#brings you components to show that he likes you....... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

carolmunson · 1 year

Text

is he rich like me? (wealthy!s.h. x thick!reader)

desc: hi, we've missed you here at slate insurance hq. i've been working on this WIP since i think october, having the initial idea back then and then going back and forth on it for a million years. anyway, i finally finished it. you and big money steve are finally both on the same page, so here's some porn with plot. big money steve is big money steve, and he loves to spoil his girl. especially before a big dinner deal closing with a new client. tw: 18+ minors dni. p in v sex, oral (f and m receiving), some daddy kink (it's steve c'mon) but he's pathetic, some breeding kink. casual dominance. big wealthy tings. recommended listening: time of the season - the zombies

"what's your name? who's your daddy? is he rich like me?"

Big boxes and gifts were nothing new anymore. Selfishly, they'd become expected whenever you walked in the door from work. Though, if it were totally up to Steve, you would have quit your job the moment the last box of your things came past the threshold of his Tribeca apartment in January. But having at least some semblence of your old life was important to you -- and Robin would lose her mind if she didn't have you to share an office with anymore. Steve on the otherhand, was adamant that once the first baby was on the way, you'd put your career behind you. Presumptiuous of course, considering you weren't even engaged. Tonight was a dinner -- not for the both of you, but for business. Sales pitches, deal closings, re-enrollment. He'd never take you a steakhouse for a date, he'd rather die. But, always a steakhouse for business, 'It's just more -- I don't know how to explain it baby -- money talk, red meat, stuff like that. I know you hate it, I'm sorry, but it just looks good when I bring my girl with me.' He'd make it up to you every time with a new dress, a new pair of shoes, his lips on your neck, your knees to your chest. This dinner was no different, coming in from a nail appointment and a pedicure out to see an array of boxes laid out on your side of the bed. Your main component, which you were expected to wear to dinner tonight, was a black silk dress. "It looks small, Steve," you mumble, holding it up by the skinny straps. Sometimes your wonder if he forgets how full your hips are, how things that look chic on Kate Moss can sometimes look suggestive on you. Not that he minded, he was always very suggestive whenever you dressed up.

"It got it tailored to your measurements, so it shouldn't be," he explains while tying his tie in the mirror, "Just put it on, baby. The car's gonna be here soon."

You huff a little, turning on your heels to his walk in closet -- it might as well be a second bedroom with how big it was. You laid the dress down on the center island where he keeps all of his ties and watches in specially made drawers. You eyed the dress for a moment -- it really was beautiful. Black as night with a high slit on the right side -- of course he made sure it showed some leg so he could run his fingers along the hem under the table.

You take a look at yourself in the mirror in the long line black bustier he bought you. Breasts lifted and high, nearly spilling out of the cups. You'd never seen something without straps have so much support. But then again, you'd never had a bra be custom made either. The matching satin panties sat high on your waist, cut high enough that you'd never see the lines under the silk dress.

Moment of truth, I guess, you think, taking the dress and stepping into it. You waited for the resistance when you pulled it up over your hips but it never came. You waited for the uncomfortable pull of trying to get the skinny straps over your arms and shoulders, but it didn't happen. The dress slid on like butter, like it was made for you.

Oh yeah, duh, it was made for you.

"Can you help me with the zipper, honey?" you call out. Steve still loses his breath when you call him a pet name. So overwhelmed that you want him, that you call him baby and handsome and honey. Honey, honey, honey. Maybe someday husband. Maybe.

He steps into the room with purpose, stopping short when he sees you in the dress.

"Oh, wow," he gasps, "Wow, wow, wow."

"Stop," you bloom heat when he eyes you, "C'mon help me, we gotta go soon."

He steps behind you and you can smell the cedar and sandalwood in his cologne -- having long traded his Aqua di Gio for Creed's 1992 Bois du Portugal. His fingers are warm when he trails his middle and pointer up the skin of your back where the zipper opens, just to watch you shiver. He hooks the closure at the top carefully before pulling the tab at the bottom to slowly close the dress up. At the finish, everything is pulled into place. It was perfect. Dipping and flouncing exactly where you wanted it too, every curve perfectly showcased.

“Do you know where my clutch is?” you ask him in the mirror while his fingers trace your shoulders.

“It’s on the island in the kitchen,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss over the strap of the dress, “But I have another surprise for you.”

“Another?” you ask, eyes wide. He already bought you the dress, the shoes, the lingerie. What else was left?

"Close your eyes." You do, you hear him open one of the drawers and can feel him behind you when something cold hits your chest. He fastens it at the back of you -- you know it's a necklace but it must be nice if he's having you close your eyes.

"Keep 'em closed, baby."

You hear him come around to the front of you, adjusting the necklace, feeling his breath againt your ear. His fingers trail from your shoulder, down your arm to lift your left hand up, "Stay like that." Your heart hammers, but quickly fades out when you feel him put on a bracelet. His delicate touches quicken your pulse, his scent makes your mouth water. Steve had a way of making everything romantic -- getting coffee, going to the grocery store, taking out the trash, putting jewelry on you. Jewelry he bought. Jewelry you know you'll love.

"And lastly..." he continues, while putting your hand down. His nose brushes your cheek when his nimble fingers click a pair of earrings into place -- they're heavy and cold. "Harrington," you sigh, squirming at the pinch of the back going too far into your lobes, "I can put these on myself." "Don't be such a baby, Manhattan," he tsks, smoothing your hair away from your ears before standing back and looking at you. He smiles big at the sight, you simply adorned in his gifts. Steve doesn't know whether to cry or kiss you when he feels his heart leap in his chest. It happens all the time when he stares too long at you, no matter what you're doing. You're his. "Can I open them?" "You can open them," he encourages. When your eyes flutter open and adjust to the light, you see them in the mirror. A platinum set tennis necklace sat across your chest, a matching bracelet on your wrist. Earrings in your ears to complete the collection. You gape at your reflection, mouth hanging open while you try to wrap your head around it -- about how much money you're wearing right now.

"Steven -- they're beautiful..." you gasp out. He stands behind you in the mirror again, grinning at your reaction.

"Sorry there's no ring," he pouts before kissing your cheek, "Not yet, at least."

It was an every other day mention -- the ring. You'd only been officially together for half a year, but Steve knew what he wanted. It felt like you both had been together for six years anyway. You knew the ins and outs of each other, literally and figuratively -- there couldn't be anyone else quite like him. It helt like you both had PHDs in each other's likes and dislikes, needs and wants, goals and dreams.

"Don't worry," you breathe, still not over the sparkle on the rest of your limbs, "This is...this is plenty, babe." He burns in his cheeks -- babe. He's your babe! He presses a kiss to your cheek, settling by your ear to mumble a heady 'I love you,' from the deep base of his chest. His lower lip coasts your earlobe and your eyes roll back in your head, feeling his warm breath fan over your jaw. "I love you so much," he murmurs, hand gripping your waist, you can feel his grin against your skin, "But I need you to hurry the fuck up or we're gonna be late, angel." "You're so annoying," you glower when his sensual demeanor turns into a mean snicker, tapping your ass to get you to move out into the kitchen.

It took every ounce of will power in his body to not cover you in hickeys in the car. He had to give it to himself, he knew how to dress you for stuff like this, and God did your body alway deliver. He had to keep looking out the window so he didn't catch a glimpse of your crossed legs in the rear view mirror of the Bentley. It didn't help that you smelled like heaven, dirving him crazy with every movement, sending Mulger's Angel through his olfactory straight to his boy brain.

He helped you out of the car and waked you arm in arm to the door of the restaurant, always sure to be there at least 15 minutes before his guests. You got accustomed to the song and dance: exchange pleasantries, only ask the wife of whoever he's with direct questions, feign some form of old school obedience, let Steve do all the talking and so help you God if you roll your eyes once he has no problem letting you pay for when you get home. Always in good fun, of course.

Tonight is no different, you look over the menu, sharing sweet moments with each other before his guest arrives. Guessing the status of every couple there, what they're talking about, how long they've been together. A few celebrities come in laying low and you never get excited but Steve always does, still deep down a sweet boy from Indiana. "I think I'm gonna do the salmon," I say with a sigh, "I know that's boring."

"Not boring, honey," he shakes his head, taking off his glasses to clean them off before settling the silver frames back on, "The salmon's really good here." "You're really good here," you tease. "Yeah?" his brow quirks, a smile pulling at his lips, "I heard you're really good here." "Actually, you're really good here," you start to giggle. "Surprised to hear you say that because it was reported in the Culiniary section of the New York Times that you're actually really good here," he laughs, but you're both cut short when you see the m'aitre d guiding your guests to the table. You keep giggling, sitting up straight and crossing your legs under the table cloth so that your thigh peaked out of the slit of the dress. "No more fun, Harrington," you say faux seriously, "No laughing, we have to be boring now." "So boring," he agrees in a fake whisper, but his demeanor changes on a dime when his guest and his wife arrive. Steve stands immediately, hand out for a firm shake.

