“Five. Don’t be late.” 

He hangs up on you, leaving you wondering why every step outside your comfort zone must be so bloody far.

-

You arrive early to the consultation, only to find that the building itself—a tidy little brick two-floor, adorned with a sign that dubbed it SKIN DEEP tattoos & artisan piercings, which you recognize from Instagram—is locked. A note written in neat handwriting taped to the door declares NO WALK INS. Your palms are sweaty. You wipe them on your work slacks, but it doesn’t help. How are you supposed to get in? 

All at once a shadow appears on the other side of the door. The shadow is enormous: well above six feet tall, and broad shouldered. A black surgical mask is tucked up over his mouth and nose, which only adds to his intimidating aura. Judging by the impressive sleeve of tattoos he has, you imagine that this is the guy. 

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And Ghost. 

Dark brown eyes stare down at you when he opens the door, cocking a hip against the frame, staring at you. Waiting. 

Waiting for you to explain your presence, you realize. 

“I have a consultation,” you blurt out. “At…five?”

He opens the door wider to let you pass without a word. He’s so broad that you can smell him as you pass him: clean and masculine. The inside of the tattoo shop is bigger than it looks on the outside. There is a reception area with a desk and a computer and printer. The glossy wooden floors are polished to shine, leading to an open floor plan. There is a small sitting area with armchairs, a wide sofa, and a table on which rests two bottles of water, a notebook, and a steaming mug of liquid.

“Sit,” he says, his voice the same deep rumble you recognize from the phone. He chooses the chair beside the mug. His body is so goddamn long, his legs lean and thick all at once where he stretches them out in front of him. He reaches for the mug and takes a sip—of tea, judging by the smell. “Name?”

You tell him, perching yourself anxiously on the other chair. He glances up at you, eyes raking over your posture. Suddenly he tugs the mask down to rest beneath his chin, revealing a full, pale mouth. A straight, noble nose. A pink scar stretches across his lips and up towards his cheek. 

“The water is for you,” he says. 

“Oh!” You reach forward and take one bottle, breaking the seal. “Thank you.”

“This is your first tattoo.” 

“What gave me away?” you ask with a weak laugh. 

He doesn’t laugh. “Everything. Is someone putting you up to this? This smells like Soap.” 

“What? No, of course not. I want this, I’m just, I’m an anxious personality. I promise.” You hesitate and then add: “I probably smell like soap because I showered this morning.” 

His mouth twitches. He leans back in his seat and sucks on his teeth, and you get the distinct feeling that he is trying very hard not to laugh at you. Why had you mentioned to him that you showered? What was wrong with you? Just as you’re comprising a list of things, he picks up the pencil and the notebook, opening to a fresh page.

 He asks what you want and God, that’s a harder question. 

You do your best to express your idea, but your words feel halting and silly. His pencil scratches rapidly at the paper as he listens in total silence—pausing only once, when you say that you want this to be a sternum piece. Only then does his pencil seem to hover over the paper, his dark eyes seeking you out and pinning you in place on the armchair. 

He reaches for his tea to take a generous sip and then continues writing. 

He asks a few pointed, concise questions (and you’re just thrilled he was actually listening), following your answers up with more scribbling in his notebook. At length, he shuts the book. 

“I think I see the vision. Give me thirty to sketch something and we’ll see if you want to book an appointment. Something this size, on your sternum could take more than one session, depending on how well you sit. How do you take pain?” 

“I mean, it hurts?” you offer. 

He stares. “Two sessions. Let me sketch something. Drink your water.” 

You think that maybe he’ll move to another room to sketch, but he just flips to a clean page and begins to work right there (drawing the mask up over his nose and mouth again). With nothing else to do, you can’t help but watch him. 

He’s handsome, in an odd sort of way. His brow is a little too low, his gaze a little too intimidating to be considered conventionally attractive, but you find him fascinating to look at, especially when he is so clearly in the throes of something he enjoys doing. It’s almost like watching someone have sex. The thought makes your face go warm. You pick up your phone, determined not to look at him again. 

“Here.” 

You glance up from your mindless scrolling. What he shows you is a beautiful rendition of what you had expressed wanting. There are a few key differences, and he patiently explains why he made the decisions he did. He didn’t make the changes because he thought your idea was stupid. He made them so the image would better fit the contours of your body. He made them because the ink will spread over time, and he wants the look to stay clean. 

His thoughtfulness touches you. 

“I love it. I want it,” you say, enthusiasm getting the better of you. 

“This is just a first sketch,” he says dryly, making that warmth return to your face. “I’ll text you a few variations this week, and we can nail down the final piece. You want to book?” 

“Yes,” you say, nearly buzzing. “I really want to book.”

He’s expensive—but judging by the book of his artwork that is available for you to flip through at the front desk while he quotes you a price and writes you up a receipt, he is more than worth the money. Fuck, he’s got skill. You thought that maybe his art style was too dark for what you wanted, but you found that he was able to adapt styles nicely. You just hoped this tattoo wouldn’t bore him to death. 

“Thanks again for meeting with me,” you say as he sees you out. “I’ll be waiting for your text.” 

“You’ll get it.” He glances past you out the window. It’s dark. “Did you walk?” 

“No, my car is just there.”

“I’ll wait.” 

And he does. His figure darkens the doorway until you have shut your car and locked the doors, temporary insanity making you give him a short wave. He raises two fingers and then disappears. 

-

You didn’t tell me this guy was cute, you text to your friend. 

GHOST? Cute? I’ve never even seen his face lol. He’s always wearing one of his masks. 

You chew over this information. Yes he’d been wearing a mask, but he’d lowered it for you. Did that mean something? Did it mean something that you wanted it to mean something?  

Masks are cute, you say. 

Fuck the tattoo artist!!!! she says. Maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

You’re terrible. 

You’re…thinking about it. 

-

Two days later, you squint blearily into the darkness at your phone after it vibrates on your nightstand. The time reads twelve past one in the morning. It’s from GHOST. 

The two images he sends are beautiful; enough to rouse you straight from sleep into wakefulness. 

I love them both, you tell him. But the second one is amazing. I think that’s the one. 

Keep your appointment. Ten minutes later (after you have already fallen back to sleep) he sends: wear something appropriate.  

And fuck, you didn’t even think of that. 

-

“You’re being ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself in the mirror, turning sideways to assess yourself. On the bed behind you are a series of button up shirts, all of which you have tried on at one point or another. 

“You are,” your friend agrees from where she lounges on your bed, scrolling on her phone. “Your tits are cute. Let Ghost see them.” 

The look you give her is the one the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ was modeled after, surely. She doesn’t even see it, so the effect is lost entirely. You turn your gaze back to the silicone nipple adhesive covers again, still stuck to their adhesive backing. You’ve already used one set of the pack of three, and they covered your nipple and areolas nicely, but still left you feeling so exposed. 

“Be glad you’re not going to creepy Kevin anymore,” your friend says.

“Very glad of it.” 

You felt reasonably safe with Ghost, but still a degree of embarrassment about your own body. Or perhaps that was too strong a word—it didn’t embarrass you, but it felt private. Baring your breasts to a near stranger (especially one you had a grudging attraction to) made your anxiety reach epic level proportions. 

“You should text him about it, see if he has any advice for you. He’s been doing this for years. I’m sure he’s seen it all,” she says—the first good idea she’s had all night, miles ahead of ‘Just let Ghost see your cute tits’. 

That night, you take her advice and text him, hoping you aren’t overstepping some weird artist-client boundary. 

I’m a little nervous.

You can cancel, is all he says. I’ll refund your money.

It’s not that. 

What is it? 

Not really accustomed to the nakedness tbh. There. You said it. Let him think you some prim priss; it was true. 

But all he said back was: how can I help?  

I don’t know, you admit. Then; sorry. I’m probably bothering you with this while you’re working. 

I’m not working. Five minutes later, when it seems as if you aren’t going to message back: I keep the shop closed to the public. One customer at a time: you. I’ll let my piercer know I’m with a client and not to walk in. I’ll keep you covered every moment I can. Better? 

Relief, warm and sweet curling low in your belly, you let him know: much better. 

-

You bring the pasties anyway. 

-

The day of your appointment, you are so nervous you are shaking. Now you know the truth behind the phrase ‘knees knocking together’, as you stand outside SKIN DEEP waiting for Ghost’s hulking figure to appear on the other side of the glass. 

When it does, he’s like a little punch to the gut. That black surgical mask is in place—typical for him, if your friend’s words are to be trusted—but his blond hair, cropped short to his scalp is riotous in a way that is adorably charming, like he hasn’t been able to keep his hands out of it. His black t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, and his jeans fit him nicely around his thick thighs. 

You’re horrified to find that your attraction to him has grown. Exponentially. Your friend’s words echo in your mind—fuck the tattoo artist, maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

“Hi,” you squeak. 

Ghost raises both his brows. He opens the door wider for you to slip past him. Fuck he still smells good.

“I’m still nervous,” you blurt out, hoping that speaking the truth out loud will help you feel better. It doesn’t. 

“That’s normal. You can back out at any time, but the earlier the better. Come look at the image and tell me if it’s still what you want.”

It’s exactly what you want, and more. 

“It’s perfect. You’re very talented.” 

He huffs a little, like you shouldn’t have said such a thing. 

The chair is a great leather contraption which reclines comfortably once he’s gotten you in it (after making you use the restroom first, during which you took the time to splash water on your burning face and double check that your pasties were in place covering all the cutest bits according to your friend). Simon moves around you, making preparations with the ease of someone who has done this work for many years. 

You fight the arousal that blooms in your belly at the sight of him doing such benign things as washing his hands, putting on gloves, opening fresh needles, preparing little wells of ink and sticking them to the movable cart with Vaseline. There’s just something about a person who knows exactly what they’re doing and who is able to do it with efficacy.

“Ready?” he asks at length. 

You nod, hoping your nerves don’t show on your face. Steeling yourself, you unbutton the shirt you’re wearing. His eyes follow your hands, but there is a detached, clinical sort of expression in them. He’s not watching a strip tease, he’s looking at a canvas. 

Finally, you sit in front of him in only the pasties, the shirt lax around your shoulders, and your sweatpants, socked toes curling in anxiety in your shoes. Without missing a beat, he leans the chair all the way back. Then he opens a fresh disposable razor and shaves you. 

“Am I hairy?” you ask, resting your hands oh-so-casually over your breasts to keep them out of his way. 

“Yes,” he says. Then his eyes flicker to yours. “Everyone is. Everywhere. It’s normal.���

“I’m just teasing you.” 

“Didn’t think you had the breath in your body left to tease me,” he mutters, voice nearly lost behind his mask as he carefully works the razor across your skin removing the baby-fine hairs from beneath your breasts and across your sternum. “You’re nervous, I mean.” 

“Would you take the mask off?” you ask on a whim. It had helped last time, to see his face. 

“No,” he says. He adds: “Sorry. It’s more sanitary f’you if I keep it on.” 

You get the feeling that he really is sorry—and that’s well enough. Some of the anxiety in your belly fades away. He would take it off if he could. The most anxious part of the process (baring yourself to a stranger) has already passed. Maybe now you can begin to relax. 

After cleaning your skin, he carefully lays the stencil and has you stand up to look at it in the mirror and make sure the placement is correct and holy fucking shit. It’s sexy. You’ve always been attracted to tattoos, and fancied the idea of getting one on your sternum for far longer than you’d ever admitted to anyone, but seeing it come to life gives you a rush you hadn’t expected. You feel so…badass. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Very good,” you answer, sitting back down, hoping he ignores the way your breasts bounce a little as you do. He leans you back again and this time breaks out the needle gun.

But before he uses it on you, he carefully takes a clean towel and lays it over your left breast, covering the parts of you that are not nearest to his eyes. His gentleness and thoughtfulness go straight to your cunt. 

“Thank you,” you say softly. 

He just nods. The gun buzzes to life. “I’ll make a line and see how you feel. Last chance to back out without any souvenirs.” 

“I’m not backing out.” 

He clicks his tongue as if to say, It’s your funeral. Then he lays his hand on your sternum above your breasts, pinning you in place, and makes a gentle line. 

It burns more than you expected it to. There’s a sandpaper quality to it, almost like the rasping of a cat’s tongue. The pain is sharp and bright, but it isn’t overwhelming. In fact…a strange part of you sort of enjoys it. Maybe it’s the rush of endorphins. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Good,” you squeak. 

You hear his quiet laugh, no more than an exhale of breath.

“Let me know when you need to break.” 

You don’t know how you feel about the way he phrases that: when you need to break. He adjusts his mask a little, leans over you, and gets to work. Sometimes the needles pass over a place that is more sensitive than the others, making you flinch. He pauses when this happens, eyes flickering up to your own, making sure you are alright even though he can likely feel the pounding of your heart beneath his hand. That hand on your chest, wrist just brushing the top of your breast, is a solid warm weight that seems to tether you back down to the earth as he lines you. He is very careful not to brush against your breast when he wipes away the excess ink and traces of blood, but you feel hyper-attuned to how easy it would be for him if he wanted to. How huge his hand is compared to your tit. Beneath the pasties, your nipples ache with tension, a tension that is mirrored between your legs. 

“Alright. Break,” he says, abruptly turning the gun off. He covers your exposed breast with another towel. “Take ten.”

He disposes of his gloves and disappears behind a curtain in the back, leaving you throbbing between the legs. Worming your phone free from your pocket, you scroll aimlessly, hoping to calm your raging hormones. He returns right at the ten minute mark, just as his cellphone rings. He glances toward where it rests on the table, but makes no move to answer it. 

“Do you need to get that?” you ask, offering him an out.

“No,” he says. “I make everyone leave a message. Weeds out the cowards.”

It had almost weeded out you, you think about telling him, but in the end you decide against it. He gloves back up. 

“Good for more?”

And so it repeats. 

At one point, he runs into a patch of sensitive skin on your ribs just overlaying the bone. It has you sucking in a breath through your teeth, eyes squeezing shut. It’s too late to turn back now you tell yourself; the only way out is through. 

His thumb gently strokes your sternum. 

“It’s rough. You can take it,” he says, quiet and focused. The buzzing of the gun never ceases as he tries to make his work as quick as possible, his words a little distant and distracted. “Just keep breathing. That’s it. Good girl.”

Jesus. Did he not have any idea what those words could do to a girl? A groan escapes your lips, and he clearly mistakes it for pain, because his thumb strokes again the soft skin over your heart, just above the curve of your breast. 

