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theoldsports · 1 month

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SHITHEAD.

Art Donaldson x Reader.

warnings: a lot of them. 18+, slapping, begging, major angst, brat!Art, an argument with make up sex. Art is really manipulative because… he is a bit and we all know it. [Y/N] is very ill-tempered too. it’s dirty.

can be a part ii to SPONTANEOUS, or read as a standalone. this is my favorite piece of writing i have published on this account.

The bed was empty beside [Y/N]. She stared at Art’s empty side of the bed. The soft green sheets and mix-matched pillowcases went unoccupied. Not because he wasn’t home, but because [Y/N] hated Art so he had to sleep downstairs on the couch.

It wasn’t that she really hated Art. She did hate him right now. Not in a funny way. Their drive home had been silent. Poor Art didn’t know how to facilitate conversation that wouldn’t worsen the situation. His sorrowful eyes, but honest eyes kept glancing from the road to where [Y/N] sat in the passenger seat. The real showdown had started between them something awful when the door to their house slammed shut.

See, Art cried when he got mad. Or sad. Or profoundly excited. Their wedding photos were two-thirds Art crying and trying not to show that he was crying.

Art hadn’t cried tonight yet. That pissed [Y/N] off. She was furious and he seemed to feel absolutely zero discernible feelings about that.

They argued all the time. It rarely lasted all too long.

It was different this time. When [Y/N] started to say something cruel or shout or weep, Art got a little smaller, but he alarmingly stood his ground. He averted his gaze and said “I respectfully disagree,” or “What the fuck do you know about how I feel?” in a dangerously level tone.

Fighting with Art about this wasn’t fun. He was too cool about. He knew he was right. [Y/N] wanted to yell and scream because Art was so relaxed and condescending in his tone. When the man who had spent his teenage years getting referred at competition after competition as literally Ice tonelessly said: “Jesus Christ, aren’t you bored yet? What, going to over-explain the same information to me again, or…?” Finally, that had made [Y/N] drag herself to bed and yank the door closed violently enough that she felt the metallic vibration run all the way up to her shoulder.

And she was still laying there, staring at Art’s side of the bed.

At the Zweig’s party that night, there were a few hot topics in the Donaldsons’ sphere:

1) Lots of congratulations from people that had known them grow up, but hadn’t seen them since the wedding or prior.

This was mostly very kind. It dragged that smirk up Art’s face and caused his fingers to dig tighter into [Y/N]’s waist. That look of pride and tenderness on his face was more than welcome.

2) Lots of questions about Patrick. His lack of attendance was felt.

Both Donaldsons dodged these question as much as they could. Art kept an eye on [Y/N]’s liquor consumption. He knew how embarrassed she would be if she said something she regretted in front of Patrick’s family. Patrick had hurt them both, but Art’s heart went out to [Y/N]. Her world had been built around Patrick’s from a young age. Art was trying to engineer his own world higher around her so she wouldn’t be able to see the old place and people that had burned her over the walls.

3) “You’re married. When are we going to be seeing a little Donaldson running around?”

With Art keeping an eye on [Y/N]’s drinking, she hadn’t really been keeping an eye on him. She just assumed he would keep his shit together. Art drinking in public was never really a concern. He wasn’t a big drinker anyway. At this point, his career mattered more and he was approaching his mid-twenties which made him feel surely less young than he had once. He wasn’t a casual beer guy either. It was Patrick who liked beer and Art who would have a moledo or something sometimes. Art did like white girl drinks, though. Tequila and fruity stuff. He had been able to shoot shot after shot of vodka like a pro in college at a season-end celebration.

Art was a tight-lipped man, but he was a giggly drunk who he got pretty comfortable talking out of his ass from behind a glass with an umbrella in it. Art was rarely comfortable with anything, so a drink or two at a party was welcome to him.

Another important point of context is that the largest point of tension between Art and [Y/N] was starting a family. They desperately wanted a child together, but they disagree on when. [Y/N] felt like she was fresh out of college, so she figured they had plenty of time. Art felt that he was fresh out of college, so he figured they may as well get to it.

Their arguments about this were once semi-regular. In the last four months or so, Art timidly bowed out and hoped [Y/N] would tell him when she was ready (sooner rather than later). He got tired of the low-tier shouting matches. Instead, he would pick fights about things that were decidedly lower stakes when he was bored.

Art had let [Y/N] field comments about family planning throughout the night. Unfortunately, when Art was polishing off a second drink, he ran his mouth a little bit.

Knowing he was the designated driver that night, Art did go easy. Art was also, like, five pounds. While he could hold his liquor with grace, he always got giggly. He watched with heavy eyelids as [Y/N] walked away to collect another drink following the dinner portion of the evening. The paper placecards with their shared last name emblazoned on them rested comfortably in Art’s inner jacket pocket to be kept as a memory.

Some guy who sold boat insurance and liked to rub elbows with talent was talking Art’s ear off. Art couldn’t remember his name, but [Y/N] would know it.

This was the precise moment that got Art in trouble.

Because when the guy whose name Art was sure started with an R said: “So! You’re married. When are we going to be seeing a little Donaldson running around?”

Art said:

“Any day now, I hope. Tomorrow. I’m good to go. [Y/N] thinks now’s not a great time for her.”

He had said it with a smirk and a stupid little laugh. It was basically locker room talk. Big deal. He would’ve said it to Patrick with [Y/N] present in the room. This guy wasn’t Patrick and he was technically speaking behind her back.

Art had forgotten how close they were standing to the bar. He had forgotten that the frequency of his pitchy tenor was known to carry. He had forgotten that he was well known to be an instigator of fights even though he never actually threw the first punch. He had forgotten that he hadn’t been whispering. He had forgotten that this guy… Richy? Ronnie? was pretty much a stranger who had no business knowing their business.

Now, Art was sleeping on the couch and his side of the bed was empty.

Jackass.

[Y/N] stared still at the empty bed and didn’t know how to articulate her upset to an Art who had seemingly yet to feel ashamed.

She had a headache and was tired. But sleep wasn’t going to come easy and all she had to look forward to was a hangover.

Art didn’t really snore, but he was a heavy breather when he slept. The lack of his white noise made the A/C blowing and the stairs creaking too loud. Maybe all of this was on [Y/N] for making Art uncomfortable, she dared to think.

Then she reminded herself that it was Art’s fault for talking too much and for drinking when he knew he was supposed to drive home.

[Y/N] rolled over to face away from Art’s spot. All she could think about is how his hands always sleepily pawed at her to pull her back when she got too far away from him before he fell asleep.

“So, what’d you do?” Patrick asked.

“She hates me.” Art replied. It was almost a question.

“I asked what you did, not what she feels. She already told us what she feels and it’s that she hates you.” Patrick stated. When Patrick had stopped through town for a match, he had come by for dinner with, well, his best friends. This had been right after they’d gotten engaged.

Art sniffled. He didn’t want to cry in front of Patrick. Art would sooner cry in front of his own father. Both men would have laughed in his face, but it would have stung more from Patrick. “We got into a fight yesterday. A big one. Like, the first, uh, big one. She’s worried about the f—“

“The future? Please,” Patrick said bitterly. He frowned and his jaw tightened, but he combatted it by tossing Art a smile before the other man noticed the tension. “Stupid. You’re gonna marry her. You’ll play tennis. She’ll do her… columns? Articles. I don’t get what it is that she does—“

“She writes for—“

“Sure, yeah. You’re gonna have two kids so you can each pick a favorite one. And she’s gonna be a pain in your ass forever. Don’t be a pussy.”

Art sniffled again and stared at the floor. “I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I didn’t think I did,” Art said meekly. “I don’t get it. She gets so mad sometimes. At me.” Patrick stared at him blankly. Art had to know that he was usually at least a little bit the problem.

“Did she do the thing where she calls you a—“

“Shithead bastard?”

“Shithead bastard.” Both boys said at the same time. Art dragged his hands through his hair and looked up at Patrick. Both of them quirked a smirk at the other.

“See,” Patrick started. “You’ll be fine. Fuckin’ go after her.”

“And say what!”

“Uh… ‘I’m sorry?’ You do that kinda shit. She’ll like that.”

It was impossible to know how long [Y/N] laid there. The clock was on Art’s side and she would get spitting mad if she rolled back over.

She could just go downstairs and tell Art to come back to bed. He was probably sleeping just fine.

“Hey, hon, you don’t hate me, right?” Art’s voice whispered in the darkness.

[Y/N] was fairly certain she had imagined it. She had not heard his sweaty feet on the stairs or his fingers against the doorknob. Quickly, [Y/N] whipped over to face the door behind her.

There was Art. His sweatpants sat low on his hips and his shirt was long gone. Clothing didn’t often survive the night on Art’s back.

Really, she couldn’t help but wonder how long it had taken Art to work through coming upstairs so quietly. “Mm?” [Y/N] groaned in question.

Art rocked his right shoulder into the doorway to lean. His arms were crossed and his eyes straight ahead on her from what [Y/N] could tell in the glow of the hallway’s thermostat. “Please just tell me you don’t hate me and I’ll let you go back to sleep. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

With a sigh, [Y/N] sat up and rolled her cracking shoulders back. “I don’t hate you, Art.” Her heart melted a little bit. [Y/N] knew it was immature, but her special attack in arguments since childhood was to bandy around the word hate a lot. Not that she had said it to Art tonight, but she had no doubt said it before. More than once. More times than she could count, maybe.

She was surprised Art had never asked this before. That surprise hurt in an a way that was too complex to describe. “I could never hate you.” [Y/N] continued, voice hushed only because it was dark out.

Art’s posture relaxed slightly. “You promise you don’t?” Said Art’s evermore crippling lack of self-confidence.

“I promise.” [Y/N] replied calmly.

“Okay. Thank you.” Art said in a small voice.

“I love you, baby. I don’t hate you. You shouldn’t have to ask that. I’m sorry I made you feel like you even have to ask that.”

Art frowned sharply. “No, I’m the one that should be sorry. You told me nicely not to talk about—“

“Don’t play that. You have to know you don’t feel like you did anything wrong, so you don’t have to invent a situation where you’re some horrible person.”

Art was silent.

[Y/N] continued. “I’m pissed because you told Randy,” RANDY. His name was RANDY. That’s it. “Our business. My business, really. He’s an asshole. It’s fine. Well, not now, but eventually. But you kinda martyred yourself on it. You don’t have to do that and I don’t hate you. You know I don’t… Right?”

“I’m sorry.” Art said quickly. He was gifted at making every single minor problem his own fault. He knew he was a little bit of an awful person for that, but he would die before admitting it. Art would hide behind his martyring habit as long as his cross could hold him, though. [Y/N] hadn’t noticed before this moment, but she could see the shining of his eyes in the digital blue-green glow. Tears. This time, less than obvious waterworks. Aw.

“I’m sorry. I’m still pissed at you for running your mouth, but I’m sorry too.”

Art nodded, said nothing else and reached for the doorknob.

Here is a frustrating thing about Art.

He said he was going to leave for downstairs once [Y/N] said she didn’t hate him. He started to make good on that vow. If he says something, he’s going to do it, even though he doesn’t have to do it.

“Come on,” [Y/N] called louder than she’d been whispering. “Come here, pretty baby.”

Pretty Baby by Blondie had been their wedding song. She had been calling him that for almost as long as she had known him. Saying it, or hearing the song always made that stunning, small crooked smile stretch up beyond his sad puppy eyes all the way to his ears.

Art’s kryptonite was pretty baby. They both knew it.

He turned to look at her with a slight blush on his cheeks, almost visible in the dark. Art shifted one of his feet childishly over the other in apprehension.. “Don’t make me say it again. I don’t like to ask twice.” [Y/N] reminded him.

After a hasty nod, Art was in bed before he [Y/N] blinked. The blonde sat bolt upright beside [Y/N] with his eyes wide. Hesitant, but coyly so. He knew this pattern. The agony and shame from her brutality would only last so long. Housepets loved to cause trouble for treat.

Not to say that Art liked to start fights so he could play some low-status lapdog that got to feel his wife’s fingers comb through his hair the way he liked as a reward for an apology. The man bit his cheek to avoid a devious smirk. A part of him did like to do that sometimes, though.

He always got away with it. He was such a nice boy.

[Y/N] rolled her eyes and leaned back into the threadbare pillows. With a finger, she beckoned Art nearer. Hesitation eliminated, Art flopped slowly down beside [Y/N]; she on her back, he on his side, facing her. Delicately, Art’s fingers dragged down [Y/N]’s arm to curl in her fingers.

Not long after that, his plush mouth climbed down from her neck. Then shoulders and collarbones. Then bicep. Elbow. Forearm and wrist. Down her hand to her silver-studded ring finger. Each kiss with accompanied with an honest and dutiful I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. He was sorry. Genuinely. Sorry for the upset he brought his wife, but not the cause. Art’s beautiful duel-colored eyes glanced up at [Y/N]’s blown pupils through her own fingers.

“I didn’t mean to talk about you like that… I just… I love you so much that I want more of you. That’s all, honey,” Art laid his head on [Y/N]’s upper chest and his mouth moved against the front of her throat. “I’m just a little stupid, huh…”

Under his lips, Art could feel the rumble of a laugh rip through [Y/N]’s throat. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair to hold him in place. “Do-don’t talk about yourself like that,” she mumbled and gave his hair a lovely tug with both hands. He whimpered. [Y/N] wanted to bottle that sound. Art would always remember what she said next and how she said it: “Only I get to talk about you like that… St-stupid.”

This was the version of [Y/N] he was going to remember when he thought of her every day for the rest of his life. That sentence, the way her hair hung from where he had pushed it away from her neck. The sting of the cold metal from her wedding ring on the back of his neck and the stone of her engagement ring pressing into where he reached his palm to place his hand over hers. There was just the wrong amount of clothes between them. Her eyes ringed smoky from the makeup smudges and the exhaustion.

“Say it again.” Art whispered, swinging a knee over [Y/N]’s thighs so he could stare down at her. His forehead pressed softly against [Y/N]’s.

[Y/N]’s mouth fell open slightly with a breathy exhalation. Holy shit. “What, pretty baby, you want me to tell you how stupid you are? You like that?” [Y/N] almost whispered into Art’s still lips. He was too shocked to kiss her back, but too turned on to pull away. Art whimpered louder than before. [Y/N] felt him nod.

So she didn’t hold back. “You think I need to punish you after you behaved like that today or something? You need to atone for what a moron you were, shithead?” [Y/N] kept her tone light enough to just about tease as her nose trailed along the side of his. Her objective was to belittle. Her nails slid down Art’s muscular, sturdy back.

They both knew Art was a masochist on his worst days. Did he get off on being degraded sometimes? Sure. But this series of events was ridiculously new and exciting for [Y/N]. And shockingly obviously for Art too.

His hips pressed into her pathetically. “What? Did you need help with something?” She asked innocently when she felt Art’s hard-on against her thigh. [Y/N] kissed him distractingly warmly for how she was treating him. Art’s head spun and he couldn’t seem to make sense of anything anymore. He had backed himself into the best kind of corner.

Across Art’s hips and side went [Y/N]’s left hand, to the front of his sweatpants. Humiliatingly, Art blinked tears out of his eyes and screwed them shut. His mouth opened and closed, but no intelligent sound came out. [Y/N] planted a kiss at the corner of his parted lips. His strong arms boxed [Y/N] protectively in from above, but she had him locked into place, really. “Baby, if you want something, you know you have to ask for it.”

“Nnh,” Art tried, eyes stuck shut. His attention was mostly spent hold himself up over his wife. His insanely gorgeous wife. [Y/N]’s other hand grabbed his jaw tenderly. He still didn’t look at her. Art was gathering his courage. “Yo-you already told me I couldn’t have what I wanted.”

With a sharp inhale, [Y/N] grip went from gentle to nonexistent. At the lack of contact, Art’s damp eyes crept open one at a time to see if his brattiness had overstepped the situation. His frightened eyes caught [Y/N]’s. She popped the side of his face sharply with an open palm. Art blinked and tipped his head to the side like a dog.

That was big trouble, huh?

“Fuck,” he said. Both of them panted in sync. “I’m sorry.” He meant it.

[Y/N] pulled Art’s face to hers and kissed him hard. “I love… you.” She said.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson #challengers movie

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strawberrysturniolo · 5 months

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goal // hockey!chris

summary: your boyfriend gets in a fight during his hockey game

part two

“SHIT!” I scream as the opposing team launches the puck into the goal. With some miracle, it’s pulled to the side goalpost, keeping the score at 2-2.

I relax in my seat with my best friend sitting next to me, her tension releasing just as much as mine, maybe more, considering her boyfriend is the goalie.

I watch as my boyfriend skates back onto the ice, tapping his stick three times to get my attention.

I love you.

I smile at him, watching as he races across the ice and steals the puck from his opponent.

In retaliation, that player slams Chris into the boards in front of me. My eyes widen at the sound of the impact, but my boyfriend skates backwards unscathed.

“We still on for dinner tonight?” he asks me in the middle of his game.

I nod, trying my best not to distract him.

We met when my best friend took me to her boyfriend's hockey banquet. It was hard not to be captivated by Chris. He checked all the right boxes and captured my attention with ease. I wanted to know everything about him.

We talked the whole night, then hung out in groups until we finally had the courage to go on a proper date. He kissed my cheek when he dropped me off at my apartment across our college campus, a complete sweetheart in the palm of my hands.

We started dating after a few months, taking everything really slow, especially with the chaos of our own college schedules and him having to travel for his games.

Chris skates next to his brothers, Sturniolo stitched into three jerseys standing next to each other as their coach speaks with them during their timeout.

I look at Chris’ hand, sticking out behind him. He has his hand out with his middle and ring finger down, signing I love you.

“You guys are just too cute, aren’t you?” my best friend teases me.

My cheeks burn red, a smile on my face that I can’t shake off.

A power play is set up right next to where we’re sitting. I always find this so interesting. I can hear everything the players say to each other.

“Who’s little girlfriend is there in the green?” someone says.

I know they’re talking about me, so I immediately scan Chris’ face to see what he says. He doesn’t respond, but his jaw is locked and his eyes are burning into the other player.

I watch Chris’ brother, Matt, charge into our view, stealing the puck away and attempting to shoot. It’s another lost cause. This goalie has saved the last 10 shots.

“Oh, Jesus,” my friend groans. “Look at Chris.”

I scan the ice for my boyfriend, finding the number 3 and following his every move. He follows the player with the last name Hart like a shark. I can’t hear anything, but I can see the anger on Chris’ face, and the humor on Hart’s. Finally, I watch Chris hit his breaking point.

With seven minutes left in the game, Chris races across the ice to Hart, despite the fact that his other brother, Nick, is already playing defense on him. Chris slides in front of his brother, cross-checking Hart.

“Are you kidding me?!” I hear a shout from behind me.

Eventually, the area around us erupts in cheers. Students from our school rise on their feet, jumping up and down, cheering on Chris as he picks a fight.

Sticks are thrown, and the referees stand in shock as Chris lays sprawled on top of Hart, regaining his balance before throwing punches at his helmet.

My heart is pounding, but I know better than to react and embarrass him. He knows how to be safe on the ice, and he knows his limits way better than I do. Not to mention, everyone loves Chris. Our school gathers just for him and his brothers, cheering them on at every game. The last thing I want is to embarrass him or his reputation.

“I’LL KILL YOU!” Chris roars, and at that, the referees finally get involved. It’s useless. While two referees hold onto him, another player from the opposing team runs up to defend Hart, throwing a punch at Chris’ jaw.

“Hey!” I find myself jumping up and yelling. I watch as the blood starts to pour from Chris’ nose, and now that there’s blood involved, I feel every bit of anxiety bubbling up in my chest. “Someone do something!”

Chris continues to get nailed, slurring out profanities as he expresses his anger.

“Do NOT talk about her!” he screams one last time as he’s dragged off the ice, his brothers eyeing down everyone else in case it’s their turn to throw a punch.

“Christopher Sturniolo, five minute penalty for fighting,” an announcer says over the speaker, repeating the same spiel for Hart.

I grab my bag and stand from the bleachers. “I’m gonna go meet him outside the locker room.”

I say goodbye to everyone and head to the locker room, wanting to know more about this fight, but more importantly, that he’s okay.

About 20 minutes later I see Chris walking with his coach, his nose mixed with some fresh and some dried blood. When his coach notices me standing outside of the locker room, picking at my fingers, he says, “I’ll see you tomorrow at practice.”

Chris nods, walking right past me and into the locker room. I’ve already seen everyone else leave, so I know it’s safe to go in, but seeing that he completely ignored me, I don’t think a few guys in there would be enough to keep me from entering.

“So you’re just picking fights and ignoring me now?” I scoff.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbles, tearing his padding off and shoving it into his hockey bag.

I watch as he pulls his shirt off, his toned back facing me.

I find myself becoming embarrassingly distracted and forgetting what I’m actually in here for.

“Do you still want dinner?” I ask quietly, my voice timid.

Chris sighs and places his hands on the sides of his locker, the muscles in his back tensing. “Where do you want to go?”

I shrug even though I know he can’t see me. It’s like I’m too nervous to say anything in case he gets mad at me over something that happened during the game.

When I don’t answer, he turns around, finding nothing but concern painted all over my face.

He sighs again, this time one that tells me that he’s sorry without actually saying it. His arms wrap around me, his bare chest bracing my clothed one. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles into my hair as he kisses my head.

“What happened?”

He breathes out a laugh, tossing his shirt into his locker. “Johnny Hart happened, that piece of shit.”

I don’t ask for more information. The dam has now broken and I know the water carrying the information is going to come flooding in.

“He’s known for being a top tier trash talker, but it takes it way too fucking far,” he tells me. “I mean, talking about my family, my girlfriend–Fuck!”

I flinch at the sound of him shouting. “What did he say about me?”

He shakes his head.

“Tell me,” I plead.

“No!” he shouts again. “God, just– Go wait outside. I’ll be out in a minute and we can go get something to eat.”

“I want to know what he said!”

“He’s a dick! Go wait outside,” he demands, but my feet are planted to the floor. I refuse to back down. “Are you seriously going to do this?”

“Yes!” I argue.

“Fine!” he gives in. He takes a deep breath. “He was just saying disgusting things about you the whole time. Talking about your legs, how he wanted to see what you had under your pants.” I watch as his jaw tightens again. “He said he wanted to see if he could make you wetter than I can. That he would take you after the game and pin you against his car… Is that enough for you?”

I can see his face turning red, his anger bleeding out of him. It’s at this moment that I can also see that his face is still a bloody mess, and that matters more to me than what some idiot on the other team has to say about me.

Without a word, I walk to the sinks, grab a rag that has been folded up and get it damp with warm water. I motion for Chris to sit down on a bench in front of his locker, and when he does, I start gently dabbing his mouth with the rag.

He gives me a soft smile, and as cute as that is, my focus is on his bloody teeth.

“Oh, baby,” I mumble. I find a bottle of water buried in his bag so he can rinse his mouth, and continue cleaning his face. “Are your hands okay?”

“Mhm,” he hums. “Had my gloves on.”

I nod, remaining silent as I wipe the blood from his mouth and give him somewhere to spit the bloody water.

“Coach is pissed,” he laughs lightly.

“I’m not surprised.”

“He was already getting on me about my grades, and with this… I gotta get it together or he’s benching me.”

We both know that his coach will fight anyone to make sure Chris stays on the starting team. He’s the best player this college has seen in years.

“I can tutor you again,” I offer. “I have time before work on Friday’s.”

He shakes his head at me. “I don’t want to put that on you.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if it would have been an inconvenience.”

He nods, then rests his hands on my waist, eventually pulling my wrists down to remove my hands from his face.

“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely.

“I know.”

“I just…” his voice trails off. “I can’t stand it when they do that shit. I know you’re a catch because… come on,” he motions his hands at me, making me laugh. “I just can’t sit there and pretend like I’m not bothered by it.”

“I get it,” I assure him, trying to relieve the part of him that feels like he’s letting people down. “Let’s just get those grades up and try to tone back on the fighting, okay?”

He nods, this time smiling with a lot less blood in his teeth. He pulls me down to his level, resting me on his lap before holding my cheeks and kissing me gently. “I love you.”

A smile grows on my face. “I love you more.”