"Mr. Parker, good to see you tonight," he flashes an award winning smile, the kind that make older men wish he was their son and older women wish he was their husband, "Mrs. Parker, you look stunning. He let's you leave the house looking this good?"

Only Steve can make a joke like that and have it be charming. He pulls the fake string in your back and you start your performance as Business Dinner Barbie as soon as everyone sits down. When the sommelier arrives Steve orders a bottle of white and red for the table and when the waitress arrives he gets himself and Mr. Parker their second highest priced scotch. 'Just because it's the most expensive doesn't mean it's good, they just wanna get the suckers to buy it.' You could mouth the words as he says them at this point, the same schpiel every time.

"And would you like to put your entree orders in as well?" the waitress asks. Mr. Parker orders the steak dinner, rare, which doesn't surprise you because he sort of looks like someone who gets joy out of consuming blood. Mrs. Parker orders the salad because of course she does, she's never eaten a starch in her life, or at least not in the past forty years. Steve places his dinner order, always filet mignon medium rare with a side salad. Steve takes your menu from you to pass to the waitress when her attention turns to you for your order. You open your mouth to speak but Steve's hand finds yours with a light squeeze, keeping eye contact with the waitress. "She'll have the glazed salmon, medium. And I hate to bother the chef but can we pass the broccoli rabe on for asparagus?" he asks, eyes dropping from the waitress to yours as she answers 'Absolutely, Mr. Harrington'. You swallow when his gaze lingers on you, a smirk flicking on the ends of his lips, a moment only shared by the two of you.

"Thank you so much," he replies, still looking at you, "She just doesn't really care for it." He smiles back up at the waitress as he finishes his sentence, pulse quickening when he sees you adjust slightly in your seat. You liked that, and he likes that you liked that. He continues the conversation with a winning smile, pretending like he doesn't know you're melting next to him. Staring at him in his suit acting like you care what he's talking about, like you're not watching the way the leather band of his watch hugs his wrist, how he gesticulates when he talks, his long fingers and big veined hands emphasizing his words. The way his brow furrows when he listens, the slight tensing of his jaw while he thinks of what to say next. While Mr. Parker discusses the potential pitfalls of partnering with Slate Insurance, you feel one of Steve's big hands under the table, resting on your knee. His thumb traces circles on your joint for a minute, you figure it's a comfort touch, something to ground him while he considers his next move. You learn quickly that it's not that at all. He lets a finger trace slowly and softly up over your knee and half way up your inner thigh before grabbing it, slowly and intentionally massaging the fat there, slipping his fingers under the black silk. Your back straightens in your chair, trying to keep your cool while he continues -- soft grazes with his finger tips, back and forth, inching further up as he goes. You grab his hand tightly under the thick white table cloth, catching his lips curl at the edges while he speaks -- no one else would be wise to it. You curse him silently at his ability to always play it cool.

"Have some water, honey," he says sweetly, taking his hand from your grasp and pushing your glass toward you, "You're looking a little flushed." You swallow, your smile a little tight while you take a sip and he watches. A battle between the two of you that you know you've already lost. The cool water passes your lips and you're nearly reinvigorated to try your hand but he comes in with a final strike -- a death blow -- "Atta girl," Steve grins. You've never wanted to pull him out of a restaurant by his collar more than you do right now. Just like always, dinner is a success. Steve always closes the deal before the second scotch so that the cool down conversation can feel more friendly. 'You want the client to feel like they made a friend when they leave so that they trust you. That's business, angel.' He'd say. You say your goodbyes and tell Mrs. Parker you'd be happy to join her book club -- you're unsure how many book clubs you've 'joined' at this point, how many invites got 'lost in the mail'. "Very darling woman you've got there, Steven," Mr. Parker says as he and Steve shake hands, the final seal.

"Isn't she?" he asks, giving you a quick once over. Your blood rushes in your ears at his look, the rest of their conversation muffled by an infuriating need for him. As Mr. Parker and his wife leave, he cleans off his glasses while you both wait for his credit card back for the bill.

"Beautiful job tonight, honey," he smiles, putting his frames back on.

"Do not speak to me," you say with a smile, heat pooling through you while a soft pink appears on his cheeks. "Don't worry," he shakes his head, getting his card back and signing off on the receipt. He helps you out of your chair like a gentlemen, passing you your purse as a means to press a kiss to your cheek, "We won't be doing any talking when we get home."

By the time you get home to the Tribeca apartment, all of your lipstick has been worn off. You're lucky if Vinny doesn't quit being Steve's driver after all of that. "Sorry," he says to Vin while you get out of the Bentley, "Won't happen again, I'm so sorry."

You try not to count how many hundreds Steve flips through when he goes into his wallet, you try not to see how many he slips his driver in embarrassment. Sometimes it still made your chest tight. "You say that every Friday night," Vinny laughs, taking the money, "And every Saturday I gotta get the interior detailed. Goodnight, Mr. Harrington."

The air is a little humid when you get out of the car, sticking to your skin slightly -- the soft rush of the river calms you in the quiet of the night, and there he is, in the glow of the lights outside of your building. He doesn't say anything when he approaches you, just pulls you in for another air stealing kiss. Steve's big hand pushing you in at the nape of your neck to give him better access to you. You frown when he breaks away, a small one, a gentle tug on your eye brows an lips. His hand drops to yours, taking you inside, greeting the doorman and front desk concierge by name as he does every morning and night.

The brightness of the lobby is a harsh contrast to the low light outside and the burst of air conditioning makes your nipples peak in your bra. Goosebumps trail up your arms, but you aren't sure if it's the blast of cold air or the way Steve impatiently waits for the elevator to get you both upstairs. The door barely closes when he's on you, shoving you against the wall of the front walk way. "How dare you," he murmurs, lips peppering kisses from your lips to your jaw, tongue licking hot at your neck, "Look this fucking good all night." "It's kind of your fault," you laugh, panting slightly while his teeth graze over a sensitive spot by your collar bone. You kick off your heels, leaving $2600 on the floor of Steve's apartment.

"Mostly yours," he grunts, pulling you over to the living room after taking off his own shoes. He opens the big vertical blinds so that the city glitters into the penthouse apartment. Steve wastes no time however, getting behind you the same way he did earlier, fingers nimbling unzipping your dress. You both watch it fall to the floor in a delicate puddle, black water silk at your feet.

Now there was $6600 on the floor. Steve takes a second to admire you in your skivvies, his bottom lip tucking between his teeth. He surveys you like a work of art, like a statue carved just for him. You shudder while he circles you, feeling the heat of his ambers eyes burning with need on your skin. He chuckles when he notices you get a flustered, settling down on the couch. He motions for you to you come forward and while you are never one to listen, you make your way over to him without question.

"You like when I spoil you?" he asks huskily, pulling you down to straddle his lap. One arm wraps tight around your waist while the other wraps delicately in your hair. Your stomach presses against him while your breasts heave in his face. He pulls your head down to kiss you, hungry and powerful, while his hips press up to grind against your satin covered cunt.

"Mhm," you whimper into his mouth. His hands reach behind you to the hooks and ties at the back of your bustier. Steve's fingers never met a bra that they couldn't take off in an impressive flick of the wrist.

"Let's get all this off you," he mumbles breathily before sliding his lips from your mouth to your neck. The bustier falls forward slightly before he gets impatient, pulling the straps down your arms before discarding it on the ground. You reach for the necklace but he stops you, reaching back up to capture you in a hungry kiss. "Keep the jewelry on," he says, ambers eyes meeting yours. He's stern in his request and you nod obediently, hands lowering down to meet his chest.

Now there was $8,000 on the floor.

His hands find your breasts and he lets out a rugged groan, massaging them with his hands while he presses kisses down onto the soft skin.

"You can't come with me to dinner looking like this anymore," he murmurs between kisses, "Barely closed that deal. Too busy staring at these tits."

"Steve," you gasp out, giggling, "You closed it just fine."

"Mmm," he nods, mouth occupied by taking a nipple between his lips. You can feel the flutter of his tongue over it while he looks up at you, eye shining wickedly. Your whine just encourages him to keep going. Your hips press down against him, reminding him what you want more than his mouth, than his hands. He pops his lips off of you, the sound echoing in the open living room.

“Is there something you want?” he asks sweetly, leaning back on cushions of the couch. You nod, rocking your hips over his hard cock in his pants, letting out a soft tiny moan at each bit of friction.

“You're so spoiled angel,” he teases, thumbs brushing over your nipples before rolling them between his fingers, making you whine. His voice still dripping in depth and heat, “I think you should work for it.”

