#The way he talks about the women is fucking gross
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Really appreciate this blog and what it shares. Got into an arguement with someone who was a transfem TIRF (didn’t realize that was even a thing at the time lmao) and it left me feeling really upset due to the both gross ways she’d talked about trans men and the fact that she got a lot of support in the notes. So coming here and seeing in fact most people love and care about us transmascs is nice.
Won’t argue again next time I see an account like that cuz it’s kinda obvious people in those circles are prolly not getting out but yeah.
i am so sorry you had that experience. i'm glad you're advocating for yourself and choosing to not argue with that person again.
i honestly refuse to socialize with a person when i see them be that openly hateful with no attempts to change. i stopped talking to one of my old roommates after he started saying all kinds of transandrophobic shit, shitting on transmascs bodies and calling them gross because he's "gay" and could never be into vaginas or breasts. my ex (trans)gf literally fucking yelled at me for not wanting to be his friend after this. like actually fucking yelled at me numerous times. i asked her if she would be comfortable staying his friend if he was transmisogynistic toward her and told her her body was disgusting, and she said yeah of course, as if somehow that wouldn't cause her pain. nobody gave a flying fuck about how transandrophobia affects transmascs, so i said fuck all of you and stopped being their friends.
there are so many people who have gladly jumped on the rad fem train and it's so sad. that's no way to live your life. that's such a hateful ideology. rad feminism is nothing but hate. it's hate for yourself for being a woman because you equate womanhood to suffering. it's hate for other women because they're not women "right" like you are. it's hate for transmascs and trans men. it's hate for nonbinary people. it's hate for genderfluid people. it's hate for trans, nonbinary, genderqueer, genderfluid, gnc, bi, & pan lesbians. it's hate for butches who are men. for TIRFs in specific, it's hate for other trans people because they're "trans wrong". rad feminism is hatred all the way down no matter how you look at it. rad feminism will never be productive or progressive. it's about wallowing in your misery, mining for sympathy and pity, and crying about how you're powerless and defenseless instead of doing something about it. it's admitting defeat.
as a fellow transmasc, i'm just over it. i'm not gonna stew in self hatred. i had a friend who WAS transmasc who basically forced me to hate myself for being a trans man. always going on and on about how they hated certain transmascs and trans men, how they were "Whiny and entitled"... yikes dude. you can keep hating yourself over there, but i genuinely love being transmasc & a trans man. coming out as a trans man literally saved my fucking life. i was a depressed mess that hated myself before i came out. i've never loved myself more. and if someone else can't love what i love about myself? they're not worth my damn time.
i'm not here to throw transmascs under the bus just to kiss up to transfems to try to look progressive for brownie points. that shit is underhanded and dirty. we can support all trans people at once. we aren't football teams. you don't have to pit random queer identities against one another. we're on the same side. none of us are enemies. none.
thanks for taking the time to stop by! take care of yourself, i'm glad that i could help in any way. i am just OVER people forcing transmascs and trans men to hate themselves and exist solely to talk about trans women and transfems and nothing else. i am just over people making men and mascs feel like shit. it's done. it's over. i'm not participating, and neither are you. pack that shit up into a box, and throw it in the garbage. we're working together whether or not you like it. the only way we get out of this is together. our fight for liberation is NOT a crab bucket- you do NOT have to pull someone else down when you see them rise up and advocate for themselves.
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I'm sure all of you who (rightfully) complain about AEW's shitty sexist commentary are just as mad at Nigel for spending the entirety of the Toni/Taya match objectifying Taya and making gross, pervy comments about her and how he wants to fuck her, right? Right?! RIGHT??!! 🙂🙂🙂
#I mean it's not like y'all conveniently don't care about sexist commentary when it's coming from a man you find attractive for some reason#Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight? 🙂🙂🙂#I don't make many hater posts these days but long term followers of mine will not be surprised to know I still hate that fucking wanker#Wrestling is Bad Actually#The way he talks about the women is fucking gross#He treats them like sex objects instead of y'know WRESTLERS??!!#At least Taya isn't half his age like poor Mariah *shudders*#And that's when he could be bothered to even talk about the match itself. Mostly he just talked about himself#Somebody tell him that commentators shouldn't be using words like 'I' or 'Me'#And also tell him to stop being a fucking creep about all the blonde women#NO ONE WANTS TO HEAR ABOUT WHO GETS YOUR GROSS OLD DICK HARD NIGEL#And he gets paid for this shit?? And adulated like he's the best commentator of all time??!! Fucking hell man#(This post is brought to by me not being able to use my usual strategy of watching AEW with the Spanish commentary#Because for some reason Triller didn't give me the option for Battle of the Belts#Forcing me to listen to British Jerry Lawler when all I want is to enjoy some women's wrestling. A tragedy.)