His eyes go wide. “Enough to fight Hart’s girlfriend for me?”

I let out a short laugh. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

#sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader

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slut4thebroken · 11 months

Text

Urges

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jason Todd x reader

Summary | The Lazarus Pit had some unexpected side effects.

Warnings | 18+, sexual content, smut, grinding, in public, humiliation, light dubcon, multiple orgasms, no female orgasms, so much come, like genuinely so much, angst?, fluff, Jay is secretly a sweetheart and a simp, obviously.

Words | 2.8k

Notes | Based on this. (Lol imagine that’s you know what all over him in the pic🫣🤭)

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

The pit didn’t just give him trauma— it affected his body too, giving him enhanced strength, speed, durability, and healing. But there was another, lesser known side effect.

Honestly he hasn’t even thought about it for the past few years- always too focused on recovering from fucking dying, then on revenge and helping Gotham the way Batman couldn’t. But once it hit him… it hit him like a ton of bricks.

He doesn’t know where Batman or Nightwing were and why they weren’t with you, but there you were, the Batgirl suit even more flattering on your now mature body, making his cock strain in his pants. And you— you stupid little girl— decided to go after him alone.

He tried to fight it, really he did, but when he had you pinned under him in a matter of seconds, he couldn’t help the way he pushed his crotch against you, trying to get a little bit of relief.

“W- Get off me, you fucking creep!” You yelled once you noticed. He didn’t give you an answer because he knew exactly what would shut you up. So he took off the helmet and tossed it to the ground as your eyes widened. “Jason?” You said through a breath, making him growl at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue. He parted your legs, then settled between them and leaned over you as he rutted against your clothed heat. He only lasted a few seconds before the tightness of his pants became painful, so he leaned up to open them and pull his cock out.

“What the hell are you doing?” You gasped, but there was no malice in your tone. Just pure shock and arousal. He leaned back down, shoving his face in the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply, not able to control the way his hips started rutting against you just from your scent. You still wear the same fucking perfume that always used to make his cock fatten up in his pants whenever he got too close to you.

He was panting against your neck now, his cock, trapped between your bodies, growing so incredibly sensitive that it almost fucking hurt. And his balls— god, he doesn’t ever remember a time in his life where they were this fucking heavy and full and aching.

It wasn’t long before he was nearing his orgasm, especially when he focused on your breath on his neck and the way the swell of your tits felt against his chest. He choked out a moan, not able to control the way he started whimpering- so fucking desperate for relief. His brows furrowed, mouth open in a silent moan as his cock started twitching, then shot out rope after rope of come. He’s had enough orgasms to know that the way this one felt was definitely not normal. Even after a few years without it, it shouldn’t be this fucking intense and long.

“God- what the fuck?” He whined, hips still desperately rutting against you as he rode out the endless orgasm. He could feel the mess through his own layers of clothing and he knew that your suit would be fucking wrecked when he was done. But it didn’t stop. He came for what felt like hours, listening to the pulse in your neck, smelling your perfume, feeling the delicate skin on his lips.

“Fuck,” He whimpered, still rutting against you, but the friction was starting to lessen because of his cock being completely soaked with come. His balls just barely lightened, still feeling incredibly full and sore. When he finally, finally felt his orgasm fading, his hips slowed to a stop as he panted, trying to catch his breath.

“Jesus fucking christ-“ You moaned through a breath. His cock twitched at the sound of your voice, never even having a chance to start softening before his whole body burned with need again. He leaned up to examine the mess, finding the entire crotch area of both of your suits completely soaked, as well as most of your mid sections too. He looked down further, finding come still dripping down the flushed tip all the way to his balls. His cock was so hard, it was almost visibly throbbing and his balls looked almost as full as they felt.

“Jason?” You asked quietly, making his eyes snap up to yours with a growl. Your cheeks were pink, lips red and swollen as if you were biting them and he wanted nothing more than to shove his cock between them and make you drink his come, but even with the primal urges overtaking his brain, he couldn’t do that. Not to you. So with another growl he flipped you over, his come making a slapping sound as you landed. This time he kneeled over your legs instead of between them and he laid over you again to hold you still as started rutting against your covered ass.

If he thought the smell of your perfume was intoxicating, it was nothing compared to your hair. He took a deep breath and let out a quiet groan, remembering how he used to be able to smell it when you hugged him. But back then it didn’t make him feel like this— it didn’t make his cock throb and it didn’t make him start whining.

“Jason,” You suddenly said, trying to push yourself up, but his entire body weight was holding you down. He didn’t want to listen to your protests— to your rejection, so he placed a hand over your mouth, making you release a startled moan.

“Shh, I’m sorry. It’s okay, I just- I need this, baby— need you.” You whined against his palm, the sound sending a jolt to his cock.

It took every fiber of his being to not tear your suit and fuck your cunt- fill you up with load after load of his come until you milked him dry. But through those thoughts, he could hear a quiet voice reasoning that he wouldn’t be able to come back from that and he would lose you forever. And even though his cock was begging to be buried in a tight, warm cunt— in your tight, warm cunt— he knew it was true. So this would have to do for now. Just thinking about fucking you had him barreling toward his second orgasm.

“Oh fuck- oh my god.” He whined, resting his forehead on your shoulder. His free hand was clenched so hard to keep from touching your tits, or anywhere else, that his fingers were starting to hurt.

Despite him pinning you down completely, you managed to push your hips up a little, pressing your ass even harder against his cock. The action had him gasping out as he fell over the edge again. He couldn’t hold in the whimpers and moans as his cock twitched between your ass and his pelvis, spurting ropes of come into the tight space. His balls were practically throbbing— pulsing with each shot of come that left his cock.

He continued rutting against you desperately, trying to get the most out of this agonizingly long orgasm. While he could feel some of his come coating his cock, it seemed like most of it landed on the small of your back that was arched as you held your hips up. The ache in his balls was already starting to alleviate, but they weren’t empty yet, so he sat up on his knees to continue, groaning at the sight of the entire lower section of your midriff covered in his come.

“Jason?” You asked quietly, but he ignored you as he lifted you onto your knees, pushing you down by your upper back when you tried to rise on your hands.

“I’m sorry- Just one more, I promise, baby, one more.” He whined, positioning you how he wanted, with your legs squeezed together. The sight of his come rolling up your back into your cape had his cock twitching in need, so he slipped between your thighs and immediately started fucking you. There was enough come covering his length that the friction didn’t hurt, but honestly he could’ve used a little more friction, especially because the material of your suit had him sliding in and out easily.

His hands moved to your hips, gripping tight enough to make you whimper so that they didn’t drift to your ass. Bucking into you as he desperately chased relief again, his eyes trailed all over your body, mostly focusing on your ass through the skin tight suit, but moving up your come covered back too. His balls slapping against your thighs with each thrust was almost starting to hurt, but he couldn’t stop— not even if he wanted to.

“Oh god- I’m so close. Almost there, baby. Just one more I think— Just one more and I’ll feel better.” He choked out, bucking into you wildly. The sound of his wet pants hitting your wet suit was deafening on the otherwise quiet rooftop. When you squeezed your thighs together even harder, he let out a broken moan, cock throbbing, anxiously awaiting the pleasure.

“Oh fuck-“ He groaned, cock twitching between your legs as his come shot out, painting your stomach. Quickly pulling back, he fucked his fist, watching as his come covered your ass and dripped down your thighs. “Shit,” He whimpered, when it just didn’t stop. It was less than his previous orgasms, but still enough that you were practically kneeling in a pool of his come. The last few spurts landed on his fist, dripping down his hand to the puddle on the ground as he panted, trying to catch his breath.

Releasing his cock, he watched the way it still twitched pathetically, but despite that, he knew he was done. What he didn’t know however, was how he was going to clean all of this shit up. His cock was slick with his arousal, dripping down to his balls, adding to the mess on his pants. His hand and clothes were in a similar state.

“Jay?” You asked quietly, making his eyes snap up to you.

“Shit-“ He helped you up so you were sitting in front of him. The come that was on your stomach had rolled up to your chest, coating your tits, making him hiss as his cock twitched at the sight. You were practically covered head to toe in it. “I- Are you…” You flung yourself at his body, wrapping your arms tight around his torso in a hug. He tried not to focus on the way that his come would now be on his chest too. When you pulled back— way too soon, he thought with a frown— you slapped his arm, making him grab the slightly aching spot.

“Ow- What the hell?”

“You have a lot of fucking nerve to be asking me that when you’re the one who needs to start explaining.” You growled, crossing your arms over your chest with a scowl.

“…You’re mad?” He asked sheepishly, watching your expression start to shift into one of amusement before you hardened it again.

“You’re dead. What the fuck, Jason?”

“I’m sorry. Can we just- go somewhere other than here and get cleaned up, then I’ll explain?” He asked, gesturing to the pool of come you were both in. A light blush painted your cheeks when you glanced at the mess.

“Fine.”

He took you to his safe house and apologized profusely, promising to clean your suit for you. Only once you were both dressed in his clothes and sat on the couch did you suddenly realize that Jason is in front of you. Jason who you haven’t seen in years, Jason who’s older now, but still just as pretty as the day you met him. Jason who you couldn’t save.

“How long have you been back?” You asked, trying to hide your emotions as you crossed your arms over your chest and cleared your throat.

“I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner. I had to… work through some things.” You tried to wait patiently for him to explain, but it didn’t seem like he was going to do that anytime soon, so you continued.

“Tell me what happened. I don’t understand how you’re here right now.” He sighed, glancing away from you.

“Do you know what the Lazarus Pit is?”

“The thing Ra’s Al Ghul uses, right?”

“Yeah… He- put me in it. That’s how I’m back.” He muttered.

“Shit- are you okay?” You’ve heard the stories of what it can do to a person and your chest ached knowing that he went through something like that.

“I’m alive.” He shrugged with a dry chuckle.

“I’m sorry.” You moved to wrap your arms around him in a hug, but stopped when he leaned back. When he saw your hurt expression, he rushed to explain himself.

“It’s not you! I just- I can already smell you from here and it’s taking everything in me to not do something I’ll regret. Again.” Your brows furrowed in confusion but when you glanced at his crotch, your eyes widened in understanding.

“I don’t understand how you can still be hard after that. Actually- I don’t even understand how that was possible in the first place.”

“I didn’t know it was possible either… When I came back, I was different— stronger, faster. I guess that changed too.” He explained and you nodded in understanding even though it still barely made sense to you. “Plus the last time I came was like a week before I died so it’s been a while.”

“Jesus- Jason, tmi.”

“That’s tmi?” He scoffed in disbelief. “I just fucking came on you three times and that’s too much?”

“Oh my god- stop.” You muttered, burying your burning face in your hands. “Why did you wait so long though? I mean, I’m assuming you had at least a little bit of time after you came back.”

“The thought never even crossed my mind. Not until— until I… saw you.” He mumbled the last part so you could barely hear it, but you did. “Look, I’m really fucking sorry. I know it’s not an excuse to say I couldn’t control myself, but even then, I still shouldn’t have done it.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“Are you kidding? I assaulted you!” He exclaimed, making you roll your eyes.

“Okay well maybe my mess wasn’t nearly as bad as yours, but if you’d bothered to check, you would’ve found evidence to the contrary.” His eyes widened slightly, lips parted in shock.

“You-“ His eyes moved down to your pants as if he’d be able to see what you were talking about. “I don’t… What?”

“You’re so clueless sometimes, you know that?” You chuckled, giving him a small smile.

“I’m not.. clueless. I was just distracted.” He muttered, a blush painting his cheeks.

“Uh huh. I have a question.” You said, changing the subject.

“Shoot.”

“Why me? I’m sure you saw plenty of other girls throughout the years so why did I make you break?” His lips curled up into a small smile and you couldn’t help but feel like there was an inside joke you weren’t a part of.

“You’re so clueless sometimes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You frowned.

“Jesus- I don’t know what job you have, but I really fucking hope you’re not a detective.” He chuckled and you hit his arm again.

“Shut up. Just tell me.” His expression suddenly dropped into a more serious one and you felt anxiety start to twist in your stomach.

“Because I’ve had a crush on you since we were like 14.” He muttered. You stared at him in shock and when he turned to finally look at you, you could see the moment where he realized he wanted to backtrack. “Which is really fucking awkward if you have a boyfriend or don’t feel the same way because I did not think this through nearly enough,”

“Me too.” You said, putting an end to his rambling.

“What?” He choked out.

“I’ve had a crush on you too. But since we met, not since we were 14.”

“You did?”

“Yeah… Why did you think I was so fucking awkward around you?” You chuckled, making him smile.

“I don’t know, I just thought you were awkward.” He shrugged. “Do you… still have a crush on me?” He asked coyly, as if he was giving himself the opportunity to pass it off as a joke.

“I wouldn’t have let you come on me three times if I didn’t.” You said teasingly, your smile widening from his reaction. You liked turning the tables, making him blush for once. “Do you still have a crush on me?”

“I wouldn’t have come on you three times if I didn’t.”

#jason todd x reader smut #jason todd smut #jason todd #jason todd x reader #smut #lazarus pit #superhuman amount of come #💀#batgirl!reader #jason todd is red hood

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bigfatbimbo · 2 months

Note

AHHHH, NUMBER ONE PLEAAASSSEEEEEE!!!

- 🤖/🫀(?) Anon

a/n — the prompt was this (first one), but if you want to educate yourself on this little au (HOUSE WIFE VOX AHH) of mine, here, here and here!

warnings — dom reader, sub vox, orgasm denial, handjobs, VERY rushed, not entirely proofread, my heart really wasn’t in it guys

summary — For once, Vox is being good and doing the dishes, so what could you do except for fuck with him until he gets the job done?

On the rare occasion you came home and all of what Vox considered his duties around the house were done, you felt it right to reward him.

Of course, he wasn’t exactly done yet. His attention lay on the dishes in the sink, to which you decided happily to distract him from.

Sneaking up behind him, you placed your hands on either side of his hips, planting a kiss on the open spot on his neck, and where his apron was tied in the back.

“What are you doing?” He inquired, almost sighing at the distraction, but not stopping his continuous scrub on the plate in his hands.

Your hands drifted from his hips, to his thighs, “You did a good job today. ‘Thought i’d give you some attention.”

He stopped moving when your hands slid under his apron and toyed with the zipper on his pants. “Watch it,” He warned.

“Well don’t stop on account of me,” You tease, planting another kiss on the nape of his neck, “Keep working, and so will I.”

“Jesus christ,” Vox groaned, seeing quickly where this was going. That didn’t stop your hand from slipping into his pants, “You know, that’s really not fucking fair—“

He was cut off with a moan as you wrap your hand around the length of his cock, slipping it out of his pants, touching the bare fabric of the apron.

“Uh-huh, you’d, what, rather me stop?” You say, dragging your thumb along the tip of his cock.

His hands almost drop the plate he was holding, before hissing out, “No.”

“Then, I suggest you keep working,” You say playfully, toying with his cock in your hands before finally giving him long strokes.

Dragging your hand up and down his length, his hands begin to shake, biting back whines from your touch. Although humiliated, he tried to focus on small steps while trying to keep the composure to complete them. Rinse off the plate, put it on the rack.

“Good boy,” You say, watching his hands rinse off a few cups. The praise went right through him and shot to his dick, which twitched in your hands.

He whimpered, before muttering a small, “Stop it.” Vox wasn’t entirely sure of what he was specifically referring to, but he knew that if you continued with words like that, he’d get nothing done.

He reminded himself of the task at hand, start on the next plate. Going through the motions became abruptly harder when, almost cruelly, your hand sped up. He whined at your motions, leaning his head back into you, resting it onto his shoulder. Which, however wasn’t as comfortable for you as it was for him, considering the pointy screen edgy poking into your jaw.

“Focus,” you remind, slowing down and drawing out a whine of disapproval. His hold on the dish grew tighter, as he scrubbed the plate harder, “Good, sweetheart, very good.”

“Oh god, f—fzz—fuck I can’t—“ He tried to speak, but was unable to form a coherent sentence under the pressure of getting his chore done, and the sensation of your hand gently stroking his length.

Use soap to scrub the dish. He wasn’t sure why he was getting so worked up about a simple hand job. It was true, with your work, and his fragile mental state, you two hadn’t had enough time to do anything like this of late. Still, neither of you had expected him to be just so needy.

“Such a pretty, good little housewife for me, baby,” you cooed all too sweetly. Although, he didn’t find that to be much of a compliment.

“No i’m— nngh— not!” He snapped, but his tone faltered into more of a whine than a hiss. But to his dismay, once glance down at the motion of his hands against a fine china dish proved him wrong.

“Oh but you are, baby. And you’re so good at it too, ‘m so proud of you,” You drew on, planting another kiss on the tie of his apron against his neck.

He moaned loudly and buffered to the point of almost dropping the dish he was holding. Just keep scrubbing. But he couldn’t focus, not with you rubbing in how submissive his role in the relationship was. His mind clouded up, and he could feel his release draw nearer.

“Please, I’m gonna—“ Vox’s claws began to cause little cracks on the plate he was washing “—fuck, please, ‘m close.”

“Careful, sweetie. Wouldn’t wanna get your pretty little apron all dirty,” He let out a loud whine of disappointment at your comment, “I’d hate for you to have to run the laundry again, Vox.”

He whimpered pathetically at your indirect denial. Just keeping working, he reminded himself, although this hands started to shake uncontrollably. Scrub the plate, just keep scrubbing the plate.

But then, as expected, the plate broke cleanly into two. And just like that, your hand pulled away and your body followed, drawing out a noise of complaint from Vox.

“Hm,” You examine, “Maybe I was wrong. You’re a terrible housewife.”

And like that, you left him hard, exposed and desperate against the kitchen sink.

a/n — Wow, this killed me! Which is actually such a bummer because I was so excited about this prompt too. But honestly, I was just trying to get it done because I can’t stand not finishing the things I start and I already took a day long break.

Anyways, basically, just take my brain scraps everyone. I AM NOT!!! proud of this. 😞

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut #vox x reader #dom reader #inbox open #hazbin vox x reader #vox x you #vox smut #sub vox

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skylarsblue · 1 year

Text

✦Incorrect C.o.D Quotes, AGAIN AGAIN✦

Ghost: Release me, woman. Fem!Y/N: …. *hugs him tighter* :3 Ghost, scared of intimacy: UNHAND ME!- -- (Comedic Death Mention) Someone: I shot you six times hOW ARE YOU ALIVE?! Y/N: Fool! The only one that’s gonna knock me off is ME! Price: *PANICKING*

-- Gaz: What did you do? Soap: ….suckdickonaccident Gaz: What? Soap: Sucked dick on accident! Gaz: HOW THE FUCK DO YOU SU-

-- Gaz: Here. We’ll put your phone on the aux- Y/N: NO DON’T- Speakers on full volume: FUCKFUCKFUCKMEUPANDCUTCUTCU- Price: JESUS BLOODY CHRIST *shuts off radio* Soap: *scratching the inside of his ear* Steamin’ Jesus- Y/N: I tried to warn you! Gaz: Who listens to Slipknot at 0900?! Ghost: *raises hand* Gaz: That’s- okay that’s fair. Soap: I’ve gone deaf. Y/N: You’re a bomb tech, it was gonna happen eventually. Soap: *middle finger* Price: *disappointed sigh* It’s too early for this-

-- (This one’s kinda sad but I couldn't stop thinkin' bout it-) Alejandro: You used to be nice…or did you never used to be? Valeria: … Alejandro: Oh god…maybe you never used to be…

-- Not a quote but if any of you have heard that audio that’s the names of the Princes of Hell overlayed on Funky Town, please imagine Soap & Y/N dancing to the Funky Town portion while Ghost sits there menacingly. Thank you.

-- (Depression joke) Y/N: Ahaaaa I’m soooo unwell. Price: Go to the psyche- Y/N: Ya know what it never was? That serious. It was never that serious- Price: Get your ass back here- Y/N: NEVER!-

-- König: I’ll keep all my emotions right here, and then one day, I’ll die. Horangi: No-

-- (Valeria has no color here, I ran out) Valeria: *eye roll* I am not trying to seduce you. Y/N, bi panicking: …. Valeria, but now smug: Would you like me to seduce you? Y/N: *strained wheeze & squeaky* Already achieved ma’am- Gaz: *listening to a mic implanted on Y/N* God damnit dON’T LET YOUR MOMMY ISSUES RUIN THIS MISSION!

-- (These next two have mental health jokes in’em) Y/N, hyper cleaning the base: AHAHA, yes! I’m finally feeling bett- ah, wait. I’m manic, and I’m hyper cleaning everything, ✨as a diversion✨. Price: P s y c h e . Y/N: Jokes on you, old man. I already have meds for this! …might need to up them though they feel like they’ve stopped working. Price: When did you start to feel they weren’t working? Y/N: Like three months ago. Price: PSYCHE Y/N: ASKING THEM QUESTIONS ABOUT MEDS ARE SCAAAARRYYY Price: YOU KILL MEN ALMOST EVERYDAY Y/N: Fair point. (Take ya meds)

-- Price: I don’t understand you- Y/N: Good! Means you’re probably mentally well. Price: I- Gaz: We really need to like- specify when you’re joking and when you’re serious, you’re gonna give him a heart attack.

-- Gaz: …Hm. Price: You’ve been staring at me for the past six minutes, what is it?Gaz: I think you have a grey hair. Price: Y/N, speeding in: WHICH IS TOTALLY FINE, IT’S BARELY EVEN THERE AND EVEN IF YOU WERE GOING GREY IT’D LOOK FANTASTIC ON YOU. Price: …would it? Y/N: Absolutely! …*thumps Gaz in the back of the head* Gaz: Ow-Uh yeah! Yeah! Actually I don’t even think it’s there, just the lighting. Price: Hm…alright. Y/N: Mhm! *death glare* Gaz: *mouthing* I’msosorry-

-- (Will someone please notice that I write Ghost as "Simon" when he's with Soap and they're being soft? It's intentional-) Soap: I’m not really sure what I’d do if I lost you… Simon: I know what I’d do. Soap: What? Simon: I’d find you.

-- Soap: I got my ankles microwaved. Ghost: X-rayed. Soap: They took my blood away for science! Ghost: Cholesterol tests. Soap: Si had his sinuses…removed? Ghost: Looked at. Soap: Some guy looked at my penis, touched it. That was weird. Ghost, cleaning blood off a knife: That guy wasn’t even a doctor.

-- Medic!Y/N: You think killing is hard? Try healing something. That is hard, that requires patience. Alejandro, watching them bandage his hand: Hm… Medic!Y/N: You can break something in two seconds. *vaguely motions to Ghost, then Price, then at a necklace Alejandro wears that came from Valeria* But it can take forever to fix it. Alejandro: …aye…well said.

-- Gaz: *being annoying and singing a song for the 10,000th time* Price: KYLE! Gaz: I’m watchin’ my tone, dunana. I ain’t talkin’ back, no, why? Cause I’ma get thrown, dunana-

-- Graves: You know, Ghost, real talk bro, you never say nothin’ when you’re around us. Why is that? Ghost: Cause I don’t fucking like you guys.

-- Enemy: I’m gonna send you to God. Y/N: God? I’m insulted you think I’d end up in Heaven. I work hard for my sins, thank you very much. Ghost: We are hostages right now, can you please not-

-- Valeria: And guess who gets to be my little helper.~ Y/N: It’s me, I’m the helper… Valeria: That’s right, you sure are.~ Alejandro: Alright that’s enough! Valeria: What? You don’t believe in positive affirmation?

-- Rudy: Me gustan los perros. Alejandro: Me gustas… Rudy: ….hm. Me gusta un hombre en el ejército. Alejandro: Aye? Rudy: Mhm. Alejandro: *chuckles* Me gusta mi mejor amigo. Rudy: Me gustas.

(This was poorly translated but listen, I tried for the gays)

-- Price: You actually were telling the truth. Valeria: I do that quite a lot, you people are always surprised.

-- Laswell: Don’t pull any of those stunts like you did last time. Fem!Y/N: I made an offering. Laswell: You dropped a dead mouse into that poor man’s lap. Fem!Y/N: Yes! Like a cat. Laswell: You are not a cat! Fem:Y/N: No…tragically, I am a woman.