“I thought the whole point of this was so that I didn't have to work anymore," you tease back, leaning forward to kiss him. He hums into your mouth and you can feel him smirk into the kiss. Bastard, you think to yourself.

“Hmm,” he considers, palm skating over your thigh, “You do make a good counter point."

“I think giving into my demands is a good return on investment,” you assure, hips rolling against him in a way that makes his thighs tense up, "Imagine the long term benefits?"

He groans when you parrot him, getting harder at the thought of you genuinely listening to his business speak when you do these dinners. He squeezes the fat of your hips, tongue gliding over his kiss bitten lower lip while you take off his tie and start to unbutton his shirt. “Take these off,” he says, looking up at you while his finger traces your panty line. You heat up when he says it, a smug smile blooming on your face. His actions only confirming that he’ll always give in, “If you ask for want you want, I'll consider it."

“Oh, you'll pass that on to your team? I'd love to be considered,” you ask with a laugh, but he's done joking around, a tap to your thigh reminds you that he asked you to undress. You stand up off of him, your feet meeting the cold hardwood, your panties sliding down your smooth legs.

Now there was $8250 on the floor.

He undoes his belt while you stand in front of him, eyes glued to yours while he does it. You swallow when he winks, thighs pressing together — you know he notices. Steve shimmies his pants down slightly, enough that he can keep his legs spread wide while pulling out his length. It's clear that he's painfully hard, a guttural groan escaping him while his hand offers him some minor relief, “Is this what you want?”

“Y-yeah,” your voice barely above a whisper.

“Why don’t you suck on it first and I’ll tell you when you can ride it," he smirks, and without thinking, you start getting to your knees. He stops you before you can make it to the floor, putting a throw pillow beneath you to protect you from the hardwood. Steve can't help but kiss you softly once you make it to your knees, he was never any good at being mean and forceful with you. You'd been right the whole time, he couldn't boss you around -- at least not for too long.

You unbutton the rest of his dress shirt that will now need to be dry cleaned and repressed. You let a hand trail down his chest, gliding through the hair there while pressing wet hot kisses down to his pelvis. Pulling some of the skin between your teeth to leave red and purple bruises behind.

“That’s it, baby,” his breath blends with his words as he adjusts on the couch, leaning back so you have more access to him. You kiss close to the base, tongue trailing over the crease of his thigh, breath ghosting over his shaft while your mouth stays occupied with his heavy sac. You feel him lean back, relaxing while you work him up, his hands coming behind his head, arms bending at the elbows. "Just like that, honey," Steve purrs, "Just like that."

Your hand reaches up to stroke him, slow and deliberate, mouth getting wetter while you leave sloppy kisses at the base and on his pelvis. Your thumb glides over the shining bead of pre-cum pooling out of the tip, teasing over the seam just under it. Your tongue finally glides up to the tip expertly, letting your lower lip catch on the head -- his eyes meet yours behind his glasses, burning with need. It feels cruel to keep him waiting when he looks at you like that, so you don't wait. While keeping eye contact you adjust, taking him all the way to the back of your throat without so much as a wince.

“Oh fuck, good girl,” he gasps into a growl, hand reactively entwining in your hair, “That’s daddy’s girl.”

You groan into the praise, sucking diligently on his cock, thighs pressing tight together. Your back arches into a posture he can only recognize as needy, making him grin while he runs his free hand through his own hair.

“Learned to like that, huh? Whose your daddy, angel?” You smirk up at him in response, tongue gliding from the base to the tip again, taking half of his shaft in your mouth before taking it out with a low laugh, "You are, honey."

His eyes roll back, hips canting up towards your mouth while his grip in your hair tightens. You press him by the thighs back down onto the couch eyeing him while he whimpers when your tongue traces the curve of his cock again. Always on top even on your knees. "Fuck, don't stop," he breathes out. He lets go of your hair, arm reaching behind him to clutch the back of the couch. His hips roll up again, disrupting your rhythm slightly. You taste the salt of him on your tongue while you continue, a soft giggle erupting from your throat, sending shockwaves through him.

"Having fun, honey?" he asks, pulling himself away from you slightly. You sit back on your heels and smile, nodding. He leans forward, blessing you with kisses, deep and slow, "Let's take this to the bedroom."

"I'm on top, right?" you ask. He smirks, watching the jewelry glitter on you in the low light. "Not a chance," he giggles darkly, "Not tonight. Really wanna show you how bad I want you tonight."

"Oh, just tonight?" you ask smartly, getting up from your knees to head to the bedroom.

"Every night," he says with a roll of the eyes, getting up and tossing his dress shirt and tie on the couch. He watches you as you walk slowly to the bedroom, eyeing your smooth skin, the way your hips and waist twist when you walk. He knows you're walking like this on purpose, but he'll never complain. You fall back on the sheets you've been sleeping in for six months and he watches your breasts and thighs and tummy jiggle when you land. Steve grins, sliding off his slacks, socks, and boxer briefs before stepping between your legs, standing over you while you lay on the bed. "Hi," you say, a genuine smile pulling at your mouth when you look up at him. A stripe of amber light from outside pools into the room from between the billowing white curtains, coating you both in a dreamy haze.

"Hi, baby," he says back, his hands reaching down to slide from just under your breasts to your waist, "So beautiful," he whispers to himself.

"Move up a little for me," he instructs, his voice sweet and deep. You scooch up the bed, settling between the mountain of pillows leaning against the short head board while he settles between your legs again. He watches you and the way your body manipulates when he reaches down behind your thighs, pressing the tops of them to your chest. He leans forward, pressing his own chest against what can be felt of yours. Your knees are at your decolletage when he leans in closer to give you another deep kiss before leaning back again, quickly tossing his glasses on the bedside table.

You both stay quiet while he strokes himself a few times, smirking down at your glistening core while he lines himself up to push in. You aren't sure why, but every time he does, it feels like the first time.

"Oh my God," you whine while he pushes in slow, "Stevie." "I know, angel," he nods, gliding in all the way to the hilt. He grunts when he feels you grip him tight, trying to pull out slightly only to get sucked back in. He grips the back of your thighs for leverage, pulling back half way and pressing in, feeling you get wetter around him while he picks up a rhythm.

"Shiii-Steve, that's so deep," you whine. It only encourages him to push in deeper.

"Gotta practice, honey," he grins, starting to pant while he looms over you, letting go of your legs to get close to you again, "Need it to stick when we do it for real."

You pulse over him when he says it, back trying to arch despite your position beneath him.

"You like when I talk like that?" he whispers, his voice sliding back to gravely in your ear, "When I tell you how bad I wanna cum inside you?"

"Mhm," you whimper, nodding against his searing kiss, working himself up the more he thinks about it. "Get you all fuckin' full with me?" he growls, "Keep you nice and pregnant the second I get that ring on your finger?" You burn with lust while he babbles on, wrapping your legs around his waist while his thrusts get rough and desperate. Your body shakes and quivers while his hips slam against you, filthy wet squelches filling the high ceilings of the room. Mixing with a symphony of both of your sighs and moans, the smell of your sweat mixing with his cologne. Slam, slam, slam, slam, slam. The headboard beating the wall between the windows with a thud over and over again. "I fucking love you," he grits out. "I love you, too," you whine, eyes rolling in the back of your head. Heat licks at your lower belly, building while the slight curve of his cock makes the head brush over your g-spot in rapid succession, "Baby, I'm..." "Yeah?" he asks with a knowing smile, "So close for me, hm?" He sits back on his calves, still able to thrust while he looks down at you. His thumb presses against your lips, asking for entry. You let him in, making sure to get it extra slick with your spit before he takes it out, reaching down to slide it in circles over your clit. "How's that, angel?" he asks, thrusts not showing a hint of slowing down, "Does that feel good?"

Your thighs shake, eyes pricking with tears, shining while they look up at him. Well he's pleased with himself, you think, making a mental note to throw him on his back tomorrow and ride him into next week until he's a babbling mess. "It does, huh?" he asks softly, nodding down at you while you nod up at him. "Shit," he huffs, "Oh fuck."

"Not so...oh my god, oh wow -- not so t-tough now, are you?" you giggle. He groans when you giggle, Why are you so fucking precious? he thinks to himself, Who allowed this?

Heat rises even more, the jewelry starting to feel clingy as it sticks to your shining skin. Steve keeps his pace, eyes closing softly while he leans his head back, the column of his neck begging to be bitten and kissed by you. You whimper, pulling at the clasp of the bracelet, tossing it onto the carpet next to the bed. Now there was $48,250 on the floor. Feeling less trapped and more desperate to destroy his neck and chest, you sit up, your manicured hand pressing against his hair covered pecs. It doesn't take long for him to allow it, looking up at you while you climb on top of him.

"That's it, honey, give it to me," he breathes, "Show me how bad you want it."