“You can do it. Just a little longer for me, and we’ll break.”

“Hurts,” you breathe, flinching again. 

He hushes you, surprisingly tender. 

“This is the worst of it.” This time, his thumb does brush the edge of your breast, making you suck in a gasp. He recoils, hand lifting away from you and curling into a fist. He rests that against you instead, taking away any further hope that he might brush his fingertips against you. You make it through the rough patch with tears in your eyes but no worse for wear.  

“Break. Ten minutes,” he says again, already shredding his gloves and moving to disappear behind the curtain. 

You call out: “Hey, wait—I’d rather just get through it in one go if I can. If this really is the worst of it.” 

“I need breaks too,” he says stonily.

You duck your head, feeling silly. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He vanishes again. 

He is late to return to you. Only by five minutes or so, but noticeably for a man so usually punctual and so demanding of punctuality in you. His face is stoic—what bits of it you can see from behind the mask—as he washes his hands thoroughly and preps his work station again. 

This time his hand keeps a very respectable distance from your breasts—a fact which you both lament and appreciate all in one. He works with single-minded efficiency, giving you his entire focus. You break once more, but this time he breaks in the room with you, stretching out his back and neck (giving you a generous glimpse of his belly when his shirt rides up, exposing cut abs and a happy trail you’d give your life to follow). 

“I think we could do this in one sitting, if you have nowhere else to be,” he mutters at length. 

“Eager to be done?” you wonder. 

He stares at you, expression flat, and says nothing. Nothing needs to be said. 

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” you murmur, staring up at the bright adjustable light that he has positioned over you. You hope he mistakes that for the reason behind any mistiness in your eyes, his rudeness cutting you deeply. 

So the two of you push through later into the evening, until you are sweating at your temples and the base of your neck from the continuous pain for so long. At last he lays the last gradient for the shading, sprays you down, and wipes you clean so very gently. 

“Go take a look. I’m going to cover it up.” 

It’s beautiful. Stunning, even. You let your shirt gape closed and cover the pasties, revealing a broad glimpse of the sternum tattoo, and it is the sexiest you have ever felt. It almost makes your eyes burn anew.

“I love it,” you choke out. “Thank you.”

“Can I take a picture of it?” he asks. “For Instagram.” 

“Sure!” It will feel a little like being famous, you think, judging by how much notice each of the photos on his Instagram garners. He crouches down on the floor to be at the perfect height, reaches out and gently adjusts your shirt. Parts of the tattoo are covered—the very far edges—but you can’t deny how sexy it is. Maybe he feels the same way. 

After he takes the photo, he posts it and asks for your handle to tag you in it. Then he says: “Let me cover it up. Keep it covered overnight, but tomorrow let it breathe. Keep it clean. Don’t do anything stupid to it. Understand?” 

“I understand.”

“And if you have any questions—text me.” 

-

You get home to find that Ghost’s personal account has requested to follow you. Thrumming with nerves and excitement, you accept the request and send one of your own, spending the night scrolling through his Instagram (so, so carefully to avoid any incidental ‘likes’). Plenty of the photos are of his artwork, still. But there are ones of his dog: a German Shepherd that is thankfully much more photogenic than her surly owner. There are three or four photos featuring Ghost himself, and only one has his full face in the picture. You find yourself staring at his fixated expression for longer than is respectable. 

-

Three days later when you find yourself panicking, you don’t text him like he asked you to. You call. 

Your skin is peeling off. Peeling. Off. The sight of it makes your stomach roll. The entire tattoo is hot to the touch, and the skin around it feels warm as well. Flushed. Is it supposed to hurt this much? 

The internet doesn’t help. The peeling is normal, sure. But everything else is suggesting that your tattoo could be infected. What sort of ink did Ghost use? Was it reputable? What if the infection reaches your bloodstream? You were too young to die! Your anxiety spirals like a plane with one wing, trailing smoke as it soars straight down, determined to take you with it.   

With shaking hands, you don’t even think about texting Ghost. You go straight to calling him, tapping his number in your phone and pressing it to your ear, listening to the ring. 

He’s going to send you to voicemail, just like he does to everyone else—except he doesn’t. All the sudden there is glorious feedback from the other end: a cacophony of voices and laughter, clearly some sort of gathering. 

“Yes?” Ghost says into the phone, as if that’s a decent hello. 

“There’s something wrong with my tattoo!” you cry. 

“Wait—get out of my goddamn way.” There is rustling, and then the noise decreases substantially. You can almost see him standing outside whatever bar his friends have brought him to, mask down around his chin, hand over his other ear as he strains to listen to you. “Say it again. Now I can fucking hear you.”

“There’s. Something. Wrong,” you say through your teeth. “With my tattoo!”

“Well? What is it?”

“It’s falling off, for one!”

He snorts. “That’s normal. That's why you called?” 

“It’s all swollen and hot. And it hurts.” 

Now that shuts him up. He sighs a little, switches the phone from one ear to the other. “Hurts how bad?”

“Worse than getting it.” 

“Fuck me. Alright. Meet me at the shop in…twenty?” 

“Twenty minutes from now?” 

“From when else?” He hangs up. Man doesn’t know the meaning of the word goodbye. 

-

The night is cool. You don’t bother with a bra, not when it irritates your tattoo so much. Pulling your jacket closed more tightly around yourself, you walk from your parking spot along the street to the tattoo shop. 

Ghost stands outside at the curb. His figure is unmistakable. He is smoking, mask down, the lit end of his cigarette a burning ember that flares bright in the darkness. When he sees you coming, he crushes the cigarette beneath his boot and opens the door to the shop, which is still and dark. He flicks on a light switch as he goes, casting the place in a warm glow. 

He’s dressed in his usual dark jeans and an obscenely tight t-shirt, his sleeve of tattoos on display. He leaves the mask down. His eyes are on your tits—or resting where your tattoo is beneath your clothes. 

“Well. Sit. Show me.”

You sit in one of the armchairs, your shoulders rising in defensiveness. “What, just flash you?”

“Nothing I’ve never seen before.” 

Gritting your teeth, you begin unbuttoning your shirt until it gapes open. You cup your breasts with your hands, maintaining your modesty while putting the tattoo on full display. He narrows his eyes, leaning down. His fingers reach out, but then he thinks twice and washes his hands. 

“I was smoking,” he says when you roll your eyes in exasperation. 

“You’re worried about getting the chemicals on my skin but not in your lungs?”

“Fuck my lungs,” he mutters. His fingers hover over your tattoo. “Can I?”

You nod. His fingers are cool when they gently prod and ghost along the edges of the tattoo, feeling for the signature warmth of an infection. “Any fever?” he asks. 

“Not that I’ve noticed.” 

“You feel warm, but I’ve felt warmer. I don’t think it’s infected. Have you tried icing it?”

“No,” you admit. 

“Ice will help. Just use something clean, for fuck’s sake.” As he speaks, his breath fans across your chest, making you shiver. He sees this, his eyes darkening. “When you called, I thought it was for me.”

“It was for you,” you say, brow furrowing. “Who else?”

He snorts, lips quirking. It tugs on the scar across his lips. “Forget it.” 

“Forget what?” 

“Talking about it goes against forgetting it.”

You groan, tossing up your hands. “You’re impossible.” 

He reaches out and jerks your shirt closed, hastily doing up a button. Your face burns as you do up the rest of the buttons—you end up having to backtrack and redo them because he was off by one. 

“Thank you for meeting me. I’m sorry it was for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” he says. “And I wasn’t doing much.”

“You were with friends,” you insist.

His eyes narrow. “Who told you that?” 

“I saw it on your Instagram tonight.” 

“Nosey.” 

“I could buy you a drink sometime,” you offer after a lengthy pause, your heart pounding loud enough to fill the silence between you. Are you really doing this? Are you really asking him out?  “Make up for the ones I lost you tonight.” 

“Maybe.”

God, it’s like he’s not getting it. Maybe you need to be bolder. Fortune favors the bold, doesn’t it? Your hands are shaking when they fall back to the buttons on your shirt. 

“Would you take one more look at my tattoo? Just to be…positive?”

He sighs and makes an impatient hand gesture. Your fingers fumble through the buttons again. You don’t cover yourself with your hands this time; just keep the halves of your shirt over your nipples. He dutifully exams the tattoo again, prodding gently, laying the flat of his fingers against it to feel the warmth it lets off. 

“Maybe you should look closer.” 

His eyes flicker up to yours. “Closer.”

Your mouth is dry. “Yeah.”

“Can’t get much closer than I am.” 

“You could—if you wanted to.” 

“If I—“ it hits him then. You can see it in the fractional widening of his eyes, the way his mouth parts softly in blatant surprise before he shuts it, dark eyes returning to your sternum. He says: “Closer.”

“Mhm.”

The back of his hand brushes against your breast, causing your breath to hitch. His thumb traces softly along the outline of the tattoo, following the path just beneath your shirt, nudging the fabric aside slowly, so slowly, until your breast is bare, nipple puckered and aching. 

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. His eyes flicker to yours as if to see if you really want this—and whatever he sees must reassure him, because then he is sweeping his fingertips along the bottom curve of your breast and taking it into his hand, his palm rasping gently over your nipple. All the breath rushes out of you. Your thighs clench together. Already you’re aching—have been since you saw his mouth around that cigarette on the street—but he moves with determined caution. His thumb finds your nipple and teases it, pulling a desperate little sound from the back of your throat. 

“Pretty little tits,” he says, his voice a warm, smoky rumble that goes straight to your core. He captures your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching softly. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand reaching out to brace yourself against his shoulder. He is solid and firm beneath your touch, unmoving and unmalleable. Your breasts have always been sensitive, but it feels like every touch is directly related to the feelings in your cunt. You find your back arching, hips searching for friction against the seat of the chair. 

“Be still,” he says firmly. Another pitiful sound slips past your throat. “Let me play with you.” 

“Please,” you gasp. “Play with me—even if that’s all you want—just don’t stop, please.” 

His mouth parts as he listens to you, his eyes so, so dark. The pupils have nearly swallowed his irises whole, until you can see yourself bare from the waist up in the reflection. He shakes his head a little. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I do. I—“ your words are cut off with a gasp as he hauls you out of the chair by your wrist and onto his lap. He’s so thick thighed that it stretches you obscenely to have him between your legs. His hands tear the button-up off your shoulders and down your arms until it flutters to the floor, leaving you half naked. Dipping his head, he presses a heated kiss to the place on your sternum where he had rested his hand during the tattoo—and then trails wet kisses towards your left breast, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking with a decided softness. 

You let out an unflattering, choked groan, resting your weight heavily against him until you can feel the prominent bulge in his tight jeans. His hands find your ass and grip you tightly, working you back and forth, rubbing that bulge against your clothed sex. 

“Driving me fucking crazy,” he mutters against your skin, opening his mouth to drag the sharp line of his teeth against the curve of one breast before switching to the other and flicking his tongue over your nipple. 

You gape at his admission. Had you been? He’d been so closed off and cool…though now that you thought back, maybe that was just his way of hiding it. Suddenly he grips the back of your neck, where your hairline ends, and pulls you to his mouth. He tastes faintly of smoke, even fainter of the drinks he had had earlier in the night, but it is an intoxicating mixture. Your tongues find a rhythm as your hips do the same, both of you fucking in every sense of the word except the literal kind. 

He takes one of your thighs and wedges it between his own, until you’re no longer grinding against his cock but instead his denim-clad thigh. “You the kind of girl who can cum like this? Just from this?” 

“Uh-huh,” you promise, head bobbing. 

He buries his face in your neck. “Good. I won’t last when I’ve got my cock in you. I’d like you to cum at least once before then.”

“Oh god,” you groan, gripping his shoulders fiercely as you begin a halting, stilted rhythm against his thigh. The denim is rough against your leggings. He feels all around you: his scent, his taste, his touch. When his hands find your hips to help you work yourself against him more smoothly, a sigh of gratitude fans from your lips. 

“What else do you need?” he asks. 

“My—touch me—“ He abandons your hips once you find a suitable rhythm. He finds your nipples again, teasing them with clever fingers. The stimulation has your peak approaching faster, building like a storm in your lower belly. 

Ghost leans back to look at you, eyes trailing over you from head to toe: your face burning with warmth, your breasts with peaked little nipples, your leggings nearly soaked through at the crotch with how wet you are. He shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

“Fucking perfect.” You bury your face in his neck, feeling a warmth inside your chest. He grips you by the neck again and tugs you back. “Look at me. Look at me.” 

You look at him for as long as you can, but when the band in your belly finally snaps, your eyes roll up and slip shut, your mouth drops open in a choked gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as you shudder and shake in the throes of your pleasure. 

He leans down to kiss you through it, tongue teasing at your slack mouth. 

When he stands, he takes you with him, hauling you up until you wrap your shaking legs around his waist. It’s probably a good thing too. You aren’t sure you could walk otherwise. He carries you the few steps to the couch and lays you down, curling his fingers in the waistband of your leggings. You nod. He strips them off you, along with your flats, and your panties until you are naked as the day you were born.

Your thighs clamp together shyly. He lets them, reaching behind himself to pull his shirt off. Something catches your eye in the streetlights streaming in through the window: Ghost has one of his nipples pierced, a neat little barbell through the sensitive flesh. 

Fingers enter your vision—your own—reaching out on instinct. You hesitate, unsure if he is receptive, and a little afraid to hurt him. He’s so bloody tall, too…but he takes care of that himself by kneeling down by your side, his eyes cautious. Closer, you can see the scars: silvery in the moonlight, crisscrossing over his torso. 

“Does it hurt?” You ask, softly stroking your fingers beneath the pale pink skin of his areola. 

“No,” he says. You can feel the timber of his warm voice vibrating through his chest, up your fingers, straight to your pussy. “You can play with it.”

You shyly run your thumb over it the way he had yours. He sighs, breath fanning across your arm. His eyes go heavy-lidded, tongue flashing as he wets his lips. After a moment, you grow insecure and move your hands away from his nipple down to a scar that crosses his sternum. He lets you, very patient, like a dangerous creature withholding its bite. 

“You’re so—“ the words are whispered dreamily before you have any idea how you plan to finish the sentence. Flushing with embarrassed heat under his wary stare, you finish: “—hot.” 

He physically turns away, expression inscrutable. You can’t help but feel like you have said the wrong thing. He puts a hand on your belly, stroking the softness. “You broken, or can you take more?” 