-- Ghost: Some people are simply…better than others. Graves: You really think you’re that much better than me? Ghost: Oh I think we both know the answer to that.

(Needing to fake a date for a mission) Y/N, on the phone: Laswell, I don’t need help with dating. I’ve been on loads of dates! Y/N: *turns and whispers to Gaz* I’ve literally been on one.

-- Enemy: Think you can answer questions without the usual level of sarcasm? Y/N: If you can ask them without the usual level of stupid. Enemy: Where’s your captain and why hasn’t anyone been able to contact him? Y/N: I dunno, I’ve been here, haven’t seen him in days. Enemy: Is he drinking again? Y/N: What do you mean again? He never had to stop. Enemy: But he did have to slow down, is he drinking like he used to? Y/N: Alright, how bout this? Next time I see him, I’ll give’im the field sobriety test, okay? We’ll do the alphabet, start with F & end with U.

-- Graves: And that’s why I personally, don’t agree with your opinion. Soap: Okay, counter point- Graves: Valid argument? Soap: No. Pipebomb!

-- Gaz: Y/N: Gaz: Y/N: Y/N: I’ma instigate. Gaz, lightly pulling them back: nnnnoooooooooo-

-- Y/N: Eeraaawr >:3 Gaz: What sound is that? Y/N: A dyianosaur Gaz: A what? Y/N: Dianoswaur. Gaz: Make the sound again. Y/N: Uurraawer Gaz: Oh you talkin’ bout them things from ✨Jerressi PerAHck✨ Y/N: AHAH! Ghost: I’m gonna lose it. Soap: Hush yer mouth, it’s cute. Lighten up ya big log.

-- Ghost: I think I’ve finally had enough. Y/N, getting his antidepressants: I think you’re full of shit.

-- Medic!Y/N: C’mon, stick with me, Ghost. Ghost: Might be time to follow my call si-OH FUCKING HELL WHY Medic!Y/N: You listen here you Fuckin’ bastard, I’m gonna love the absolute shit out of you until you never make a joke like that again. And then, if you still do it, I’ll have the team smother, smother, you in affection. And if you STILL don’t get it, THEN I’m gonna whoop your ass. Shut your perfect fucking mouth, you got that, soldier?! Ghost: ….since when did you get scary? Medic!Y/N: Adrenalin keeps people alive and sometimes we run out of epipens, had to substitute somehow.

-- Price: Now, sergent, what would you rather be? A lion or a panda? Soap: Captain, I’m me. Why would I want to be anything else? Price: I’m not sure you realize how psychologically healthy that is.

-- Ghost, pissed off: Sometimes I can’t stand you. Y/N, while walking away: Then kneel! And while you’re down there, occupy your mouth, you’d do better down there, QUIET, anyway!! Ghost: I-…… Soap: Oooooo…. Gaz: I- I-…they have no fear. None. Absolutely no survival instinct, no self preservation. None!

-- (Younger Y/N as in like…mid-late twenties. Also, this one is long. I might honestly make a lil oneshot with this one and I welcome anyone else to do the same) Y/N: John… Price: I know, I know. You love me. You’ve said it a thousand times and it should just stick, I just…can’t help but think about how you’re so… Y/N: *snort* Out of your league? Price: To put it bluntly. Y/N: Well, regardless of where I rank? I still love you. I’m going to love you for a long time, you’re stuck with me, ya sweethearted bastard. Price, fondly: Ah Dear, whatever will I do. Y/N: Yeaaaah. Besides! Even if I wasn’t completely and utterly, disgustingly, in love with you? …you are way too good of a sugar daddy to ditch. Price: Hah! Oh really? Why’s that? Y/N: Are you kidding?! Paid off house, paid off car, successful military captain, great manners, great dick, extremely attractive, good with kids, good cook, sexy voice. I could go on for awhile. Price: Oh now you’re just feedin’ my ego. Y/N: Yes, yes I am. Price: I’ll get cocky. Y/N: You’re sexy when you’re arrogant too, that doesn’t deter me. Price: *sigh* Far out of my league. Y/N: You’re a rank climber, I think you’ll keep up.

-- (NSFW but it's in a ha-ha funny way, based on a conversation I've had. Kink mentions) Soap: Look, I just...I need advice on how to spice it up in the bedroom. Y/N: Do you know how little that narrows it down? Gaz: I feel there are few options. Y/N: No there are a lot of options, it depends on your level of spice. I dunno your boundaries wit'cha man! Soap: I just need something! Y/N: THERE ARE A LOT OF THINGS! Get some handcuffs, grab a vibrator, TRY ANAL, I don't fucking know! Gaz: *chokes on drink* Soap: Okay, listen- Y/N: No, you listen. Rule of thumb with kinks? It's a mountain and there are three kinds of people on it. People who don't wanna climb, people who want to climb but choose not to, and people who stay climbing. You reach a level of kinkiness and you stay there. You can't go back down the mountain. Me, personally? I have chosen to stop climbing because I know I'll get worse. I'm choosing to stay on my part of the mountain. Where you wanna climb is up to you. Soap: Where do I climb then? Y/N: The beginner's trail is fuzzy handcuffs, orgasm control, and mirror sex. Soap: This is the weirdest advice I've ever gotten. Y/N: It's my specialty.

-- (Follow it up with an asexual joke) Graves: Are you fighting the urge to make out with me right now? Y/N: Not really, I'm really into this pizza though. Soap, in the back: Aw they burnt my fuckin' cookies! Assholes. Y/N: Karma. Soap: It is not my fault I ate the last slice of cake, I didn't know it was yours- Y/N: IT WAS LABELED! Soap: I DIDN'T SEE IT!! Graves: *slowly backs away*

-- Y/N, holding up a coffee pot: Anyone want more coffee? Price: No, we've all had ours. Y/N: *takes off the lid* Cool. Gaz: What are y-NO! Y/N: *chugging from the pot* Ghost: ...This is the peak of mental illness. Price: PUT THE DAMN POT DOWN! Soap: This is the scariest thing I've ever seen them do- Y/N: *fighting to finish the coffee as Price tries to get it away from them*

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bloompompom · 2 months

Text

LOVER BOY | MINI SERIES

in which eren falls hard for you, his friend-with-benefits who insists she isn't looking for anything serious

PART TWO - mine, just for tonight

⟡ content: eren jaeger x female reader, good old-fashioned college au, fwb-to-lovers, mutual pining/idiots in love, cheesy rom-com, smut fic with feelings, fluff, angst, explicit sexual content, explicit language, alcohol, marijuana, high sex, mild violence, sexual harassment. reader discretion advised. 18+ ⟡ word count: ~5.3k ⟡ masterlist (2/4)

Eren wasn’t sure which mistake he was referencing; he’d made more than plenty along the way, whether it was agreeing to this arrangement or letting it get this far. Too far. To the extent that he was certain you had left your indelible mark on him.

All the same, none of it truly felt like a mistake. If Eren didn’t regret a single time he said yes to sleeping with you, how could you possibly be a mistake?

The only mistake he could foresee was losing you, he thought, so he bottled his feelings. He tried to bury them as deep as they would go, but it turned out he could only dig as deep as a wading pool, unfortunately.

But having you like this—glossy-eyed and moaning and below him—and only like this was better than not having you at all.

“I’m—hah,” you panted. “I’m close.”

Eren’s hand on your waist tightened, fingers grasping to keep you there for him, but he didn’t change the pace he thumbed circles against your clit.

The little room had become too warm to be comfortable. The skin beneath your shirt sweltered and the fabric suctioned to your back. You didn’t bother to take it off beforehand, simply tucking the hem under your chin was enough for what was supposed to be a mid-day quickie. Now it was anything but.

The dorm floor was always empty at this time, making for the perfect opportunity to get together. An opportunity that Eren often took advantage of, especially if it was a bad day.

He didn’t outrightly tell you it was one of those days, but you sensed there was something on his mind he wanted to forget about, even if it was only for the time he was inside of you.

Eren towered over you on his knees, his hips angled just right. Yours were lifted from the bed and rolling to meet his thrusts.

He looked down at you, eyes dark and smoldering with determination to make you fall apart again.

Nearly lost in a hiccup of a breath, you moaned, “Come with me,” because you knew he wanted to.

You were right there, babbling a whispy chant of how fucking good it felt until you threw your head back against your pillow and let your orgasm overwhelm you.

Eren found it equally overwhelming. Gentle flutters of your cunt turned maddening, clenching around the thick of his cock like you wanted to empty him. Three simple, yet hardly innocent, words were all it took to relieve the weight of his impending release. He pinned you to the bed with thumbs dug just above your hipbones, keeping your shuddering body pliant for him to fuck into.

“Jesus—fuck,” he drew out on a strained groan. “I’m coming.”

He rammed into you a final time, leaving your bodies flush with you grinding against his hips, prolonging the pleasure until you were both entirely spent. When he looked at you again, eyes that were once as dark as storm clouds had cleared.

Eren pulled out of you, cursing under his breath at the overstimulation, and rolled to your side. He reached across you to grab his phone, pushing some hair from his face before checking the time.

“Shit, I’m going to be late for lab,” he said as he shot up from your bed.

“Sucks,” you cheekily replied. Today was your easy day, ending at noon on the dot. You leaned back against your pillows, watching him toss out the condom and rush to dress. “Your face is a little red.”

“I’ll blame it on having to run to class,” he said, which he would undoubtedly have to do. He zipped his fly, then started doing his belt. “The new TA started locking the door after five minutes.”

You contentedly tucked your arms behind your head. “Then you better hurry.”

“And you say I’m the mean one.” He slung his bag over his shoulder and gave you a once-over. “I guess I’ll see you when I see you?”

You smiled. “Until then.”

‘Then’ turned out to be approximately three hours later.

“Long time, no see.”

Eren didn’t need to see you to immediately know it was you. He peered over his shoulder to discover you were closer than he thought, approaching his table with intention.

Being that you attended a small-ish college, it wasn’t uncommon for you to run into each other on occasion, but that didn’t make it any less weird. He didn’t know how to describe it, but the feeling was similar to the one you get when you see a co-worker out in the wild—but worse because you were also sleeping with said co-worker.

Poor analogy aside, what Eren meant to say was he always tried to keep these run-ins short and sweet and strictly business. But that didn’t mean he avoided you, even if he really wanted to right about now.

Eren sat at one of those long dining hall tables, down at the very end, with Armin across from him. His friend’s presence complicated things for a couple of reasons.

For starters, Eren now felt he was under the same level of scrutiny as an animal in a nature documentary, with Armin at the ready to dissect every sudden movement or stutter. They had made it about halfway through their lunches, which meant Eren would spend the next half getting a free between-classes lecture from Armin about his findings on the encounter.

By the look of it, Armin—who told the TA that Eren was in the bathroom and absolutely not running late—must have realized what he’d made himself accomplice to. The slightest grimace flickered across his face.

That was the second reason.

“I was just about to text you,” you said to Eren. You laid your hand on the open seat beside him. “Mind if I sit?”

Eren gestured a welcoming hand toward the chair. After a brief introduction—Eren introduced you as a ‘friend from class’ though all three of you knew it was a bit more than that—you sat down.

As you scooched your chair in and made yourself comfortable, you began to explain, “You know my friend Pieck?” Eren knew of her, mainly from what you’d told him, but nodded. “She’s celebrating her birthday tonight at The Library—”

“The library?” Armin appeared utterly confused.

“The bar,” Eren said. Armin mouthed an ‘oh.’

“Turns out her dad is friends with the owners,” you continued. “They let her rent out the place, so she needs to bring in as much cash as they’d make on a regular Friday night. I meant to ask you earlier but it slipped my mind.”

You said that last bit on a lilt, pointing a smile at Eren that made his ears burn hot.

“That’s kind of a skeezy spot for a birthday party,” Eren redirected. He wasn’t lying when he said it. The place was a dive bar without any of the charm.

“Don’t tell her that,” you playfully said. “So does that mean you’re both out?”

“Thanks for the invite, but I can’t,” Armin answered. He looked between you and Eren like he needed to explain himself to both of you. “I have plans with Annie.”

Armin started dating Annie about two months ago. Eren didn’t know her well. She had a tendency to keep to herself.

“I’ll see what Jean and Connie are up to,” Eren said, because there was no way he would show up alone.

“Cool,” you said with a satisfied smile. You planted your hands against the table, but before you pushed yourself up, you turned to Eren, throwing in a quick wink as you said, "See you when I see you."

After you left, Armin patiently waited for Eren to say something while Eren couldn’t even meet his eye.

“You can say it,” he finally sighed, his voice flat and defeated.

“Say what?” Armin asked.

Eren saw past his innocent act. He sneered as he listed everything he’d already heard before, both from Armin and the others.

“That I need to cut things off, that I’m handling this all wrong, That I’m stupid…”

Where Eren left off, Armin failed to pick up. The silence hung between them momentarily before Armin quietly said, “You said it, not me.”

Eren rested his elbows on the table and groaned into his hands. He couldn’t tell if his hands felt hot against his face or if it was the other way around. Either way, he was flustered and left completely unraveled.

Armin was smart enough to take the hint. Whatever ‘advice’ he had for Eren would be saved for another time.

Connie and Jean agreed to come, not that it took much convincing. They would have probably spent their night there or at some other equally-shitty bar. But they would have agreed to go anywhere if it meant they could finally meet you, the girl they’d been hearing about for ages. If it wasn’t for the emotional rollercoaster they’d witnessed from the sidelines, they would have guessed Eren had made you up entirely.

Late that night, The Library was packed by the time the boys arrived, more than they’d ever seen it. There was no doubt the bar would bring in its usual Friday revenue—perhaps double.

Jean leaned into Eren with a hand on his shoulder. “Do you see her?”

Disregarding that Jean was too curious for Eren’s liking, he couldn’t point you out even if he wanted to. It was hard to get a look at—well, anything. The lights were low enough to hide the dingy nooks and crannies, like they believed they could sell this place as anything other than a hole-in-the-wall joint that hosted throwing dart competitions on Thursdays. There wasn’t enough bleach in the world to rid the sickly sweet smell of spilled beer from this place. It permeated the walls and made Eren’s shoes stick to the floorboards.

Against technicolor flashes of light stood the silhouette of a few girls atop the bar. Three of them, to be exact. Amongst them, Eren made out a glittery smile.

Eren gave a nod in your direction. “That’s her.”

Jean and Connie shared this strange look—an offensive one, if you asked Eren. Was it truly that hard to believe Eren had caught your attention?

The laughter erupting from that end of the bar sounded defiant against the bass. The girl in the middle must have been Pieck—Eren assumed as much based on the birthday crown sitting on her raven-haired head. She held a bottle of vodka between two hands, angling the pourer (a telltale sign the bottle came from behind the bar, with or without permission) so the liquor waterfalled into the mouths of those crowding around her.

In a sea of faces, between disorienting lights and getting swept up in your Coyote Ugly fantasy, you spotted Eren. You waved high above your head before climbing down from the bar with a helping hand.

See? He had no trouble catching your attention. If anything, he had a knack for it.

“Eren, hi!” you shouted as you skipped over. Your face lit up when you saw he’d brought company. Once you were close enough that you no longer had to read lips but could hear each other’s voices, you said, “You must be Connie and Jean.”

You were right, of course. The duo introduced themselves, telling you who was who. Between the words you missed, you pieced together why these two seemed so familiar to you: you had a friend in common, a very good one at that. So you proceeded to gush over your shared love of Sasha Braus—their friend since freshman year and your sophomore-year dorm neighbor turned friend after you hid out in her room during one of your roommate’s meltdowns.

Eren hung back, watching Connie outstretch his phone to take a selfie with you that would make Sasha totally jealous, according to him.

The introduction was going better than Eren had anticipated. Neither of his friends had accidentally (or intentionally) embarrassed him. Any minute now, someone else would call for your attention, you would walk away, and they could—

“You know, I bet Sasha would love it if you came to the white party next weekend,” Jean said casually—too casually.

The white party was arguably the biggest school event of the year and it had been for the last who knows how many decades. That was the first thing everyone learned when they stepped foot on campus, and the reason that some, the douchey-frat type like Jean, chose to attend the college altogether. Every year, big-head alumni and donors gathered in the name of philanthropy—a word that sounded pretty on paper but was a thinly veiled excuse to re-live the glory days. But at least it was a party for a good cause.

As callous as Eren made it sound, that didn’t mean he wasn’t looking forward to next weekend. The event would be held at this fancy-schmancy hotel an hour’s drive away, constructed about as close to the beach as building compliance allowed.

Eren actually attended a wedding there once, in the same penthouse venue booked for the white party. Even with rooftop access, the space wasn’t that large, making the whole affair more exclusive than it already was. He only got to go because Jean was the vice president of the hosting fraternity, which was the same reason he held the prestigious honor of bestowing invitations upon those deemed worthy enough. They (the alumni) had blocked an entire floor for the members and their invitees to stay at the hotel overnight. It would be a bad look to have a bunch of drunk college students driving back to campus, wouldn't it?

Eren wondered what he could have possibly missed in the last sixty seconds that led the conversation to this point. When had it turned so chummy between you?

But you appeared just as stricken, your eyebrows giving it away by springing high on your forehead. Jean waved away your surprise with, “I’m only returning the favor for inviting us out tonight,” though it’d be a stretch to say the two invitations were equivalent. “Unless you have other plans.”

You didn’t. You hadn’t had the time to think about spring break plans with graduation right around the corner. Even if you did, you wouldn’t dare pass up the offer. It was on every student’s bucket list to attend a white party before graduating.

“I would love to,” you marveled. Glancing to Eren next, almost like you sought his permission, you asked, “You don’t mind if I come?”

“Why would I mind?” The question confused Eren, who was already thrilled by the idea. Though he was mildly suspicious about Jean’s eagerness.

Oh well. That was something he could address later.

“Thought you might want a break from me, considering this is the third time I’ve seen you today,” you teased, giving Eren a light elbow. In the same breath, you finally addressed Pieck, who called your name a second time after you ignored the first. You excused yourself with a quick, “The birthday girl needs me,” and just like that, you were sucked back into the excitement.

“Oh, yeah. You’re fucked.”

Eren’s head snapped to Jean. Before he could ask what that was supposed to mean, he felt Connie’s hand slap the middle of his back, hard.

“Three times? I didn’t know you had it in you,” Connie said with a strange admiration.

“Once was at the dining hall, then the third time was now, dipshit,” Eren clarified.

“You fucked in the dining hall?” Connie’s eyes widened. But upon further thought, his face scrunched with disgust. What could possibly be sexy about a musty, century-old dining hall?

Jean knocked on his friend’s head. “Do you even have a brain in there?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I’m using it right now,” Connie defended. “Jean, where would you bang in the dining hall? Personally, I’d pick—”

After exchanging a look, Jean and Eren went to get drinks, with Connie trailing behind, shouting for them to wait up.

Exactly two beers later, when Eren decided it was time for a third, you appeared again. You were at the bar, leaned up with an elbow on it, presumably waiting on your order. The only obstacle between you and your drink was some guy vying for your attention. He looked like a douchebag, but other than that, there was nothing else remarkable to say about him.

Eren’s pulse quickened; he could feel it hot beneath his skin. But as quickly as the feeling washed over him, he cooled it with a deep breath. There was no use in getting worked up and jealous over what wasn’t his to begin with.

That didn’t mean he looked away. He couldn’t. Not because he was curious, more like he was watching a train wreck—the longer he stared, the more miserable he felt, and yet he couldn’t tear his eyes from the sight. But as the seconds ticked by, Eren found he was no longer wallowing in his self-pity; something was off.

He noted the intimidating size difference between you and the stranger—how he loomed over you. You were shrinking, backing away only for him to encroach on your space again.

Eren hesitated. Were you really uncomfortable or was it that he didn't want to accept what he saw? He didn't know the answer to that, which probably meant he was creating problems where there were none. He couldn't go around making rash decisions off some knee-jerk feeling.

At least, that was what Eren told himself, up until the douchebag placed a hand on your waist, then lower, and groped your ass. You shoved him away.

Eren couldn’t think of a time he’d seen you like that. Maybe he didn’t even think it was possible; you’d always seemed so impervious to him. But right then, you looked vulnerable. Absolutely stunned, whether it was from your anger with the asshat or your embarrassment from the attention accumulating around you—or both.

That was when Eren realized he wasn’t making it up, the moment your eyes locked with his. They went big, more white than iris, silently screaming, ‘Get me the fuck out of here!’ So he didn’t overthink it this time; he actually wasn’t thinking at all as he pushed his way to you.

He all but put himself between you and the creep. Your chest lightened a little, you could finally take a proper breath again. Your escape route was in sight: Eren would wait with you until the bartender returned with your drink, then the two of you would get the hell away from here and forget this ever happened.

And that was how things unfolded—at least at first. Eren asked if you were okay, even dropping your name to make sure the asshole got the message loud and clear.

He did. It just wasn’t well received.

He straightened out as if he believed it made him taller, like he wanted to browbeat Eren with his presence alone. Despite the snort he gave, he didn’t sound amused in the least.

“What are you supposed to be? Her boyfriend or something?”

It would have been perfectly reasonable, preferred even, for Eren to lie then. A little white lie that would do more good than harm. You wouldn’t have batted an eye at it.

But he didn’t. There was a delay in Eren's answer. In that split-second, he convinced himself that a measly ‘yes’ would get misconstrued. That somehow, some way, you’d hear his confession in that single word.

Eren’s brows twitched. When he finally opened his mouth, he only managed the words, “No, but—” before the guy socked him in the face.

“Does it hurt?”

You ran the tip of your index finger over his temple and toward his cheekbone, where a watercolor bruise painted his eye. It was a murky color, the color of water after you’d scrubbed the paintbrush clean, with shades of black and purple—maybe even some green.

“No,” Eren lied as he winced. The tender skin beneath his eye crinkled like paper beneath your touch.

You bought a soda from the vending machine in the lobby of your residence hall and made Eren use it as a makeshift ice pack. He did as he was told, but only held it there for a silent minute before giving up. He had it resting on his leg now.

You took his wrist and brought the can back to his face before it became lukewarm and you’d have to buy another. He flinched again and you whispered a quick apology. You plopped onto your bed, sitting at the edge just beside him, quietly watching your swaying feet.

You mentioned the silence not because you felt awkward or took it personally but because it was just another fact of the matter. You didn’t mind the silence, not with Eren.

Eventually, he sighed and asked, “Is it bad?”

You shook your head. “It could be worse.”

After the prick swung on Eren, his buddies yanked him back—the situation would have been a whole lot better if they’d done that earlier. They needed to keep a leash on that thing, and you made sure they knew it, too. But despite your bark, you didn’t want Eren to get his ass kicked by three dudes, so you held him back just the same. You locked your arms around his with a hold no firmer than a shout of ‘cut it out!’ But Eren was one to listen, even to the quietest of pleas.

A security guard rushed to kick out both boys, warning that he was doing them a favor by only kicking them out—and he was right. Even if it was just a slap on the wrist, it was also an undeserved fist to the face. Though you knew you weren’t at fault, the guilt still weighed on you. The guy who was always there for you, no matter the cost, had done it again.

“Thank you for stepping in,” you quietly said. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

Eren brushed it off. “I just wish I got a hit in.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t. You could have gotten yourself in serious trouble,” you reminded.

Eren scoffed. “He’s the lucky one.”

“That right?” you teased. “Because you would’ve knocked him out if nobody stepped in?”

“Damn right.”

You laughed because you knew he was being serious. He smiled for the first time since you left the birthday party. A real smile. Big enough that it tugged at his fresh bruise and pulled a faint ‘ow’ from him.

“God, I’m an idiot,” Eren said with a dejected laugh—but at least it was a laugh.

“I know.”

You draped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into some sort of a hug, one where you rested your chin atop the back of his head. He looked like he needed it.

You shut your eyes, smelled his shampoo.

“What time is it?” Eren asked. He sounded as sleepy as you felt.

You blinked a few times before reaching for your phone. “Just past midnight.”

He shed your arms. Neither of you addressed the length of the hug. He sat upright and said, “I should get going.”

Before you could think of the consequences, you blurted, “Stay,” stopping yourself short of snatching him by the wrist and dragging him back to bed. You inaudibly cleared your throat. “You’ve been drinking. It’s late. You took a punch for me—” There were a million reasons he should stay. “Please.”