Your hips move with a slutty percision that he loves, grinding against him for your own pleasure and his. He hisses when you bite down on his neck, letting out a soft laugh when you pull at his hair, "Come for me, angel, c'mon." He hears you pant in his ear while you lean over him, the diamonds in your necklace shimmering in his eyes. You sigh, sitting up straight, unclasping the necklace while you bounce on top of him, gently tossing it to meet the bracelet. Now there was $198,250 on the floor. "Do not," he groans out, hands grabbing your hips with bruising grip, "Put those earrings on the ground, we will never find them until a post ends up in my fucking heel." You laugh, your own head leaning back, making him yearn to taste the column of your neck this time. But your laugh doesn't last long, it morphs into guttural moans while he holds you in place, thrusting up into you in an unforgiving speed. Steve gasps, watching your breasts bounce in front of him while he continues on unrelenting. "Baby..." You squeak out, "Steve...oh fuck, oh Steve -- Steve, Steve, Steve..." The heat builds and builds and builds. Your eyes water while his cock bullies into you. The head hitting your g-spot, pushing in deeper while he goes. You let out a cry, nails digging into his broad freckles shoulders while our hips slam down on him, thighs vibrating while white blooms behind your eyes.

"Good girl," He coos while you shake, collapsing onto his chest, "That's it, angel, that's my girl." He eases you onto your back again, giving you slow kisses on your neck and chest while he chases his own orgasm. It doesn't take long, nearly on the precipice of cumming since he zipped you up in your dress earlier in the evening. His mouth gapes while he sends his seed over your tummy, painting you with ropes of glistening white. "Jesus Christ..." he gasps, settling himself with some big deep breaths that expand his sculpted chest. You both look at each other, panting and sweating, the passion wearing off to a pure and gentle love for each other. You both start laughing. "We swear we're sexy," you laugh up at him. His smile makes you melt all over again. You watch him ease up off the bed, leaning forward from the side to kiss your forehead. He picks up the jewelry, inspecting it for missing gems, or - god forbid - a scratch, and places it carefully on the side table with his glasses. "Wanna get cleaned up with me?" he asks, tilting his head, "Can you stand?" "Oh please," you roll your eyes, sitting up slowly, "I can..sort of stand." You already feel the ache between your legs from taking him, knowing you'll need at least a day to recover from something so big. He helps you up, taking you into the en suite bathroom and getting the water just right for you to step into. "I'll be right back," he says, pulling you in for a kiss on the temple before he disappears in the steam. When he returns behind the glass of the standing shower, covered top to bottom in dark green tile, he passes you a glass of Malbec that matches his. "A little celebratory night cap," he says sweetly. "To closing the deal," you grin, giving his glass a clink to cheers. "To closing the deal," he says back before you both take a sip.

"I know you're not wearing those earings in the shower, Manhattan," he sighs, putting the glass on the product shelf out of the water. He reaches for you ears but you yelp playfully, stepping away from him, "You're gonna be the fuckin' death of me, honey. I swear."

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x thick!reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fan fiction #pbv!steve #steve harrington fluff

1K notes · View notes

wishluc · 1 year

Note

Oh god please elaborate on the Express Eatery thing! I love having Luocha as a customer

Going over this with Luocha, Yukong, Jing Yuan and Blade!

CW: yandere characters

So you work at the Express Eatery, and you start to notice that Luocha comes in every day with a new menu item he wants to try out. While waiting for his order he asks about your time on the Express and the meals you like and how you're finding the Luofu so far. He refuses to elaborate on the coffin he carries around or on anything else about his job apart from the "traveling merchant" line, but you let it slide because he's nice enough otherwise. He also tips very generously, and leaves glowing reviews, which may or may not play a role in you liking him despite how suspicious he can be at times. After he's cycled through all the items, however, he starts asking for other things; snacks you like to eat, whatever you usually have for breakfast, a dessert you're craving for, etc. And he starts bringing in dishes that he likes, and asks for you to eat them with him during your break (even waits outside your stall until you take your break, if you try and lie your way out of it). And when the day comes that you have to pack up and leave your short-lived stall behind, you do so without informing your number 1 customer, which doesn't go across well.

But how were you to know Luocha had also met Dan Heng before, and would be visiting the Express the very next day?

Other customers you meet include Yukong, who's sweet and has the most interesting stories for you. She offers to pilot a Starskiff for you (and promises that she's not a reckless driver anymore, unlike the stories of her youth she may have told you about), invites you to lively parties once you're done for the day, and even shows you around the Luofo herself. You do notice, however, that her eyes dim and her smile fades when you mention leaving the Luofo, even if you don't comment on it. Coming up to the days before you close the stall, she takes you on increasingly exciting trips around the Luofo, all the while assuring you that there is still much to see, as though to entice you into stay longer...

There's also Jing Yuan, who stays for long periods whenever he stops by. He stands by your stall with a languid smile, talking to you while eating. He has a habit of distracting you with sudden questions when ever you notice just how long he's been standing around, asking you about your thoughts on a dish or how long you've been with the Crew. And while his exterior is perfectly relaxed with you, if anyone else dares approach while he's there, all it takes is one inquisitive look from him to send the intruder scurrying away. You've never thought the General to be that frightening, but you supposed his position warranted some extent of fear. Normally, you would be a little irritated about how he was obstructing business, but there was no doubt his pleasant conversation and generous hand made for far better company than a queue of customers in a rush to their next stop.

But a few days before you're set to close the stall, you get approached by a group of officials who warn you that doing business without a permit is illegal. Apparently, whatever documents March got for your little side business wasn't enough, and you were missing some important components. Fortunately, Jing Yuan steps in and offers to help you settle the problem at once, and as you gratefully accept his assistance (with a promise to treat him to a serving of Cosmic Fried Rice on the house sometime). To your surprise, however, you're told that you're required to stay and continue doing business on the Luofu for another few weeks before the license is granted, and you find yourself having no choice but to comply. At least, the General is here to keep you company, right?

At first Blade stopped by only to pick up a serving or two before leaving right after, never indulging in conversation unlike your other patrons. Even his reviews were short and to the point, simply leaving a rating of 5 stars along with his moniker—but as long as it was a good review, you had no complaints. However, as time went by and you saw him increasingly more often (though you took note of the fact that he'd only ever come by when the shade fell across your stall just right and there were little to no other customers), he'd comment on your methods and packaging, with odd lines such as "The box didn't come apart even after a fight," and begin ordering in advance for the next day—he claimed this was a far more efficient system, and offered to pay extra as a booking fee.

He comes off a little strange at times, with his unnerving smile and his peculiar comments, but you think that Blade's one of your better customers. He's patient and his requests are simple, and he deals swiftly with any troublemakers around your stall. Surprisingly, him swinging around his sword threateningly doesn't discourage new customers from checking your stall out. So when the day comes that you have to inform him that there was no tomorrow for his order to be prepared in advance, Blade only regards you with a pensive look and the smallest of nods, before leaving. You would miss him, despite his oddities.

And then you're told that you have to accommodate for a temporary addition on the Astral Express, someone sent by Kafka, and who awaits you in the parlor car but Blade himself?

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)

1K notes · View notes

dancingtotuyo · 2 months

Text

Part II

High Infidelity | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: The weight of your husband being in jail starts to take its toll.

Tags: Tommy x Reader, Joel x Reader, Tommy's Wife Reader, infidelity, emotional affair, slow burn (as much as you can get for 5 chapters), Tommy goes to jail, Reader has had a child

Warnings: prison, visitation, family stress, lots of tears

Notes: Shout out to @janaispunk and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for beta reading this and helping out with the details! Also shoutout to @saradika-graphics for the dividers!

Words: 3310

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Daily Clicks for Palestine & Other resources

You inhale deeply as you sit at the metal picnic table. Nathaniel bounces contently on your lap, taking in his surroundings. Families gather at each table, a low rumble filling the room. You glance down at your watch. The inmates are due any second, and Joel is supposed to be here too. Your eyes dart around the room at the families in the same boat as you. They all look a little different, consisting of different family components, but the same thing brought you all here.

Joel rushes in, the summer heat and job site filth evident on his skin and clothes. You wave him over to your corner table, feeling more relaxed to have him here. You’ve been able to talk to Tommy for an hour every week, but this is the first time you’ve gotten to see him since his sentencing.

“Hey,” Joel says, breathless as he slides in next to you. Nathaniel lets out an exuberant greeting, hands banging against the table. Joel chuckles. “Hello to you too, bud.”

“I thought you might not make it.”

“Cement guys were late.” Joel sighs, trying to brush the dirt from his shirt.

“Typical.” You mummer, earning a small chuckle from Joel.

“You good?” Joel places a hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m excited to see him.” You smile, kissing Nathaniel’s head.