“I want more.”

“Want my cock?” 

You nod, feeling like a bobble head. 

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“I want your cock.”

His hand reaches for his belt, unbuckling it. Your eyes track the movement with hungry nerves. His hands put butterflies in your belly: thick palms with long, slender fingers, veins criss-crossing along the backs. An artist’s hands. He works his belt free with nimble grace and shucks down his jeans and underwear in one smooth movement, revealing his cock to your gaze and the light from the street lamps. 

He is huge here to match. Downright intimidating in length and girth, uncut with a nice curve toward his belly. He grips himself and gives a series of smooth strokes, the muscles in his abdomen flexing into sharp relief. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter. 

“No gods here,” he says, kneeling up on the couch. His hands part your thighs, and for a long time he just looks at you, that sensitive, swollen place between your legs. He stares so long that you nearly cover your face, embarrassed by whatever he is thinking. Then he touches you, and when he does, he touches you with surprising reverence. He touches you like you are art. 

“Can’t believe you let me ink you,” he mutters, stroking your vulva with his warm palm. His eyes are on the sternum piece now. “Practically let me carve my name into your skin. Anybody around here who sees it will know who did it. They’ll know who touched you.” 

“Good,” you breathe. 

His sigh is shaky. You’re learning his reactions, his very breaths. That shaky sigh means he’s pleased with you. You’ve said something right. 

He reaches down to his jeans on the floor and works a hand into his pocket, pulling free a condom. He hands it to you—for inspection, you realize, though you’ve had so few one night stands (try zero) that you’ve never had the need to inspect a condom before. The package is intact at least. There appears to be an expiration date which you squint at. All looks well. You hand it back to him and he tears it open, rolling it down his considerable length. 

Then he goes back to touching you. One hand braces himself against the back of the sofa so he can lean down to kiss you, tasting your mouth deeply. The other hand finds your entrance, circling it with a finger before slipping inside you all the way to the last knuckle. You are wet enough and relaxed enough that he slips in easily. 

“Relax…there you go. Let me in,” he says under his breath, working a second finger in beside the first. It is a bit of a stretch—he’s thick everywhere goddamn it—but it’s a good stretch, a much needed one. The third finger has you stiffening, whining at the pinch of pain. He slows his fingers and lets his thumb find your clit, muting the pain with little jolts of pleasure. 

“Ghost,” you groan, toes curling against the leather of the couch.

“I think you can take it,” he says, thumb so soft and insistent against that aching pearl of nerves. “But what do you think?” 

“Your cock—want it—please—“

“Alright,” he laughs, pulling his fingers free and wiping the wetness on his cock. “No need to beg.” 

He notches his cock against your entrance and slips inside you. Both of you inhale together, like on cue. Just the first few inches have you feeling full beyond your comfort zone, but he seems to understand in his silent, all-knowing way. He stills, working that free hand between you both to play with your clit until you’re clenching around him, body trying to pull him deeper. He slips further in and then reaches the end of what your body can take. You feel fucking stuffed, your hands shaking where you have gripped his naked shoulders, nails digging into his skin. 

His own breathing is ragged, pecs brushing your nipples with every inhale. The little bursts of pleasure help, until you find that your hips have grown restless, working back and forth as much as his substantial weight will allow when you’re pinned beneath it. 

“Stay still,” he mutters into the juncture of your neck. “Stay still or I’ll cum and this is all over.”

“Can’t,” you gasp, his revelation electrifying you. “Have to move, ‘m so full—“

“Fucking hell,” he groans. He pulls out, leaving you feeling gaped. “Roll onto your side.” 

He gives you instruction but isn’t shy about reaching out and physically arranging you until you are both spooning, your back to his chest. This time when he enters you, it is more shallow, and easier for him to reach around and play with your clit. 

You arch your back, seeking more of him, pressing your breast into his free palm. He plucks at the nipple, teeth nibbling at your throat. 

“Want you to cum again,” he says, stilling your movements so that you can’t fuck your self back against him. “Give me one more. Then it’s my turn.”

“Ghost—I can’t—“ you’ve never cum twice before. Not even with your favorite toys have you been able to scrounge together more than one illustrious orgasm. This knowledge and your expectation of his disappointment has you stiffening in his arms. 

“If you can’t, then don’t,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He keeps his fingers soft and insistent against you, and only after a few lengthy moments does he feel confident enough to work his hips against you too. He pulls out too far and his length drags across your labia, the head brushing where his fingers play with your clit. 

You give a sighing little moan. His head cocks; you aren’t the only one listening to sighs. Now when he gives those lazy, lackadaisical thrusts, his entire length just strokes the outside of your sex. 

“Oh fuck,” you whine, feeling that band in your belly begin pulling tight again. 

He hums behind you, a smug sound. 

“Not sure I want you to cum now,” he says. “Hold it. I’m thinking it over.” 

“Ghost!”

He laughs, honest to God laughs at you. Tears prick your eyes from the sheer need (and a bit from embarrassment) but his hips never cease nor slow their tireless thrusts against you, not even when you grow close enough to beg, close enough to plead. 

He loops his arm around your waist and pins you against him when you cum to keep you from rolling right off the couch, your body wracked with shivers and spasms. The warmth of your release washes over you from head to toe, and you are still basking in it when his cock finds your entrance again and enters you. 

The position keeps the penetration blissfully shallow (otherwise he might give your cervix a painful beating), but he still reaches new lengths inside you, filling spaces you didn’t know were empty. The shop is eerily quiet except for the sound of his hips snapping against your ass and the frequent breathy sounds his cock punches out of your lungs. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck and lets out a series of sounds that are toe-curling: deep groans and raspy curses, whispered praise and hisses through his teeth. His hand grips your hip tightly, leaving shadows the shape of his fingerprints on your skin as he fucks you. 

Sooner than you’d like—but he’d warned you, hadn’t he?—his thrusts grow sloppy, the sounds messy thanks to your wetness as he finds his release and moans it into the skin of your throat. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. And again: “Fuck, fuck. You broken?” 

“Yes.” 

He snorts. Then it turns into that laughter, warm and rumbling against your back. You smile where he can’t see. 

-

“Sorry about this,” he says as he ties the condom off and throws it away, naked as the day he was born. You’re still naked too, though much more shy, legs crossed demurely and arms wrapped around yourself. 

“Regretting it already?” 

“Yes,” he says. Then, when he sees the stricken look on your face, he adds: “Should have at least taken you to dinner first.” 

“Dinner?”

“You owe me drinks. I owe you dinner.” He finds his boxers in the darkness and slips back into them. Then, because the expression on your face still hasn’t relaxed, he says: “I don’t regret the sex. Do you?”

You shake your head. 

He scoffs a little. 

“I mean it,” you insist. You touch your tattoo. “I wanted it…the day you did—this.” 

He raises both brows at you, silently calling your bluff.

“I didn’t think you were interested,” you admitted sheepishly. 

“I jerked off in the back just from seeing half your tits,” he admits, slipping into his jeans now too. His mouth curls a little at the corner when he sees the way you gape at this news. “I was interested.” 

You laugh; you can’t help it. “Dinner, then? Or drinks?” 

“Yeah,” he says. “Alright. Get dressed.”

[bunnys-kisses]

kink-o-ween - day two

max verstappen & charles leclerc - threesome

cw: smut/pwp, threesome, enthusiastic consent, breast play, fingering, doggy style, oral sex (charles receiving),

you didn't expect for this to happen. when you fell in love with charles leclerc, you didn't expect to end up in max verstappen's orbit. you knew that you'd be in the spotlight regardless. the prince of monaco, it would be impossible not to have your face in the tabloids.

while you were on charles' arm at events, smiling up at him with love in your chest, you could feel the heated gaze of max's blue eyes on you. your world became of green and blue, lingering gazes of your boyfriend and the rival he held dear. it was only a matter of time before it all came to a head. when you ended up in the sheets with the prince of monaco and the lion of the netherlands.

this was a position many would die for. in between two and three of the dutch grand prix, they both had their eyes on something different. while the trophies were nice, but they'd end up in storage and long forgotten. but you were fresh like summer fruit, perfect to put between their teeth.

"i see how you eye her, mate." charles said as he leaned against the back wall, a cigarette between his fingers, "i think you should be more subtle. or people will talk."

max took the cigarette from him and took a drag, "then stop dressing her in outfits that make the whole garage stop and stare.

"she dressed herself. she's been hoping to catch your eye. we've been thinking. a week away. you, me and her. something to keep us busy."

max took another drag and chuckled, hidden from the eyes of the press. he went over to charles and grabbed him by the chin, their gazes remained leveled with one another. he chuckled, "are you whoring out your girlfriend to me, mate?"

"it's not whoring out if we all want it."

it came about weeks later, a break in the season. not a long one like the full summer break. but enough that the two men could spend hours being in bed with you. it was in a hotel outside of austin. where you really felt the heat of the texan sun. it was a small place, a little shady, but you paid in cash and the bed with big. not too many questions were asked, they didn't even ask for your passport. they simply took the cash and handed you a key. and once the door to the room was closed, you felt hands coming from behind to unbutton your shirt.

you looked over your shoulder and saw max's gaze on you and when you looked back, you felt your boyfriend's front against you. charles was getting your jeans off. there really was no time like the present.

"insatiable." you sighed as you aided max getting your shirt off.

"we've waited long enough." charles said as he pulled your shorts down to your ankles. you moaned a little as he rubbed your cunt over your cotton panties. but the noises didn't last long as max captured your lips in his.

you aided them to get you naked and eventually ended up on the squeaky mattress. both men looked down at you and you swallowed a little. you tried to turn your body in a way to hide even an inch of skin. but charles stop you as he climbed into bed with you. he kicked his socks off as he pinned your wrists to the bed.

"no hiding for us, beautiful. you made a promise to be good for us." his voice was heat in your brain as you started to pull at his t-shirt, but max was close by helping him get it off. eventually the two men were stripped naked. expensive shirts were tossed to the ground. charles calvin klein's were over the edge of the bed. the covers were rough and unlike the soft bedding back in monaco. but this would have to do given the circumstances.

the three of you naked with each man on either side of you. their hands roamed your figure. max even went as far as to pinch the softness in your stomach before he pulled you in for a kiss. he tilted your head back to get access to your lips while charles' mouth was on your breasts. his tongue dragged across your nipples.

"she has the prettiest lips." max said as he held you throat gently.

"you should feel her breasts. she's perfectly soft, it's like heavy. she's flexible and is able to take cock like a champion." he chuckled. as he continued to silently worshiping your breasts. leaving wet kisses and small bites across the skin as max kissed you deeply. it all felt so good for you.

when they were done caressing you with kisses, you ended up on your hands and knees in front of charles' cock. your boyfriend was propped against the headboard.

charles grabbed a condom from a new box he kept in the nightstand and tossed it to max, "you're a good friend, max. but, i'm not letting you get that close to her."

max nodded before he put it on. he was on his heels and his cock in one hand while he got the condom over his length. your bare, wet cunt was enticing to him. he said, "it feels like i've lucked out quite a bit."

the other man replied, "yes you are. i don't get too angry about not getting podium sometimes because i know she'll let me do anything to make myself feel better."

max looked down at your bareback, "anything' huh?" that was curious to him.

charles' combed his fingers through your hair, you could feel his rings against your scalp as he looked at you with those dazzling green eyes. he said softly, "you're going to be good for our guest tonight? be good for our world champion." he chuckled before he pressed your mouth up against his cock.

you happily accepted it into your mouth and moaned loudly when max pushed his cock deep inside of you. max's eyes went wide for a moment of how sweet your pussy felt.

oh my god.

charles noticed and chuckled, "yeah. she feels good doesn't she." he looked down at you, "she's a real piece of work. i'm thankful that she is mine."

"except for tonight."

charles replied, "don't get too attached, max. you can have any woman you want." and looked down at you. he stroked your cheek, call it a little possessive but who would want to constantly share their slice of paradise. you continued to suck him off.

max started to work his hips against yours. he watched how you moved under him. the sight of his rival and you in front of him was painfully hot.

your sweet noises came from your lips and were muffled by charles' cock inside of you. the three of you moved together. you were getting it from all angles. letting these men have their way with you. it was all consensual, but it did feel dirty.

"do you like that?" charles asked as he gripped your hair.

you nodded rapidly and could feel your lover's cock in your throat. he was quite big, even after all the time together to take him in your mouth was a little bit of a struggle.

charles took your mouth off of him and jerked his cock rapdily, "use your words, my love. tell max and i how you feel."

you whined, "please, charles. max! it feels so good. like nothing else." you arched your back a little and moaned before your lover grabbed your by the back of your head and onto his cock once more.

the three of you moved in a steady pattern, the bed squeaked under you and the covers were rough against your knees and chest. this little motel in texas where no one asked questions was your little getaway for the night.

to run the course of your sexual fever as both men stayed inside of you. it felt so good. it made you drool in more ways than one as you felt max's cock nudge inside of your slick pussy and charles' cock up into your throat.

you held onto his strong thighs and moaned against his cock. max's cock in your pussy was making you feel a deep lust in your gut. he was similar size to charles, but his methods of fucking were much different. charles fucked like an inferno while max fucked with more methodical movements. regardless your head was spinning from it all.

to be between these two men, some of the toughest rivals in a long time. it made you hot all over, you loved charles but to spend a night with max as well added something that made you feel painfully turned on.

"she's beautiful. where did you find her?" max asked as his pace became a little more erratic. he was trying to chase the high of pleasure.

charles chuckled a little. his hand in your hair, "that's a secret, max." he rocked further up into your throat and could feel the heat seep into his blood.

max would give a lot for a woman like you, even outside of the bedroom he was captivated by you. how you giggled and smiled at the paddock, your knowledge of cars.

you whined a little bit and arched your back as you felt it all zip through your body. you felt alive between the two men and it made both of them very pleased. you were enjoying this despite working so hard to make them finish. you were a perfect woman.

max gave it a few more heavy thrusts before you came quickly around his cock which only made him push further into you. it was ticking all the boxes in his sexual depraved head. his chest against your back with your hips tilted to get the perfect angle for his heavy thrusts.