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i'm gonna be autistic about borderlands for a sec, everyone stay with me okay
i do not understand why the borderlands games try to make moxxi so important to jack, i dont get it, genuinely it doesn't make sense
so, spoilers for BL2, the pre-sequel, tales from the borderlands, and BL3 moxxi's heist- the general info you need is that jack and moxxi canonically dated for a period of time between the first game and TPS, how long this was we arent sure but we can make a guess that at the VERY most it was less then six months of them being together
we can piece this together by the vague timeline of TPS happening about a year or less after the first game
(this is estimated by the fact that Athena said she worked with jack five years ago, meaning TPS happened five years ago by the time the second game takes place and five years is also the amount of time that's passed between the first and the second game so- TPS took place in a very short few month period after the first game)
now we know that they couldn't have been together for long because moxxi was together with BOTH mordecai AND jack during this only a few month period of time between games- this is confirmed in a line of dialogue from BL2 where mordecai says moxxi left him for jack at the end of BL1 but then in TPS moxxi and jack are already broken up, which means they could have only been together for a few months for the timeline of five years to make sense! at the VERY most they were together for like, three months or even just a few weeks. all that matters is that it was not very long
in BL2 there's also a line about jack destroying moxxi's fighting dome because he thought she cheated on him, which is a thing he does AS handsome jack not as the normal dude jack he was when they broke up, the reason for which is still unknown but we know it was Vaguely Messy which is like whatever, sure, that sorta makes sense for him to do but what DOESN'T is the games trying to convince you that jack is in love with her.
okay you still following? cool
in TPS jack is visibly uncomfortable around moxxi and doesn't like working with her, even going as far as asking her to stop calling him 'sugar' a request she just, ignores and continues doing anyway, also during TPS is when jack gets together with nisha, his canon girlfriend he's had through the five years between BL1 and BL2. jack is INSANELY in love with nisha, we see this in the after credits art of both TPS and BL2 same with the way he talks to her/about her in TPS and in outside game material where he literally stutters when talking about her AND in the way he proudly displays her hat in his office in TFTBL alongside his most prized possessions.
he LOVES his woman with his entire heart, he gave her a whole town to prove it!! nisha is his everything outside of hyperion so, tell me, PLEASE why BL3 tried to tell us that jack was still in love with moxxi? because i do not get it at all
what im talking about here is 1. in moxxi's heist timothy is in love with moxxi, this is made canon in TPS where he fumbles through trying to flirt with her and in the heist dlc this is brought up again and timothy has a line about how jack asked moxxi on a date during his reign as handsome jack and sent timothy to go as him because he was busy but like, why would he do that? we know that jack is insane about nisha why would he then?? ask his ex that he visibly hates on a date??? and then 2. they added a fucking painting of her in his office in the casino.
i do not even know where to begin on how much i hate that detail
when you get to jack's office in the casino there are two paintings you find, one is of angel- makes sense, is his daughter who he loves even if he is really bad at it, it's the same as him having the picture of her in his office on helios, he loves his daughter, a painting of her being here is in line with everything else!! plus it's really pretty and i like it
then across from that is a painting of moxxi, which makes no fucking sense!!! why isn't it nisha!! it SHOULD be nisha!! the woman he is CURRENTLY TOGETHER WITH AND MADLY IN LOVE WITH????