A couple guards file in to stand watch. Then, a loud buzzing rings, and the other door opens. It feels cliche, like one of those law procedural shows on TV. The room goes silent as men in orange jumpsuits file in, hands cuffed in front of them. Their eyes scan the crowd for their loved ones. Slowly, the volume rises as families reunite. Tommy is one of the last ones through the door, but the moment your eyes land on him, you feel tension ease from your body.

You stand, waving to him. His eyes finally land on you, lifting with a happiness you haven’t seen in a while. He has a cut over his eyebrow. It looks a couple days old by now, a faint bruise still visible around it.

You’re allowed a brief hug. Nothing long enough to transfer forbidden items is the idea, not that you could’ve gotten anything in here with the security patting you down how they did.

He melts into your soft touch just a little like he did when he’d come back from his second tour. “Hey, Baby.” He smiles into your cheek, his lips skim your cheek as you pull away to avoid being yelled out.

Joel hugs him next with a big pat on the back. You can hardly keep your eyes off him, your hand drifting absentmindedly to Nathaniel’s shoulders. Your two-year-old stares at his father with a sense of familiarity. He looks up at you and then back to Tommy. “Daddy!”

Tommy’s head snaps over, smile instantly falling from his face. “What’s he doing here?”

“Tommy…”

“I told you not to bring him.” He snaps.

“He’s your son.”

“This ain’t no place for a child!” Tommy says. “You don’t see Joel bringing Sarah for a visit, now do you?”

“Sarah,” you say, pulling at all your self-restraint. “Had soccer camp today but she said to tell you hi. She was sad she couldn’t come.”

“I want you to get him out of here. Now.” Tommy insists, not backing down.

“Tommy-“ Joel tries to quell his brother’s rising temper.

“Is this really how you want to spend visitation? Fussing at me for bringing our son to see his father?”

“Get. Him. Out!” Tommy says, smoke blowing from his ears. One of the prison guards starts toward your group.

Tommy holds up his cuffed hands in silent surrender. The guard backs up with a warning glare.

“I don’t want him here,” Tommy says. “I made that clear.”

Confusion skirts your brow. Your Tommy, the one you know and love seems to be at war with the person he’s become during his short time behind bars.

“I’ll take him out,” Joel says, reaching out for Nathaniel. He accepts, sitting comfortably on his uncle’s hip. Joel pauses, giving Tommy a chance to change his mind, but he looks away.

You bite your lip. Joel sighs. “I parked next to you.”

You nod as he walks out with your son. Tommy sits down at the table. You sit across from him, mouth drawn in a tight line.

“What the fuck is going on with you?”

“He shouldn’t see me like this. You shouldn’t see me like this.”

“You fucked up, Tommy, but we’re still here. You really want to go two years without seeing your kid?”

“It’s not like he’ll remember,” Tommy says. You sigh in exasperation. A faint smile finds its way onto his lips. “It’s almost like old times. You upset with me.”

You choke out a humorless laugh. “This is nothing like old times.”

“No… I guess it’s not.” He sobers up.

You sigh, rubbing your temple. “Do you really not want him to come see you?”

Tommy nods, stuck in his resolve. “Don’t really want you here either.” A sly smile crosses Tommy’s face as he runs a finger over your knuckle without being caught. “Don’t like these other guys checking out my woman.”

You roll your eyes, helplessly falling for his flirting. “How progressive of you.”

You step into the Texas sun twenty minutes later, slipping your sunglasses over your eyes. You walk across the parking lot, following Nathaniel’s empty chatter to Joel’s pickup. Nathaniel busies himself in the back while Joel rests his forearms on the edge. You come up beside him, copying his stance. Nathaniel doesn’t notice you, too engrossed by the plethora of less-than-safe tools and scraps in the back of Uncle Joel’s truck. Your elbow touches Joel’s, the metal hot under your arms.

“Thanks for taking him.”

Joel nods. “Tommy really doesn’t want him to visit?”

“Nope.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“He’s your brother.”

“You married him.”

You let out a little huff of laughter, a half smile gracing your face, spreading to Joel’s. His deep laughter fills your body. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“Any regrets?” Joel kids, turning his head to you.

You laugh. “Never. I don’t live with regrets, Miller.” You nudge him with your shoulder, tapping the side of the truck. “Nate, it’s time to go. We have Sarah’s exhibition game.”

Your toddler turns around, hammer clutched in his hands. “Play!”

“Come on, kiddo. You can play with my tools another day. I got a whole garage full of ‘em,” Joel chuckles.

Nathaniel seems to contemplate the words for a minute before letting the hammer clatter to the bed of the truck. You cringe at the sound before your son reaches for you. Joel chuckles, making sure his items are secure as you pull Nathaniel into your arms.

“You don’t have to go, you know. Today has been a lot.”

“Of course, I’m gonna go, Joel. It’s Sarah.”

He smiles, knowing your role in her life goes above and beyond the duties of an aunt, but not knowing how to communicate his gratitude for it. “Save me a spot? I have to run back by the job site. I should make it for the second half.”

You can see him cringe as he says the words. You know he feels guilty about it. Sarah’s been talking about this since the start of soccer camp. “Of course.”

Sarah clocks Joel the moment he walks into the building, her attention is no longer on the coach who’s giving a mid-game pep talk, but on her father across the field. Joel shoots her two thumbs up and a massive grin before directing her attention back to her coach.

Joel slides onto the cool metal bleacher beside you, letting out a sigh of relief. “Thank god this thing is indoors this year.”

You nod remembering the blaring sun and burning metal bleachers from last year’s camp exhibition game. Your eyes narrow over Joel’s appearance. He seems even dirtier than he did an hour ago. “You take a dirt bath at the job site or something?” You reach over, patting some of the dirt from his shoulder.

“Something like that.” Joel chuckles.

Your thumb swipes away a smudge along his jaw. His jaw twitches under your touch. He playfully swats away your hand, capturing it with his own. “That tickles.”

“You’re filthy.”

“I didn’t really have time to shower on my way here.” He bumps against you lightly.

“Hence the dirt bath?” You grin, returning the bump, but this time your shoulder and thighs remain pressed against the other’s. His hand falls to your bare knee, hanging off of it. As the second half starts, Nathaniel climbs into your lap, eyes fluttering toward sleep.

For all the cheering you can’t do, Joel makes up for it, spending much of the game on his feet. It might only be an exhibition game and there might not be an official score, but it’s glaringly obvious that Sarah’s team is dominating with Sarah scoring two goals of her own. Joel is beaming.

“She looks amazing out there.” He says.

“She really does.”

“And she’s having a blast. Look at that smile.” Joel’s smile is just as big as his daughter’s, big enough to push away your own struggles of the day.

Sarah makes a break for the three of you as soon as she's dismissed. She drips with sweat, but her smile never fades as she goes on about every thought that went through her mind throughout the game and Joel hangs on every word.

Once Nathaniel rouses from his sleepy daze, he ropes Sarah into kicking the soccer ball around. Joel joins them on the field while you watch, your body coming down from the emotions of the day.

“Mrs. Miller?”

Your head snaps around. A woman about your age dressed in athletic wear smiles at you. You’re pretty sure she was one of the coaches.

“Yes?”

“Hi, I’m Coach Miranda. I lead Sarah’s unit this week.” She stretches out her hand.

You shake it, supplying your first name in return. “Nice to meet you. I know Sarah had a blast this week.”

“I enjoyed having her,” Coach Miranda says. “She’s a talented soccer player.”

You smile, pride swelling in your chest. She’s not your kid, but that parental feeling toward her is very much there. “She learned so much. Her dad and I were talking during the game about how much she’s improved this week.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” The coach rocks on her feet, briefly considering her words. “Look, I coach one of the travel teams in the area.” She hands you a brochure. “I know she’s still a couple years away from being old enough, but we put on a few camps and clinics throughout the year for kids her age.”

You flip through the brochure of information. “These look very… fancy.”

“We offer scholarships if money is your worry.”

“No- I mean, it’s pricey but… She’s six.” You finally manage something coherent. “She just turned six. It seems early to start anything this serious.”

“Your daughter is very talented, Mrs. Miller.”

“Oh- I-” You stumble over your words.

“Is everything okay?” Joel asks, joining you with Nathaniel on his hip.

“I was just telling your wife how talented Sarah is.”

“We’re not married.” You blurt out unceremoniously, face feeling flush. There were smoother ways to navigate this and you are missing each one.

The coach’s face flashes with confusion and embarrassment. “Oh- I’m sorry. I just assumed when I said Mrs. Miller…”

“I am,” You feel more flustered than is needed. Nathaniel reaches for you and you take him from Joel. “I’m not his Mrs. Miller. I mean-”

“She’s my sister-in-law.” Joel finishes for you and you sigh in relief. “Helps me out a lot.”

Coach Miranda nods, a slight red tinge to her cheeks from the embarrassment. “Got it,” she says, holding awkwardness in her frame.