You watched his willpower flicker. His eyes drifted between you, the floor, and the window overlooking the route to his dorm.

“We could smoke? I picked some up yesterday.” Your voice dripped with persuasion. You crouched to the bottom drawer of your cubby and rifled around. You revealed your infamous tea tin—one he’d surely recognize by now. You held it on display for him, raising a tempting brow as you bragged, “New strain,” as if either of you cared about that sort of thing.

Eren gave you his answer by pushing open your old, rickety window. You could never manage to get it yourself.

You began to light the candles spread about your room, all three of them, only burning yourself once. Eren picked a spot for himself on the floor and you joined him, watching as he kindly packed a bowl for you to share. He handed it to you to take the first hit.

What would normally happen next was easy enough to predict. And it would have tonight, if not for the incident.

Admittedly, it was times like these when you enjoyed sex the most. You liked how you felt then. When you weren’t fixated on the show—the production and performance that was fucking—but when you were made conscious of how the wooden stage felt beneath your feet and how the lights warmed your face and left white spots in your vision. How Eren’s hands traversed your body like he wanted to make topographical maps of you in his mind; the delicious heaviness of his mouth on yours. Time moved slower. You moved slower. Unhurried as you touched and tasted each other, not worrying about the finish line because you had let yourself get lost in the journey.

You looked at Eren then, straight into his hazy green eyes, with all these thoughts whirling in your mind, and you didn’t know what to think.

You brought the piece back to your lips, lit it, and took a final, deep drag before it was cashed. You scrounged together any incriminating evidence and tucked it back in your cubby. Eren shut the window and pulled the blinds down while you went to blow out the candles. Their burnt wicks and heady curls of smoke masked the stench well enough.

Though it was not constructed for two, you squeezed to share your bed with Eren. It’d fit you both before, but tonight, it felt snugger than you remembered.

You slept restlessly, if you even slept at all. Minutes passed, maybe even hours. All the while, you stared at the ceiling, making constellations from its dated popcorn texture in what little streetlight shone from the window.

You suspected Eren wasn’t asleep either. He confirmed the hunch after you flipped to your side, away from him, and he pulled you in with an arm around your waist. His hand nestled beneath your tank top and pawed over the soft skin of your stomach.

Before you could decide what it meant—if you wanted to leave his hand there or not—he started kissing you, from the cusp of your shoulder to your neck. Long kisses. With an open mouth and nips at your earlobe. You felt every sensation at the base of your spine. Another bloom of fire, another tingle of electricity—they coaxed your back into an arch, pressing your backside against his half-hard cock.

Not a minute later, you had both slipped out of your bottoms. You were naked from the waist down, in an oversized tee you had hiked out of Eren’s way. His cock lay against the back of your leg until you lifted it, making room for him to push inside you. Deep enough for you to feel the stretch of taking him. Your breath hitched in your throat and left a bleary moan in its wake.

You let him take you then, slowly, with his hand still flattened against your stomach to keep you close. You’d never not used a condom before despite being on birth control. You’ve had your mouth on him, and his on you, but hadn’t felt each other like this. You’d thought about it, of course. How much better it would feel without a rubbery barrier keeping him from you. You craved it more often than you wished to confess.

Eren pressed a groan into the nape of your neck, his breath breaking over your skin and warming what was already on fire. You reached a hand behind you, grasping and grabbing at him however you could, almost as if you feared he might fade away. Your fingers laced themselves in his hair and you didn’t let go.

The world spun around you, your mind blank to everything except how good your body felt—how good it felt to be full. Practically overflowing. There wasn’t enough room inside you for his cock, buried between your legs and stuffing you to the hilt, over and over; his two fingers, plunged past your lips with the pads of them on your tongue like a compressor; the feelings, big feelings, you hadn’t anticipated. All you could do was burst.

You came then. Though it felt like lit fireworks or an explosion or whatever silly euphemism was preferred, there was a blissful silence inside of you.

On the outside, you smothered your face with a pillow. You didn’t want to get in trouble for smoking and breaking quiet hours.

“Come inside me,” you whispered on a flimsy exhale. It didn’t sound like you. You almost wouldn’t have believed you were the one who said it if not for how badly you wanted him to. You wanted him to fuck you through his release instead of his hand, just to prolong the fullness.

Eren curled himself around your back, shifting inside you. The tip of his cock began hitting deeper than before. Your cunt squeezed around him, soft and wet and bringing him to climax. He bit a moan into your shoulder, his voice tight as it vibrated through your bones.

You nearly had to remind yourself to breathe. He consumed you, your every thought, every fiber of your being, if just for a moment. The blunt of his teeth against your skin and the mark they’d leave, his cock throbbing inside you and spilling warm release—it was all so dizzying.

You muffled another whimper with your pillow.

You wanted to face him, craving to look him in the eyes and kiss the bruise he’d earned for you. The thought made your stomach do somersaults, so you only stared at your desk with your back to his chest.

Eren’s hand dipped below the blanket. His fingers skimmed along your front, down between your legs. Your eyes flitted shut and a gasp parted your lips. You were hot and swollen, sensitive to the finger he pushed inside you and, with it, his cum. Heat prickled across your cheeks—worse after he pulled your panties up for you.

You breathed hard and in sync, bodies sleep-laden at last, from your heavy eyelids to your limbs that were too lazy to clean yourselves. But messy sheets and tacky skin didn’t concern you much.

For the first time, you fucked Eren with more than just your body; your heart was all tangled up in it, too. The feeling terrified you.

Tonight, you needed him with a desperation you didn’t know existed. Not to satiate some primal desire within you but desperate for the assurance that he was still there and he was okay and he was safe in your bed, with you.

You didn’t know how it happened, but gradually, yet all at once, you knew exactly what you wanted. You couldn’t believe you had missed it for so long.

What you had with Eren was such a fragile thing, easily shattered by acknowledgment. You didn’t want to say goodbye, not yet, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he deserved better—if you deserved better—than to go on pretending as though there was nothing between you.

The answer eluded you but the ache persisted. For now, you would maintain the status quo. You would continue to dance your delicate dance. To question it now would be pointless; your gut was already swarming and you were beginning to think you might overheat.

You kicked a foot outside the blanket and hoped for sleep to come easy, not counting sheep but the breaths against your neck as Eren hid his face in the crook of it.

The next morning, you woke slowly. You lay there, eyes closed, and swore you could still feel his heat against your back. But when you finally roused, you found Eren had left, and he must have taken your troubled thoughts with him.

masterlist | more to come ♡

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren smut #eren fluff #aot x reader

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joonie-beanie · 11 months

Text

Side-Gig | [Peter B. Parker x Reader]

Pairing: Peter B. Parker x Reader

Summary: Peter gets worried about your apparent “side-gig” and goes snooping, only to discover your side-gig is writing Spiderman smut on commission.

Contents: Fluff, Smut, Consensual Sex, Pussy Eating, Banter, Friends to Lovers???

Author’s Note: I swore off posting fics on tumblr, but since this is just a one-shot, I figured why not. I think Peter B is charming, had to write a lil smth smth for him. And by that, I mean a 7.1k wordcount fic.

You and Peter Parker are friends. Not best friends, but pretty good friends.

You like to say you’ve looked out for each other over the years. You don’t talk all the time, but it’s kind of an unspoken promise that when one of you needs someone to lean on, the other person will be there.

Which is why, when Peter and MJ separate, you make a point of inviting Peter over for meals.

At first, he turns you down every time you ask, and you know it’s because he’s wallowing—depressed about his situation. And that’s understandable. You can’t exactly say you know what he’s feeling, but if you put yourself in his shoes, you’re sure you’d be a little bit fucked up about everything too.

Therefore, you give him a little space—wait for things to settle and for Peter to come around.

Except, Peter takes it all way worse than you expect—going radio silent after your third invite in two months. Then, you really start to get worried (and also a little mad that he’s ghosting you).

So, you manage to scrounge up his new address using some internet-sleuthing skills, and show up at his door. When he opens it, he’s dressed in a greasy wife-beater, worn-out gray sweats, and white socks with a hole in the toe.

“Jesus Christ, Peter.”

You spend that evening scolding Peter and letting him cry it all out—handing him tissue after tissue as he blubbers about everything on his mind. When he’s finally done, he apologizes for ignoring your last call, and thanks you for looking out for him.

With a smile, you assure him you’ll always have his back, and that now he really has to come over for dinner, because he owes you.

Laughing, Peter agrees. And luckily, he sticks to his word.

Since then, you and Peter make a point of doing dinner twice a month—typically at your place, sometimes out at a restaurant, but never at Peter’s. Not until he deep cleans his messy apartment, and you know that won’t be happening anytime soon.

Tonight, you’re at a restaurant of your choice—a local Italian joint. Peter arrives late, per normal, and you wave him over when you see him walk in the front door. He immediately spots you and hurries over, his eyes darting to the plate of bruschetta you’d ordered for the table, that now only has two pieces left.

“Aw, that’s not fair,” he says, sliding into the booth across from you. He immediately reaches for one, shoving it into his mouth. You shrug, not sorry.

“That’s what you get for always being late. And if I waited for you, I’d be hangry by now. So really, you should be thanking me.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter says with a roll of his eyes, picking up the menu to see what it is he wants.

“So, how have you been? I know we just saw each other two weeks ago, but—how’s work?”

You sigh at Peter’s question, resting your chin against your palm.

“Fine, I guess. Work is cutting hours since things are slow right now, so I’m gonna be pretty strapped for cash the next month or two.”

Peter blinks at your response, staring at you over the edge of the menu.

“Should we be here then? We could just get the check now and go down the street to the bodega—”

“No—no, it’s fine,” you reassure him, taking a sip from your glass. From the look of it, Peter can tell the glass is filled with rum and coke—your simple, yet timeless go-to.

“This is kind of my last hurrah, y’know? Gotta get one last plate of carbonara in before I’m eating ramen and eggs for the next few months.”

“I dunno about that,” Peter responds. “Eggs are pretty expensive now—you might have to settle for canned tuna.”

You roll your eyes at him, yet can’t help the little giggle that escapes you.

“You’re the worst.”

“I know,” he says with a smile.

The waitress wanders back over, and you and Peter put in your orders. Peter also opts to get a drink (after all, if you’re drinking, why shouldn’t he), and a few minutes later, a cosmopolitan is placed onto the table in front of him.

You watch him with a wide smile as he picks up the girly drink and takes a long sip—his pinky sticking out and everything.

“You and your love of sweet drinks,” you say, swirling around the ice in your half-empty glass. Peter hums happily.

“Listen, this is way better than beer.”

Honestly, you can’t disagree.

“So,” he continues, picking up the previous topic. “Are you gonna be okay? Money-wise?”

It’s not like he has much help to offer. Being a masked vigilante doesn’t pay very well, after all, but still.

“Yeah,” you assure him. “I have a side-gig that brings in a little cash-flow, so that’ll help cushion the blow. But I think I should still be able to afford rent and some groceries. I’ll just have to budget better, y’know?”

Peter nods. “Oh, okay. Good—,” but then his brain repeats the phrase “side-gig”, and his words cut off.

“Wait, what kind of side-gig are we talking about here?”

Despite how long the two of you have known each other, Peter has never heard anything about any kind of “side-gig”. It’s a little concerning, honestly, since the two of you don’t really keep secrets from each other.

Although it’s not like you know he’s Spiderman.

“Yeah. It’s nothing illegal, I promise,” you tell him, your attitude remaining pleasant. Peter stares at you, waiting for you to say more, but your smile only grows wider.

“Not telling,” you say, laughing quietly to yourself when Peter huffs in annoyance and grabs his drink. “You’ll just have to trust me. I’d never do anything illegal—you know me.”

“I dunno,” he responds, a playful lilt in his tone. “In college I seem to remember you stealing soft drinks from the mess hall without paying—”

“Oh c’mon,” you shoot back, and Peter grins, knowing you hate when he brings that up. “We were already paying to go to classes! Why should I pay 3 dollars for a cup of watered down coke?!”

Peter laughs as you go on a mini tangent about how college is a ripoff—ordering both you and him two more drinks when your waitress stops in to check on your table.

After a short while, your food comes out, and the two of you catch up over the hot meal. Conversation flows like normal—touching on any other life updates, and also local news topics, and things of the like.

At your insistence, Peter splits a tiramisu with you to close out the evening, and by the time the dessert is gone, Peter thinks he may explode.

“Ugh, why did I let you talk me into that?” Peter groans, curling over and holding his stomach as you fetch enough cash from his wallet to cover half the bill.

“Well, if you were smart like me, you would have kept half of your entree to take home with you for later, and then you would have had enough room left for dessert. Which, by the way, is too good to waste—so don’t puke it up.”

Your waitress swings by to grab the bill, and you assure her it’s all set—passing her the small stack of money taken from both your and Peter’s wallets. She thanks you with a smile, and then scurries away, leaving the two of you alone.

You reach over the table, patting Peter’s shoulder.

“You’ll be fine. Your stomachs gotten bigger, after all.”

“Hey—,” Peter frowns, lifting his head. You’re already grabbing your purse and takeout box—sliding out of the booth. He quickly follows after you.

“Are you calling me fat?”

“No,” you respond, holding the door open for him as the two of you step out into the cool New York air. “You’re actually still surprisingly in-shape for someone whose diet consists of pizza and frozen meals. But, that being said, you can’t deny you’ve put on a few pounds.”

Peter places a hand on his stomach.

“Remind me again why you’re so mean to me?”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound getting lost in the crowd around you.

“You just make it too easy,” you admit, grinning up at him. Despite himself, Peter smiles back.

Being the gentleman that he is, Peter fully intends to escort you back to the doorstep of your apartment building, but—

His spidey senses tingle, and he can tell something is off.

“Hey, um,” Peter grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. Before your brain can even catch up, he’s yanking you into a quick hug, and then backpedaling towards the alleyway the two of you had just passed.

“Sorry, I just remembered there’s something I have to do. It was nice seeing you! Let’s touch base soon!”

He’s gone before you can even get a word out, disappearing around the corner. You stare after him for a moment, befuddled, and then continue on your way with a sigh.

Same ‘ol Peter.

Exactly one hour later, Peter collapses in a pile of trash—his lungs heaving, and body aching. The fight itself hadn’t been that hard—just a few wannabe criminals with deadlier than normal weapons.

No, the real challenge had been not barfing up his dinner while doing acrobatics across the city.

And maybe laying in a pile of trash to take a breather isn’t exactly helping his current predicament, but fuck—he doesn’t have the energy to move right now

Spreading out his limbs, Peter stares up at the smog-coated night sky, his mind wandering. He thinks about a lot of things—all the villains he’s fought in his time as Spiderman, the people who have come in and out of his life during it all, including you. You…who apparently has a “side-gig”.

…but like, what kind of side-gig?

Peter groans, knowing he won’t be able to let this go.

You can’t just drop the knowledge that you have a secret side-gig on him and then not tell him what it is!

And if you’re insistent on keeping it a secret, it must be something bad, right? RIGHT??

“Goddammit,” he grumbles, picking himself up. He swings off into the night, his mind reeling.

Peter lasts all of 3-days before he decides he can’t be left alone with his thoughts anymore—that he just needs to confirm what exactly your side-gig is, before his theories can get any wilder.

Because so far, his top guesses are that you’re either 1. Unknowingly acting as a middle man for some illegal trafficking operation, or 2. Providing “services” to New York sleazebags to get in their wallets.

And Peter knows it’s likely neither option—you’re too smart to get roped into something stupid. Plus, you had assured him it was nothing illegal.

But if he doesn’t figure it out, he thinks he may explode.

So…he goes snooping.

It’s not his brightest moment—using the spare key you had given him “in case of emergency” to sneak into your apartment one evening. (But to be fair, to him…this might just be an emergency).

He’d used his spidey senses to scope out your apartment before coming in, so he knows you're not home. Which is good, but…he doesn’t know when you’re gonna be back either, so he has to move fast.

Softly closing the front door behind him, Peter tip-toes across your apartment, deciding to start in your bedroom. He stands in the doorway for a moment, guilt bubbling up inside of him, but he decides to push forward anyway.

He’s just making sure you’re okay, he tells himself. You’re one of his closest friends, and you won’t tell him your secret—so it’s understandable he’d be worried.

Like the true Sherlock that he is, Peter starts with you dressers. He quickly checks each drawer—gently lifting up the stacks of clothes to make sure nothing is hidden beneath them. (The only time doesn’t is when he encounters the drawer with your bras and panties. He simply stares at them with flushed cheeks, rocking awkwardly on his heels, before he quietly closes the drawer. Surely nothing would be in there anyway, right?)

The small stack of papers on your nightstand ends up being recent receipts, and a manual on how to use the white noise machine you've apparently just purchased, considering it's sitting on the floor beside your nightstand, still in the box.

Getting on his hands and knees, Peter does a quick check under your bed, and freezes when he spots a covered box. He pulls it out without thinking, tugging off the fabric lined lid—

—and immediately slams it back down.

…veiny, pink, silicon—

Peter haphazardly pushes the box back under the bed, hurrying to his feet. He bustles into the kitchen with cherry-colored ears.

All-in-all, it takes Peter about half an hour to search your apartment, and unfortunately…he comes up empty handed. It seems like you have nothing to hide (except a box of sex toys under your bed, but Peter thinks that’s pretty understandable. You don't want dumb assholes like him accidentally finding it, even though Peter had—)

Sighing, Peter takes one last glance around your apartment.

“Ugh, I shouldn’t have done this,” he sighs to himself, taking a step towards the door. But—not watching where he’s going, he stubs his toe into the leg of your coffee table.

A curse leaves his lips, and your opened laptop—which had previously been dark—jolts to life. Kicking the table must have moved your wireless mouse, Peter realizes.

Having already decided to leave, Peter fully intends to continue on his way. That is…before he takes a glance at your computer screen and sees that you have it open to a Google doc titled: “Spiderman x Reader Commission #6”.

…then, he’s scrambling onto your couch and yanking your laptop towards him.

“Number six??” he hisses dramatically, his eyes scanning over the document so fast that he doesn’t actually end up reading anything.

He has to pause and go back to try again, but the second Peter reads the sentence “Spiderman’s cock strains painfully against the tight confines of his suit, his fingers twitching against your waist as he drags you in closer”, his brain effectively blue screens.

In a panic, he clicks into a different tab that’s open—landing on your email inbox, where a thread sits open. A transaction between you and an apparent “customer”. Someone who had contacted you in regards to your open “commissions”.

Hi there!

I saw you’re accepting commissions, and I really enjoyed reading the other Spiderman fics you wrote! Would you be open to writing one for me? Preferably a Reader x Spiderman, and a smut/fluff genre. Based on the rate sheet, I think I can afford it, but I’d appreciate it if we could talk more and discuss the final price based on the idea I have.

Thanks!

Holy shit, Peter realizes. Your side-gig is writing Spiderman porn on commission.

He sinks back into the couch, his mind whirling.

How long has this been going on?? Do you…are you attracted to Spiderman?? As long as Peter has known you, you’ve never really fangirled over Spiderman. If Spiderman had popped up in the news, the two of you would talk about him, but…that was it.

And now you’re writing Spiderman smut for cash? Holy hell.

Peter supposes he should be relieved that what you’re doing truly isn’t illegal. That you’re just making money in a mostly innocent way, from the safety of your home. Meaning, Peter can call it quits, and leave.

…but instead, he leans forward, clicks back onto the Google doc tab, and starts reading more.

The document is still a work-in-progress, but Peter scrolls back up to the top, wanting to see how you’ve managed to set up this scenario.

As it turns out, a villain had injected Spiderman with some sort of aphrodisiac, and the reader is a bystander, bravely offering Spiderman her services to get him out of this pickle.

While embarrassing to admit, Peter gets sucked into the story—impressed by your ability to write, and your portrayal of him—err, Spiderman. In fact, he gets so distracted by the story and the multitude of thoughts running through his head that his spidey senses don’t kick in until danger is right on his doorstep.

Or, in reality, you are on your doorstep—your key shoving into the lock on the door.

Peter’s heart nearly rockets out of his chest, his eyes darting to the window across the room. It’s closed, and even if he used his web shooter to rocket over to it, he wouldn’t be able to safely open the window and escape outside in the two seconds it’s going to take you to finish unlocking your do—

Before he can even finish the thought, your front door shoves open, and you flick on the lights—your gaze immediately finding Peter, who is still firmly planted on your couch, looking like a deer in headlights.

You stare at him in shock.

“Peter? What…? Why are you here?”

“I was…worried about you,” Peter responds, forcing himself to smile. And it’s not like it’s a lie.

“You said you were strapped for cash, and I…I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

You kick the door shut behind you, your purse and keys discarded on the small table beside your entryway.

“I thought I told you to just trust me?”

You face him with a hand posed sternly on your hip. You appreciate his concern for you, but it’s a little upsetting that he hadn’t just been able to trust your word.

“I know,” Peter responds with a sigh. He runs a hand through his graying hair, and your gaze flits to his ears, noticing how red they are. Why is he so flushed?

“And I’m sorry. I’m dumb, I should have. Trusted you, I mean. I’ll just—,” he pushes himself up, planning to excuse himself and run, but freezes half way to his feet.

He’s half hard. Fuck.

If he gets up now, it’ll be a lot harder to hide that—especially since he’s wearing sweatpants.

Making a lil noise, Peter eases himself back down onto your couch. You cock an eyebrow.

“...you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry…back spasm.”

“Well, you don’t have to rush out. You’re welcome to stay for a while if you don’t have anywhere to be.”

You flash him a smile and turn towards the kitchen. Peter watches you as you open your fridge and bend down—fetching two bottles of water from the bottom shelf. His eyes glue to your ass the second you lean over, and Peter punches himself in the knee—forcing his gaze up towards the ceiling.

He’s going fucking insane. He’s not used to being this…feral feeling. Arousal is usually one of the emotions that evades him nowadays, but here he is—done in by fucking Spiderman fanfiction.

Who knew he’d get turned on reading about himself fucking some nameless woman? And who knew that arousal would make him thirst after you?

(Honestly, if he thinks about it, it’s not that surprising. The two of you have been friends for years, and he feels comfortable around you. Not to mention, you’ve always been attractive, even if you do like to push his buttons—)

“Here,” you say, snapping him out of his internal panic. You plop down onto the couch next to him, handing him one of the two bottles of water.

Peter reaches out to take it, and you notice the sweat beading on his brow. Why the hell is he—?

At that moment, you spot your laptop on the coffee table—open, and still showing the commission document you’d left open earlier on. Your first instinct is to reach over and slam your laptop shut before Peter can see—

…wait.

Peter reaches forward to take the water bottle from your grasp, but when he grips it, you don’t budge.

Confused, he looks up—only to find you intensely staring at him.

“Did you read it…?”

Peter’s face heats up, his eyes darting to the side to avoid looking at you.

Busted…

You pulse races, embarrassment blooming in your chest.

HE DID, you realize. HE READ IT. Your fucking Spiderman smut!

“Ah, shit…,” you mumble, letting go of his water bottle and crumpling in on yourself. You curl onto your side, hiding your face in the couch cushion.

Feeling horrible that he has embarrassed you—having discovered something you’d tried to keep private—Peter hurries to try and smooth over the situation.

“Okay, yes, I did read it,” he starts by saying. “But…it was…really good! You’re a good writer, and I can see why people are commissioning you! You’ll surely make some cash with the skill you have.”

If he was smart, he’d have stopped there, but no—Peter keeps going.

“A-And hey! I’d be willing to help too. Y’know, help give you some inspiration for your stories—”

His voice dies in his throat, realizing what it is he has just offered. And obviously, you realize it too—your head immediately lifting, staring at him with curious surprise.

“Did you just…offer…to fuck? To help me with my stories?”

The insinuation is so insane that you can’t help laughing. Peter coughs, straightening his shoulders out.

“I think I’d be very good inspiration for Spiderman.”

“Really?”

There’s disbelief in your voice. Peter narrows his eyes.

“You don’t think so?”

You hum, uncapping your water bottle and taking a swig. Peter mirrors you, his throat feeling dry.

“Spiderman is…suave and heroic, and you’re…dorky. Smart, but dorky.”