i have DETESTED this detail since i first played the dlc, as much i love moxxi's heist and credit it as my favorite borderlands dlc the whole 'moxxi is jack's true love' thing makes me so confused?? they dated for MAYBE three months between BL1 and TPS and then he got into a five year long committed relationship that is never properly explored in the games and then the devs have the gall to say they wish they had done more with nisha like!!! good news you still could have!! but you didn't
anyways, i apologize for this, it has just been bothering me for months and i had to get it out and see if anyone else had noticed this and was bothered by it?? because it makes me go a little insane every time i think about it
then again maybe the character writing in BL3 is just bad
#borderlands 2#borderlands handsome jack#borderlands mad moxxi#borderlands nisha kadam#borderlands rant#i guess#i dont even like nisha and jack together either!! but the way they just erase her to shoe horn moxxi in pisses me off!!#that is NOT the love of his life#OR and hear me out here devs we COULD maybe just possibly add a picture of his first wife?? crazy thought#i swear to fuck if the answer to this is racism i am going to scream#it doesn't help that BL3 specifically has a HUGE problem with misogyny? that game is horrific in the way it treats it's female characters#also just idk jack's writing really fell off in BL3? all the characters did but his stuck out to me in moxxi's heist#it started to fall in tales when they made him super sexist out of nowhere??#and the whole him being cartoonishly evil instead of being grounded like he was in bl2 and tsp made me upset#taking this character with such depth and being like 'yeah he hates women and thinks animal abuse is funny' was a weird turn!#then they do this shit with him in bl3#there are some parts of his writing in bl3 that i like but most of it doesn't sound like him#ALSO TELL US MORE ABOUT HIS FIRST WIFE YOU ASSHOLES#i am fully going to make a huge post about jack's first wife and how awfully they treat that character as a whole#i might also talk about how gross the treatment of the female characters in bl3 is if anyone is interested? because it's gross#anyways#sorry#autism won again#a painting of nisha would have been so pretty too :(#dont play bl3 lol that's the moral here
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so it turns out the weird guy who was out with my friend last Friday when I had to sit next to him actually makes her uncomfortable too. but they work in the same building so she can't just get rid of him. he's obsessed with her. she got fucking warnings from people about him. I am worried for her. I offered to be her girlfriend if needed to ward him off. he's asked her out twice and she said no twice. he waits for her at lunch. he steals her phone to take selfies. he always goes out with her. he refuses to leave her alone even when she tells him to. I am Fear.
#I've told her I can help if needed in any way but she's reassured me she'll kick the shit out of him if she needs to#but man. he's a real fucking creep#my man is 32 years old and talks about how he's a virgin with no house. and then makes the worst comments about women#fucking gross#me#ramblings
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i like thinking about Geto being quietly obsessed with grieving Riko. He thinks about her constantly and refuses to ever forget her, but he also refuses to talk about her. He has the selfish impulse that he's the only one who's truly allowed to grieve her because he was there when she died, he was the one who failed her. And I think he hates that he has that impulse because it's selfish, because Gojo failed her just as much as him, and Kuroi was her family and Riko meant so much more to her, but that isn't enough to stop him from feeling like he's the most deserving of the guilt and grief. And I think he can't ever truly see Mimiko and Nanako as their own people- he sees them as proof of his worldview, they are the reasons for his beliefs made human, but also. They're a chance at redemption. Theyre a chance to go home
#I'm going to claw out my eyes. Don't get me started on how much Mimiko and Nanako worship him#Which like. Understandable even if he doesn't deserve it- he saved them and he's fucking. Everything to them#But I just know their relationship is defined by the holes in his heart that they can't fill#Because they shouldn't have to. They should be allowed to be their own people. He should love them for who they are as themselves#But he just tries to cover up the holes that watching Riko die and cutting Satoru off left in him#And it makes me sooooo sick. This guy SUCKS so baddddddd I love it#Messy nasty selfish grief that ends up being warped to the point it's a disservice to the memory of the person being grieved#I could probably also talk about how I feel like there's an undercurrent of misogyny to it. As in I think Geto really idealizes masculinity#As like. A protector role in a way that doesn't truly respect women as people but rather as the vague idea of something to be protected#And he doesn't really. Work to form the emotional bonds that would be there in a respectful relationship. But he still forms natural#Emotional bonds as a consequence of just y'know. Being human and being with people- he just doesn't cultivate and respect those bonds in a#Way thats respectful of the women around him. And this is part of why I think Geto being transmasc is really fuckin good#Because it's the sense of idealizing a theoretically 'good' type of masculinity that still fucking actually