“It’s okay,” you assure her. “I’ll let him know.”

She nods, excusing herself quickly.

“That was odd,” Joel says.

“Being mistaken for your wife? Or her behavior?”

“Her. The wife thing I understand.” Joel shrugs. “Guess she was embarrassed.”

“The wife thing you understand, huh?” You cross your arms, smiling pushing on your lips. “I’m sure your brother would love to hear that.”

Joel shakes his head. “Don’t think he’s interested in anything I have to say after today.”

You roll your eyes, not wanting to relive the day's earlier events. “Here.” You hand him the brochure. “Apparently the coach thinks Sarah should sign up for more camps.”

“These are pricey for a six-year-old.”

“That’s what I said. She just kept saying how good Sarah is.”

“Course she did. She was the best one out there.” Joel smiles proudly. He tucks the brochure into his back pocket without another thought. “The princess wants pizza tonight. Your little troublemaker agreed.”

“Wow, you gonna start blaming everything on my kid now, Miller?” You laugh.

“If the shoes fits.”

“Ironic considering you called Sarah the princess.”

Joel rolls his eyes, waving the kids over. “I’ll pick it up on our way home. Your place or mine?”

“Yours works. I’m sure Sarah needs a shower.”

“Works for me,” Joel grins.

Nathaniel jumps into your arms. Joel takes your purse and Sarah’s duffle and the four of you walk out hand in hand, looking very much like the family Sarah’s coach assumed you were.

Two Years Later

You’re two years into it, obeying the strict dress code, getting pat down by security guards, and brief touches and chaste kisses with your husband. You typically go alone, leaving Nathaniel with Joel or a sitter. Joel comes sometimes. Usually, he visits Tommy on his own time.

The visits have gotten shorter, more curt. Tommy has been more irritable. You chalk it up to being stuck in prison, but this most recent visit leaves your emotions fried. Tommy barely looked at you, hardly strung together more than a sentence or single-word response. He didn’t flirt with you, his signature grin nowhere to be seen.

You press your back to the back door as it shuts behind you. Squeezing your eyes tight, you do your best to will away the tears you shed on the drive home.

“That you, Darlin?” Joel calls, rattling around in your kitchen. “I was just about to put the steaks on the grill.”

You hear Nathaniel playing in the living room. You catch a sliver of Sarah’s ponytail, back hunched over the table presumably doing homework. You take a steadying breath, but your diaphragm shakes.

When you don’t respond, Joel peaks around the corner. His brow furrows as he takes in your defeated frame.

“Sarah,” he calls out. Your eyes open at his strong voice, locking eyes with him. “Keep an eye on Nathaniel for me. I need to go out to the garage for a couple minutes.”

“Okay.” She says, none the wiser to your appearance.

Joel takes your hand, tugging you forward just enough to get the door open before he propels you back into the garage. Your body feels like a limp noodle, helpless to do anything but let him lead you.

The door clicks shut. He cups your cheeks. His soft brown eyes laced with concern meet yours.

Your body eases into him, desperate and touch starved as you grab ahold of his soft shirt. Shaking your head, your whole body begins to tremble. Tears fall down your cheeks.

“Hey, it’s okay,” It’s a stupid thing to say and he knows it.

“No it’s not!” You shout. “My life’s a mess! It’s all a mess.” You devolve into a puddle of indistinguishable words and sounds.

Joel pulls you into his chest, supporting your weight as your knees threaten to crumble beneath you. “Shhh, I’ve got you.”

If he’s being honest, Joel isn’t surprised by the breakdown. He constantly watches as you try to hold it all together. He’s visited Tommy too. He’s seen the impact of prison and self-loathing on his younger brother.

His hand slides behind your neck, cool against your overheating flesh. His fingers play at the nape of your neck, soothing you as you soak his shirt. It’s an event the two of you have become overly familiar with. Joel’s arms represent stability in your unstable world.

Slowly, the tears dry and your chest stops shaking. Joel presses a long, firm kiss on your forehead. With one final deep breath, your heart rate returns to normal and you’re able to slowly pull yourself away from your brother-in-law.

He gives you a smile, brushing away your tears. Wiping your nose on the back of your sleeve, you manage a weak laugh. “I’ve been kind of a mess lately.”

“You?” Joel quirks a smile. “I haven’t noticed.”

A laugh clears your throat. “Thank you for everything.”

Joel shrugs. “It’s what you do for family, and ours is going through a lot right now.”

You nod, smiling through bloodshot eyes. “I really do appreciate you, Joel. I don’t think I could do this without you.”

Joel reaches out, fixing the sleeve on your shoulder. His fingers drift over your soft collar bone not enough for you to notice, but long enough for him to memorize the feel of it.

“Don’t think I could either, Darlin.” Joel forces a smile, masking his true feelings.

He doesn’t say how mad it makes him that Tommy has put you through this, or that you deserve better, or even hint that he would support you leaving his little brother even though he knows Tommy would be heartbroken. He can’t say any of it because if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. Joel isn’t sure what those feelings are yet, but he knows it’s so much more than one should feel for their sister-in-law.

“That’s not true.” You shake your head. “You did this long before I came along.”

“Maybe, but I think we make a pretty good team.” His chest tightens. That word doesn’t seem to encapsulate what you are to him. The words that do are inappropriate to use. You’re just two people brought together by their love of another person. Joel has repeated that sentence to himself more times than he cares to admit.

“Yeah. I suppose we do.” A smile finds its way to your face and you clear the last tears from your face. “How do I look?”

“Like you’ve been crying for an hour.” Joel chuckles, letting his finger run the length of your jaw. He’s pushing a line. He knows, but he can’t help it. These stolen moments are all he gets. “But amazing as always.”

“I swear you and your brother couldn’t tell a woman she looked bad if there was a gun to your head.”

Joel shrugs, putting his hands in his pocket to avoid doing something he may regret. “We were raised right.”

“Mhmm, that’s why my husband is in jail right now.”

Later that evening, you’re cleaning up from dinner, a drink within reach when Joel speaks up. “I think we should go on vacation.”

“We?”

“The four of us.”

You turn the idea around in your head. It would be nice. You can’t remember the last time you had a real vacation, probably before Nathaniel was born. “What were you thinking?”

Joel shrugs. “Just the beach. There’s this place we used to go when we were kids. I’ve been wanting to take Sarah.”

“You sure you’d want us to tag along?”

“Did we not just talk about this?” He steals a dish from your hand, placing it in the dishwasher. “We’re a team, and we could all use the break.”

“Yeah, It’s been a year… or two.”

“Try five.” Joel offers a weak smile. You return it. “I’ll call tomorrow. See what’s available.”

“Thank you.”

taglist: @pamasaur @alltheotps @rizzraa @moel-jiller @misstokyo7love @justagalwhowrites @pedritosgfreal @mellymbee @sarahhxx03 @lizzie-cakes @sixhours @duckybird101 @anoverwhelmingdin @nervoushottee

#joel miller #the last of us #tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tommy miller #tommy miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fic #high infidelity (joel miller)#ppcu fanfiction #pedro stories #pedrostories

286 notes · View notes

its-your-mind · 7 months

Text

Some Thoughts on the importance of physical touch and connection for the Hells: A reflection on the new animated intro.

In general, I think the Hells are a really strange and special group, especially for a dnd party. They pretty much laid all their baggage on the table within the first week of meeting each other (What the Fuck is Up With That?) almost as a litmus test: "hey, here's all the shit that comes with being me, last chance to run away if that's too much."

and none of them did. and they all kept choosing to stay, even as shit got even weirder and more and more disturbing answers came to light. I think that continued choice from all of them - to stay - is what makes the bonds between the Hells so deep and so special.

okay trauma analysis and party dynamics is a DIFFERENT POST but it was all RELEVANT INTRODUCTION bc the CHOOSING TO STAY and the KNOWING EACH OTHERS' SHIT are like. key components to understanding why I am so feral about this. okay hopefully you will understand. the body of my essay is below. it has pictures. it got... too long. so. it went under a read more. yw. anyway click below if you want a very detailed analysis of an animated intro that is literally only one minute and thirty seconds long

For the first bit, character intros for Fearne, Orym, Imogen, Ashton, there’s no physical contact.

BUT. First intro of hells as a team. Ashton Trauma Flashback interrupted by laudna approaching slowly from beside him with her hand gently in front of him to signal her presence without startling him, and THEN just talking at them. Bringing him out of those flashbacks. Reminding him where he is and who he’s with.