"please tell me where you got her, charles." max sputtered as he felt the draw of orgasm pull through him as he looked up at his longtime friend, "raya? snapchat? through a friend? does she have a sister?"

charles chuckled and patted his friend on the cheek, "that's a secret, max." he licked his lips, those green eyes gleamed with mischief. he wouldn't give away the secrets of how you met charles. it was too much of a funny story for the bedroom, plus charles may like it whe max is a little desperate.

max held onto you as tight as he could, almost bruising the skin. he finished inside of you and made the pleasure curl through both of your bodies. it was all so much for him but it felt good even while using a condom. it briefly made him wonder if he could ever try it bare with you. to get a better feeling of you sweet pussy.

"now help me out." charles said as you continued to suck him off. he almost felt the wind out of his gut as he felt max also lick his cock in the parts you couldn't reach without deep throating his cock too much. his choked out a groan before he came down your throat and you swallowed it eagerly.

charles looked down at the both of you and it excited him. to see his loving girlfriend and also his rival by his bare cock. he tried to shift off the bed to get settled for the night. but you held his hips to the bed.

you looked over at max and chuckled. you were still in a post-climax haze, "i think we should thank charles for tonight." then giggled at max.

max licked his lips and said, "of course. you take his cock, i'll take his mouth." which made heat rise to charles' cheeks as he was moved from the headboard.

everyone was going to get theirs tonight. charles only worry was, that he might have created a sexual monster out of you and max. and that tonight wouldn't be the last time this happened <3

[hedgehog-moss]

I went to see the transhumance last week and it was an experience! I've lived here for five years and I'd never been to this event despite it being advertised in the library & town hall every year because I thought, it's just cows crossing a town on their way to their summer pastures, it's not that interesting—but I didn't realise that people turned it into a whole party, as people tend to do. When I arrived in town I found that a nearby field had been (temporarily) turned into a car park to accommodate the many, many visitors who came to see the spectacle—and I was like, maybe I've been missing out on something.

The town was festooned with tassels and garlands (some of the cows were also festooned, with big pompons on their horns) (festoon is a really great English word.) When I arrived there was a thriving little market with several cheese stands, because of course people would take this opportunity to sell their cheeses. They also sold bread, fruit, and cow milk-based desserts including ice-cream, so you were covered if you wanted lunch. (Unless you're lactose intolerant. I'm sorry.)

There were also folk dancers, and a contest going on where you had to guess the weight of an absolutely massive bull (see above). (My guess was way off, he weighed 1 200 kg!) There was a stand with a guy selling beautiful, framed photos of his cows. In one photo a cow was whispering something in her friend's ear. Nearby some prize cows were waiting to be paraded around and one of them was wearing a halter with a little heart <3

(I was invited for apéritif at a neighbour's house a few months ago, he's a retired farmer and he had old Kodak photos of his cows from the 1980s and 90s all over his house. He remembered their names and personalities.)

There was also a stand selling a dizzying variety of cow bells, and I've been resisting the temptation to buy a cow bell for five years now because, well, it's such a cliché tourist thing to buy, but I will probably end up buying one someday. It's hard to resist their allure. I'm not sure which of my animals will have to deal with the humiliation of wearing a bell for a few hours and being photographed cosplaying as a cow against his will.

(Definitely Pirlouit.)

I was buying an ice-cream and asking the vendor if the cows were fashionably late when finally, the herds started arriving. One herd would cross the town, with onlookers clapping and cheering (including from their balconies), then people went back to buying cheese and watching the dancers or the brass band, and commenting on the prize cows strutting on the plaza, then another herd would arrive half an hour later and children would run ahead to warn everyone "They're coming!" (kids love being sentinels) and people would eagerly gather again to clap and cheer as they walked past, and it went on like this all day. You'd think you might get tired of eating ice-cream and clapping for cows but no, people were still enthusiastic when the last herd came.

Imagine being a local cow, and every year when your owners take you to your summer pastures in the mountain you cross a town where people are eating cow milk ice-cream and clapping for you gratefully as you walk past, and buying cow merch (like bells) and admiring an exhibit of framed photos of you and your friends, and watching cow supermodels walking the catwalk on the plaza, and just as you think you've reached maximum levels of appreciation you reach the entrance of town and there's a lifesized statue in your honour in the middle of the roundabout. These cows must have such solid self-esteem.

[starkwlkr]

Can I request one with Hugh Jackman where he and reader are both trying to ignore some of the mean paparazzi? And like a clip of Hugh defending her goes viral and he gets asked about it in interviews?

that’s my dad! | hugh jackman

an: just wanted to let y’all know how happy i am writing all these amazing requests! this is going to take place in my marvel actress!reader universe <3

tw: paparazzi (because it should be illegal tf?) and rude comments lmk if i missed anything

After months of you and Hugh filming and doing press interviews, you were finally reunited with your three kids in New York. It was a nice sunny day in New York so your family took advantage of it. Your family decided to eat at a brunch spot that you’ve been meaning to try out. You were the one that suggested eating outside since it was a nice day. Your daughter, Olivia, was the one that had spotted a man dressed in casual clothes with his camera out.

Why isn’t paparazzi illegal? You thought to yourself. You were just trying to have a day with your family.

“Well our family day was fun while it lasted.” Olivia frowned.

“Just eat and ignore them, Liv, maybe they’ll get bored that we’re not doing anything interesting and walk away.” Her older brother, Reese, said as he continued eating his sandwich.

So everyone went on eating while the man kept taking pictures. Olivia had brought up some trip that her and her friends wanted to take. It was all going good until more paparazzi started showing up.

“Get your things, we’re leaving.” Was all Hugh said. He stood up from his chair and walked away.

“But I haven’t finished my food!” Olivia frowned again.

“Finish it in the car, dumbass, dad’s going to beat the shit out of that guy!” Alex smirked as his dad started walking angrily and yelling at the paparazzi.

“You heard your dad, let’s go.” You grabbed your purse and sunglasses while the kids grabbed their stuff. Thankfully your car wasn’t far away.

Olivia quickly stuffed her face with pasta and drank the last bit of her coke before she followed you and her brothers. “Wait! I can’t walk that fast!” You stopped and waited for her then grabbed her hand.

Alex walked in front of you and Olivia while Reese walked behind you. Hugh had always told the boys that if paparazzi ever fought up with them and he wasn’t there, it was up to them to keep you and Olivia safe. They took that job seriously.

“Hey! Congrats on the new movie! How does it feel to be back as Wolverine?” A camera man from TMZ asked Hugh.

“Look, I’m just trying to have a nice day out with my family. Please leave us alone.” Hugh demanded.

“I’m just trying to do my job, man.”

“Fuck your job. Get the fuck out!” Hugh was so close to grabbing his camera and smashing it on the ground. The kids made it safely to the car while you waited outside for your husband. Just then, the camera man made a comment about you that made Hugh lose it.

“My bad, I’ll let you get back to that hot ass wife of yours.”

Hugh grabbed the camera and smashed it on the ground. He was about to do even more damage, but he heard you yell his name. “Don’t talk about my wife ever.”

“So you had an eventful day in New York recently. . .” Ryan said to Hugh. They were the guests host on Jimmy Kimmel Live!. You and the kids were watching from backstage as Ryan got Hugh to talk about the incident that happened. “I think People magazine voted you sexiest husband alive,” Hugh laughed at Ryan’s comment. “I mean it was like playing wolverine all over again.”

“It did feel like it,” Hugh admitted. “When I got back to the car, my kids were cheering so I am now the coolest person they know.” The audience laughed.

“Were you not before?”

“No, they called me a big nerd,” Hugh laughed it off. “But as I was walking back to my family, I heard my daughter just yell really loudly ‘that’s my dad! My dad beat his ass!’ and i have never felt prouder.”

“Father of the year, everyone!”

@kellyxo1

[justatypicalwizard]

Virgin Bakugo x reader, suggestive

Imagine Katsuki who’s a total and complete virgin. His brash and aggressive exterior fooled others into deeming him a playboy. Handsome, successful and proud, what else would he need to perfectly abide the stereotype. Except, ever since he started UA, ever since he dreamed about becoming a pro-hero, ever since he laid his eyes on All Might, Bakugo had nothing else in mind except hard work. He bent his neck over homework, he cracked his knuckles before training and he broke his bones during missions, everything for the sake of greatness. Love didn’t exactly fit into his schedule.

It started when he was a kid. Other boys kept weird magazines under their beds and looked at girls wishing they got a lock of silky hair to keep. Katsuki didn’t understand. Girls in his class at school were weird and annoying. They always had to move in a group, went together into toilet stalls and whispered as if they couldn’t talk like normal people - loud and straightforward. What did his friends see in them?

Later, in middle school Katsuki finally discovered a few throughgoing differences between him and a set of new girls in class. His friends’ magazines turned into online videos that Katsuki despised. They felt unnatural and shameful. So he cut the topic short, deeming the girls in class boring and stupid. And honestly, that’s how he felt about them.

When a particular shortie with deep black hair, cut a few inches above her chin, stopped him in the middle of the track field, Katsuki sighed. What now? The girl confessed her crush, digging a small hole in the dirt with the heel of her shoe, and Katsuki felt almost nothing, maybe slightly uncomfortable with a tiny pinch of pity. She teared up but mumbled a sorry, to which he responded with a grunt and a ‘better not talk to me again, this is awkward’. Until the end of middle-school, no other girl built up the guts to confess to him.

UA made Katsuki feel like home. He was a cog, awfully clattering one, nonetheless a well working. When he moved into the dorms he was closer to girls than ever before, and once again it changed nothing. The blonde felt satisfied with himself, able to satisfy himself, with no need for another person turning his perfectly working plan upside down. He listened to his friends stories about kisses and, later, first times without much regret. When he gets to the top women will throw themselves to his feet, like Hawks or Endeavour. No need to stress about it, it’s not like he likes back any of the girls that lay eyes on him when he flexes and bends during workout.

This was the biggest lie Katsuki made himself believe. Time flew by and suddenly his friends were no longer making fun of each others’ stories about awkward first kisses or boob touching. They were no longer excited about relationships, they no longer made a big fuss out of every glance that lasted a second too long. It became events of the every day for them, and Katsuki felt left out.

When asked he turned a blind eye, he built a thick wall around his love life that no one was allowed to cross. Friends and family accepted the distance, deeming it yet another Katsuki thing. Given how handsome and successful he is, the man had to have a girlfriend or two, or three. They were simply kept a secret, nothing new for a pro-hero.

And so it went. Fear crept up Katsuki’s bones every time he imagined a botched relationship, an awkward one-night-stand, an adult-virgin first kiss. Girls were no longer girls, they were women, all grown up and knowing what they want. All expecting experience or mastery even from someone like him. All making him freeze, his body betraying, retreating in a defeated manner masked as brashness. ‘Dream on’ he used to say when an intern or a model from a small company approached during hero-themed parties.

Showing someone how utterly inexperienced Katsuki was, letting someone open up this new and fragile part of himself started to merge with the feeling of defeat. Quickly, the blonde decided that if anyone ever learned about his weakness, it would be the end of him. He saw, with the eye of his imagination, the headlines honking about Virgin Dynamite! Is it possible for the top handsome ranking pro-hero to be a virgin? Who stole Dynamite’s first kiss? And so on.

Out of options, Katsuki decided to let it go, unsure what to do, fed up with trying to find a solution.

That was until he found himself, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder, on this painfully tiny couch, with you. There was a party, a fancy tuxedo one. There were people and drinks and perfectly glossed lips. There was music and vodka on rocks. And then suddenly there was none, only you and him, in a room forgotten by the ever-moving crowd.

Did the party end? Were there limousines lined up in front of the gold-dripping hotel, waiting patiently for their pro-heroes? Was there a villain attack and everyone went to the rescue? Was there a natural disaster happening? Where did these damn people go when Katsuki needed them? Where could he vanish when you were so close and so warm?

The blonde wanted to get up and walk away, spitting some bullshit in your face but his body froze. There it was, his secrets in danger. Despite not having much romantic experience himself, Katsuki was not stupid, he knew when lust filled his veins, he knew when someone wanted him. Right now you both felt the same way and while in fear of losing his pride, Katsuki couldn’t move away.

He couldn’t budge when you laid your palm on his thigh, he kept still as stone when you turned to face him fully, he stopped breathing when you moved close enough to let him feel your breath on his cheek. All the while he dug his fingernails into your knee.

Was it the uneven breathing that gave him away? Was it his hand that felt so lost on your skin? Or maybe it were his eyes that fought a battle between looking away and straight into your bust. The blonde wasn’t sure but when you glanced at him, with this frisky look in your eyes, he knew he was doomed. Katsuki nearly started waiting for a laugh when you tugged at his tie letting him fall over and cage you on the couch that was still painfully tiny.

“First time?” You breathed into the skin of his neck, climbing higher, pawing at his back and chest for support. Before he could answer your lips were on his in a hasteful and eager kiss. It was messy and all over your lips and cheeks and necks, all over the place. It was over in a blink of an eye.

Is this how a first kiss feels like? His friends told him stories about long, sweet and innocent pecks. This was nothing like the blackening memories at the back of his head. This felt like him, felt like his first kiss. Angry, bursting and forceful. Katsuki loved it.

“So it is.” Your voice, so close to his ear, tore him out of his head. You were still awaiting a response, one that would make him crumble, one that would destroy this perfectly unbalanced moment of lustful chaos.

Later Katsuki will wonder whether experience meant knowing what to say and do in the right moment, because you certainly knew how to do just that.

Gripping the collar of his shirt you tore the highest button, letting it fall down between your breasts for the blonde to find later. It were hands and knees everywhere for Katsuki, hotness and short breaths.

“You know what.” You asked, making him hum deeply into your skin. “If this is your first time then I cannot wait to see what you’ve got. After all an animal is the most aggressive, the most carnal when it’s starving.”

The little giggle that followed your smart remark made Katsuki grin widely. Fuck cliche stories about awkward frist times, fuck shy kissess and fuck confessions spoken with trembling lips. Katsuki will have to live with the fact that someone, that you, took away his virginity and you knew damn well about it. He will have to get over the loss of his mysteriousness (if you two are to date officially). Katsuki will gladly accept that. How could he not when once again he came out of a battle victoriously.Maybe it was his first time but it was his first time, his rules, his game and his girl.

[xxbimbobunnyxx]

When You’re Gone

(Ex!Boyfriend!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader)

Summary: You go to one of Eddie’s shows and see him for the first time since you broke up and he’s willing to do anything to win you back. WK: 5.8K

Warnings: Slight angst in the beginning, mention of heart break/break ups, Eddie was kind of dick before the break up but he’s sweet through this entire thing, pining, unprotected sex, fingering, sixty nine, just a lil bit of choking, fluff fluff fluff, lmk if I missed any! 18+MDNI!!