Peter frowns. “I can be…suave.”

You cock an eyebrow, a playful grin breaking out on your face. Your heart is racing a million miles an hour, because never did you think you’d be sitting here with Peter, the possibility of sex between the two of you suddenly laid out on the table. You’d never deny he’s an attractive male, and maybe because it’s him, and because you’ve missed the feel of another human being, you end up saying—

“Yeah? Show me then.”

You lean back, waiting to see if Peter will make a move.

Unfortunately, the realization that you’re open to whatever is happening right now causes Peter’s brain to stall, and he takes a second too long to act—just long enough to allow doubt to worm its way into your head.

You’re putting him on the spot. And he’s still probably dealing with some complicated feelings from the split—you shouldn’t have poked him.

Without saying anything, you decide to try and create some space. You push off of the couch, padding towards your bedroom. You’ll make an excuse about needing to fold your clothes, or something stupid—and hopefully Peter will take what you’ve said as a joke, and will move on. Yeah, that sounds like a solid plan—

Pausing in the doorway of your room, you force yourself to smile, and turn to face Peter—only to find that he’d snuck up on you—your gaze meeting his chest the second you turn around.

“Pe—,” you’re only able to get the first syllable of his name out, your chin tilting back as you look up at him. The feeling of his palm cupping your cheek is what makes your voice die out, his chestnut eyes boring into you.

You can see the hesitation on his face. A certain lack of confidence that you’re sure stems from his past relationship issues. But beneath that, you can see desire. A craving for intimacy he hasn’t shared in a long time.

You decide to be the one to close the gap—pressing onto your toes, your palm resting flat on his pec as you lean upward—connecting your lips with his. You can feel his heart racing beneath your fingertips, and you silently convince yourself that if Peter backs out, you’ll be fine with it.

Luckily, he doesn’t. His brain finally kicks into gear, his arm wrapping tightly around your waist as he kisses you back.

You make a pleasantly surprised little sound, your arms lifting to wrap around his neck—effectively deepening the kiss. A wrinkle appears between Peter’s eyebrows, his grip on your waist tightening. Your chest presses flat against his torso, and he rubs his thumb against your cheek, obsessed with the plushness of your lips and the feel of you against him.

It’s been way too long since he’s been intimate like this…that’s apparent by the blood absolutely rockets into his dick.

Although, to be fair, he’d already been half-hard before this.

“You think our local hero gets hard this quick?” you mumble against his lips with a grin, giggling when Peter makes a noise of annoyance and nips at you.

“You’d be surprised,” he responds. He slots his thigh between your knees, backing you into the doorframe. His clothed cock grinds against your stomach, trapped between your bodies, and his muscles tense.

“Adrenaline can go straight to the dick sometimes…”

(Peter has lost track of how many times, after an intense fight—especially earlier in his career—he’d swung home and immediately jerked off).

“That’s fair, I suppose.”

Your fingertips coast up the nape of his neck, tangling in the messy hair at the base of his skull. You yank him downward ever so slightly, your lips connecting with the skin of his neck. He immediately shivers, the first of many embarrassing sounds ripping from his chest as you lick and suck at his flesh.

“Think Spiderman whimpers?”

You’re teasing him. As to be expected, given the dynamic of your relationship. But Peter doesn’t intend on taking it quietly.

“Maybe,” he admits, “If you make him feel good enough. But if you wanna know what I think—”

Peter surprises you by ducking down—his arms looping around your thighs as he lifts you off the floor. Your squeal, arms and legs instinctively wrapping around him since you don’t want to fall, but Peter carries you easily enough—striding into your room and depositing you onto your bed.

He doesn’t waste any time—quickly caging you down. His knee reclaims its spot between your thighs, rubbing incessantly at the dampening fabric covering your privates, and his lips find your neck—a shiver raking up your spine as his stubble scratches against your skin.

“Peter,” you gasp when his fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt. His fingertips ghost over your heated skin, brushing past your waist, and finding the clasp of your bra. You have to arch to give him room to work, and Peter sucks a hickey of approval into your neck. He debates telling you “good girl”, but the thought leaves him the second your bra pops open.

He needs your tits in his mouth.

“—I think Spiderman has a thing for boobs,” Peter says, finally finishing his earlier statement. This exclamation is followed with the immediate removal of your shirt and bra—Peter forcibly tugging them over your head and discarding them on the floor beside your bed.

The sight of Peter groping you and lowering his mouth to your chest is enough to have your heart skipping a beat, and you can’t help the mewl that leaves you when Peter sucks one of your nipples into his mouth.

Peter groans when your fingers fist in his hair, practically keeping his mouth trapped where it is, which he hardly minds considering he intends to lick and suck at your tits until you’re panting.

And, that’s exactly what he does.

He lavishes your chest with his mouth—relishing in the way your hips jump at each little nip of his teeth or roll of your nipple between his fingers. It’s embarrassing, honestly, how wet it gets you—your panties feeling quite wet as you continue grinding your pussy against Peter’s thigh.

You try and think of some smart response in regard to Peter’s opinion that Spiderman is a tit man, not an ass man, but words seem to be avoiding you. You can’t think of anything coherently when Peter is touching you like this. Especially when his face finally leaves your chest, his lips peppering kisses down the length of your torso.

You lift your head to look at him, propping up on one of your arms. Peter reaches your navel, but doesn’t stop, heading towards—

“Peter,” you pant, your face flushing hotly as you realize the path he’s carving.

Peter hums, his eyes flitting up and meeting your gaze just as he hooks his thumbs beneath the band of your pants.

“Another thing about Spiderman…,” he begins, kissing the skin of your tummy as he inches your waistband down your hips. You watch him with blown-wide eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly—excitement and nervousness mingling inside of you.

You lift your ass off the mattress to help him shuck you of your bottoms, and Peter smiles, tossing your pants on the floor beside your other clothes.

Never in your life did you imagine the sight of Peter sinking to his knees, his hands gripping your hips and dragging you closer to him—his gaze falling between your legs. Your panties are soaked, and the sight causes more blood to rush into his dick. He’s so hard that it honestly hurts—just a little bit—but Peter still doesn’t touch himself, because—

“...Spiderman loves eating pussy.”

“He’s a people-pleaser,” you quip breathlessly, your thighs quivering in Peter’s hold when he presses a kiss to your skin, right beside your panty line. He quietly chuckles.

“Maybe.”

Peter thumbs at your clit through your panties, relishing in the whine he rips from your throat. You hips buck in his hold, craving more, and when Peter sees the desperate look on your face, he decides to not tease you.

Peeling your panties to the side, Peter finally connects his mouth with your pussy—his tongue licking a wet, broad strip between your folds.

Oh, shit, you think to yourself, the muscles in your abdomen convulsing as you watch one of your closest friends eat you out. The whole situation is making you feel light headed, so you can’t help it when you collapse back onto the mattress, your fingers fisting in the sheets as Peter groans into your cunt.

He eats you like a man starved, his face quickly becoming covered with your arousal. His nose bumps against your clit as his tongue sinks between your walls, and you full out whimper—your hips needily grinding against his mouth.

Peter’s palm presses down on your pelvis, forcing your hips to the mattress. He doesn’t want you squirming—just wants you desperate and pliant. To see you cumming on his tongue.

His name falls from your lips again, more debauched than he’s ever heard, and Peter curses.

“Shit.”

His tone is guttural, and sexy, and—

He presses a finger inside of you.

“Oh, fuck, Pete—,” his name deterorates into a moan, your brain function declining as Peter begins fucking his finger inside of you. At the same time, he focuses his mouth on your clit, his tongue urgently flicking against the bundle of nerves.

You unconsciously wriggle at the assault of stimulation, but Peter’s hand on your stomach keeps you in place.

Why is he so strong? You think to yourself, moan ripping from your chest as Peter slips in a second finger. It doesn’t take him long to locate that spongy little sweet spot inside of you. The one that causes your thighs to shake as he practically abuses it—rubbing the pads of his fingers against it repeatedly until you’re nearly sobbing.

The coil in your belly winds tight, heat searing your veins. You can feel your clit throbbing against Peter’s tongue, and the walls of your pussy tightening up around him.

“Peter,” you cry, your entire body trembling. You’re so fucking close.

“Cum,” he rasps. He needs to see you orgasm—needs to feel you unraveling on his mouth and fingers.

Hearing the gravel of his voice is the final nail in your coffin—the tension in your muscles releasing as your orgasm washes over you. Just as he wanted, you cum all over him, your cunt gushing arousal around his fingers as his tongue continues lapping at your clit, dragging out the waves of your pleasure until you’re panting and pawing at his head, trying to push him away.

After a moment, he relents—sitting back to look at you.

You’re covered in a sheen of sweat, your chest heaving, and an arm draped over your eyes. Your tits are peppered with an array of hickies, and Peter feels his chest (and cock) swell with pride. He’s clearly done a number on you. And yet…

You feel the mattress dip, and then the room is spinning around you. When things finally settle, you find yourself laying on top of Peter.

He has one arm wrapped around your waist, his palm resting on your ass. The other brushes a few stray strands of hair out of your face when you lean back to look at him.

“Spiderman also loves being ridden,” he says with a grin. You place your hands on his chest, feeling it rumble with laughter as he watches you struggle to sit up.

“You think I have the energy to ride you after you just did that? And why do you keep saying Spiderman enjoys these things like they’re facts—you don’t know.”

“Just a feeling,” he responds, licking his lips. His hands find your hips, and he grinds you downwards. Your sensitive pussy rubs against his aching length, still trapped behind his sweatpants, and it’s hard to miss the way Peter harshly swallows at the feeling.

You sigh, scooting backwards.

“Fine.”

You shove his sweats and boxers down his thighs, careful to not snag them on his dick. And damn, he really must be aching—a sticky string of precum dripping from the head of his cock, and pooling on his abdomen.

He opens his mouth, but you don’t give him the chance to say anything. Your fingers wrap around his cock, smearing his arousal across his length, and whatever Peter had been planning to say crumbles into a needy garble of non-words.

You can’t help but smile at the sound.

“Surprised you didn’t cream your pants already,” you tell him, but your tone is hardly teasing. No, seeing him beneath you like this—the muscles in his torso clenching with every stroke of your hand—it’s actually quite endearing.

“I’ll cum in your hand if you keep doing that,” he pants, glancing into your eyes. You spot nothing but lust there, any previous reservations gone.

“Is that so bad?” you ask, thumbing at the head of his cock. Peter’s grip on your waist tightens, and you hear him take a shaky breath.

“Yes.”

He wants to be inside you, that much is clear. And while it’d be so easy to draw it out and make him beg…you don’t feel like being mean to him. Not tonight, after he’d just given you the best oral of your life.

“Fine,” you relinquish. You scoot forward, planting one hand on his chest, and gripping the base of his cock with the other. Peter’s breath catches when you rub the head of his cock between your folds, a heady groan following a beat later as you begin sinking down onto him.

By the time his cock is fully inside of you, your thighs are shaking. Whether from the lack of energy due to your previous orgasm, the remarkable size of Peter inside of you, or both—you’re not totally sure.

“There’s no rush,” Peter reassures you, but the needy warble of his voice betrays his words.

“My legs might give out at some point,” you respond with a breathless laugh, and Peter echos you, giving your waist a squeeze.

“That’s fine. I’ll help.”

With your palms planted firmly on his chest, you begin to ride him.

And god, you feel so fucking good.

“Fuck,” Peter bites out, watching the space between your bodies, where his cock disappears inside of you with every roll of your hips. It’s been ages since a cunt has squeezed his dick like this, and honestly, he can see himself very easily getting addicted to the feel of you.

The bounce of your tits as you ride him, the cute little sounds you make when his cock rubs against the sensitive spots inside you—he feels like he’s going crazy.

“Peter,” you whine, your pace flattering. Having his cock inside of you is incomparable to the feeling of his fingers, and very quickly, you can feel another orgasm building, but…the closer you get, the more your strength falters.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he responds, praises falling from his lips. “You’re doing so good. You feel so good.”

His words cause your walls to clench around him, and he groans—his hands sliding down to your hips as he helps rock you down onto his cock. The sloppy sound of sex fills your bedroom, and you watch Peter with half-lidded eyes, soaking up the desperation showing on his face.

His hair is slicked back with sweat, brows pinched together in concentration as he forces you to continue riding him. At least, until he starts craving more.

With his orgasm quickly approaching—despite the immense pleasure he gains seeing you bouncing on top of him—Peter’s hunger gets the best of him.

He grabs your wrists, moves your arms so they’re wrapped around his shoulders, and then secures his arms around your back. Before you can even digest the slight change in position, Peter is fucking you.

An incoherent string of noise slips past your lips, your fingernails digging into his shoulders as his cock pistons inside of you. With his arms trapping you against his chest, you’re helpless but to take it—your orgasm rushing to the surface at the desperate yet brutal pace that Peter sets.

“Peter,” you sob into his neck.

“It’s okay,” he responds without missing a beat, his voice breathless. “I’m right there. Cum for me again, sweetheart.”

As if you could stop.

Holding onto him for dear life, you cum for the second time that night—your walls clamping down on his cock so tightly that Peter’s rhythm falters. A curse rips from his throat, and his hands find the plush of your ass—stuffing your body down onto his dick as he cums along with you—pumping you full of his seed.

The needy tension of the room melts away, and you and Peter can only lay there—a pile of sweaty yet sated flesh. It takes you both a minute to catch your breaths, and you make a quiet noise of disappointment when Peter’s cock slips out of you.

You can feel his cum running out of your pussy.

“Your balls aren’t dried up yet?”

Peter’s chest rumbles beneath you.

“I’m in my 30’s, not my 60’s.”

You glance up at him when you feel Peter’s fingers clearing the hair away from your face, and he smiles at you. Your heart jumps.

He must know how handsome he is, right? Even with that crooked nose of his.

“Don’t you ever get tired of taking cracks at me?” he wonders, using his grip on your ass to slide you farther up his chest. You giggle, cupping his cheeks as you find yourself suddenly face to face with him.

“Mmmm, no?”

He rolls his eyes, yet his smile widens. You lean down to kiss him, and he reciprocates easily enough.

“Feeling good?” you ask him, carding your fingers through his hair. He nods.

“Very. I…really missed that.”

“Same,” you agree, sitting back. You need to get to the bathroom before any cum gets on your nice sheets. You crawl off of Peter, swinging your legs over the side of your mattress. He rolls onto his side, watching you with furrowed brows as he tucks his dick back into his pants.

“Same? You haven’t—?”

“Not in a while,” you admit, pulling a fresh shirt and a pair of panties from your dresser drawers. You’re about to make a joke that the only action you’ve gotten recently is from the toys stashed under your bed, but when you turn to look at the spot where they’re hidden, you find that…the box has moved. It’s not where you had left it.

“Did you…find my sex toys? Before I came home?”

Peter’s face goes carefully blank, but the red flush of his ears betrays him.

You shoot him a glare, leaving your room with a huff.

“Dude doesn’t trust me…how fucking rude…”

“Hey now—!”

Peter’s feet pound against the floor as he chases after you, and he catches you around the waist just before you make it into your bathroom. His lips press against the crown of your head.

“Again, I’m sorry for snooping. I’m dumb.”

You sigh, wriggling around to face him.

“You are,” you agree, lightly patting his chest. “Dumb, and insistent that Spider man loves tits, eating pussy, and getting ridden. Still holding those beliefs?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Peter grins. “And I have other beliefs about his preferences as well.”

“Of course you do,” you laugh. You kiss his cheek, and then step out of his hold—heading into the bathroom.

“I’m going to shower,” you tell him. “There’s some leftovers in the fridge if you want any.”

Peter nods, and the last thing you see is him heading for your fridge when you close the bathroom door.

30 minutes later, you exit your steaming bathroom in your fresh oversized t-shirt and panties, fully expecting to find Peter lounging around your apartment, eating all your food. But…to your utter disappointment, you don’t spot him anywhere.

You sigh, shoulders sagging. Had it been too much to assume he would have wanted to stay the night?

Shuffling into your kitchen, you spot an empty plate on your table. One that you know had previously been piled high with leftover chicken and potatoes.

“He eats my food and runs off…of course,” you mumble, picking up the plate to put it in the sink. However, before your annoyance can truly get the better of you, a piece of paper that had been stuck to the bottom of the plate floats to the ground.

You bend over to pick it up.

Hey!

Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to stay so long, so I left my apartment earlier without locking the door. I’m running back home to lock it, but I should be back at your place by 9!

Don’t get mad at me. I’d never run off without a word :p

-PB

PS. I have a working theory that Spiderman also has more stamina than you’d expect, even for a guy who’s been doing hero work for 20+ years, so…round two when I get back?

You can’t help but laugh.

What an idiot.

But…you like him.

#peter b parker x reader #peter b parker smut #peter b parker #i can't believe I'm posting this on tumblr #immediately going back to only posting on AO3 bc it's so much easier to format LMAO #fic #reader insert #reader x peter b parker #peter b parker x you #peter b parker x y/n

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dwobbitfromtheshire · 6 months

Text

Anyway, I just saw this video of a guy walking in on his roommate taking a bath with a raccoon, and I just had this image in my head.

Steve went over to the Munsons' new house to hang out with Eddie. He knocked at first, but no one answered. He knew Eddie was home. He tried the door, and it was unlocked.

"Eddie?"

"In here!" Eddie hollered.

He wasn't sure what to expect when he went into the bathroom, but it wasn't Eddie taking a bath with a raccoon.

"What?"

"Oh, yeah, I rescued a raccoon! Poor little guy got in the flour. Kids, am I right?" Eddie scoffed.

"Okay, but I don't think it was necessary to get into the bath with him," Steve said.

He was relieved to see that Eddie was wearing swim trunks.

"I know it wasn't necessary," Eddie said. "I think he wants you to say hi. Don't worry. I took him to the vet. Clean Bill of Health, and he's had all his shots. Let him sniff your hand."

"Okay. . ."

Steve reached over and let him sniff his hand. He slowly started to pet him, and he smiled when the raccoon leaned into his hand.

"Aww, I think he wants you to be his mommy," Eddie said.

"I'm a man," Steve said.

"A man can be a mom if he wants to. Get with the times! It's 1986, man! Besides, they're all just made-up words. You can call things whatever you want to. For instance, I call spoons forks and forks spoons now. Does it piss Wayne off a little when I ask him for them? Yes. Does he love me a little less for it? Probably. I'm still his nephew, though," Eddie said.

"Jesus."

"No, Eddie," he grinned.

"How can someone be this adorable and this annoying at the same time?" Steve asked.

"If I didn't know any better, I think you wanted to be more than just my boyfriend," Eddie said.

"I'm your boyfriend?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, you're my friend, and you're a boy. You're my boyfriend," Eddie said.

"Have you just been calling me that in your head?" Steve asked.

"It sounded good to me," Eddie said.

"Do you call your other guy friends your boyfriend?" He asked.

"No, that would be weird," Eddie scoffed.

"But not weird with me?" Steve asked.

"Nope!"

Steve giggled and knelt by the tub. He grabbed the back of Eddie's neck and pulled him in for a gentle kiss. He pulled back and watched Eddie's eyes light up in realization, his cheeks pink.

"Oh, yeah. That makes more sense," Eddie said, and he kissed Steve. "You know, this tub is big enough for the both of us."

Steve was now in the bathtub, stripped down to his boxers as he and Eddie bathed a raccoon.

"By the way, I'm not telling Robin that this is how we got together," Steve said.

"Yes, you are. You're going to tell her every single detail, and you're going to love every moment of it," Eddie cackled. "What shall we name our son, mother?"

"Hmm," Steve said thoughtfully. "Dustin!"

"It shall piss off Dustin the First mightily so! Yes!"

"And let's get him a little hat!"

"Let's!"

And when he told Robin the story of Eddie and the raccoon, she laughed so hard she fell off the couch. And she finally did meet raccoon Dustin, she became smitten. . . Mostly to use him whenever human Dustin pissed her off. She would always declare that this was her favorite Dustin.

And so, they lived strangely ever after. . .

THE EN . . . Fuck, Raccoon Dustin ran off with the d. Him and his little bandit hands. 😑

#stranger things #stranger things s4 #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson lives #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #bisexual steve harrington #bisexual eddie munson #bi4bi #idiot4idiot #stranger things fanfiction #a ficlet #rueleigh writes #its a crack fic #i love crack fics

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kissitbttr · 5 months

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ANA! ANA MY LUV!! idk much about miguel (a travesty i knoeww) but i saw ur fratboy post n now i cant stop drooling at the idea of fratboy!miguel introducing u to his frat buddies!! being so possessive: holding ur waist or pulling u to his lap; kissing ur neck even when his friends are right there. oh my goddd im gonna sob hes so!!!

SUNNY?! I AM BITING MY FIST OMG HE’D SOOO FREAKING POSSESSIVE UGH I LOVE IT WHEN YOU ARE RIGHT

bby you HAVE to hop on the miguel simp train!! HE IS SO FINEEEE😩😩

it was around after the third date when miguel nervously asked you to come to the frat house to meet his brothers. he didn’t want to overwhelm you of course, he knew how annoying and pushy his brothers could be but still, he would love for them to get to know you just as he had when he was with you,

you saw how nervous he got, but you assured him by squeezing his hand and telling him that you were okay with that. he smiled in return, kissing you softly on the lips as a thank you,

“i never express any gratitude towards anyone in my life except my parents but i want to thank you so much for finally saying yes, it was fucking annoying to hear him yapping about you non-stop. all of us had enough of his corny shit”

one of his frat brothers, glen had mentioned. feigning a relief expression while he smirked at miguel who gave him the finger,

“i literally thanked Jesus when i heard him going on a date with you, y/n! you are our life savior”

miguel threw his head back in annoyance, groaning at how his frat brothers continued to spill his secrets. but you giggled instead, looking over at him who avoided your gaze out of pure embarrassment.

“what else did he do?”

miguel shot you a warning look, “don’t encourage them, muñeca! they’d go all the way out!”

“oh believe me, we have many” beck had answered, playfully snickering at the amount of times miguel had ranted about you. “which one do you want to hear? one where he talked about you while he was high? or one where it was late at night—“

“fuck off, kingsley!” miguel had interrupted before he got too far, in which beck put his hands up in defense.

miguel snaked his arm around your waist, giving your hip three taps to prompt you to sit on his lap which you obliged.

you happily plopped yourself down on one of his thick thighs. he helped you with shifting your body into a comfortable position with your legs crossed.

the rest of the boys sat in the living room, piling in the same area as they all stared at the two of you. millions of questions running through their minds, desperate to know if miguel somehow blackmailed you into agreeing to go out on a date with him or something worse,

miguel sensed the stares from his brothers and, to be frank, it was quite uncomfortable. though he knew for sure they wanted to know the same thing.

“are you guys wondering how i got to take her out or what?”

they all responded with a ‘yes’ in unison, making him rub his temple and you smiled

“so? what did he do, y/n? because i’m starting to think this is a joke”

“could be. i mean, carlos went all 110% for a girl when she rejected his offer the first time” glen shrugged, earning a frown from carlos himself,

“i did not—“

“yes you did. you stood outside of the campus library with a boombox over your head” one boy chimed in while sipping his beer,

“okay see, i was—“

“oh! and remember when he threatened to pull his—“

“shut the fuck up! focus! we’re not here for me but for them!” carlos gestured his hand at both miguel and you. “can we leave my shit behind? that would be great”

carlos's cheeks went beet red as the other guys teased him for it, beck patted him on the back and told him that it was nothing to be ashamed of but carlos only swatted his hand away,

you found it so endearing at how the frat guys were so playful and funny with each other. typical boys will be boys type of thing. they were definitely far more different than when you see them during parties,

“well to be honest, he really didn’t have to do anything” you simply replied, tucking a hair behind your ear. “but definitely persistent, in the most politest way and less creepier though”

“you saying what i did was creepy?” carlos pointed at himself with a defeated look,

“i mean, if you had to ask then yeah”

the rest erupted in a peal of loud laughter while carlos’s shoulders slouched. propping his back against the chair with his arms crossed, a chorus of ‘see?’ and ‘i told you so’s’ made you laugh,

miguel settled his elbow on the armrest, eyes glinted with adoration whilst his mouth stretched into a lovesick grin. he watched how you managed to pull joy out of them and there’s nothing he’s appreciated more than that,

the way you threw your head back as another cute giggle escaped you while holding onto his shoulder for balance was enough to make his heart ponder,

“man, you’ve got wicked sense of humor, y/n—say if shit went sideways between the two of you, just know I’m available”

miguel frowned upon hearing that as his nose scrunched up in disgust as he leapt the nearest pillow at his brother’s direction for that comment. he wrapped his arm around your waist far more protectively,

“watch it” he warned, glaring at him. he knew it was a joke but he still didn’t like how that sounded, “i’ll kick your fucking ass, monty”

upon seeing that, your hand moved to find his cheek, lightly tapping his chin with your finger to get him to look at you,

“easy there, big boy” your words soothed him in seconds, especially when he heard his favorite nickname leaving your mouth, "I'm with you"

the confirmation made him giddy and his heart blossomed,

he moved dangerously close to your ear to whisper before kissing the back of it making you giggle. “you look so pretty tonight, muñeca” miguel dragged his fingertips up and down your exposed thigh, then squeezed the soft flesh. “so so pretty— do i get to see you in this dress more often?”

the question came off too excited despite his best trying to hide it, again, if there was nobody around, he'd actually take you right there and then.

you smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck. “but I thought you like me better when i’m naked?”