And tbh? For Ashton? Touch is always iffy, so this is almost a more understanding and kind way to bring them out of the flashback. Just physical presence is good! UNLESS. (unless) first actual touch. Fearne stealing their coin purse, so gently that they don’t even notice it (FLIRTING THROUGH THEFT callowmoore my beloved)

(also grabbed the cap that shows her with his coinpurse these fucking ANIMATORS)

okay pt 2 FLYING OFF THE AIRSHIP

Ashton's first instinct and priority is grab laudna’s hand bc he KNOWS she is made of paper mache and he is ALWAYS watching out for her out of the corner of his eye bc she is breakable and he’s not gonna let her break bc he KNOWS what it’s like to be breakable and need someone to catch you when you’re falling but ANYWAY. he grabs her he uses his hammer as a fulcrum to throw her at Imogen

because OF COURSE he knows that the safest and most comfortable space for laudna is in imogen’s arms. and the two of them wrap their arms around each other and hold tight Superman style bc ofc they do and once laudna is in imogen’s arms she’s absolutely delighted by this whole situation bc OFC SHE IS

(tf do you mean I can’t add more than ten images on mobile UGH fine I’ll finish writing then draft and move to PC the images are IMPORTANT TO MY POINT anyway insert lesbians here) (note from future mind: I have decided that these pic descriptions i left for myself to grab the right images are fucking hilarious so they’re staying in yw)

Then fearne (who had been on her way in that direction already) swoops under Ashton to catch him as he flips over from the momentum so he can land on her giant bird back and she can fly him away.

(Pics: It’s fine to touch Ash if you’re saving their life)

(also not pictured: chet staying on the ship but losing his hat, orym grabbing it out of the air, imogen casting fly on fcg right before she catches laudna, fcg flying over to grab orym) All of this happens in six seconds by the way. One round of combat. These animators are fucking incredible.

BACK TO CHARACTER INTROS laudna who is ofc alone and in the dark at the bottom of the Sun tree, reliving her past…

(Pic: sad lonely laudna)

right up until Imogen puts her head on her shoulder, and the darkness burns away into light. She doesn’t say anything, or talk with laudna - all it takes is that physical reminder that she’s not alone anymore, that there is warmth, that she is surrounded by a family who loves her so much they chose to turn down comfortable beds in a lord’s manor so that they could join her in sleeping at the bottom of the Sun Tree. (Fav lil detail - fearne wrapped around Orym like he’s a teddy bear, and holding tight to laudna’s blanket to make sure she can’t go anywhere.)

(Pics: THE POWER OF LESBIANS AND FOUND FAMILY)

fcg. Fuck. Starts with their flashback, with their red eyes and their buzzsaw, but almost immediately we see Ashton reach out to grab their shoulder and Orym whip out a vine to tie up their saw.

(pics: reaching out even if it might hurt youuuuu)

Imogen goes on her knees and wraps her arms around FCG’s other side, and the rest of them all gather around him, holding him to keep him and each other safe, but mostly just grounding him in the present by surrounding him physically until the flashback fades and he’s once more aware of his surroundings.

(Pics: what the fuck they just need to be held)

(once shit has calmed down fearne uses this opportunity to pick Ashton’s pocket again. Flirting through theft).

(Pic: fearne is a menace to society)

final fight scene. fuck yes.

(Pic: IT’S THURSDAY NIIIIIIIIIIIGHT)

This is mostly just giving all of them room to be badasses (as they deserve) - but there are some things!! First!!

(pics: THESE WITCHES BE BITCHES minus fearne sry fearne we miss u but you are on fire and laudna is made of wood currently)

Imogen and laudna casting spells back to back, trusting each other to take care of what’s on their side. Inseparable, even in a battle where their party has scattered to fight other enemies.

BUT. The BIG thing though in this sequence. Maybe my favorite part? Idk I don’t have a favorite. But!! Orym. taking out four of Otohan’s shadow knights. then facing off against her personally!! And it’s one-on-one, because this was Orym’s task alone - to find the person who attacked his leader and killed his family. He’s angry, but mostly he’s honed-in and focused and determined. This is his mission.

(Pics: WHO’S JUST A LIL GUY NOW HUH)

But then, when Otohan pushes him back…

(Pic: fuck. shit. fuck. im. fine. anYway. them.)

FCG and Ashton are there right behind him, and they put their arms out and catch him so he doesn’t fly back any farther. And there’s this look of surprise on his face, because once he lost Will, he never expected there to be anyone else standing behind him, ready to catch him. And yet, here they are.

(Pics: fuck yes fuck yes fuck yes GOOOO ORYM!!!)

They give Orym a push forward and follow behind him, and he walks back towards Otohan with confidence. Lil grin on his face, brisk walking pace - he even does a little fancy sword swoosh! Because maybe he’s not strong enough to take out Otohan on his own. But the thing is, he’s not alone anymore.

(Pic: THEY.)

None of them are alone. And whenever any of them forget, or slip into old habits and memories, the rest are right there to reach out a hand to remind them.

Building a family out of broken pieces is difficult even without an apocalypse. But the Hells have shown each other, over and over and over, often with their actions even more than their words, that they really are dedicated to this family that they've built together. This intro fucking slaps so hard and the animators deserve so much praise for how incredible this intro is

#Tbh I could (and probably will) write multiple essays on the new intro but this is the one I love the most #no I’m not touch-starved what are you talking about #critical role #bells hells #c3e76 #cr3 #c3 #cr3 spoilers #c3 spoilers #bells hells intro #ashton greymoore #laudna #fearne calloway #imogen temult #fcg #orym of the air ashari #chetney pock o'pea #bells hells animated

308 notes · View notes

universal-verringbebe · 4 months

Text

As an incentive for my last post, here's my most recent brain rot of the main LI which is food related:

Zayne:

That's husband material right there

He's going to make sure you're taking care of yourself whether you like it or not

He's the type to show up to your apartment with a full course meal, unasked just based on your last hospital report

Best believe you'd have the most delicious balanced meals

And if you question him, he'd tell you it was only for his most important patients

And you're literally the only name on that list

He's the type to watch you eat to make sure you've consumed every last bite

And if there's a component you're not a fan of , he's taking notes and doing his best to think of replacements

Vegetarian? Say less, we're bringing tofu, soy beans, mushrooms, etc to the table

You're allergic to seafood (like me), he's making sure there's only meat or veggies that won't hurt you and you would enjoy eating.

The type to watch you consume things just to see your reaction and catalogue what gives you the most satisfaction

He's willing to put aside his own tastes just for your enjoyment.

RAFAYEL:

Bro just want to spend time with you

He's doesn't care what you do as long as he's by your side

Anything you say you're in the mood for, bet

He's looking up the best restaurants that appeal to your cravings

Imagine you thinking you're going to pay for your meal

You're sick for that, he's actually offended you would ever consider spending a penny

Tf is the point of making the art he does if he's not going to use the money to spend on all your foodie needs

You never have to to worry about eating too much

He just enjoys you enjoying eating and liking new things

But if you're allergic to seafood (like me) he's questioning if he can connect with you with his favorite dishes

Can he let the shellfish go for you?

Might as well give you up to onichinus and wait for your next life

Xavier:

He's along for the ride

The type to keep to himself until you say you want to travel

There's a place you saw in social media that has good food? Say less

He's taking you there even if he doesn't see the appeal

Just so he can see the adorable face you make when you get what you ordered

He compares it to other cuisine he's had in the past and promises to take you to where the dish originates

Might start getting sleepy during the meal which you mistake as the itis but it's just him needing to recharge

He'll say he'll make it up to you with his own cooking

You feel fear.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace xavier #im high key drunk and just imagining stuff #also im hungry #need to gobble them up

175 notes · View notes

the-broken-truth · 1 year

Text

Leaving The Web [Part 5 - Finale] - Platonic Yandere Miguel O'Hara w/ Daughter Symbiote Spider Reader

Summary: The situation has escalated to a critical point. You and Venom have grown tired of Miguel's meddling and are prepared to confront him decisively. A confrontation ensues between Venom and Miguel, but the question remains: can the symbiote control its murderous impulses, or will it result in the loss of the Spider-Society's leader?

The Leader of the Spider-Society was taken aback by the thunderous footsteps approaching him. Two massive arms, locked together, were raised high in the air with a menacing snarl. The arms came crashing down at an alarming speed, causing Miguel to swiftly dodge out of the way. The impact of the components caused the concrete roof to crack, but it did not break. Miguel was then faced with Venom, who let out a loud roar before pursuing him with his claws locked in position. Miguel managed to escape by jumping off the building and swinging away using his red webs. Venom followed closely behind, utilizing his black webs to keep up.

"Be careful, V, I have a feeling that Miguel is going to try to lead us o the Portal where he came from." [Name] said from the depths of Venom's mind.

"We know, we're counting on it. We have a plan in case he brings us there and we hope he leads us to where he comes from. Hopefully, there's an audience of Spider-People, watching their leader get beaten by the beings he abandoned." Venom told [Name] with a smile, causing his host to smile at the thought of beating Miguel in front of his people, showing them not to approach herself or Venom.