A/N: So I’ve been missing Eddie a lot, I’ve been thinking about writing for him again off and on but the fear that I have from being bullied in this fandom has stopped me. But I guess all it took for me to break was seeing that ASSS so, I offer you this. Idk when I’ll write ST again, maybe it’ll be consistent, maybe it won’t. I guess this is a bit of a trial run. I put my HEART into this, I really kind of poured everything I’ve been feeling the last few months into writing this so that makes me extra nervous. But I hope you guys like it, I love u🖤

You couldn’t believe you let Robin talk you into this. You hadn’t seen or talked to Eddie In months. Not since you stormed off the set of the music video he practically begged you to star in. He was being a gigantic snob the entire shoot. Telling you that “you weren’t doing it right” or “looks like we are going to have to shoot that again, can you get your head in the game, babe?” But the thing was your head was in the game and you were doing every single thing he asked exactly how he asked and yet it still wasn’t enough.

That was just the final straw. He had been acting like the sun revolved around him. Around his music. Around partying and blowing money just so he could brag about the shit he has. He started calling your friends and family back home less and less. Missing date nights. Forgetting anniversaries. He stopped telling you how beautiful you looked any chance he got and treating you like you were his everything because he had so much more than you now. Which you would never be upset about, you were and are still proud of him for every single thing he’s accomplished. But that problem was that he stopped being your Eddie almost entirely.

You hoped that it would pass, that it was just because it was all so new, the money, the fame, the adoration. But after almost two years it just continued to get worse and no matter how much you tried to bring it up to him he just reassured you time and time again that you meant everything to him. With no change. You couldn’t continue to give him everything while it felt like he virtually forgot you existed everyday. So you walked away, even though he was yelling after you, not because he wanted you to stay, but because he needed to get back on set and finish filming. You went back to your shared home, packed your things, and left.

Robin was more than happy to let you stay with her and her girlfriend while you got back on your feet. You couldn’t stay in L.A. without Eddie, he was all you had there. So you went back home to Indiana. To your friends and your family. Where you felt seen and you felt like you mattered again. But that didn’t take away the ache in your heart for him. The entire piece of you that felt like it was missing without him. Eddie had been a constant in your life since you were little.

You grew up together. You were both too stupid to get your heads out of your asses and admit how crazy you were about each other until you graduated highschool but you thought after that it would be forever. It’s always been you and him. You went through every phase, every hardship, every big life event with Eddie by your side. When him and the guys got that record deal you were more than happy to continue to stand by him through it all. But apparently he didn’t feel the same. Which felt like a stab in your chest day after day. You really did miss him so much. But you weren’t even sure if he missed you too.

Eddie was sweating fucking buckets. He hasn’t been this nervous for a show in over a year, going up in front of all those people was a walk in the park to him at this point. But knowing you were going to be here tonight changes everything. He wants it to be perfect. He’s been working on this song for you since you left, just hoping that he would have a chance to play it for you. He didn’t want you to hear it on the radio, no, he wants you to hear it directly from him. He wants to see your face after. He wants to tell you how sorry he is for losing sight of the only thing that made all of this worth it. He just wants you.

Not a day has gone by since you left that he didn’t feel empty. He couldn’t do anything without thinking of you. His favorite restaurants were your favorite restaurants. His favorite movies were your favorite movies too. Your side of the bed being empty made him feel so lonely that he started just passing out on the couch every night to avoid looking at it. He stopped going to parties. Hardly ever saw anyone unless he had to go to the studio or play a show. Tour was awful, you were by his side through their entire debut tour so doing it without you felt like doing it without one of his guitar strings, or his arm.

The fans could tell he was less engaged. His record label was on his ass and so were the guys. He just couldn’t seem to shake you. At this point none of it even feels like it matters if he can’t have you. You’re all he wants and if he has to do all of this without you, if this is what ruined the two of you, part of him doesn’t even want it. A big part. He’s thought about dropping everything and just flying home to beg at your doorstep. But each time he talked himself out of it, not even sure if you’d want to see him.

But tonight? You were going to be here at his show and this was his chance to win you back. He would give it all up for you in an instant, all you had to do was ask and he would do it, no matter what it was. So when Robin called him and asked him to set aside an extra ticket for you he felt like this was the universe giving him another shot. He just hoped you would too.

Your whole body was vibrating as you watched Eddie on stage, your heart felt like it was practically beating to the sound of his music, calling out to him. He looked good, really good, and as emotional as you are you still can’t deny the way your core throbs, and your thighs clench together at the sight of him. His hair was a perfect mess, the tattered at the knee jeans he was wearing fit him like a dream, and were reminiscent of the ones he used to wear, when he was your Eddie. Not the designer ones you’ve seen him in recently. He was wearing the battle vest you guys made in your first apartment before everything got chaotic and went to shit. With nothing under it. His tattooed chest and torso were on display and you noticed a few new additions. But your eyes nearly pop out of your head when they land on the little stick-n-poke heart with your initials in the middle that you gave him when you were 18 was touched up.

You can’t tear your eyes away from it for a good thirty seconds, just as they start to well up with tears you snap yourself out of it, looking up at his face again. This time locking eyes with him for the first time in nearly six months. Eddie’s soft chocolate eyes go wide and his fingers falter on the strings for half a second before he fucking smirks at you right as he picks up on the chorus. He keeps his eyes on you for the rest of the song, before announcing that they only had a few left.

Eddie is trying to focus on the crowd, focus on his chords, focus on anything but you, but it’s damn near impossible. His eyes just keep traveling back to you because he missed you so much, because you looked so fucking beautiful standing in the very front row under the stage lights and you were looking at him in a way that gave him hope. He made eye contact with a few fans, reached down to touch their hands, but no matter what he did he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. When it came time to announce the second to last song he felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. His eyes lingered on yours for a moment before turning to address the crowd.

“Hey guys.” Cheers erupt all around you and Eddie smiles, flipping his sweaty hair back, making you and probably every other girl in the room swoon. “Thanks for coming out tonight, you’ve been fucking awesome. This next song is… well, it’s a new song. I mean, it’s new to you guys, I’ve been working on it for a while. So there’s this girl…” His eyes lock with yours again and your heart beats somehow even faster. “She’s here tonight and I really fucked things up with her, obviously some shitty song isn’t gonna erase all of that. But I guess this is just kind of my way of trying to make up for it. Or at least starting to.”

As the band plays the opening notes of the song you immediately notice it’s a lot slower and more melodic than their usual songs. They have a few other songs like this, love songs that Eddie wrote about you, happy ones. But this is nothing like that, especially when Eddie starts to sing. He never takes his eyes off of you as the lyrics fall from his lips, lyrics about how sorry he is, how badly he fucked up, how he misses you so much he feels like his soul is missing. He pours his heart out to you as his deep voice filled with longing fills the venue.

You can’t stop the silent tears that stream down your face, unable to tear your eyes away from his for even a second. Eddie Munson, the love of your life, the beautiful boy who you got to watch turn into an even more beautiful man, is standing in front of thousands of people practically begging you for another chance. And it’s like every dream you’ve had since you left coming true. All you wanted was for him to come back to you and apologize, maybe beg a little. You might be an idiot for holding out hope that he would, but you always knew in your heart that you’d take him back if he did. It might take some time for you to fully trust him again, but if he’s willing to try so are you.

As the song comes to an end Eddie thanks everyone, making the crowd go crazy. Then he announces that the next song will be their last before looking down at you again. The flashing lights dance over the tears streaming down your cheeks but you’re smiling at him and it makes his heart soar. And when you blow him a kiss that he of course catches, putting it close to his heart like he has a million times, he feels like a dorky teenager in love with his best friend again. He watches you disappear into the crowd and his heart falls, almost forgetting that he was even on stage performing, all he could see was you. He could hardly focus through the last song, hastily thanking everyone for coming because he was absolutely terrified that you left without even giving him a chance to talk to you face to face.

You push through the sea of sweaty bodies until you get to the far end of the stage, stopping in front of the security guard, who of course recognized you and let you pass without even glancing at the bracelet on your wrist. You run over to Robin, practically knocking her over.

“Whoa! Slow down dude, are you okay? That was… a lot.” Robin grabs onto your shoulders to center you, her eyes laced with concern.

“Yeah, I’m good, I’m uh - I’m gonna go wait for Eddie in his dressing room.” You bite your lip nervously, avoiding eye contact with her, scared of her reply.

“Oh thank god! I can’t wait to tell Steve the plan worked!” Robin’s eyes go wide as her hand comes to cover her mouth. “I meaaan…”

“You know what? I’m going to bug you about this later, but right now I have to go.”

“Yesss!!! Go get your man!!!”

You snort as you turn away from her, rushing down the hall until you see the door with Eddie’s name on it. You pace the room a few times before sitting down on the black leather couch, bouncing your leg so hard it makes the legs shake. The air feels especially humid as your nerves course through your body, the material of the couch sticking to your bare thighs with each bounce of your knee. You can’t stop messing with your hair, adjusting your top, fiddling your fingers. It’s probably only been ten minutes but it feels like it’s been an eternity when the door finally pushes open.

“Princess��� Eddie stands in the doorway, looking stunned. His eyes are wide, and filled with adoration as his large ringed hand comes to rest against his chest. “Hi.”

“Hi Eddie.” You smile at him softly as you let out an almost dreamy sigh. “I liked your song.”

“Yeah?” He takes a few steps forward until there’s only a few feet between you. “I missed you. I’m so sorry, I was such a fucking idiot. I can’t believe I let you walk away.”

His eyes are sad as he casts them down, looking at his fingers as he fiddles with his rings. A classic tell tale sign that Eddie was nervous.

“And I totally get it if you don’t want anything to do with me still, I fucked up. Bad.”

“Eddie…” you sigh, standing up to close the remaining distance between you. You grab onto his hands, stopping his movements as you look up into his eyes. “Look at me.”

When he looks you in the eyes again his own are brimmed with tears, and his lip is quivering. And even though you’re still upset with him, all you want to do is comfort him. It was like second nature to you.

“I love you.” You say it so plainly, so matter of fact that it makes the tears flow down his cheeks, a heavy sob escape his chest. You grab onto his cheeks, pulling his forehead down to rest against yours. “I love you Eddie.”

“I love you. I love you so much. I miss you everyday. None of this is worth it without you. Everything feels so dull. Everything I do reminds me of you.” His hands come to rest over top of yours as his tears continue to flow, tears of your own now streaming down your face. “Please just give me a chance to make it up to you, sweetheart. I’ll do anything. I’ll leave it all behind. Never touch my guitar again. Cut off my arm. Anything.”

“Well, you don’t have to go doing all of that…” you chuckle, tilting your chin so you can connect his lips with your own. You pour everything into that kiss, your love for him, your hurt, your anger, your longing. And he does the same. Kissing you like he would die if he didn’t. You only pull away when you absolutely need to take a breath of air. Foreheads still connected as you pant against each other's lips, just inches apart.

“God I missed your lips, princess.” Eddie runs his hands down your face, cupping your jaw. “Missed every part of you.”

“I missed you too Eddie, god.” You kiss him again, this time running your tongue across his plush bottom lip. He immediately grants you access, intertwining your tongues with a groan. Your fingers come up to lace through his curls, and tug causing him to moan into your mouth. His hands travel down your body, resting on your hips, his thumbs just grazing that bit of skin between your top and your skirt. You push yourself further against him, moaning when his hands move to grab your ass.

“Baby, wait, don’t you think we should talk more?” He pulls away breathlessly tilting his head back so he can look at you.

“Later. We can talk later.” You take a few steps back, stumbling a little on your heeled boots as the backs of your knees hit the couch, you plop down, pulling Eddie down with you. He puts his hands on the back of the cushions on either side of your head so he can lean down over you, his face inches from yours, his hair almost acting like a curtain around you, shielding you from the outside world. “Kiss me again, please.”

“You don’t gotta beg, princess, I told you I’d do anything, didn’t I?” He smirks at you as kisses you again, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You moan as your fingers desperately grasp onto the sides of his vest, pulling him closer.

“Touch me, Eddie.” You whimper, leaning back to look up at him through your lashes, your lips are kiss swollen and your lipstick is all but nothing at this point.

“Baby, are you sure you don’t want to talk before we-“

“Eddie, I appreciate your chivalry, I really do. But you said anything, right? I want, need, to feel your fingers again, please.” And how could he resist you, when you’re looking at him like that? And your skirt is pushed so far up your legs he can see your little lace panties, his favorite pair, if he isn’t mistaken. He would literally lick the bottom of your boots if you asked him to.

“I told you that you don’t have to beg, doll, I’m the one that should be begging for the privilege of being able to touch you.” He smirks, planting a sloppy kiss on your lips before kissing down your jaw, to your throat, leaving little nips along the way. “Missed this body so much.”

One of his hands grabs onto the top of your thigh, his thumb running over your slit through the thin lace of your panties pulling a soft moan from your lips.

“Missed this pussy so much.” He grazes over your clit before applying light pressure, rubbing circles on it with the pad of his thumb. “You’re so wet for me already, your body missed me too, huh sweetheart?”

“Yes, missed you so much, baby.” You pull him down further so that his free hand is resting on the cushion next to you and his neck and jaw were close enough to kiss and suck bruises into. “Mine, mine, mine.”

“All yours.” He chuckles as pushes your panties to the side, circling two fingers around your entrance and curling them upwards, stroking them against your sweet spot immediately. “Oh, you’re so fucking tight, practically sucking me in.”

“My fingers were never be as good as yours - ohmyfuckinggod.” A loud moan rips through you and your head falls back against the couch as he starts to thrust his fingers quickly in and out of your dripping hole. His thumb finds your clit, circling it in time with his fingers as his lips attach to your neck, giving you a mark of his own.

“Never have to live without them again if you don’t want to, I’ll worship this pussy everyday until I die if you’ll let me.” Eddie kisses down your chest, using his free hand to push your little tank top and bra down, freeing your tits. He kisses across the tops of them, leaving gentle open mouth kisses on both your peaked nipples before licking between the valley of them. He slides his tongue over so he can latch onto one of your nipples and it sends you over the edge.

“Ohhh fuck! Eddie! I’m cumming, I’m fucking cumming.” Your pussy clenches around his fingers as he continues to thrust them deep and fast into you.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby girl, cum for me. You look so fucking beautiful.” He kisses your cheek before leaning up and pulling his fingers from you. He holds eye contact with you as he sucks them into his mouth with a groan. “Just as sweet as I remember.”