“oh there’s no doubt about that, mi amor” he winked with a chuckle, “am i… about to get lucky tonight?”

“you might” a seductive response laced on your tone, winking at him as he squeezed your waist before

the boys let out a couple of groans and fake puking sounds at the sight, but the two of you remained still in your element,

''you guys make me sick" glen protested, shaking his head before getting up from the chair to walk away but you caught a small smile on his face,

"jealous you don't have a girlfriend, mayback?" miguel teased at him, glen only threw him the middle finger before cracking another can of beer from the kitchen,

the rest of the boys followed his actions after, not before congratulating miguel on scoring with you.

the word girlfriend made you bulldozed, eyes darted toward his smiling proud face before yours stretched into one as well,

"i'm your girlfriend?"

his smile faltered after he soon realized what he had just called you, he swallowed a nervous gulp. opening and closing his mouth because he was unsure what to say

you must admit you enjoyed seeing him like that.

"well i-i mean--i wasn't--surely you were--uh--what was the question again?"

you tucked your lower lip in between your teeth, head tilting to the side as the adorable man in front of you became a stuttering mess.

realizing that he is on the edge of a nervous breakdown, you leaned closer to his face before smashing your lips against his. his body went still by your action, but soon found himself lost in your kiss and sighed out of contentment,

you pulled away after a few seconds, tousling his soft chocolate hair before replying,

''i would love to be your girl, o'hara''

please please PLEASE tell me this is good!! i was writing this in the car and I couldn’t concentrate for a second because people were honking too much!! bhhshshs

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara blurbs #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara x reader #frat!miguel

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diazsdimples · 28 days

Note

Do you have any buddie fic recs that is a /must/ read for Buddie shippers ( sorry I don't ship Bucktommy 🥹)

Boy do I ever!!!

honey, when you call my name - @hippolotamus (Explicit)

"Eddie witnesses the Buck/Lucy kiss, has himself a little panic, and decides to do something about it when Buck does his Buck thing and won't stop pushing Eddie's buttons" It's spicy, it's sweet, it's packed full of feels and there was not a dry eye in the house!!

Whatever may come (your heart I will choose) - @hippolotamus (Mature)

"The Story of Eddie and Christopher Diaz" The number of times I yelled at Hippo while reading this,,,, it is incredible!! 30 chapters of Buckley-Diaz family feels, Eddie's heartbreaking backstory and FUCK if I could read it for the first time again, I would!

James Bond AU Series - @princessfbi (Teen & Explicit)

James Bond AU with 007 Agent Eddie Diaz and Buck as Q. Incredible. No notes. Read them back to back in one sitting, and then read them again immediately after. No prior knowledge of James Bond needed (cause I sure didn't have any) but be prepared to have the sudden urge to go watch all the films.

Kink Club AU Series - @princessfbi (Explicit)

"Canon compliant one shots where Eddie works at a Kink Club as a side hustle and meets Buck there before his first shift in 2x01." This series is insanely good. 5 perfect fics of the boys and BDSM, it is incredibly hot, full of feels and just.... yeah. Incredible. Please do read the tags before each fic though, especially if BDSM isn't your thing.

because we'll all arrive in heaven alive - @neverevan (Explicit)

"During a search and rescue, Eddie disappears without a trace, leaving Buck to grapple with the sudden possibility of a life without him." I was literally on the edge of my seat with every single chapter release. It's SO angsty and delicious and absolutely incredible, and I think also very feasible for what could happen in canon should Timothy ever decide to be as mean (affectionate) as Newbie was by putting the boys through this.

Out Of Order, Still In Line - @neverevan (Explicit)

"When Buck finally gets to the Clinic, the long awaited release doesn’t seem to come; cue Eddie to the rescue." One of the first Buddie fics I read and it altered my brain chemistry a little. Lord have mercy. It's just ... you gotta read it. Like, Jesus 🥵

My Blood on Your Skin (My Rose on Your Snow) - @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Explicit)

"When Eddie needs cash and fast to take care of Christopher, his LAFD Academy buddy suggests a job as a bouncer at Elysium - an exclusive sex club in downtown Los Angeles. Eddie doesn't care what goes on there, so long as he's paid, but he finds he cares a lot bout the club's enigmatic owner, Evan Buckley, and it's not long before the two of them are violating every boss-employee rule in the book. But there's something different about Buck and the club, something not quite... human. If Eddie wants to keep Buck, he's going to have to delve into the world of immortals, and all the risks that implies." Honestly I think the blurb says it all. I read this at my cousin's wedding (literally just before the ceremony and during the reception fsdkjdfs) because I literally couldn't put it down. Incredible Greek Gods integration and so. fucking. hot. Sorry Caleb, I hope your matrimony is holy but this was so worth it.

stuck now so long, we just got the start wrong - @daffi-990 (Unrated at present)

"Probational Firefighters Evan “Buck” Buckley and Eddie Diaz meet on a call which ends with them at odds with each other. As the months roll by, they keep running into each other on the job, much to Eddie’s dismay and Buck’s delight. Can they put aside their first opinions and misunderstandings and allow the seeds of friendship, and possibly something more, to take root?" This AU has been eating me alive with snippets for the last few months and the chapters are FINALLY being published!! Stay tuned for weekly updates about our idiots being - well - idiots. Daffi has written them so well and I don't think I could yell louder about this one if I wanted.

Cow Eyes - @theotherbuckley (General)

"'Eddie's in hospital and Buck tries not to break down' fic except its actually just a cute silly little fic" Exactly what is says on the tin. Cute, silly, fluffy and entirely adorable. High!Eddie is fucking hilarious and Worried!Buck has my whole ass heart. Love this fic, have read it many times, will read many times more

Both Blade and Branch - @cal-daisies-and-briars (Mature)

"The chances of being struck by lightning twice are incredibly minute, but Buck still manages to pull it off. During a double date with Marisol and Natalia, nonetheless. Eddie manages to resuscitate him, but as Buck recovers from yet another trauma, Eddie can’t help but notice there’s something very different about him. He’s not quite sure what version of Buck he got back." Orpheus and Eurydice vibes but somehow more heartbreaking because it's the Boys? Literally every chapter I was gobsmacked and the fact that I couldn't read it in one sitting due to Life™️ was frankly criminal.

what humans do - @gayhoediaz

""…and the thought that she had just escaped death by such a narrow margin made me realize the intensity of my feelings toward her.” Eddie swallows. “‘What’s the matter?’ I couldn’t tell her, so I kissed her instead,” Buck goes on, and since Eddie’s eyes are focused on the page, they drift ahead a little bit, and the next few lines have him swallowing once again, taking his hand back to brace himself against the mattress as he slowly starts to push himself up to sit. “Kissing is what humans do when words have reached a place they can’t escape from. It is a switch to another language. The kiss was an act of defiance, maybe of war. You can’t touch us, is what the kiss said. ‘I love you,’ I told her, and as I smelled her skin, I knew I had never wanted anyone or anything more than I wanted her…” Buck trails off when Eddie reaches for the book, gently luring it out of his grasp. " One of the best getting together fics I've read. So sweet, so hot, full of feels, and also just very 🤯 in many places. Just insanely well written and perfect imagery.

Also I have a small list of authors whom I love dearly:

@spotsandsocks @exhuastedpigeon @wildlife4life @thewolvesof1998 @thekristen999

@steadfastsaturnsrings @watchyourbuck @fortheloveofbuddie @rainbow-nerdss @bidisasterevankinard

@aroeddiediaz @jesuisici33 @wikiangela @loveyouanyway @kitteneddiediaz

@actuallyitsellie @dangerpronebuddie @loserdiaz @elvensorceress @underwaterninja13

@smilingbuckley

Literally anything these wonderful people (and the authors of the above fics) have written is well worth a read. I would rec all of their words and make individual recs for all their fics but I fear I simply do not have the words.

I might also humbly suggest some of my fics, which you can find here! Happy reading!!!

#james answers things #fic recs #buddie fics #buddie #buddie wip #buddie ao3 #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 buddie #911 abc #please don't read too much into the fact that pretty much every single one of these are smut #they're just really fucking good okay?

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sageo7 · 1 month

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Okay guys i actually finished it idk why i waited like a month lol. Sorry its kinda shot but Im gonna start writing more Stiles content coming up bc there is a horrible lack of fics on tumblr rn. Send me requests pretty please!!

Stiles was practically fuming on the couch next to you while you sat amongst your friends at one of the movie nights hosted at Scotts house. You had been conducting a little experiment to see how much you could tease him and push his buttons until he did something about it. Stiles was always gentle with you, touching you like you would shatter if he applied too much pressure and it was endearing, for sure… but you wanted more. You wanted him to use you how he needed to; for him to use you for once to satisfy his own needs. Your hand remained on his upper thigh under the blanket draped over both of your laps, innocently watching the movie in front of you to avoid his gaze that had been boring into the side of your head ever since your hand brushed up against him. The whole night has been moments like this, whispering dirty things into his ear and skipping away like nothing happened, bending down to grab things directly in front of him so he could get a peak of your lacy pink panties from under your skirt, and now your hand was inching up his thigh to touch him through his jeans in a room full of your friends. Just when your hand makes contact with the bulge straining against his zipper his hand catches your wrist making your eyes snap back up to his which were dark and heavy lidded, his breathing much deeper than normal.

“bathroom.” Is all he practically growls into your ear before he stands from the couch abruptly walking away. You wait another minute or so before also excusing yourself, none of your friends paying much mind to either of your departures. You creep up the stairs slowly every step making the ache between your legs more prominent and you bite back a moan when you’re practically shoved into the bathroom the door slammed shut behind you.

“jesus stiles.” You say exasperatedly and he just gives you a look and retaliates with “why’re you doing this to me baby?”

“doing what?” You ask feigning innocence and looking away to avoid his eyes but his hand grabs your chin harshly turning you back.

“Look at me. You know what I’m talking about.” he says his hand guiding yours to the bulge in his jeans arousal pricking down your spine at the groan that leaves him from the contact.

“feel what you’re doin’ to me?” He mumbles out his head falling to your shoulder when you cup him properly in your hand. You let out a shuddering breath to recompose yourself and nod “yeah? what do you want me to do about it..?” the question comes out sarcastic and taunting and his hips instinctively move forward trying to rut more into your hand.

“anything.” He breathes out and you shake your head pulling your hand away a desperate moan falling from his lips in protest.

“stiles.. tell me what you want.” you repeat putting more emphasis on ‘want’ and he swallows and nods understanding your meaning.

“your mouth..” he finally manages out after a long pause and when you sink to your knees his words grow more confidence “god I wanna fuck your pretty little mouth..” he mutters his hands moving to pull your hair back away from your face. Your hands move diligently to undo his pants eagerly pulling them and his boxers down, his cock springing free the head already an angry red, beads of precum rolling down the tip. You lick your lips instinctively at the sight and peer up at him, he’s flush, pupils blown wide and mouth slightly agape as he watches your every move with rapt attention his hand holding your hair up in a makeshift ponytail subtlely trying to inch you closer to his dick. You wrap a hand around him and his eyes snap shut a guttural moan bubbling up from his throat when your tongue darts out to lick up the precum before taking the tip into your mouth. With a small huff of air you take him further in inch by inch tormentingly slow, but when you nose brushes against tufts of well groomed hair his hips jut forward making you pull away abruptly with a chocked cough. His hands cup your face immediately panic clear in his eyes sputtering out apologies but you shake your head with giggle batting his hands away.

"just so big sti.." you purr out and his anxiety melts away immediately with a borderline pathetic moan. You take him back in your hand, eyes staring up into his while you tug along his dick lowering your mouth to press wet kisses down his length. A few little kitten licks to his slit has his eyes screwing shut hands tightening in your hair. "please.."

"please?" you repeat pulling your mouth away from him "be more specific"

His features scrunch up in annoyance at the taunting still the words spill out of him immediately "no more teasing.. wanna fuck your mouth.. please" he babbles out.

You hum in approval his neediness making your mouth water and you wrap your lips around him again. Your tongue swirling around his tip snaps the last of his well upheld restraint and the hand buried in your hair pushes you further along his dick. Every movement is lead by his hand, wide eyes staring down at you his grunts and groans spurring you on to just let him guide you.

"i'm so.. fuck baby.. oh my g-" his words get less coherent with every motion hips thrusting forward every few times to meet your lips. It doesn't take much more before he's murmuring out small praises and barely intelligible versions of "i'm close" his eyes roll back slightly, cock twitching in your mouth before warm spurts of his cum slide down your throat and drip past the corners of your mouth. He releases his vice like grip on your hair slowly and you pull away swallowing heavily. Neither of you speak for a few seconds to catch your breath but he reaches his hands down to help hoist you back to your feet wrapping his arms around you securely.

"i love you angel." he mutters out against your hairline "so perfect for me"

#stiles smut #stiles stilinski smut #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski #teen wolf stiles #teen wolf #teen wolf smut #smut #stiles x reader #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinksi fanfiction #stiles stilinksi imagine

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elleloquently · 27 days

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congrats on nearly graduating!! for a college!ellie request, could we have a classic friends to lovers and they confess to each other on one of the last nights of college?:)

[ been talkin' 'bout the way things change ]

| a/n : thank you so much aw )): i loved this so i wrote it asap hehe | c/w : swearing, drinking, elementary ed students caught a stray sorry love u guys

rivers and roads - ellie williams

you were never good with change.

it consumed all of you, a constant gnawing that overtook your entire body.

if you had to choose between having food poisoning or the ache of nostalgia, you would pick the food poisoning.

you hated change.

you hated the way that no matter what you did, or how strongly you felt.. when it came to change, you could never be in charge. you hated things being out of your hands, too.

sure, maybe you were a little neurotic. your friends poked fun at you for it, and you desperately wished that you could shake it off and move on, embracing the next thing with open arms.

the stomach ache caused by the impending reminder that soon all of this would be over had admittedly started months ago. you thought that maybe at least by the end, you would've had time to process and get a grip on things.

of course, you could never be so lucky.

that's why now, dina was practically screeching with laughter at the sight at you blinking away tears while sat at your favorite table in your favorite bar, a shitty rap song blaring in your ears.

"babe, this is entirely not situationally appropriate," dina laughed, squeezing your shoulder. her other hand held a shot glass.

"this is the last time we'll ever be here," you said, hoping that maybe if you got your feelings out loud, maybe the fucking pit in your stomach would let up a little.

"we could always come back," jesse offered, raising his hands in defense when you shot him a glare.

"we won't be in college anymore. it won't be the same," you said. you weren't the only person being a downer.

the entire bar was packed with upcoming graduates, friend groups crying and hugging in between dances and shots. there was a palpable feeling in the air, everyone could feel it.

"shut up. you're breaking my heart," dina said, wrapping her arm around your shoulders and squeezing as tight as she could. "do you want my shot?"

you shook your head, a genuine laugh leaving your throat. "that's all you," you denied.

you clutched harder onto your plastic cup, a vodka cranberry. ellie had made fun of you when you had ordered it.

"what is it, freshman year?" she had teased, to which you elbowed her side. you didn't admit it, but maybe the reason you had ordered it was because that was a little nostalgic, too.

where was ellie, anyway? it usually took a while to get drinks but she had been gone, what, twenty minutes?

you sat up straighter in your seat, sniffling. you squinted and scanned the crowd, finding it hard for your eyes to adjust to the dark due to the random flashes of laser lights throughout the bar.

finally, you found her.

ellie was at the bar, and you could see the drinks that everyone had ordered around her, so clearly she wasn't waiting on the bartender anymore.

you strained your neck and felt disappointed in yourself once you instantly deflated upon the sight of ellie talking to a girl. you tore your eyes away, heart skipping a beat as you downed the rest of your drink.

"i'll be right back," you called to jesse, who was trying to act nonchalant instead of flustered as dina pulled him to dance.

you squeezed your way through the crowd, sight trained on ellie the entire time. it was nearly impossible to make it to the bar counter, nobody wanted to risk giving up their spot.

"excuse me, jesus," you muttered, slipping through a group of oblivious frat guys taking up the entire walkway.

you didn't recognize the girl that ellie was talking to, not that it mattered. ellie was leaning lazily against the bar, shaking her head with a smile.

there it was again, that pang in your stomach.

"hey, sorry," you breezed, coming up next to ellie. she turned to you instantly, making room for you to stand next to her.

"sorry to interrupt, i just needed a drink and you-" your eyes glanced to the drinks that ellie was hoarding after she had offered to order them.

"shit, sorry."

you graciously accepted the refill as ellie's hand fell onto your back.

"you remember alison, right?" ellie asked, gesturing to the blonde stood in front of you. at ellie's words, your eyes widened.

"oh my god! no way! how are you?" relief washing over you as you broke out into a genuine grin.

alison, ellie's sophomore year roommate that happened to have a wonderful boyfriend.

"pretty great, actually," alison beamed, flashing a ring on her finger.

"no fucking way," you gushed, sharing a knowing look with ellie. "what did you study again?"

"elementary education," alison confirmed, tucking her hair behind her ear.

of course. go, alison!

you caught up for a few minutes before helping ellie carry the rest of the drinks to the table. you only halted for a second to roll your eyes in disgust as a guy squeezed your waist as a way to say excuse me.

"i won't miss that," you grumbled, to which ellie shook her head.

"can you believe the fucking rock on her finger?" ellie asked, sliding into her chair.

"leaving college engaged. can you believe that?" you shook your head, spotting jesse and dina from across the bar and realizing they most likely wouldn't be coming for their drinks right away.

"hey, a lot of people do it," ellie shrugged.

"i know, but.. still. i just can't imagine being in that place, you know? i still feel, so... like, little."

"ew. don't say that," ellie scolded, finally taking a sip of her beer.

"shut up, you know what i mean. i just feel like i'm in such a different place compared to like, ninety percent of everyone else. everyone's moving on and they've got their plans and i'm just.. i don't know. i feel stuck."

"you're really uplifting, did you know that?" ellie teased. you swatted at her, the pounding in your chest never subsiding.

out of everything, you would miss this the most. being with ellie, talking with ellie, seeing ellie. you couldn't even let yourself think about it or you would be sick. still though, you used the dark atmosphere to your advantage and studied her as much as you could. you hoped that you would never forget the specific green of her eyes, or the way her freckles danced across her features.

"i'm sure mostly everyone is faking it, anyway," ellie continued. "they're all a wreck, you can tell."

you nodded, tearing your eyes away from ellie and taking a drink. you really couldn't bear it.

"something so anticlimactic about literally graduating college and then just fucking... moving home," you sighed into your drink, chewing at your bottom lip.

"you won't be there forever. besides, you're coming to visit me, right? you've gotta experience a jackson summer. it is completely uneventful and yet, entirely comforting," ellie joked, raising an eyebrow.

you nodded in confirmation, the bass from the music vibrating in your chest.

jesus christ, what was wrong with you?

"truth or drink?" you asked, squaring your shoulders. "best and worst of college."

ellie thought for a second, her eyebrows pinching together. she took a drink anyway, clearing her throat when she thought of an answer.

"worst, that fucking frat party we went to sophomore year. it was not like the movies and i still do not forgive you and dina for dragging me along."

"i had to throw away my shoes," you remarked, faking a solemn tone.

"beeest," ellie dragged out the word, mulling it over in her mind. "that first warm day in the spring every year when we all skip class and do whatever. it's just.. good. and meeting you," ellie finished, taking another drink.

"shut up," you said, face warming. you followed suit and drank as well, your eyes darting away from ellie's face. "you're a liar."

"fuck you, it's true," ellie argued. "you know it's true."

you shook your head, staring down at the table and refusing to meet ellie's eyes. "you're my best, too," you said, hoping it was soft enough that ellie wouldn't hear it over the music, but she did.

"truth or drink, did you hook up with that guy from the club junior year?" ellie asked, completely deadpan.

you choked on your drink, forcing yourself to swallow it down before it came out in a surprised laugh. "what the fuck is wrong with you? obviously not, jesus."

"just asking," ellie stated innocently, raising her hands in defense.

"you're so gross," you complained, wrinkling your nose.

ellie chuckled, looking down with a shake of her head. she visibly relaxed, flicking the glass beer bottle with a plink.

"they're definitely not coming back for these, right?" ellie tilted her head in the direction of jesse and dina, drinks seemingly forgotten.

you laughed, your heart lurching.

god, you were going to miss them so much.

"maybe we can be nice and take them over?" you suggested, having to raise your voice now.

it must've hit a new hour, because the already loud music suddenly felt as though it was pounding through your eardrums. if you stretched your neck to the entrance, you could see the line of people out the door, waiting for wristbands.

ellie nodded once, standing and grabbing dina and jesse's drinks, along with her own.

you jabbed your phone into your pocket, along with a tube of lip gloss. ellie had your card and id, you refused to bring a bag to the bar so ellie was always tasked with stuffing your things into her wallet.

she never complained.

"you wanna get some air?" ellie shouted in your ear, yet you still barely heard her. you nodded in response, jerking your head to the back door.

on the way out, you passed the drinks to a very grateful dina and jesse.

you hadn't realized how humid it felt in the bar until you stepped outside.

you adored the patio. it was a little shabby, but you didn't mind.

string lights were woven overhead, a different vibe compared to the strobing lasers inside. there were a few potted plants, some patio furniture, and a centered, lit fireplace in the middle.

the music was still loud outside, but not as deafening as it was indoors. even so, your heart felt like it was thumping along with the beat.

it was still a little chilly in may, at night at least.

you sat on the cobbled ledge surrounding the fireplace, shadows of flames flickering around ellie's face.

"truth or drink. do you actually like this place, or do you just come here because it's our favorite?" you questioned, lifting your cup up to your lips.

"'ours' being?"

"me and dina, obviously."

ellie took a drink, wincing as your jaw dropped in surprise.

"ellie! you said you did like it!"

"the drinks are cheap," she shrugged.

"not cheap enough," you grumbled into your cup, earning a snort from the other girl.

you were torn between not wanting to meet her gaze, and staring at her as much as you could before you would no longer see each other everyday. the thought of it broke your fucking heart.

you only just met ellie practically a couple years ago, and you didn't want to imagine life without her.

it would be hollow, you thought.

"truth or drink, that time you said you didn't walk in on dina and jesse-"

"shut up," you hushed, taking your longest drink of the night so far.

"oh jesus christ," ellie mumbled. her horrified expression quickly turned into a grin once she saw your face.

the laughter that ensued made you wish so terribly that you could bottle it up and keep it in your pocket forever.

eventually the laughter teetered out, and a comfortable silence settled over the two of you. the music was loud, and you could hear shrieks of laughter and sounds of people singing along from inside.

you pushed out a sigh. your drink was nearly gone.

"are you leaving college with any regrets?" you asked suddenly, hugging your knees to your chest.

ellie looked at you for a moment, as if she were studying you. she had the faintest frown tugging down the corners of her lips. her cheeks were pink. maybe from the alcohol, or the heat from the fire, or the cold wind.

maybe all three.

ellie opened her mouth and then quickly closed it again, tearing her eyes away from you.