sucks bc its a social construct#Created in a society that doesn't value/respect women and that devaluation/disrespect is baked into the idea of ''normal'' in a way#That takes actual work to like. Acknowledge and unlearn so that you aren't just a misogynist but Outwardly Nice about it#And idk exploring that with a trans man is really interesting to me in the sense of these things being learned rather than There From Birth#And I think it also can worsen the Misogyny issue because theres often the need to distance yourself from femininity/women as a trans man#To prove (to yourself or others) that you are truly A Man and that can lead to a reluctance to acknowledge the relationship you have to#Women and girls around you in a social sense which leads you to sorta default disregard them or end up less exposed to them as#Fully fleshed out people rather than vague figures who Exist and are Different in ways. Which leads to the misogyny that society gives you#Going unchecked in a way that can be either subtle and insidious or jus straight up obvious and gross#Anyway Geto has a bunch of complexes and needs to. Idk what he needs maybe he should play disco elysium#I highly doubt it would fix him but I think it would be really interesting to see what it does to him
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#tag talk#today is a sheher day. I got ma'amed by a woman today. men seeing me as a woman is easy mode. women calling me sheher means I've succeeded#it's funny cause this past week I haven't even been shaving I've just been showing up to work mildly (mildly) scruffy and being he him#but like. this morning I woke up like alright were putting on the voice and showing up to work in purple lipstick. very cool#I looked very good today and kept the voice all day instead of dropping it halfway through like normal#idk. I need to shake things up regularly. if I stick with one thing too long people start to slot me into a preconceived notion.#people start to fit me into a traditional cultural role and ugh gross don't fucking do that to me.#I think I'm starting to get a better understanding of what my gender really is. because like. it's not actually fluid. it doesn't change#I'm in different aesthetic moods so I wanna look different. but my vibes are always consistent underneath.#people relate to me differently when I present differently but I relate to them the same either way. they see me as different but I'm not#I think that's one of the reasons I do appreciate the ability to look fem. because there's a certain kind of dynamic that people fall into#and it's a dynamic I don't get at all when I'm presenting masc and have my voice lower.#idk. I feel like when men aren't being misogynistic to me they're often more open and excited about things when I'm fem.#like. they will stop what they're doing and talk about their construction project. their old cars. their vintage tape deck.#it's an excitement and joy that is often socially unacceptable between men. but when they see me as a woman they feel comfortable with it#and ngl I love being able to morph into whatever people need in order to feel comfortable talking about things.
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I think it's crazy how so many transfems have similar stories about tme people ignoring their distaste for Rocky Horror and I think it's wild how so many of us have trauma related to that movie caused by the people we saw as friends.
I think it's interesting that anytime transfems try to criticize the movie for transmisogynistic tropes, loads of tme people become combative, insulting, rude, they do not want us to critically analyze it, they do not want us to talk about it. I think it's equally interesting that if we then try to discuss the transphobia of Richard O'Brien, the creator, we are met with equal amounts of disdain. He has said trans women are not women, he has defended JK Rowling, but people will plug their ears about it. "He's nonbinary he can't be transphobic!" Or, transfems will just talk about the trauma of the movie, trauma related to the movie, there are so many joke posts about trans women getting forced to watch it by their tme "friends" and those are responded to with disdain and vitriol.
I have tried to rewatch the movie multiple times in the last decade, each time puts my brain back in that place where a cis woman friend who constantly talked about wanting me to be one of these characters for Halloween, betrayed my trust and put me in massive amounts of danger. When I watch it my brain goes back to the time I logged into Facebook to have some transphobe I don't know calling me FrankNFurter.
And it makes me wildly uncomfortable. These events in my life have just put a different sheen on the movie that makes it look so gross. And knowing I'm not the only one who feels this way about it so relieving, this movie held up as important LGBT cinema feels dehumanizing for me, and there's so many others that feel the same. But anytime we talk about it we are met with such contempt.
This isn't like, a coherent thing, it's just a personal rant. It feels so weird how tme people at large seem to walk over transfems over a movie. Which yeah yeah transmisogyny is a thing, but transfems not liking a movie seems so inconsequential. Why must we deal with the trauma of our so called friends not respecting our comfort, just to turn around years later and be ridiculed for having that trauma? It's just a fucking movie. And it has literally all the "man in dress bad" tropes we criticize other movies for. Why defend this movie to the death? It's just so annoying.