“Eddie, please fuck me, I need you.” Your legs are still spread, your glistening pussy practically calling his name, framed perfectly by those little panties that he loves so much like a work of fucking art. The way your shirt and bra are pushed down under your tits is making them look irresistible. He leans down, resting both of his hands on your knees, and smiles at you in a way that makes your stomach flip.

“You have no idea how fucking badly I want you right now, but can I take you back to my hotel? I wanna take my take with you.” He nuzzles his nose against yours before sliding it along your cheek, placing a soft kiss there.

“Okay, yeah, that sounds good.” You’re breathless and so fucking horny but the idea of getting to fuck Eddie in a bed, where you would be totally alone, sounded a lot more appealing than fucking him in a dressing room where anyone could walk in.

You grab onto Eddie’s vest and push it off his body the minute the door to his hotel room is shut behind you. You take his face in your hands, your eyes shining as you look up at him while you rub your thumbs across his temples.

“You’re so beautiful Eddie.” You coo at him, running your hands down his chest.

“I like your new tattoos… and this.” You run your pointer finger across the band of his pants before tracing the little heart on his hip. “When did you do this?”

“Uh - A few weeks ago.” He grabs the hand tracing along his hip and takes it in his own, bringing it up to his lips so he can place a gentle kiss on the back of it. “I was getting this other tattoo and my artist asked if I wanted to cover it up. I laughed at him and told him to touch it up instead.”

“Eddie… you feel heat rise in your cheeks as butterflies erupt in your stomach. “I want you so bad.”

“Yeah, pretty girl? I told you I’m all yours.” He grabs onto your hips, pulling you back toward the bed so he can sit on the edge of it with you between his spread legs. “Gonna worship this body, show you how much I missed you.”

He grips onto your shoulders rubbing them gently for a moment before hooking his fingers in the straps of your bra and tank top, pulling them down your shoulders. He leans forward, kissing along your bare collar bone as one of his hands snakes around under your skirt to grab a hand full of your ass.

“Missed these perfect tits.” He takes them in his hands, squeezing them, before he grabs onto the hem of your shirt and pulls it over your head. He reaches behind you to undo your bra, his fingertips gently gliding over your skin with each touch. He took his time taking your skirt off, kissing every inch of exposed skin he could until you were completely bare before him. “So fucking perfect, baby doll.” He grips onto your ass looking up at you with his bottom lip between his teeth. “Need to taste that sweet pussy.”

“Take your pants off first.” You reach forward and undo his belt before working on his button and zipper, popping them open to reveal his thick cock covered by the material of his boxers. He lifts his hips so you can pull them down to his ankles and you bend down to unlace his boots.

“Fuck, you look so sexy, makes me think about that time I made you hump my boot…” Eddie smirks down at you as he takes your face in his palm and runs his thumb along your bottom lip. It makes your pussy flutter around nothing.

“Yeah, that was one of the hottest things you’ve ever done, if I’m being honest.” You giggle before flicking your tongue out to run it along the pad of his digit.

“Jesus Christ, get up here before I bust from just looking at you.” Eddie grabs your hand, pulling you back up to your feet before kicking his pants off the rest of the way. He lays back on the bed, patting his chest. “Sit on my face, princess. Your throne missed you.”

You stand there for a moment, just looking at him. He keeps telling you how perfect you are but he doesn’t even realize how truly perfect he is. The way he was smiling at you like you hung the stars, his ink covered arms that are more toned now than when you were younger, along with his more broad chest that’s now nearly covered in tattoos. Your eyes travel down his torso to his happy trail, the v lines on his hips, and settle on the way that his cock is straining in his boxers. He was lying there, so perfect, calling his face your throne, and he is just so your Eddie.

“You good, sweetheart? Or are you hypnotized by my otherworldly handsomeness?” Eddie wiggles his eyebrows at you, leaning back on his elbows. You know he’s trying to be goofy but it only makes you even more desperate for him. You climb onto the bed to straddle him, your bare pussy resting on top of his cock, only separated by the thin material of his boxers.

“Yeah, I just really fucking need you.” You grind down on him, pulling a groan from him as you lean down to lick across his lips, sucking on the bottom one before pulling away with a pop.

“Fuck, get up here, now.”

He pats his chest and his tone has you clenching around nothing. He grips onto your ass, jiggling it in his hands before landing a smack on one of your cheeks. You moan as you scoot up so that your thighs are resting on either side of his head with your pussy hovering just over his mouth. Eddie wraps his arms around your legs, pulling you down so he can bury his face in between your legs. He licks a long stripe along your wet slit before circling your clit with his tongue.

“Oh - fuckingshit - feels so good.” You moan as he shoves his tongue as deep as he can inside you, flicking it against your inner walls.

“Yeah, that’s my good girl, missed this sweet fucking pussy so much.” He swirls his tongue inside you before he brings it up to your clit again, licking it with the flat of his tongue. He sucks your clit and your pussy lips into his mouth, causing your eyes to roll back.

“That’s so fucking good, yeah, eat my fucking pussy.” You lean back resting your hands on his thighs as you start to grind down on his face. You bring one of your hands to his cock, stroking him through his boxers, chasing him to moan even louder into your pussy. “Fuck, Eddie, I wanna taste you.”

You push yourself up off of his face and he looks up at you with a pout but before he can even protest you’re throwing one of your legs over his head so you can flip around and straddle his face reverse cowgirl.

“Oh jesusfuckingchrist, baby.” Eddie groans, grabbing onto both of your ass cheeks and jiggling the meat of them in his hands. You hook your fingers in the band of his boxers so you can pull his cock free, spitting on your palm and taking it in your hand. “Fuck.”

“Need to taste you too, baby.” You lean down, flicking your tongue out to leave little kitten licks on his tip before sucking it between your lips.

“God damn, princess, fucking missed your mouth so much.” Eddie moans as he uses his grip on your ass to pull your pussy down on his face again, burying his tongue deep inside.

You take him further down your throat, swirling your tongue around his shaft and using your hand to stroke what isn’t in your mouth. Eddie eats your pussy like a man starved, bringing his lips to your clit as he inserts two of his thick fingers inside you.

“Yes, yes, that’s so good, you’re gonna make me cum.” You pull off of him continuing to use your hand to stroke his spit soaked cock. He picks up the speed of his fingers as he sucks on your clit even harder. “Oh god - I’m - I’m fucking cumming!”

Your walls clench around his fingers and your thighs squeeze around his head as your high washes over you, loud moans and the sound of your wet pussy filling the room. Eddie doesn’t stop until you’re pulling off of him because it becomes too much. He grips onto your hips, flipping you over into your back before covering your body with his own. He connects your lips in a heated kiss, his lips and chin still slick with your wetness as you taste yourself in his tongue.

“Need to be inside of you, fuck.”

“Yes, please please fuck me, I need to feel you.” Eddie uses one hand to grip onto the base of his cock, running the tip through your folds before pushing it inside you. “Oh, god.”

“Shit baby, you’re so fucking tight, so fucking wet.” Eddie grunts as he bottoms out inside of you, pushing his hips flush against yours before pulling almost all the way out and slamming into you even harder. He starts to fuck you hard and fast, one of his hands on your hip while the other wraps around your neck just tightly enough.

“Yeah, fucking choke me, missed your hands around my throat, missed you, fuck.” Eddie picks up the pace, his hips smack loudly against yours as the hand on your hips moves down so he can rub circles in your clit.

“Fuck, baby girl, missed you too, missed this fucking pussy. Gonna fill you up, need you to cum for me.” The hand around your throat squeezes just a little tighter as his lips crash against yours. Your hands are gripping onto his shoulders so tight you wouldn’t be surprised if your nails break the skin. His circles on your clit never let up as he tilts his hips so he’s hitting your sweet spot just right.

“Oh - my fucking - fuck, I’m cumming I’m fucking cumming.” Your pussy squeezes him like a vise grip as you run your nails down his back.

“Gonna cum too, baby, gonna fill this pussy up so good. Never quitting you. Gonna marry you someday.” Eddie’s thrusts grow sloppy until he’s pushing his hips flush against yours and emptying inside of you. He buries his face in your neck, rocking his hips slowly as he rides out his high. He lets his body rest on top of yours, placing gentle kisses on your neck. You bring your hands to his head and lace your fingers through his hair so you can lightly scratch his scalp.

“I love you, Eddie.” You sigh, dreamily. “I know we have some stuff to work through, and talk about, but I’d really like to make it work. You really wanna marry me someday?”

“What!” Eddie pushes up on his hands, so he can look at you, a big goofy smile on his face. “Of course I wanna fucking marry you! It’s only been the plan since we were 8 and I gave you that ring I won with arcade tickets.”

“I just… I don’t know, I thought maybe you got sick of me and that’s why…”

“Baby…” Eddie’s voice suddenly sounds a little sad, maybe guilty. “That was never… I would never, fuck. Hold on.”

He gets up off the bed so he can find his vest, he picks it up off the ground and pulls something from the pocket before coming back to sit next to you on the bed.

“Can you sit up for me?” You sit up in front of him, looking at him with a raised eyebrow and a pout on your lips. “I got this… well, I got this a few months before you left and I was just waiting for the right time, ya know? And honestly it never came because I had my head so up my own ass that I wasn’t making the time. But uh - I want you to have it. Even if you don’t say yes, I got it for you, so it’s yours…”

He opens his hand to reveal a little black square box and when he opens it, sitting inside is the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen. Set in the middle is a big shiny ruby, bracketed by two little bat wings on each side that lead into the band. It was perfect, you’ve been telling him practically your whole lives that if someone proposed to you with a boring ass dimond you would say no, no matter how big it was.

“Eddie…” Your eyes well up with tears as your bottom lip quivers. “Is that really for me?”

“Princess.” He chuckles, reaching a hand out to wipe away a stray tear that escaped. “Of course it’s for you. It’s always been you. And it always will be. Even if you don’t want me back.”

“Eddie, I - yes.” You smile widely at him, wrapping your hand around his wrist so you can turn your head to place a kiss there. “It’s always you, you’re the only one for me. You have a lot of making up to do… and it might take me some time to get fully over all of this but… I still wanna marry you. It’s you and me, till the day we die, stab a goblin in the eye.”

“Yeah baby.” He chuckles, a few tears of his own streaming down his face. You still wanted him. You were going to take his ring. You were sitting here in front of him more beautiful and grown than ever, repeating the words that you had said to each other as kids more times than he could count. “Till the day we die.”

He pulls the ring from the box and you offer him your left hand so he can slide it on your finger. You both smile widely and teary eyed at each other as he pulls you into a kiss. This one is different, this one is full of promise and hope and it’s like coming home. He rests his forehead against yours as he rubs the apples of your cheeks with his thumbs.

“Stab a goblin in the eye.” He chuckles, smiling widely as he places another gentle kiss on your lips.

Taglist: @littlexdeaths @babygorewhore @eddiesxangel @voyeurmunson @rowanswriting @hippiegoth97 @jenniquinn @take-everything-you-can

[starkeysprincess]

i dont know if youre doing request rn but if you are could you write rafe x reader where he gets all jealous and takes it out on her?

pairing: frat!rafe x sorority!reader warning(s): unprotected sex, p in v, rough sex, creampie & i think that's abt it tbh ??? word count: 1,228 (i got carried away sorry) a/n: ty anon for the request, i hope you enjoy it, angel

Rafe huffed in annoyance after getting off a phone call with you and he had wanted to take you out on a date because it’s been a few weeks since you last went on one. Unfortunately, you had to turn him down due to having to be present and participate in the fundraiser your sorority is throwing to raise money. He wasn’t sure what your sorority was doing for the fundraiser because you’ve been too busy trying to get things together for the event.

The door to his room swung open as Topper and Kelce barged in, asking if he had any plans for the day. “No, ‘s not like I have anything else to do” Rafe shrugged as he followed his two friends into Topper's car, figuring he might as well hang with the boys.

Rafe zoned out throughout the car ride until he heard Kelce and Topper whistling, “Shit, the sorority girls are doing a car wash” Topper chuckled, “Guess, it wouldn’t hurt to support them, right?”.

“You just wanna see girls in bikinis” Kelce snorted, “And you wouldn’t?” Topper scoffed, almost in disbelief. “Plus, we’re supporting Rafe’s girl’s sorority” Topper added, making Rafe furrow his eyebrows in confusion, “What the hell are you talkin’ about, Top?”.

“It’s your girl’s sorority, look” Topper nodded, making Rafe turn his head to see a few girls holding signs that had ‘Alpha Delta Pi: Car Wash’ clearly written on them.

He looked around as he sat in Topper’s car, his eyes scanning all around until they finally landed on your frame, almost bulging out of his skull from taking in the sight of you in a red bikini, his favorite bikini that you own.

Your back is facing him and he can’t help but smirk as his eyes roamed your body but his smirk quickly falls as he sees Brad, a frat boy from a competing fraternity, whom he can’t stand, walking up to you. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me” Rafe snorted, glaring as Brad approached you.

His eyes stayed glued to Brad, watching the two of you interact. The conversation between the two of you seemed innocent and Rafe has never been concerned about you flirting with other guys, you never gave him a reason to be because everyone knew you only had eyes for him.

At this point, he completely zoned out Topper and Kelce, rolling his eyes as he notices the way Brad was checking you out. The more he watched, the more irritated he got, his jaw clenching harder every second to the point it felt like his teeth would shatter. As soon as Rafe noticed you laughing at something Brad said and Brad touching your waist, he completely lost it and practically flung the car door open before slamming it shut as he made his way over.

You yelped in surprise as you felt someone grabbing your wrist, pulling you towards your sorority house. Rafe practically shoved you into the nearest bathroom on the first floor, locking the door and that's when you realize it was your boyfriend, "Rafe? What are you doing here?".

Instead of getting a response, Rafe pushes you against the bathroom sink, your lower back digging into the cool marble as his lips are on yours in a hungry kiss within an instant. He trails wet, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw to the column of your neck, sucking and biting at the skin, making sure to leave bruises as his hands move up your waist, towards your tits.

You gasp as he roughly squeezes them before tugging at the cups of your bikini down. He kisses his way down to your tits, making sure to leave marks, "These are mine" he groans.

He pulls away, smirking to himself as he takes in the sight of the bruises forming on your neck and tits. You don't even have to ask Rafe what's gotten into him just from the look in his eyes, one that you're too familiar with.