Miguel swung until he reached the top of another building - where a portal to Earth-928 was waiting - soon enough Venom arrived at the top of the building and glared at Miguel with a smile on his face; that smile scared Miguel but he wasn't going to show it.

"Venom, this is your last chance - come with me peacefully or I will take you and [Name] back home by force." Miguel threatened but Venom started laughing with his long tongue waving around like a whip before it slithered back into his mouth and he spoke.

"You really think you can scare us? We have been alone for the longest time, Miguel, and now we have a home here; the fact you can't understand how much damage you have done to us shows how pathetic of a Father you really are. This is your last chance - leave our universe and never come back...or we shall break you and throw you back in that portal." Venom warned as he pointed at Miguel who shook his head and started running at the large symbiote and jumped to kick Venom in his face, but he grabbed Miguel's leg and started smashing him into the ground over and over again before throwing him off of the roof and chased after him.

Miguel lifted his hand to shoot a web but the air in his lungs was knocked out when Venom's Feet plowed into his stomach, ending the 2 of them crashing into the ground, Venom stomped on Miguel before he jumped off him and landed in a crouch. Miguel groaned as he turned on his stomach and pushed himself off the ground before weakly standing and looking at Venom, who rose to his full height once again; Miguel wiped the blood leaking from his mouth as he looked at the large creature.

"Mija...please...don't let Venom control you..." Miguel tired but his pleads were met with a punch to his stomach and another to his face that sent him flying into a cafe window, causing the people who shriek in horror as Miguel crashed into the wall behind the counter. Miguel tried to move but a black web connected with his chest and yanked him out of the wall, out of the building, and back onto the street before he was punched upward; Miguel went flying until he landed on the surface of a flat roof, groaning in pain as rips in his suit tried to reform themselves but there was a malfunction in his suit that prevented them from closing - his mask faded once again and he coughed up blood once again as Venom jumped up to the top and grabbed Miguel from behind and lifted him off the ground, forcing him to face him.

"[Name]... Mija... Please, come back to me..." Miguel said in his weak voice as he lifted his hand to try and touch Venom's face but the face of Venom moved away from his touch and revealed [Name's] angered face. "Mija... Please...come home."

"How long is it going to take before it sinks in? We. Am. HOME! Venom and I belong here and I won't let you take us away from the home we have built with the people who care for us - people who love us; sure I love and miss the others but I love being here more with Venom. Now, your body can barely move, your suit is destroyed and I will send you back home but the next time you come here; your brain will end up in our stomach." [Name] said as the mask reformed on [Name's] Face to the Face of Venom as the massive symbiote jumped from building to build until they reached the top of the building where the portal was, Venom looked at Miguel's broken body before tossing him in the portal, causing the portal to close behind Miguel. Venom exhaled and returned control to [Name], causing his body to get smaller to Spider-Woman's Body.

"You okay, V?" [Name] asked.

"I should be asking you that. You went through a lot before You and Me became We but now that we are the way we are and we shared memories. [Name], I am grateful for what you said, thank you, my friend." Venom said.

"You're my best friend, V, thanks for dealing with Miguel. I really needed that." [Name] said as she walked over to the edge of the building and swung away, "So, what do you want to have for dinner tonight?"

"I'll let you pick," Venom said.

"Then I want baked chicken and salad." [Name] smirked.

"NO SALAD! I HATE THAT!" Venom said.

"We need to keep the body healthy; we'll have chocolate for dessert." [Name] said.

"Fine!" Venom groaned.

With a chuckle, [Name] and Venom swung off into the sunset of their world, their universe, without Miguel O'Hara.

#spiderverse #yandere miguel o'hara #daughter reader #spider!reader #venom symbiote #female reader

492 notes · View notes

averghast · 11 months

Text

Crowley was originally the angel Kokabiel and here's why:

Just looking at this definition of Kokabiel, we know two things: 1.) that they were the angel in charge of the stars, and 2.) the ended up falling. This screams Crowley, as in the first episode of season two we are shown Crowley in his angel form literally creating the stars. He also has a map of the stars in his hand, including all the constellations.

When the galaxy comes alive, Crowley is ecstatic! But when Aziraphale asks if he had done it all himself, he says "Ah, well, I mean, more or less. I wasn't... I wasn't, um... I wasn't the original concept designer, but I worked very closely with the upstairs on it," The "upstairs" in question being God.

Continuing on this theory, Crowley then explains that what he's created is a "star factory" and then launches into teaching Aziraphale about the creation of stars and constellations--much like Kokabeil was known for.

Once Crowley is let on that the "upstairs" is going to shut everything down in about 6,000 years, Crowley is mostly upset that his stars would die. He doesn't know earth by it's name, as he would most likely never have concerned himself with anything other than stars, and when he's told that his stars are only there for humans to just look at, he gets upset and ultimately starts questioning God--a slippery slope after all, because how much trouble can you get in for asking a few questions?

Well, a lot, apparently. Crowley becomes a fallen angel, like Kokabiel, and as we see towards the finale, he still has enough power to open up Gabriel's classified documents--something only a very powerful angel could do. This would align with Crowley being Kokabiel, since Kokabiel was the angel behind creating the universe and all it's stary components.

Not to mention that Crowley has dropped hints about his true name throughout the show, constantly bringing up that they could runaway together to somewhere in the universe both heaven and hell can't find them, or to alpha centuari--a star system in the universe. This hints that Crowley knows places in the universe that others do not (since he created it), and his desire to run away into the stars is just setting up reveal it is because they are of his own creation as an angel.

#good omens #good omens 2 spoilers #go2 spoilers #go 2 speculation #ineffable husbands #good omens season 2 #go2 #crowley #good omens season two #gos2 spoilers #aziracrow

404 notes · View notes

scarletevening · 8 months

Text

𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐬𝐞𝐞 [ 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄 ]

𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟔 | 𝗼𝗯𝗷𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗳𝗶𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 + 𝗺𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 |

cw: suggestive, foul language, yandere [obsessive, controlling, possessive], pet names, teasing, suspicion, jealousy, man-handling fem!reader.

notes: objectification is the act in which a person is valued less than a person; an object. marking is an act of possessiveness, in which one is covered in marks from another.

𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄 was like a hawk when it came to you. never taking his eyes away, never letting you leave his sight, never letting anything, let alone anyone, near you. he knew everything about you, he knew your every routine.

he knew how much you loved to snuggle up to him when he came back from a meeting, when he sat you on his lap kissing up to him as he gave you a faux glare of irritation, the hand on your waist tightening as he listened to you ramble about work.

about that damn coworker of yours.

oh, did he hold the door open for you? well, scaramouche holds every door open. did he give you some lunch? you're going out for lunch with him every day now.

you were his. end of story, so why the fuck were you bringing this pathetic man up in your shared home? his mind seethed in irritation, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you, analyzed you. your little work outfit, the one that you happily spun around in this morning to show him, was just tiniest bit crumpled. but why would that be? no component of your job would lead to your skirt being brought down to just barely cling to your hip.

as you babbled, smiling and giggling up at him as you awaited his reaction, scaramouche couldn't help as his brows furrowed, cruel glare as he nit-picked every part of your appearance, your slightly frizzy hair, you. he almost enjoyed as you squirmed under his gaze, your manicured nails picking at each other as you timidly whispered his name.

archons, your voice was more than enough for him to act.

a brutal hand constricted around your neck, dragging you to the couch only a meter away as you whimper as the painful sting. you whimper, confused as your feet struggle to walk properly, body submitting to his force as scaramouche forces his knee between your thighs, sharp teeth sinking into the supple flesh of your neck.

his lips twisted into a sick grin, enjoying your whines of confusion and pleasure, all mixed into a blur as he bit sucked and kissed at your skin, grazing his teeth across your neck. he descended to your collarbones, murmuring and growling into your skin, his free hands groping and squeezing you all over.

"you're my little toy."

his voice was harsh, his bitter anger seeping into his action as he bit hard enough for you to push at his shoulders. he cooed and laughed, only digging into your skin even more, the chuckle followed by jealous rage,

"what? don't like it? want that bastard from work to do it instead?"

an ugly show of satisfaction filled his face as he watched your eyes widen, immediately defensive as you argued against him,

"good girl," he sighed, lapping over the skin that was brilliantly blushing, "tomorrow, show them, who's fucking toy you are." scaramouche enjoyed your pathetic panting, your feeble attempts to ask him,

"either wear something that shows these fucking hickies,"

he growled, smirking as he nibbled at the curve of your neck,

"or i'll fuck you like the toy you are in front of all your co-workers."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BSF I LUV U SM MUA MUA MUA I WOULDNT BE HERE WITHOUT YOUR PROOFREADING <333

im making a full of this to post on ao3 !!

༒︎ 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫; 2023 ༒︎