"probably," she said finally, taking a swig of beer.

"like what?" you pressed instantly, causing ellie to shake her head.

"it's not your turn anymore," ellie dismissed. "are you leaving college with any regrets?"

"of course," you answered simply. there were a million things that you could be referring to, but the only thing that you knew would always weigh on your mind was being in love with your best friend and not doing anything about it.

"like what?" ellie leaned in closer, as if you were going to reveal a secret.

"hey," you disapproved, but didn't truly mind. "i don't know, el. there's like, so much." you heaved a sigh, stretching your legs out before bending them in front of you, crossing one over the other.

"i love how specific you are," ellie stated, and you groaned into your hands.

you took a small sip before setting your cup on the ground next to you. "i don't know. maybe... i didn't really date, you know? i feel like everyone has these super funny hook up stories and i just.. i don't know."

"oh," ellie replied simply, twisting her fingers in her lap.

"i'm wording it wrong," you rushed, eyes scanning ellie's features. she laughed lightly, giving you grace.

"i guess i just held onto a crush for a long time," you finally admitted, bracing for impact. your fingers found plastic and you pulled it up to your lips, eyes shut while you waited for a response.

"you never told me this," ellie murmured simply, though it was nearly lost in the music.

"it's embarrassing." you spared her a sideways glance, and were caught off guard by the expression forming on her face.

it didn't look like she was going to tell a joke, or tease you about something stupid. ellie's eyes softened and she frowned, her eyebrows pinching together as she stared at her lap.

"that's fair. i get what you mean, anyway," ellie finally answered.

your heart twinged. you didn't really want to think about ellie liking anyone. the pit in your stomach finally wasn't from nostalgia, but jealousy.

"oh," was all that you could manage to say.

you both stayed silent, listening to the music that poured outside.

"i'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," you finally baited, curiosity getting the best of you.

"you're crazy," ellie said with a dry laugh, tipping the bottle back once more.

"why is that crazy? you're my best friend, you're supposed to tell me everything," you explained, trying not to be offended.

"not everything," ellie disagreed, with a tsk of her tongue.

you frowned. "come on. we're days away from not seeing each other again."

"don't say that," ellie warned. "i don't plan on like, ghosting you or whatever. so unless you do, don't say that."

"just tell me," you pleaded, scooting just the tiniest bit closer.

ellie finally met your gaze again and sucked in a breath, staring at you as if she were thinking something over. she looked unreal in the fire's glow.

jesus, even just now you could cry.

"you're being weird," you stated to deflect from your emotions. "it's not that big of a deal."

"i don't wanna fuck anything up," ellie stressed, causing a look of confusion to cross your face.

"how would that.. oh, my god! is it someone we know?" you asked, curiosity and jealousy and sadness tugging at your body and sending chills down your arms.

ellie stared blankly at you, watching you work through your never ending assumptions.

"alison? does it hurt to see her engaged?" you joked.

"you're really annoying," ellie deadpanned.

"is it... shit, ellie. is it dina?"

ellie coughed, eyes widening. "jesus, no! don't be stupid."

you sighed in defeat, tracing a finger around the rim of your cup. "i don't know anyone else that we know that you would like."

"i didn't say that we knew them."

"but you didn't deny it."

"go back inside," ellie told you flatly.

"rude," you scoffed. ellie held a straight face until she could tell by your face that you were still mentally making a list of suspects. a chuckle begrudgingly escaped her.

"i'm gonna miss you, you know," ellie said suddenly. it made your stomach drop, the casual yet earnestness of her tone.

tears threatened to spill over in your eyes again, and you didn't care about being laughed at for crying in the bar. you spared a glance at ellie, and she was looking at you again, trying to gage a reaction.

"fuck, ellie. i can't do this. seriously. maybe i can convince my professors to fail me and fail you and we'll be stuck here together again."

"it won't be that bad. you'll be alright," ellie said, firm yet soft.

"what's next, then?" you questioned, meeting ellie's eyes. you chewed on your bottom lip. you would not let a tear fall.

"well," ellie visibly hesitated, her eyes darting over your own. "we'll all move home but we'll still be frien-"

"best friends," you interjected.

"-best friends," ellie clarified. "you'll visit for the summer and then you'll go home and start a job and you'll be okay. we'll text but you'll still call me every single time you have a joke or story to tell me because i know, you can't waste something on a text without hearing my-"

"actual reactions," you finished with a whisper. ellie nodded.

"right," she continued. "inevitably jesse and dina will get married and we'll see each other at the wedding-"

"could you be my wedding date?"

"sure. and we'll all be best friends, just like always. we'll probably get a little too drunk at the wedding and since we always joke about it, we'll end up actually making out and-"

"ellie williams!" you exclaimed while hitting her arm, your face hot.

"my bad," ellie said, twisting her lips to hide a smile.

"you're not funny," you huffed, butterflies swirling in your stomach.

"i'm sorry," ellie apologized with a laugh. you nibbled at your bottom lip, transported back into thought.

"why won't you tell me about your crush?" you asked.

ellie sighed. "i already told you. don't wanna ruin anything."

you opened your mouth to speak, but you could've sworn the music got even louder.

"don't forget me?" you nearly pleaded, finding ellie's eyes.

"never," ellie reassured you, looking the most serious you had seen her all night. you felt the urge to shrink under her gaze, but you managed to hold your own.

"promise? i mean, what if once we're apart you just-"

"i wouldn't." ellie finished the rest of her beer, the glass clanking against the ground as she set it on the cobblestone.

"how can you be sure?" you were fighting for reassurance. too worried, too sentimental.

ellie stared at you for a long moment, completely silent. there was a small crease on her forehead as she watched you. she hesitated, like she was debating on something.

slowly, gently, ellie's hand was placed on your cheek. you didn't have even a second to process the action before ellie was gently pulling you forward, pressing her lips against your own.

it was sweet. careful. you felt ellie resist a laugh, probably due to the flavors of vodka and cranberry emitting from your mouth. you melted into the kiss and into her palm, the warmth of her skin pressing into your cheek.

after a few seconds, you pulled apart.

you didn't realize how tightly your eyes were screwed shut until you went to open them. you blinked, silence settling as the music comically blared around you.

"don't do that if you don't mean it," you choked out, even though the action was already done.

ellie blinked. she scanned your face once more before pulling you back in, attaching her lips to your own.

for once, you didn't overthink it. you just let it be. it felt right, like you should've been kissing ellie all along.

once you were separated, you smiled sadly. "me too," you muttered, only being able to think about how much time you wasted not being with ellie, because you were scared.

"well, shit," ellie mumbled, maybe the weight of the situation finally registered within her. "we graduate in three days."

"please shut up," you insisted with a groan.

"fuck, im sorry. look, do you wanna just be friends? i'm sure you'll move on and-"

"i don't wanna move on." you shook your head. "ellie, it's genuinely been years. i couldn't."

"me neither."

"then... what the fuck?" you asked, exasperated and giddy and devastated. your heart pounded.

"did you know that joel already thought that we were dating?" ellie quipped suddenly.

you laughed, a sound of surprise escaping you. "i'm sorry, what?"

ellie nodded, wincing at the painfully awkward memory. "when you visited during winter break. because you came a couple days before jesse and dina, maybe. he kept making these subtle little jokes like, dude, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"holy shit, is that why he cooked that huge dinner the first night?" you giggled, puzzle pieces rapidly forming together in your mind.

ellie blew out air from pursed lips, her silence answering your question. you laughed loud and hard until your sides hurt, ellie joining in once the embarrassment left her face.

you laughed as you clumsily pressed your lips together once more, the kiss teetered with giggles and smiles.

"oh god," you sighed, overcome with emotion. your cheeks burned and the bar was finally, finally playing a song that you actually liked.

you knew that you had to rejoin dina and jesse, and that the night would end eventually.

though now maybe you did have something to look forward to, a change that you would gladly welcome with opened arms.

"still best friends, right?" you asked, leaning close to ellie's ear and damn near shouting once you were back inside.

"obviously," ellie replied, squeezing your hand in her own.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fanfic #ellie tlou x reader #ellie williams college au #requests are open btw

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makeyoumine69 · 1 month

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Memory Reboot x2

PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x gn!Reader

SUMMARY: After wrestling with the lingering thoughts of Bateman, you finally found yourself open to Paul Allen's offer — a life-changing opportunity. But despite your resolve, you couldn't shake the need for closure. Determined, you sought one last encounter with Patrick, intent on resolving the unsaid and the undone before the cityscape of New York faded into your past.

CONTAINS: Smut, angst, mutual pining, obsessive behavior, desperate & sensual foreplay, anal fingering, pegging, sex toys, face riding, penetrative sex, rimming (Patrick receiving), oral sex (69, blowjobs), edging, biting, spanking, cum shot, masturbating, praise kink, body worship, drug usage, pet names, dirty talk, needy Patrick, misogyny, swearing, gaslighting, manhandling, mind manipulation.

WORDS: 8.7k

SONG REC: VØJ, Narvent — Euphoria

A/N: Hello everyone, I'm sorry it took me quite long to write this, I hope you like it! If you find any mistakes regarding gn!reader, please let me know!

LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [CHAPTER 1].

The clock’s ticking was the only sound in the opulent meeting room of Pierce & Pierce office. Your heart seemed to beat to the rhyme of ticking, while you were nervously spinning the thin cigarette in your hands but never really trying to actually smoke; the glass ashtray in front of you would probably be left empty till the end of the day. It was even funny how drastically things changed after that…moment of privacy you shared with Bateman. Starting from that, you couldn’t really get him out of your head, even though it has already been several weeks of your pretending game of “nothing had happened” between you and Patrick. It was a matter of time, when your colleagues would start to notice your strange behavior whenever you and Bateman were in one room.

Squeezing the cigarette between your shaky fingers, you turned around in the leather chair to look at the New York skyline through the wide window. ‘That it is not an exit,’ echoed in your ears and you tried to shake the nervousness off from your tense shoulders, but the more you were being alone, the more surrounding space was weighing on you as if you were on the very bottom of the Pacific ocean.

The moment the door swung open and Timothy Bryce entered the meeting room, you were more in control of yourself. “Hey, Tim. Haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Sorry, (y/n). Had a business call with some delusional prick.” Bryce snarled and took a seat across from you.

“Delusional prick?”

"Yeah, you know...delusional," he chuckled and glanced at the cigarette in your hand, which was still more like an accessory. "The guy thought I gave a fuck about his life and his wife, who used to be a whore, by the way."

With a soft snicker, you made yourself more comfortable in your chair, throwing one leg over another. “Wanna smoke?”

“Yep,” he leaned over the table to take the cigarette, your fingers touched for a moment but none of you paid attention. “So, what happened? Why did you want to see me?”

Confused, you took a moment to think about your answer. You worried a lot about picking the right words, but now you were even more anxious. ‘I just need to tell him the truth and that’s all,’ you reassured yourself before turning to face Tim. “Well, the thing is - I’m quitting P & P.”

Tim’s face remained unchanged for a second, but then the man furrowed his brows, tilting his head and rubbing his ear as if he didn’t hear. “You're what? Quitting?”

"Right," you gave him a half-smile and continued. "Recently, I received a very... very good offer from one company in Chicago."

“Jesus Christ. Chicago? Really?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

Bryce lit the cigarette and leaned back in his chair. “Who the fuck even gave you this idea? And why so sudden? You have such a good job here, with a good salary and…” He paused and blew a few rings of smoke. “Do those bastards pay well?”

Laughing heartily, you crossed your arms over your chest and watched the smoke dividing the room in two with a white veil. “So many questions. Are you interested in leaving Pierce & Pierce too?” That was not a serious question, since you knew that Bryce was more than satisfied with his job. “If I say who recommended that place to me, will you keep it a secret?” Tim nodded even before you could say something else. “I was at one P&P party, that one you decided to skip a week ago. So, there I met Paul Allen and we talked a bit and he mentioned that he just came back from his business trip from Chicago…we had a long conversation, but as a result he proposed to me to think about the option to change my current job.”

All the time while you were speaking, Tim was glancing at you with wide open eyes, his prominent brows curling up and down whenever you mentioned Paul Allen’s name. It was always funny for you to watch Bateman & Co getting so frustrated and annoyed whenever Allen was around or whenever someone discussed his success with having the Fisher account. To say the least, his ability to get a reservation at Dorsia. ‘I’m not gonna tell any of them that Allen offered me dinner in Dorsia after that party.’

“So you were unsatisfied with your job all this time and didn’t say anything? That sucks, (y/n). Didn’t expect that to come, not gonna lie,” Bryce made a low sound which was very similar to growling, but at the same time it also sounded like a scoff. “But, if that really is what you want, then who am I to judge you? We have only one life to fulfill all our needs, right?”

Timothy’s statement was like a balm to your soul, that was exactly what you hoped he would tell you and when he did, you felt some kind of relief washing over you like a breeze of fresh air.

“Thank you, Tim,” you finally grinned and put your elbows on the table. “Glad you didn’t start to read me notations.”

“Are you gonna tell him?”

“Him?” You squinted and tilted your head; your intuition was screaming that something was so damn wrong.

“Bateman,” with a sly smile, Bryce put the cigarette out in a glass ashtray; his glance was eloquent but you never really managed to read it. “I bet he will be upset. Very upset.”

“Bryce ” you rolled your eyes. ‘Is he lying or…?’ That question remained unspoken. “Leave these cheesy jabs to yourself, okay?”

Tim only laughed at your weak attempt to threaten him and stood up from the table. “You know, I saw him with Jean in Arcadia last night…” Now this information could come in handy… “I think they had some kind of date or something, huh,” he chuckled again and fixed his tie, giving the picture on the opposite wall a scrutinizing glance. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but something is definitely happening. In my opinion, you should tell him about your…unexpecting leaving, you know.”

Before you could respond, Timothy Bryce looked at you one last time and left the meeting room. Now, you were left alone but not really alone as the weight of the newfound information lay on your shoulders like two massive dumbbells. ‘If everything is too obvious for Bryce, what other things might the others think about me and Bateman?’ That was a rhetorical question mostly, but still you couldn’t even get up from the chair, sensing the strange, chilling fear inside your chest—what if you were mistaken with accepting the offer of a new job?

Gritting your teeth, you snarled and almost kicked the table from beneath, your palms were clenching and unclenching, thankfully no one could see you like this. Swiftly but nervously, you finally stood up and headed out from the meeting room, striving to avoid any of your soon-to-be-ex colleagues on your way to Bateman’s office.

How many times have you rehearsed the words you were going to say while you were walking up there? Countless. But still, when you entered Patrick's office and saw his lovely secretary, everything inside you froze - words, emotions, even your breath.

“Hi, Jean,” you mumbled, with a half-smile on your slightly tensed face. “Looking good.”

“Uh, thank you,” the blonde woman replied and fixed the stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

As soon as you heard the echo of Patrick's voice through the office door, a lump formed in your throat and you had to cough several times because of the unpleasant dryness.

“Well,” you paused and glanced at the closed door with a nameplate ‘Patrick Bateman’ on it. “You would help me a lot if you let me have a private conversation with your boss.”

“Patrick is,” her voice suddenly wavered, implying that something was wrong. “He’s busy right now.”

“Oh,” you stepped back involuntarily. “Okay, I can come later.”

“No,” Jean replied curtly. “I’m sorry, but today is not an option at all.”

‘Is that some kind of joke?’ You hummed to yourself, already regretting coming here in the first place. “All right then. Have a nice day, Jean.” Turning around you already stepped out from the office when you head her voice:

“(Y/n), wait. Oh, I hope I pronounced your name correctly.” She blushed once you came back inside. “I think I can tell him about your visit, when he will be less busy.”

That offer was not something you would expect. “Actually, that would be nice,” you clicked on your tongue, considering your next steps. “Tell him that I have a reservation at Dorsia at eight o’clock–”

“Today?” Her question cut off your bluffing. “Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

You just grinned politely in return. “Yep, today. Tell him…that I need to talk with him about business and stuff. And, that it would be probably the last chance for him to catch up with me.” Jean’s eyes widened for a moment, but you reassured her instantly. “No drama, just changing my job.”

“Uh, that was probably a tough decision?”

“Not really,” you winked at her and crossed your arms over the chest. “But don’t tell him about that, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” She tried to hide her confusion behind a warm smile but failed. “I’ll tell him that you will be waiting for him at Dorsia tonight and that this conversation is very important.”

“Uh-huh,” you hummed and for a moment just stood there, looking at the closed office door. “Thank you, darling. For everything.”

You made a special accent on the word ‘darling’, purposely embarrassing her and leaving no room for any questions and other stuff that would make a current situation even more fucked up.

After you left Bateman’s office you had to find Allen as only half of what you told Jean was actually bluffing—you knew that Paul had a reservation at Dorsia tonight, considering he was inviting you for dinner. Allen’s strange interest in you wasn’t your top priority at that moment but using it for your sake was something you couldn’t deny at such a situation. So when you finally found Paul in one of the meeting rooms, you persuaded him to give you that reservation, explaining that you wanted to show one of your colleagues Dorsia before you would leave New York and move to Chicago. And even though everyone would find out that that colleague was Patrick Bateman, you wouldn't’ care since you would be far away from here.

A few hours later, the melodious voice of Whitney Houston reverberated off the walls of the opulent living room in Bateman's apartment, the lyrics of "I Wanna Dance with Somebody," which Patrick knew perfectly, striking a chord in his chest every time the song came on.

But today everything was different.

Everything, except some random blonde bimbo who was on her knees between Bateman’s spread legs, sucking his thick cock but not actually giving him any pleasure. Frustrated, the man tugged on her hair without any compassion, bringing her closer, so her nose was almost brushing against his hairy pubis. But almost immediately, the woman began to whimper and claw at the perfect skin of his hips, and he didn't like it.

“What? Already tired?” Bateman sneered and fixated the blonde’s head in one place for a moment by her neck. “Or is that your first time? Then, I’m so fucking honored!"

As soon as the man let the blonde go, she pushed him away and sat back on her ass, breathing heavily. “Are you crazy?” the bimbo inquired and pressed a hand to her half-exposed breasts, her whole appearance looked messy. “I was about…t-to choke on your fucking dick!”

Sighing, Bateman rolled his eyes and just stretched out on the couch, lazily stroking his half-hard shaft. "So, this is your first time?" The woman hesitated to answer, which only made Patrick mock her even more. "Did you tell me that you have a boyfriend? And he works at P&P, right?"

Wiping her mouth with undisguised contempt, the blonde started to get up, but Patrick stepped on the hem of her dress and she almost fell. "Marcus! Stop it!"

"Uh, look at you," the man chuckled, watching her feeble attempts to get up. "Such a pathetic little bitch, pathetic and greedy," the man added, giggling. "Ready to give head to every vice president at Pierce & Pierce! Your boyfriend should be so proud of you."

The woman was on the verge of tears when Bateman finally allowed her to get up and collect her things. She had been in such a hurry that she had left her panties on the glass coffee table. All this gave Patrick much more pleasure than the blonde's inexperienced blowjob.

"Ask your boyfriend to teach you how to suck dicks," he blurted out as the woman rushed into the hallway, rifling through her purse looking for something. "Since he's probably a pro at that sort of thing."

But the girl was already gone. So the man could only laugh to himself, so proud of his cheeky jabs, if only he didn't feel like a schoolboy dreading his upcoming meeting with his teacher. With a heavy sigh, Bateman closed his eyes for a second, his cock was already soft, but his sac were still tense and full of his cum; he felt too unsatisfied with himself, which only made things worse.

What was it even for?

The man could just take some coke, lie down on his bed, close his eyes and think of you—that was enough for him to cum so hard that he had to go to the laundry almost every day because he ran out of sheets. But today was different, considering that Patrick was going to meet you, and not just anywhere, but in fucking Dorsia. It seemed that everyone in this town could get a res there, but not him.

Biting his lower lip, the man looked down at the throbbing cock in his hand - the mere thought of you was making him horny as hell. "Shit…" If only he could reboot his memory and get rid of that scene in the Tunnel. If only. Meanwhile, the Whitney Houston tape continued to play the song "Where Do Broken Hearts Go". Bateman doubted he would be able to masturbate, he was too nervous and stressed out, even imagining you while that bitch was giving him head didn't work. Although it usually did. "Dorsia, huh," the man giggled nervously and checked his Rolex - he still had plenty of time. As if spellbound, Patrick slid to the floor and kicked off his leather shoes, his red tie already loosened and his pants hiked down. Leaning against the couch, Bateman threw his head back and began to jack off, recalling the forbidden, sinful sensations of your hand sliding along his hot flesh. "Mmm-fuck," he moaned and shivered, his free hand already gripping the edge of the white couch, several beads of sweat running down his tense temples. What if today he finally found the courage to confess? Confess that all these days had been a fucking torture for him, that he was ready to crawl on the walls from how much he longed for you, not even physically, but mentally. Maybe, just maybe, your reassurance that everything was not over for him, that maybe he still had a chance to have some normalcy in this cruel world—could change everything?

"Fuck, f-fuck!" Patrick cursed, sensing that his impending orgasm was slipping away from him just by reflecting on the things that were happening between the two of you. Jerking off and thinking about your sexy voice, your hot body and your cheeky smile was one thing, it always turned him on better than anything else, but thinking about the complexity of your relationship… that was not a turn-on for him. Not at all. Cursing to himself, Patrick slicked back his auburn hair and quickly got up to stagger to the bathroom, where he nervously opened the cabinet behind the mirror and found a small white jar of pills. Xanax was his only stress reliever so far. Taking a deep, almost desperate breath, Bateman looked at his reflection, his bloodshot eyes full of tears that threatened to cascade down like a waterfall. "This is not an exit." Patrick told his reflection, but opened the jar anyway and took a handful of pills. Frustrated, unsatisfied, he didn't know how he was going to survive dinner with you, and Dorsia was the last thing on his mind. "Because I'm scared. I'm so fucking scared."

Luckily, the marble walls of his bathroom were the only witnesses to his downfall.

Dawn came to New York faster than you could imagine. All the way to Dorsia you were nervous, but still confident in the plan you had made earlier that day. Even though you had failed in your previous attempt to dot the T's at the Tunnel, today would be different, you were sure of it. ‘I don't even know why, though,’ you chuckled to yourself, and the taxi driver gave you a concerned glance, but you just shrugged it off, signaling him to concentrate on the road.

In the restaurant everything looked the same as when you were here with Paul Allen, but this time you were not the one who was invited, but the one who invited another person—named Patrick Bateman—and speaking of whom, was late and that made you quite anxious. ‘What if he just doesn’t come?’ This thought made you fidget in the chair, your hands fumbling with the napkin on your knees and after telling the waiter for the second time that you were expecting someone else to come, your fingers became cold as if they were frozen.

“Maybe I can bring you some drinks?” The waiter didn’t give up, spurring you to order at least something to drink.

Quickly running a hand across your strained face, you exhaled loudly and nodded. “Yeah, drinks,” you stummered when you looked past the waiter, noticing the familiar elegant silhouette coming close to your table. “Can you…bring…some water?”

Confused, the waiter glanced down at the full glass of water next to you. “Uh, more water?”

“(Y/n),” Bateman’s voice echoed across the space. “I hope I didn't make you wait for so long,” he chuckled and took a seat at the table. “Had some important business affairs.” The moment he noticed the confused waiter, Patrick gave him his most sassy smile and checked his Rolex for no reason, probably just to show them out. “Can you please bring me a glass of J&B and some fresh salad to your taste.”

‘A salad, really?’ You almost snickered, but instead your face turned into a neutral expression. "Business, huh?"

Bateman rested more comfortably in his chair after the waiter finally left. "You know, some affairs with blonde hair and long legs, big tits and an amazing ass."

That came out of nowhere.

Still calm, you watched the man across from you smile, surely proud of himself and so damn bossy it was almost absurd. "You mean someone in particular, don't you?"

“Oh, yeah,” Patrick put his both elbows on the table, clasping his hands, revealing his gold Rolex once again. “Her name is Stephany, if I’m not mistaken, she’s a girlfriend of one of our accountants,” the man paused before snickering. “That one who makes monthly reports, you know him. So, I’m a bit late because I couldn't leave such a lovely girl without a treat she deserved.”