His fingers dip into your bikini bottoms and he can feel how wet you are for him as his fingers spread your folds, his thumb pressing against your aching clit, "Gonna fuck you so good, show him that you're mine". Before you can question who he was talking about, he spins you around, his large hand splayed against the small of your back, roughly pushing you down until you're bent over the bathroom counter.

He doesn't bother wasting time as he makes work of pulling your bikini to the side and quickly tugging his shorts and boxers down, his hard cock springing out. He brings his hand to his mouth, spitting into it before wrapping his hand around his shaft, giving himself a few tugs. His hand firmly pushes down on your back even further, the edge of the counter digging into your skin and he uses his knee to nudge your legs open wider.

“There she is” Rafe groans, taking in the sight of your glistening pussy, “Prettiest fuckin’ pussy I’ve seen”. A small yelp escapes your lips at the feeling of Rafe’s hand slapping against your pussy, "And it's all mine". 

"Rafe" you whined, which was quickly replaced with a moan as he pushed into you in one thrust. He didn’t even give you time to adjust, jealously clouding his mind as he started pounding into you, the sounds of skin smacking against skin, echoing off the walls. “Fuck, you feel so fuckin’ good” Rafe groans, his hand on your back, keeping you in place as he delivers harsh thrusts, making your body jolt forward against the marble counter. 

“I’m the only one who gets to see this view, the only cock you’ll ever need is mine and mine only” he grits his teeth, glancing down to watch his cock sliding in and out of you. “Y-yes” you stuttered, his thrusts becoming harder with each thrust. His hands move to grip your hips tightly, pulling you back against his cock, his hips snapping against your ass. 

Your hands gripped the counter to the point that your knuckles turned white, crying out each time his cock pushed in and out of you. Your legs started to tremble slightly and you could feel yourself getting close, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Rafe and encourages him to go faster.

“Oh god, Rafe!” you screamed, your orgasm hitting you hard, your pussy pulsing around his cock. “That’s it, just like that” Rafe moans, his orgasm teetering on the edge, “Who’s pussy is this?”.

“Yours!” you cry out, making him chuckle, “That’s right. It’s my pussy. You’re mine. Your pussy is only meant for my cock and cum. I’m the only one who’s allowed to stuff you full of cum, understand?” he pants, his movements start to become sloppy as he’s close, “Yes, only you” you whimpered. “Oh fuck” Rafe grunts, his eyes fluttering shut as he fills you with his cum, leaving the two of you panting. 

He pulls out of you, watching as his cum drips out of you before he uses his fingers to push it back into your aching cunt. He fixes the bottom of your bikini, pulling you back up and pressing his lips against yours, “You’re mine and if the hickeys all over you don’t make Brad stay away, I won’t hesitate to fuck you in front of him”.

taglist: @redhead1180 / @princesssuki21 / @eternalbuckley @ihe4rttwd @hallecarey1 @heartsforvin @rafescurtainbangz @xxbimbobunnyxx

[lixzey]

forever yours.

one two

Timothée Chalamet, cheating on Kylie Jenner? The Wonka actor was spotted kissing an unknown woman in Los Angeles!

You stared at the article on your phone, your hands shaking. You knew you shouldn't think about it; after all, you and Timothée have been dating for four years, and he loves you—only you. But nobody knew that, though. He was a world-famous actor, and you were someone who just so happened to have his heart. You two had decided to keep the relationship low-key and private, away from the chaotic world of Hollywood. Nobody outside of both of your families and friends knew who you were or what you looked like.

You sighed, plopping down on the bed in your boyfriend's apartment. You have been living with him for the last two years, and you loved every bit of it. Timothée was the sweetest boyfriend; he loved to spoil you. He gives you everything that you deserve and more—his words, not yours. You couldn't ask for anything more; you were happily content with the love of your life.

But you still can't brush off the fact that in this story, you were the bad guy. 

It all started in December 2022, when Timothée was forced to date Kylie Jenner. His management thought that it would be beneficial for him, seeing that Kylie was Forbes' youngest self-made billionaire and had tons of fans, maybe more than Timothée had. At first, your boyfriend was reluctant. He didn't want to date anyone else other than you. You two argued, but in the end, you convinced him that it would be good for his career. 

Timothée signed the contract, and he was obligated to date the youngest daughter of Kris Jenner. 

It started with little appearances like Kylie showing up at your home, and you had to leave or hide because there were paparazzis all over the perimeter of your house. Your boyfriend was absolutely apologetic that you had to pretend that you were not his, and it broke his heart to see you smile from the sidelines. 

You assured him that everything's alright. You were okay with everything, as long as, at the end of the day, he came back home to you. 

Some Timothée's fans were hopelessly praying that it was all some sort of PR stunt—which it actually was, but you signed a non-disclosure agreement. You had no choice but to keep it to yourself. Their 'relationship' went on and on, giving the people the benefit of the doubt. 

Until early September, when the PR team decided that it was time to make it public.

You were a little bit heartbroken when you saw it on social media. It was at Beyoncé's birthday concert, a celebrity-studded event, which made it the perfect opportunity to show off their relationship. The way Kylie Jenner had her hands all over your man made your blood boil. Timothée looked uncomfortable, but he didn't have any other choice. You wanted to go and just punch that plastic woman for having her claws all over your boyfriend, but you couldn't do anything. You hated it, but you couldn't bring yourself to admit it. Because if you did, Timothée would drop it before you could even say no. 

The way your boyfriend has his arms wrapped around that plastic bitch made you want to slap her and tear off all the plastic she had in her fake body. The way she kissed your man made you want to feed her to the sharks in the Atlantic Ocean. The way your boyfriend had his hand over her ass made you want to go and make a deal with the devil to rid the world of that woman, and maybe chop off your boyfriend's hands while you're at it. But again, you couldn't do a thing. You were left to watch while another woman pawed at your man. 

Timothée did everything to make it up to you. He would always assure you that it was all for show and nothing more. He loved you, only you, and he would never dream of hurting you. You knew that, of course, but you can't help getting annoyed by it—you won't tell him that though, because you couldn't. 

But now you were a homewrecker, a slut. 

Apparently, someone saw you and your boyfriend kissing. It was your fourth anniversary. Timothée had brought you to your favorite restaurant in Los Angeles and was enjoying the night, celebrating four years of love. After a bit of wine, he kissed you, like he always did—momentarily forgetting his 'girlfriend'. 

The next day, the photo of you and your boyfriend kissing was all over the internet. People were calling you a homewrecker, a slut, a whore, and more. You practically had death threats filling up semi-trucks. People were telling you who you are, and you didn't have a choice, all because you loved Timothée. 

All of this for what? Celebrating four years with the man you love? 

You buried your face in your hands, trying to muffle your sobs. You felt like the whole world was against you, like you were the villain in some twisted fairytale. What did you do to even deserve any of this? You just wanted to be with your man, but the world had other plans. 

“Mon amour? Are you here?” A voice echoed from downstairs. You wiped away the tears from your eyes, putting on another fake smile as you walked down. 

“Hey, love. Are you hungry?” You asked, voice breaking. Timothée looked at you, and you knew he knew something was wrong. You mentally kicked yourself for being so utterly stupid.

“What's wrong, mon amour?” Timothée asked, stepping forward and wrapping you in his arms. 

“Nothing, it's alright.” You lied. You were getting pretty good at lying, not that you were proud of it. 

Timothée sighed, his arms wrapping you tighter against his body. “Y/n, please, baby. I know something's wrong; you've been crying.” You could hear his heartbeat, the loud thumping in his chest calming you. You sighed loudly, burying your face into his chest, the smell of his cologne invading your nostrils. You pulled away abruptly, and the look of confusion on his face made your heart wrench inside your chest.

“I'm okay, don't worry.” 

Timothée cupped your face in his hands, your eyes meeting his. “Y/n, please, mon amour. Just tell me, I just want to help.” 

You took a deep breath. It was now or never. “Have you seen the tabloids?”

Timothée sighed, knowing it was about his fake relationship again. “Can you tell me what it is, baby? I'm sorry I haven't checked out the news.”

“It's just....it's silly, honestly.”

“It's not silly if it's bothering you, my love.” 

“Someone saw us kissing yesterday, and it's all over the tabloids.” you mumbled, your eyes glued to the floor. 

“Oh, baby,” Timothée whispered. “I'm so sorry; I dragged you into this. It's all my fault.” he muttered.

Your heart broke when he said it was his fault. It wasn't; it was the people who were quick to judge. “It isn't your fault, Tim.” 

“It is, baby. I shouldn't have agreed to that PR stunt. I should've just turned it down and spent all of my time with you instead-” You cut him off with your lips crashing with his. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him as he deepened the kiss. You felt all of your worries evaporate into thin air, and all that mattered was him. The man you have spent four years with, the man you see a future with. 

You pulled away, making him growl as the feeling of your lips left his. You chuckled, kissing him on the cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you more, baby. But….” 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “But what, baby?” You asked worriedly. 

“Can I see what the article says? And anything else related to it?” 

Your eyes widened slightly. It was one thing for you to read all of those horrid things people have written about you, but Timothée? He would break at the words people have said about you, and you couldn't live with him thinking his fans were horrible to the woman he loves. 

“Baby….” 

“Please, mon amour? You don't deserve to get all the hate.”

You playfully raised an eyebrow, trying to diffuse the tension. “Who said I was getting hate?” 

Timothée chuckled. “I know Hollywood.”

You let out a deep sigh as you rubbed your temples. “It's horrible, mon amour.” 

“I don't care; I still love you no matter what.” 

“You really want to read it?”

“Yes, I do.” 

You opened your phone and showed him one of the videos on TikTok about the articles. 

timmyfan1: omg timmy cheated on kylie with her? yuck, homewrecker. 

kyliestan_: such a slut, going after someone else's boyfriend.

timotheestan: die bitch

– timobaby: yeah, go die in a ditch you slut. 

– kyjennerbaby: not timothée's fans wanting the girl to die 😭

timotheechalamalabingbong: not timothée throwing away his relationship and career for this girl 😭 

kyliebaby: poor kylie, got her heart broken by this douchebag

jennersisters: anyone want to help me find that girl and slap the shit outta her?

– user1: count me in! 

– user2: me too! i'm gonna drag that little bitch down 

“I'm so sorry, mon amour,” Timothée whispered as he turned the phone off. “You don't deserve any of this.” 

You smiled sadly at him. “I know, but this is nothing.”

“No, it's not nothing. They want you to die, and that's not okay…” 

“I don't have any plans on dying, Timmy.” You chuckled. 

"But…but...”

"No buts. I know it hurts, but we have to live with it. I have to live with it. You'll just have to focus on your career, okay?” 

Timothée sighed in defeat. “You're the most precious person in this world; you don't deserve this.”

“And you know it.” You smiled, grabbing his hand in yours. “I don't care about their words anymore, as long as I have you.”

“I don't deserve you.” 

“You do; you deserve me and more.” You chuckled, kissing his knuckles. “I love you, no matter what.”

“I love you, Y/n, I love you so fucking much.” Timothée planted a soft kiss on your lips before pulling you again to his chest. “I'm yours, forever yours.”

You sighed contentedly, melting at his touch, feeling comfort and love in your boyfriend's arms. The only thing that mattered in that moment was you and him; no one could ever take away your happiness. 

Your boyfriend, your Timothée, yours. 

@helens3amstuff @gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @lovemelikecrazyiloveyoucrazy @tchalamss @tchalamss @ashlynnmalfoy @crazycat-ladys-blog @michakune @mxltifxnd0m @spencerr3idd @dangelnleif @sthkate @ferrjulie @imnotoverlyobsessive @mel-vaz @elsagreeer @lovely-maryj @meowmeowmau @bobthe-turmpetman29 @saintcosette

[talaok]

A gentleman

This is my gift to @lucyeyelesbarrow for the Pedrostories Secret Santa event💖

Pairing: bfd!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Your boyfriend is a good guy, but he's not so good at sex, but thankfully, his dad makes up for it

Warnings: smut| Cheating, kinda exhibitionism, oral sex (f receiving), a bit of fingering, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, no use of y/n just overuse of pet names, no use of Joel either, just Mr. Miller and sir (so naturally we've got a bit of a sir kink).

a/n: babe you said slut by Taylor and i ran with it. also, this didn't turn out as good as I wanted, but nevertheless, I hope you'll like it. And huge thanks to @decembermidnight cause this idea is basically (completely) hers so give her some love or smth.

Jason was a good guy,

he was such a good guy, always so kind, always gentle and respectful... everything any girl could ever dream of, right?

wrong

He should have been, he really should have been the perfect man, but he wasn't.

He wasn't a man, he was just a boy

A really nice, sweet, cute boy that had just one, little, big problem... he fucked like one.

He fucked like he was scared of breaking you, actually, no he didn't fuck at all... he made love, which would have been fine... if it wasn't for the fact that he wasn't any good at it.

Every time you had sex he lasted no more than a few minutes (on his good days) and it was always just the same, always missionary, always slow and breathy and just not... right.

And it's not like you hadn't tried, god knows how many times you had, you tried changing positions, switching up his thrusting method, or even asking him to go down on you, but the outcome was always the same... you were left unsatisfied, every. single time.

You had even gone as far as starting to wonder if perhaps the problem was you, but then again every time you were alone everything worked just fine.

And as perfect as he was, there's only as much a girl can take.

You needed sex, the real kind, you needed to get fucked good, by a man who didn't need instructions, by someone who wasn't afraid to take what he wanted, by a man, you needed a real man.

And perhaps you'd always had one in mind.

You were in the kitchen, the fridge open, the cool air hardening your nipples, just a tiny white tank top on you, no bra, only a pair of panties.

You came down here to get a drink, but your focus had shifted to your fingers beneath your panties, drawing fast circles on your clit.

And yes it was pathetic, masturbating in a kitchen that wasn't even yours, but your body was desperate for that orgasm your boyfriend had deprived you of not even 10 minutes ago.

You were caging your bottom lip between your teeth, trying not to make a sound, but as all your emphasis went there, you must have stopped listening for anyone coming and missed the footsteps stomping down the stairs.

"I thought you'd be aslee-" 

his eyes widened as he finally took you in

"shit I'm sorry darlin'-" he apologized, his eyes diverting a moment too late, only after they had taken you in completely, only after they had taken a good glimpse of your tits, and of the hand in your underwear.

To say you were red was an understatement.