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on my radar
joel miller x f!reader (one shot)
warnings/tags: edited very little so sorry! dual pov, jackson era dark!joel, SMUT (oral fem receiving, p in v), stalker behavior from mr miller, age gap (50s/20s), joel is kind of a creep but reader is kinda into it, murder off screen, cannon typical violence, men harassing women (a guy is gross with reader/unwanted touching etc) NO R*PE, possessive talk and nicknames (mine, love, my girl, good girl etc), reader can be lifted by mr big man joel but otherwise no really specific details about readers body other than the usual fem. 18+ minors be gone!,
word count: 5.8k
* 。・:*:・゚★,。・:*:・゚☆ 。・:*:・゚★,。・:*:・゚☆
YOU
You almost dropped it twice, your gloved fingers slipped around the smooth metal of the gun as you fumbled to pull the trigger. The clicker was quickly stumbling toward you even on its one and a half limbs. You and your patrol partner got separated when a small swarm of the dead caught you both off guard in a densely wooded area . As you were trapped in a corner of a hunting shed by the crawling thing, you felt your heart rate begin to rise and the feeling of dread set in that this might be your last moment.
You saw the blood hit your gloves before you even heard the blade hack into its head. Then the body hit the floor.
You looked up to find your patrol partner standing there with a machete clutched in his hand. He was looming over you with a look very close to anger creasing his brows and his chest heaving in exhaustion. He grabbed the gun out of your hand and grabbed your arm to pull you away from the writhing body. He hacked the large blade into the neck to fully decapitate the head then stabbed into the ear to finally kill it.
“Do you even know how to use this thing?” His voice had an edge to it, like he was mad, or scared as he held up the gun in your face.
You looked at him with tears brimming your lash line, the cold was seeming to freeze them before they tried to fall down your cheek. “Yeah, pretty much.”
“Have you ever been on patrol?” His eyes narrowed as they scanned your face, then your body.
“No.” Your mouth was so dry.
“Who sent you on patrol!? What the hell…,” he grumbled as he turned away. “I asked you a question.” He shot another nasty glare your way when you didn’t answer.
His statement kind of shocked you, not a lot of people are blunt like that.
“Uhm, I asked Tommy, I wanted to help.”
“Fucking Tommy, sticking me with a kid.”
“Hey I might be new to this but I'm not a kid,” you chased after him and that didn't help your defense.
“Jesus…,” he was grumbling again and marching away, toward where you hid the horses. The two of you set out on patrol a couple hours before, your first time outside the gates in Jackson. You had heard rumors about Joel, people said he was ‘rough around the edges but good people’. You had seen him around the community and wondered if he was someone you could get along with. He seemed like he was an outsider, kind of like you. When you learned you were partnered with him you figured it was going to be difficult, but this was a little much.
You were on your way through the state trying to get to where your dad lived in Sundance when you ran into some trouble near their camp and they took you in until you recovered. They stitched you up after they found a nasty gash on your ribs when you were discovered fighting off a pack of stalkers. After arriving at the Jackson community, you learned that Sundance was completely overrun. The sparse community there hunkered down in their homes after the outbreak but with the large swarms that came through the area, pretty much everyone fled and went their own ways. You could barely stand the thought that your dad was caught in the middle but he was strong, he could find his way out.
He had to.
So you remained in Jackson, becoming a part of the community, and everyone in the community had to help out somehow. You felt indebted to Tommy and the community for helping you and making you feel at home here after your recovery. That's why you wanted to go on patrol, you felt like you could help. Joel clearly didn't agree.
That last fucking thing he wanted to do was teach some rookie how to handle themselves on patrol. He was pissed and you could see it in the tense bunching of his shoulders as he rode on in front of you. You felt kind of bad for having Joel take care of you back there but he didn't have to be such an ass about it.
“Hey,” you rode up next to him. “Look I know I'm not who you wanted to be on patrol with but just give me a chance ok? I'm just trying to do a job here.”