Right now, you didn't care if it was true or not—his well-framed—confidence was something you found very interesting and even amusing, as it was proof that he was preparing for this dinner just like you were.

"And that's when I thought vice presidents actually worked at Pierce & Pierce." With a slight grin, you joked and finally took a sip of water, feeling your throat suddenly go dry, just like when you were talking to Jean earlier.

Bateman's sudden laugh rang out like shattered glass. "'C'mon, (y/n), don't pretend you don't know that-"

"I know that your father owns almost half of the company," you interrupted him abruptly, and he wasn't happy about it. "And that gives you certain privileges."

"Don't be envious. It doesn't suit you."

"Envious?" You set the glass of water aside. "I think it was me who invited you here so that you could finally visit Dorsia… at least once."

The air between the two of you was thick with venom and something even more poisonous. Nevertheless, you'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't think Bateman was acting like the jerk he undoubtedly was. But, to be honest, you expected him to act a little less smug.

"I still think this place is overrated," Patrick hissed through clenched teeth right as the waiter brought him his whiskey and salad with sliced vegetables and some cheese, which he didn't even touch, taking a big gulp of his drink. "So, uh, Jean told me you wanted to talk to me about something important. What is it?"

The waiter didn't even try to offer to check the menu again and retreated, but he would definitely come back later with the same request, since you hadn't ordered anything yet.

"Well, it doesn't seem to matter anymore," you suddenly declared, crumpling the paper napkin before dropping it on the finest tablecloth. "The thing is—I'm quitting P&P and moving to Chicago. That's it. Nothing special, really."

The moment of silence washed over them both like a tidal wave. Visibly shocked, Bateman just sat there, then nervously straightened his tie and looked around as if to call for help. 'Not so ballsy anymore, Patty?' There was something about the way he was humiliated, something that stirred a burning flame in your gut that came dangerously close to burning you alive from the inside. And again, you would be lying to yourself if you pretended you could control it.

"Chicago?" Patrick repeated as if he hadn't heard correctly.

"Why do both you and Bryce react as if Chicago were a desert island?"

"Heh," Bateman rubbed the bridge of his nose and leaned back in his chair. "So Bryce knows everything. Why am I not surprised?"

"I'd tell you more," that was the moment you'd been waiting for so long—the moment of his vulnerability, and you couldn't stop yourself like a shark who sensed blood in the water. "Paul Allen was the one who actually recommended this job to me."

Patrick's jaw clenched at the mention of Paul Allen. "Really?"

"Yes," you continued to corner him. "One day we were having dinner, here, in Dorsia," you grinned, catching every little change in Bateman's no longer confident face. "He said one of his buddies was starting a new company, and they were looking for specialists… like me."

"Well," he began, sliding his hand across the table's surface as if to calm down. "Good for you, (y/n). Congratulations!" That was the most fake 'congratulations' you ever heard, even though you were expecting a slightly different reaction. "But I don't understand. Why didn't you talk to me before? Before you made your decision."

This question almost made you choke. 'Did he really say that?' And just as you were about to answer, the waiter came across the table again, choosing the perfect moment. Before he could offer to check the menu, you raised your hand in an irritating gesture. "Bring me a vodka and orange juice," Patrick's eyebrows arched almost immediately. "Double vodka, please."

"Yes, s-sure." The waiter stuttered before taking the crumpled napkin and walking away, very stressed.

Without giving yourself time to think, you leaned against the table and muttered. "Why should I? We are not friends."

"Of course not," Bateman scowled, crossing his arms over his broad chest, the black pinstriped suit outlining his physique perfectly. "Not after you gave me a decent handjob in the Tunnel bathrooms."

Patrick caught you off guard by injecting this argument so blatantly into the conversation. "Decent? It was fucking amazing." You growled and quickly turned around to see if anyone was paying attention to your table, and when you were sure there was nothing to worry about, you faced Patrick again. "Too amazing, considering you seem to be thinking about it all the time."

"W-what? I… I didn't…"

Sneering, you tapped your fingers on the table in nervous anticipation of your drinks, even though you hadn't planned on drinking any alcohol, wanting to keep yourself as sober as possible for the dinner and everything that might or might not happen afterwards.

"Relax, Bateman," you rested your chin on your clasped hands, finally allowing yourself to examine his handsome appearance, including the way his cheeks were tinged with a red hue. "You've said too much already."

And from that moment on, you began to feel relaxed, even pleased with all the things Patrick revealed to you, accidentally or not, you would use every little detail to your own advantage when the time came.

A little later, when the waiter finally brought your cocktail, you finished it too quickly, so you asked for it to be repeated under the attentive hazel eyes of the man sitting on the other side of the table. The more drunk you got, the more topics you discussed, but when you mentioned Paul Allen again, you noticed that Patrick's good mood was fading.

"Wait a minute!" You held out a hand to stop him from jumping from one topic to another. "Can you tell me why the mere mention of Paul Allen triggers you so much? Is there something between you two?"

Bateman couldn't hold back a loud, hearty laugh. "That joke's too tasteless even for Bryce," he finished his whiskey, the salad still untouched on the table in front of him. "Allen…he's…not the person he tries to pretend to be."

"Oh?"

"I think he's part of that Yale thing."

You narrowed your eyes and leaned in closer. "Yale thing? What do you mean?"

Patrick quickly licked his lips, not expecting you to delve further into the subject. "Well, I think he's probably a closeted homosexual who likes to do a lot of coke and have orgies with male hookers."

At first you just giggled out loud, not caring that some people were looking at you, but then your face suddenly became serious. "How do you know about that? Did he tell you or…" you smiled playfully. "Did he do something… that made you think so," you bit your lower lip and drank the last drop of your cocktail with unabashed thirst. "That sounds strange…very strange."

"You're drunk, (y/n)," Bateman murmured, tilting his hand as if thinking about something. "Too drunk, which gives me the impression that you're as much of an amateur at drinking as you are at doing coke."

"Uh, s-shut up."

"See? Can't even speak words."

"Maybe...maybe I am drunk, now what? Are you gonna be a fucking gentleman like you always try to be and offer me a ride? Or maybe," you fixed your hair nonchalantly, your vision slightly blurred. "Would you be brave enough to show me your apartment?"

As soon as those words came out of your mouth, you knew there was no turning back, and your inner voice, which usually kept you from doing shit you would regret, seemed to fall asleep from the high level of alcohol in your system.

The man across from you straightened up at your bold suggestion, reading the subtext with ease. "Is that what you want? For me to take you to my place?"

His question hung in the air for a moment before you managed to come up with an answer, but you didn't know how to get out of this situation and turn it into a joke, as you usually did. Maybe you just didn't want to get out of it? Just like you didn't want to let him go when he helped you get up from the table after he'd paid for dinner and the two of you were in a cab. Not to mention when you almost fell down and the man caught you in his arms, but there was still a barrier between the two of you—an invisible wall—the only line that kept you apart. The line that was too dangerous to cross, but too tempting not to think about what lay behind it.

By the time the cab pulled up at the American Gardens Building, you were half asleep on Bateman's shoulder, his Lancome cologne not helping at all, making your mind even more cloudy. But you did your best to get out of the car without his help, letting the cool fresh air bring you some relief and clarity.

In the elevator, Patrick began to mumble about his musical preferences, but you didn't really pay attention because your brain was overworked trying to come up with a plan B in case things went too far. 'As if they hadn't gone too far already,' your inner voice suddenly tried to break through the thick layers of alcohol, affection and uncontrollable desire.

Bateman's apartment looked exactly as you had imagined—opulent, stylish, and very minimalist. Everything seemed to be in its place, including you, standing next to the tall window in his living room.

"Not a bad view," you admitted, taking off the jacket of your suit. "Not Central Park, but not bad at all."

"Central Park?" Patrick asked, hiding in the kitchen, which was perfectly connected to the living room, but you couldn't see him behind the wall as he examined the large number of different kitchen knives.

"Yeah, you know, Paul Allen's apartment faces Central Park, looks really fancy," you didn't mean to hurt Bateman's feelings, but the moment you turned around and saw him, it was obvious that your words had reached him. "But, I really prefer your place...it's more modern for my taste."

Puzzled, Patrick didn't hurry to join you in the living room, his thin fingers never ceasing to slide up and down the sharp blade in his hand, but at the very last moment, the man put the knife back in its place. With deliberate steps, he walked out of the kitchen and approached his stereo system.

"Really?" He asked in disbelief, as if his life depended on your answer.

Such a reaction from him was oddly appealing, the vulnerability, the desperation in his brown eyes. This was a level of satisfaction that no drug could ever match. Meanwhile, Bateman turned on the music, the charming voice of Phil Collins filling the room as "Invisible Touch" began to play.

The man was examining the tape in his hands when you slowly approached and gently cupped his face, inducing him to look at you. "Yes, I do," you confirmed your previous words, and when Patrick didn't flinch from your touch, you decided to go on, tracing your finger along his sensual lips, fighting the urge to kiss them here and now. "Speaking of preferences," you removed your hand only to place it on the lapel of his suit. "Would you be a good boy and give me a full tour of your apartment, including the bedroom?"

In any other situation, you would probably die from shame at saying something like that, but not now. Not with him, because no sooner had your question escaped your lips than you noticed that his hands were shaking, and the CD was about to fall out of them, so you had to gently grab it and pull it out of his hands. Bateman reminded you of a man struggling with addiction, every twitch of his plump lips, every furrow of his perfect eyebrows spoke volumes about the undeniable affection between the two of you, an affection you were both too exhausted to fight and hide.

Without further ado, you placed the CD on top of the stereo and pressed Patrick against the nearest wall, holding the lapels of his Valentino suit and sealing his hot mouth with yours, opening it wider with your tongue, so eager to taste him again after such a long wait.

"Mmhm," he purred into the kiss, his hands desperately wrapped around your waist, then going lower to cradle your hips, groping and squeezing a little too hard so that you had to bite his lip to make him stop, but the man just growled and pushed you closer, your groins rubbing against each other in the most lewd way possible. "Bedroom...go to the bedroom...and wait for me there."

Bateman's words right after the kiss sounded like nonsense, which you found oddly arousing. With a foxy smile, you licked his cheek, then his neck, almost biting the artery and sucking on the reading mark. "No, no, no, Bateman," you shook your head, grabbing his neck slightly to kiss him again, but he did it first. Even now Patrick was trying to take the lead, your tongues fighting for control like two snakes entwining around each other. "I'm in no mood for games or waiting."

The moment you said it, Bateman lifted you with practiced ease as if you weighed nothing, and you didn't even have a chance to protest as he began to move toward the closed room behind his white couch. In his arms, you finally felt complete, even if you let him take the lead for a while. Noticing the pair of panties on the glass coffee table, you wrapped your legs around him and buried your fingers in his silky hair, ruffling them and letting them fall on his forehead, making him look even hotter.

Jesus, you were on the verge of an explosion just from the foreplay alone.

Bateman's bedroom greeted you with stark white walls, the brightness of which was almost painful to look at as he turned on the light holding you with one arm, and the king-size bed on which he carefully placed you, but you didn't let him pull away, tugging at his tie and forcing him to lay on top of you.

"Fuck, look at you," Patrick grazed your earlobe before massaging your chest through your shirt and hovering over you. "So insatiable, aren't you? Running in circles like a trapped kitten."

Growling, you pulled him closer again to suck on his lower lip, letting your body rub against his so you could feel how hard he was, so painfully hard, considering the sound he made when you snaked your hand between his legs to cradle his bulge. "Are you gonna cum in your pants if I don't stop?"

With a determined persistence, you continued to massage his hard cock through the layers of his expensive clothes as you removed his jacket and then his suspenders, one by one. Bateman didn't interfere as he was also busy getting rid of your clothes without actually tearing them apart.

"Let me," you insisted as soon as you noticed him struggling to unbutton your shirt. "This is my favorite shirt, you know," you gasped, your own fingers trembling, making it difficult even for you to finally remove your shirt. "I don't want it to get torn."

When you finally got rid of the top part of your clothes, the sight of your exposed skin made Patrick grunt in hunger, and the next second the man was already sucking on your nipple, his muscular frame shaking on top of you from your teasing ministrations on his twitching dick and hard balls. Damn, you wanted to suck him dry as much as you wanted to ruin him until he forgot his own name.

"Don't like it anyway," Bateman muttered suddenly, holding your hands above your head. "You need to go to some... fashion shows... maybe you will have more free time in Chicago, considering Paul Allen offered you this job. I'm sure it would be some boring shit."

‘Good Lord, he mentioned him again…’ You rolled your eyes and turned away from his face, eliciting a low rumble from Patrick's massive chest. "What the fuck is wrong with Paul... are you... jealous of him or something?"

"Me?" he asked, confused and you took the opportunity to release your hands and roll over so that you were now on top of him. "I'm not the one bragging about having dinner with him in fucking Dorsia!"

Bateman sounded like a little boy who was upset that no one wanted to play with him, which made you giggle, but then you straddled him and opened his white shirt and removed his tie.

"The more you talk," you murmured as you ran your hands along the smooth skin of his torso, paying special attention to his toned pecs and abs. "The more you make me think you two had a history," you leaned down to teasingly lick his lips, your sneaky hands already working on the zipper of his pants. "But still, I don't care." In one swift motion, you pulled down his pants along with his boxers, watching his thick cock pop out, yearning for your attention. "Mhmm, the last time we were alone you worked me up really good, I wanna return the favor," your hands wrapped around the base of his beefy shaft, the small droplets of his pre-cum already covering its tip, forcing you to lick your lips in hunger. "If you have nothing else on your mind?"

Did you really care about his feelings since you asked him that question?

The man beneath you was definitely growing impatient, his hands gripping your hips as if he was about to imprint his fingerprints on your skin if you were not wearing your pants.

"Lie on your side," Bateman suggested suddenly. "Take off all your clothes and lie down here," he tapped the spot next to him and you stood up quickly, as if he had cast a spell on you. Never in your life did you get rid of your clothes faster than now. "Uh, what a cute ass you have, (y/n)."

You frowned at his words, giving him your dead stare as you slipped out of your underwear, giving him the full view—the glint in his hazel eyes was too much to ignore—so you turned around and presented yourself to him; Bateman couldn't help but lazily stroked himself, putting a hand under his head.

"Tell me, Bateman," you began, your hands slowly sliding down your bare skin. "Have you been thinking about me all this time?" You cupped your ass, bending over a little so he could see the spot right between your legs. "Or have you found a way to forget things you don't want to remember?"

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a second. "I wish there was a way to forget." Patrick murmured and watched as you lay on your side in the 69 position, then he did the same, his hot breath scorching the soft flesh between your thighs.

You wrapped your hands around his hips and eagerly took his drooling dick in your mouth, while he was lapping at your crotch. "Mm-fuck," you jerked against his face, your fingers digging deeper into his skin as Bateman feasted on you like the most delicious meal. "Me too, Bateman, m-me too."

Having said that, you swirled your tongue around the swollen tip of his veiny cock, causing a muffled moan to erupt from his mouth, its vibration sending shivers down the base of your spine, only spurring you on to go further, pushing his dick deeper into your mouth. Soon the room was filled with the soft, wet sounds of your shared oral pleasure, punctuated by soft but powerful moans and groans as you both teetered on the edge of ecstasy. Gripping your ass, Bateman responded to your actions with the same passion, devouring every drop of your flavor and giving you no chance to escape, his strong arms like ropes around your body. After giving his cock the attention it deserved, you decided to tease his heavy balls with light lapping on them, before slipping a finger inside his tight ass, you expected him to protest but instead you heard him moan and the next moment his hips began to move towards your penetrating movements.

"Good boy," you praised him, rolling your eyes at the way the man was sucking on your most sensitive spot. "Taking my finger so well..."

The coil in your lower abdomen was about to snap at any moment, but you still wanted more, you wanted to feel that cock inside you, even if it was going to rip you a apart. Breathlessly, you didn't even remember asking him about condoms, and how you managed to get out of bed and go to the closet, where you found a little box Bateman was talking about—its contents almost made you gasp in awe, so you decided to take it with you.

"Well, well," you crooned as you stepped back into the bedroom. "Should I ask you what this is or are you going to tell me?"

With a wide grin, you held out a large purple dildo, Patrick's eyes twitched and he gulped, leaning on his elbows. "I... I use it with hookers," the man confessed, licking his glistening lips covered with your juices. "Why?"

"Hmmm, you like watching women play with it?" You asked as you reached the bed. "How about actually using it and not just watching?"

Damn, you could swear you saw his breath catch in his throat, his muscles tense and his dick throbbing just at the mention of using that sex toy on him. 'So he likes that idea, what a naughty boy,' you chuckled to yourself and took your place on the bed next to him. "This is going to feel so good, baby," you brought the dildo to his lips, suggesting that he lick it for lubrication, and when he did, you could barely keep yourself from cumming, just from the sight of his tongue flicking around the tip of the silicone sex toy. "Get on your knees and let me take care of you."

"Fuck," Bateman cursed, but it was too late to turn back. Embarrassed but extremely aroused, the man got down on all fours and gave you full access to his firm ass, which you immediately fondled, spreading his buttocks and biting them one by one. "Mmh-hmm, (y/n)."

"Relax," you stroked his hips, kissing the lower part of his back just above the dimples that were too sexy to ignore. "God, you have such a beautiful body," you decided to praise him, knowing the effect it would have on him. "I would worship it forever if I could," which was only half true, or maybe...it was not. Leisurely, you showered his soft skin with little peaks here and there, dotting it with your marks of love, not even realizing that you were giving all of yourself to the process.

As you pressed the tip of the dildo against his puckered muscle ring, Patrick tensed at your touch, gripping the sheets and closing his eyes, so overwhelmed and confused at the same time, but your reassuring hand on his trembling one encouraged him to look back at you as you hovered over him to kiss his lips, his neck, his shoulder.

"(Y/n)," Bateman suddenly huffed through his clenched teeth. "I want you to..." he gasped as you flickered your wet finger around his tight asshole. "...fuck."

"You want me to feast on that delicious ass of yours?" You finished the sentence for him, grinning in pure gratification at his complete submission. "Is that what you want?"

"Yeah, y-yes," he grasped the sheets and positioned himself more comfortably on all fours— a clear sign that he was not used to this position and you couldn't miss it. "I want to feel your tongue... all over me."

"Shit, Bateman, you're a real sweet talker." With that you put the dildo on the bed next to you and before you knew it you were spreading his ass cheeks wide open to make a flat lick along his tight hole. "I wanna hear you," you gently but insistently probed his ass with your warm tongue, giving him several slaps on the buttocks that drove the man wild as you felt his velvet walls tighten around your tongue. "Good boy, c'mon, spread it out for me."

Blushing, Patrick used both hands to spread himself for your eager ministrations as you fucked him with your tongue while your hands traveled all around his hips before you wrapped one of them around his pulsating cock, fuck, he was so close, you could tell by the way his balls tensed when you gave them a slight squeeze.

"Don't cum until I let you," you commented and the next moment you were already pushing the sleek sex toy into his ass and this time he accepted it gradually, taking it in with ease—the sight made you gasp but you focused on giving him pleasure. "Tell me, Bateman, how does it feel?"

The question remained unanswered for a brief moment as you began to slid the dildo in and out, stimulating his prostate and causing him to shake and whimper in pure bliss, but when you decided to add fuel to the fire by jerking him off and sucking on his strained sac, Patrick could barely contain himself, his legs about to give way at any moment.

"F-fuck, a-aahhh, mmhhmm," he murmured into the pillow, his hands finding their way to your messy hair, gripping them almost to the point of pain. "I...c-can't...hold...it any longer," Bateman's wailing bounced off the walls of his luxurious bedroom, which had never seen anything like it before. "I..."

Though you wanted him to last longer, you were too overwhelmed yourself, feeling the string in your belly ready to burst. "Let it go," your words were like a balm to his ears as, just a moment later, his cock pulsed in your grasp, spraying loads of his thick cum across the Chinese sheets that Patrick had always been so fond of. "That's it…" You didn't stop fucking him with a dildo, nor did you stop pumping his throbbing dick, milking it until the last drop of his seed. "Good boy, you're such a good boy."

Panting, you pulled out the sex toy, covered in his slick, and brought it to his trembling lips, inducing him to suck it before taking it into your mouth, feeling the mixture of tastes on the tip of your tongue. Then, Bateman rolled onto his back, desperately gasping for air, his cock still hard. That was fucking phenomenal, but you didn't comment, thinking about your own orgasm at last. Locking your eyes with Patrick's hazel ones, you touched yourself the moment he beckoned you over, and without words, you mounted his flushed, sweaty face, riding it as desperately as you could, using his tongue and lips without shame. Tilting your head back, you grabbed his head and almost clawed at his scalp, feeling your insides about to fucking explode from the tension. So when you peaked, your scream could be heard all over Bateman's apartment. The orgasms you had before were nothing compared to this. It took everything from you, it made you die and rise again.

The final chord of the parade of shameless lust was when you let him fuck you in a way you didn't even expect. Spooning you from behind after he put the condom on, the man lifted your leg and sheathed himself inside of you till the hilt, making you feel so full you had to wrinkle the fabric underneath, but that was just the beginning as Bateman pulled you closer, trapping you in his arms like a cocoon, his tongue sliding around your ear shell with undisguised affection,

"Mmhmm, fuck, you're...so perfect," the man whispered into your ear, setting up the pace and resting his hand between your legs for extra stimulation. "Holy fuck! I'm cumming again, omh-shit..."

"Fuck m-me, yeah, just...l-like that...a-ahhh," you coaxed him to fuck you harder as you suddenly found yourself on the verge of climaxing again. "Gimme everything, baby, a-awww...goshhhhhhhh," you were the first to fall over the principle of pleasure, twitching along his body as if you were hit by the electric shock, all your nerves were on fire. "Bateman, mmhm-fuck-fuck! Your dick feels s-so good.."

Your vivid orgasm became the last straw for his second release as you felt him bite at your neck, his buffed frame shaking in spasms of pure rapture, you even had to hold back a scream from how painfully Patrick's hands squeezed your hips, but it was pleasurable pain of being ruined, of being fucked into a wet mess. Barely breathing, you didn't even remember how you passed out from exhaustion and for the first time in the last few days you fell asleep completely satisfied and happy.

When the first rays of sunlight crept through the blinds into Bateman's bedroom, you were already awake, as was he, but since you were lying with your back to his face, you didn't notice until the man kissed your shoulder, snuggled up against your neck, and made you roll over to face him.

As you did so, you dared to look directly into the brown eyes still clouded by the aftermath of your shared pleasure. "Hey." He muttered in a husky voice.

"Hey," you murmured back, hugging the pillow. "Did you sleep well?"

“Surprisingly—yes," the man stretched his arms, flexing his muscles and checking himself in the mirror on the other side of the room, which you hadn't even noticed. "(Y/n), I want you to go to the office and tell everyone that you're not going anywhere."

Shocked, you blinked several times, not knowing what to say as you hadn't expected anything like this.

With a nervous chuckle that turned into a hearty laugh, you rolled onto your back before sitting up on the bed. "Oh God, you're such a little Delulu, it's even funny," you looked at him—his face was nothing but a blank space without any visible emotions. "Did you really think that random sex would change my mind about changing jobs?" You chuckled again, louder this time. "I mean, the sex was really good, but... it's not like I'm going to give everything for this, you know?" With that, you got up from the bed and wrapped a blanket around yourself. "Can I take a shower?”

Trapped in the thought that only he could know, Patrick rolled onto his back, his eyes fixed on an invisible spot on the ceiling above him. "Yes," he murmured, barely audible. "Do whatever you want."

Walking towards the bathroom, you suddenly stopped and turned half around. "You better forget it," you said, savoring every word and finally returning the favor. "Maybe ask Paul Allen for advice," you grinned as you watched Bateman close his eyes in a feeble attempt to distance himself from everything that had happened. "Maybe he knows something about memory reboot machines that can help."

Without waiting for his answer, you continued on your way to the bathroom. Even though you were pleased with yourself, your revenge didn't taste sweet, but bitter, and its bitterness would remain on the tip of your tongue even after you washed yourself clean under the hot streams of water.

But the game was worth the candle, as they said.

Was it?

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

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