He was there, the man you were just thinking of (although you had tried to refrain) was there, right in front of you, in all his broadness and glory, looking every bit of hot as ever,

him, your boyfriend's dad, 

Mr. Miller had just caught you masturbating while standing in his kitchen.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't-I was just-I needed water and I-"

You finally rushed your trembling fingers out of your panties, your chest heaving and your voice breaking.

"No need to apologize sweetheart" he shook his head, his gaze finding yours "'s alright"

And although you were half naked, his eyes remained on yours.

Because that's how he was, that's how Mr. Miller was,

He was a gentleman,

In a world of boys, he was a gentleman.

Just like that time he caught you just out of the shower, just as every time he wouldn't let you open your own door, not on his watch, just as every dinner, every expense, every single thing, was his treat, and he didn't need a thank you, he did it because that's simply how he did things, how he'd been taught to treat women.

You watched each other for a moment, you panicking, him as calm as ever, and only after a good minute, did you finally feel brave enough to say something,

"I-I think I'll go-"

He frowned, "didn't you come here to get a drink?"

You swallowed, realizing your hands were empty "I-I did, you're right"

You opened the fridge again, and to the demise of your heart, he stepped closer, watching you like a hawk from above, and stealing all the air out of your lungs.

"What were you doing sweetheart?"

You swore you could have started crying right there and then.

Did he really just ask that?

Why the fuck would he ever ask that?

"I-I wasn't- I wasn't doing anything, Mr. Miller"

He tried to hide the smirk crawling on his lips, but a shadow of it still appeared

"now we both know that ain't true, darlin'" he smiled, as you took a bottle of water and closed the fridge to try and keep your brain occupied by something else other than this fucking man.

You took a deep breath, looking up at him.

Your bottom lip was between your front teeth, and with his thumb, he freed it, his hand lingering on your chin.

"there's no need to be shy" he murmured, his voice as sweet as honey "I just wanna help"

And as always, as always his touch melted you completely, like ice in the August sun.

"M-Mr. Miller-"

"yes, doll?"

only hearing him call you that made your breathing hitch.

"I..."

"just tell me," his voice was as low and hot as it could be "I won't judge"

And then, for some reason, you did, You told him the truth.

maybe he had put a spell on you, or maybe, just maybe, you would have done anything this man asked for.

"I was- I was touching myself"

But of course he knew, you could see it all over his face as he nodded, his eyes now a shade darker.

"and why's that?" he asked, stepping an inch closer,

you took a step back to get out of his penetrating aura, just to realize he had confined you between the table and his body with nowhere else to go.

"my son's just upstairs" he continued, his eyes scrutinizing every inch of your face "Couldn't he have helped with that?" 

You gulped as his fingers gently moved some hair out of your face, making you shiver altogether

"I know if I were him, I would want nothing more than to do just that" he murmured "I would want to pleasure you in any way I could" and then, as if he'd gotten back to himself, to the respectful gentleman you'd always known, he dropped his hand, "so why were you touching yourself, sweetheart?"

What were you supposed to say?

That his son couldn't do it?

That in 3 months of dating, he'd made you come a total of 0 times?

Now that's not really a conversation you wanted to have with his father, was it?

"I was just- I- I don't know Mr. Miller" you lied

But he saw right through you, his head shaking in disapproval

"but you do know, doll" he urged "There's gotta be a reason"

And then it clicked.

He knew. Somehow he fucking knew.

"I-I-" you stuttered "It's just that Jason... he- he can't-"

but you couldn't end that sentence, how could you ever?

So of course, he did it for you.

"He can't make you come"

And the darkness was back again, the gentleman long gone.

"ain't that right?"

You could only offer a shy nod

"a pretty thing like you..." he murmured, his breath tickling your skin as he leaned closer, "and he's not taking care of you..." he tsked "Now that's a shame"

his hands were on your waist, holding you in place.

"I thought I'd taught him how to treat a woman... guess I was wrong" he shook his head "I mean look at you," he murmured "he should be making you come until you can't take it anymore"

"Mr. Miller-" you whimpered

"yes sugar"

"please" you begged, not exactly knowing for what

"Please what?" he asked, his right hand stroking your sides "you want somethin' from me?"

"I-I" you stumbled over your own words, not knowing how to get them out "Could you- could you please do it?"

He smirked properly at that, his left hand lowering down your belly

"do what?"

"you know" you breathed "You know what"

He inhaled your scent, his eyes still focused on yours "Say it" he ordered "Say it and I'll do it"

And what could you have done, if not exactly what he'd just said

"Please Mr. Miller" you pleaded "please make me come"

His fingers were beneath your panties before you could get another word out.

"Ah-" you gasped

"shhh" he shushed you, "Don't worry darlin'" he murmured "I'm here, I'll take care of you" he said, his big hand cupping your whole pussy

"look at that" he grinned, his mouth ghosting yours "she's already wet f'me”

A gasp fled your throat again as his finger seeped between your folds, gathering your slick and teasing your hole just to travel up to your clit

“Mmm” he hummed “so wet doll” he shook his head, smiling devilishly “are you always like this for me?” he asked, “For your boyfriend’s father?“

And although the fact that you could feel his hard cock against your thighs made that taunt more than a little hypocritical, you still couldn’t help but feel a little ashamed.

“Answer me” he urged, his lips now grazing yours

“Yes” you confessed, your voice nothing more than a whisper “I-I am Mr. Miller”

He groaned at that

He knew it was wrong, that everything about this was wrong, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about this, if he said hearing you call him Mr. Miller with that sweet voice of yours every day didn't make his cock half hard, if he said that from the moment he met you, he hadn't been jealous of his own son.

"here's how this is gonna work sweetheart" he breathed, his fingers gripping the edge of your panties "I'm gonna taste you now... because fuck me, but I need to-" he explained, slowly lowering your underwear "And you..." he smiled, your panties suddenly on the ground "you're gonna be a good girl and stay quiet" 

His lips lowered from right next to your ear, onto your pulse point

"Can you do that f'me?"

A little squeak left your mouth, and a deep chuckle rumbled from his chest

"Can you be a good girl f'me, doll?"

You didn't trust yourself with words, so all you did was nod

"good" he hummed, his lips on your clavicle "Now get on the table"

And so you did, you hopped on the table, and he kneeled before you, his hands on your thighs.

"Spread your legs sugar" he said, having you obliging immediately

A soft appreciative sound erupted from his throat.

"prettiest pussy I've ever seen" he purred, leaning closer to it "on the prettiest girl I've ever seen"

Your belly was moving up and down in sync with your erratic breathing, but he didn't seem to care, his only focus was between your legs.

he looked as if he did this every day, as if fucking his son's girlfriend was an everyday thing.

He started off slow, his lips meeting the inside of your thighs, then your mound, then your lips, and then, just when you felt a moment away from bursting, his tongue came to play, as he licked between your folds without care, groaning in pleasure at the taste of you.

"Delicious" he hummed "You're fucking delicious doll" he looked at you, continuing to do so even when his hands gripped your thighs, and his talented muscle teased your hole, making you gasp and forcing your right hand to his hair.

"Does he do this?" he couldn't stop himself from asking "Does he eat this pretty pussy sweetheart?"

"n-no" you managed to whisper as he continued his work, now savoring you entirely while deliberately avoiding your clit.

"Now that's just wrong," he said, his eyes unfocusing from yours and lowering to your heat for a moment "look at that" he murmured, watching mesmerized as your juices drenched his mouth "I could eat this pussy for every meal"

And that was it, he was done with teasing all of a sudden, his lips were on your clit, sucking it deliciously as fingers you didn't even notice having gone from your leg thrust into you with ease.

"O-Oh s-shit" you moaned, although trying not to do so.

"quiet sweetheart" he shushed you, going back to his work in a moment

His fingers were now curling upwards, finding that spot that made you see stars like he knew your body better than yourself, or certainly, better than his son.

His tongue was alternating between lapping at your clit and sucking on it, and he expected you to not make a sound? now that was just impossible.

"oh my god" you gripped his hair, his fingers speeding up "o-oh my god-Mr. Miller- i-it feels so good"

"I know it does" he answered "I can feel it, sweetheart"

And then he was back at work, and as you watched enchanted how perfect he looked between your thighs, his hair a mess, his eyes so dark they didn't even seem brown anymore... you felt it, you felt the orgasm approach faster than it ever had, embarrassingly fast one could say, but then again, it certainly wasn't your fault, Mr. Miller knew what he was doing.

"I-I think-" you cried

"I know" he didn't need you to finish "Let go f'me, doll"

And so you did, you bit your lip and threw your head back as an orgasm powerful enough to kill you took over your body, leaving you a whimpering, wobbly mess.

"fucking delicious" he groaned, selfishly licking your core once again before he was back up to you, watching as you breathed heavily into the air.

"felt good?"

"yeah," you smiled mindlessly "felt amazing Mr. Miller"

"good enough to want another one?"

You didn't need to think twice

"yes" you breathed, one of your arms going between his neck as you begged him, while the other found the bulge in his boxers "please" you swallowed "Please fuck me"

"you want my cock?" he asked, already freeing it from his briefs "is that it?"

"yes," you whimpered, 

"how much?"

"a lot" you promised "I want it so much Mr. Miller, please"

"yeah?" he taunted, positioning it at your entrance

"yeah-" you managed before he had pushed into you, making such a feeling erupt in you that you forgot all about your boyfriend upstairs and cried loudly because fuck it, but he was so fucking big.

His hand covered your mouth before you had even realized what had happened.

"I thought you said you were gonna be good" 

Your eyes widened as your pussy still tried to accommodate the importance of him

A muffled "I'm sorry" made it to his ears

"I wouldn't wanna have to stop"

"no" you begged immediately "no please don't stop" You shook your head, so desperate you would have felt pathetic if it wasn't that you weren't thinking about anything anymore besides your pleasure, besides him, besides this, whatever it was.

"if I take this off you you'll be quiet?" he asked, nodding to his hand

"yes," you nodded "yes, sir, please"

Sir?

Fuck

If his cock could have gotten harder it would have.

"alright then" he conceded, taking his hand away "Can I move sweetheart?"

"mh-mh" you hummed, nodding eagerly

a soft grin spread over his face at that, but before you could fully take in the beauty of it, of him, of his patchy salt and pepper beard and pink lips, he had done as you asked, and started moving

"fuck" you whimpered "y-you're so big"

The implication behind your words hit you only after having pronounced them, but he was kind enough not to comment on it.

"and yet you're taking me all like a good girl" he groaned "taking all of my cock inside this tight little pussy of yours"

His right hand got rid of your tank top, pulling it down until your boobs spilled from it so he could grab and grope at them freely while his thrusts got faster, and somehow, somehow even fucking deeper, and you were just- god you were in another universe, and right when you shut your eyes, your forehead falling to his in bliss, another moan escaped you, and his hand found your lips again

"What did I tell you sweetheart?" he grunted, his pace not slowing down "I need you to stay quiet" he explained again "I need you to be good and not make a sound so I can fuck you like you nee-"

"Babe?"

Your heart skipped a beat.

It was his voice, your boyfriend's voice, coming from upstairs

"babe, is everything alright?"

Your eyes widened and his movements stopped as you stared into each other's eyes for a moment

What do I do? What do I do? what the fuck do I do?

"answer him," Joel said, freeing your mouth without any further explanation.

"I-" you mumbled

"do it sweetheart, or he's gonna come down here, and I don't think either of us want that"

And so of course, you did

"I-I'm fine!" you yelled

"are you sure?"

And just when you were about to answer, his fingers materialized on your clit, circling it.

You gasped, widening your eyes at him 

"answer" he commanded, not stopping, the opposite actually, starting his thrusts again "Answer him doll"

"b-but"

"just do it" he murmured "Tell him you're sure"

You gulped, breathing heavily, 

"I'm sure!" 

"Ok"

And just like that, as if it were a miracle, Jason stopped his questioning, and you hid your face into the crook of Joel's neck, biting his skin as his pace fastened again, making that fucking feeling his son couldn't create take over your whole belly again.

"Mr Miller- oh my god" you cried, actual tears threatening to spill your eyes at the feeling

"shh" he cooed "I know sweetheart I know" he felt your walls tighten around him as the fingers in your hair gripped his locks harder "there we go," he grunted, his cock so deep inside of you you could feel it in your belly "that's all you needed wasn't it?" he asked " for someone to abuse this little pussy" he groaned, "for me, for me to fuck you like you deserve"

his lips were just before yours, not even an inch distancing you from a kiss, and yet, you weren't gonna cross that line, not today.

"yes" you moaned lowly "yes sir, yes"

"fuck" he groaned "you feel so good sweetheart, squeezing me so good... such a good girl"

"oh" you moaned, back into his neck "s-shit"

"'s ok" he purred, his fingers and hips working relentlessly to destroy you completely "'s ok sweetheart just-"

"Babe, can you bring me some water too?"

And if before Joel had stopped, it wasn't even remotely in his plans now. There you were, on the verge of an orgasm, and he was supposed to stop? no fucking way

He did the opposite, he started going harder, the table shifting on the floor.

You gasped and moaned before you finally freed your mouth from your neck, clinging to him as you answered

"Yes!" you screamed, hoping the pure pleasure behind your words wouldn't be hearable "Yes! I-I'm c-coming!"

"Yeah" he groaned into your ear "Yeah you are sweetheart" he purred, completely drowning out whatever response Jason gave you "Now give it to me, come all over my cock like a good girl"

And just like that, white pure bliss washed over you, and for a moment you were somewhere else, heaven, or hell more probably, but another universe for sure.

And you only came back when Joel's grunts sounded in your ears, when his thrusts got more sloppy, when you answered the words "Where do you want it?" with a simple "inside", and then finally, you fully came back to earth when he did, when he filled you up to the brim, remaining still deep inside you so none of it went to waste.

"fuck" he groaned after a while, finally pulling out of you to meet your eyes.

"Mr. Miller-"

You were waiting for the guilt to take over you, but somehow, for whatever reason, it still hadn't, and he felt exactly the same

"Babe?"

"shit" you gasped, getting off the table to put your panties back on.

"you need to go doll" Joel murmured, helping you put your tank top back into place

"Mr. Miller..." you murmured, your voice as shaky as your legs "I've got your come running down my thighs"

A soft smirk pulled at his lips

"should have thought of that before you said you wanted it inside" he taunted, his hands on your waist "or before you decided to touch yourself in my kitchen, sweetheart"