He barely looked your way, he just kind of grunted before urging his horse over the final path into Jackson.
Alright then.
You didn't see those broad hunching shoulders for a couple days after, though he clearly had been talking about you. Tommy took you off patrol so Joel obviously made his concerns clear to his brother. When you did see him it was from across a room or passing in the street, but even in brief passes it felt like a tension was always present. His brows would bunch in the middle as he scanned you. It always felt like a judgment maybe, or some kind of disgust the way he would observe you. You quite honestly thought he hated you.
JOEL
You looked cute when you were mad, actually to Joel you always looked cute. Your cheeks were pink with the morning cold, your breath steamed in the air as you huffed through your nose. You were mad because he was ignoring you, and he was ignoring you because he was scared shitless when he came into that hunting hide and found you cornered by one of the dead. It scared the living shit out of him to think about how you were almost torn apart.
He doesn't remember the exact day that he started to care a little too much about you, it was a slow thing. It took over his life, watching you as you became integrated into the fabric of the town. The people of Jackson welcomed you and you welcomed them right back. People loved you and you got along with pretty much everyone. He started to notice you when he saw you and Ellie chatting about something girl related in the mess hall. He noticed how you seemed to genuinely invested in your conversation with Ellie, hanging on to her every word. Next thing he knows he's thinking about you every waking hour, and you haunt most of his dreams. It feels like you are a presence in his chest that he can't carve out and he has tried.
Joel had tried to occupy himself by relieving the tension himself, trying to dissolve the desire he had for you. It didn't work, of course, but he couldn't help himself.
He refused to actually make any kind of relationship with you, he felt like it would look inappropriate. He was a grumpy gray haired man and you were young and bright, he felt like he would be too rough for you anyway. He was a broken man, his hands were dirty with death and guilt and blood. He could see the innocence in your eyes, the way you smiled with your whole heart when talking to people, especially someone he cares for.
Maybe those were the moments he truly started to have real feelings for you, seeing the way you cared for Ellie. Everytime he would see you it made his heart skip a beat, it almost confused him at first, like his heart was waking up from a decades long nap. His chest hurt with how intensely he was starting to ache without you near, it only ever stopped when he saw you or felt you close or smelled your shampoo as you walked by. It was the same as everyone else as there was a lady in Jackson who made everyone soap but still when it lingered after you it smelled like heaven to Joel.
All that to say, Joel still felt like it was wrong to pursue you. You were and always will be the one that got away.
He needed to stay away.
YOU
It had been a couple weeks or so, maybe longer since you saw those grumpy brown eyes. You had started to miss him, as painful as it was to admit. Even though he was barely a colleague, definitely not a friend, you were missing the way… he was mean to you? No, that can’t be right. Why would you miss a man that is anything but nice around you?
Tommy had found you another job working at the local watering hole/dining hall, as the patrol thing clearly wasn’t going to work. He was walking you around the hall, introducing you to the people you would be working with when you heard a familiar voice.
“Hey Tommy, you here?”
“Yea Joel, in here.”
Shit.
“Oh hey Joel…” You wanted to keel over and die.
”H-hey.” He seemed… odd.
They chatted about something security related and you were introduced to the hall supervisor. As you talked on one end of the room, Joel and Tommy were on the other and it felt like neither of you could look away from the other. Your eyes kept finding each other, each time it felt longer and longer, like the world was falling away. It felt much different than the last time you spoke, like he might not actually hate you. It was an odd feeling, having his eyes on you, he was almost predatory.
Even as he looked over what felt like every couple seconds, he still had this pinched, angry look on his face.
But it was hard to look away. Joel was mesmerizing but you knew deep down he could never be interested the way you would want him to be. He was a grumpy older man that wanted nothing to do with the new young girl in town.
You didn’t see him for a while after that.
JOEL
Joel Miller was by no means a good man. A good man wouldn’t be watching you like this, following an unsuspecting woman around town. A good man wouldn’t watch you as you walked around the Jackson streets, minding your business, talking to your new found friends.
Ever since seeing you again at the dining hall he couldn’t rid his mind of you, as hard as he tried. He knew he would ruin you if you let him, if he even got one taste he would be addicted. Not like he wasn’t now, leering at you talking to patrons at your job. He felt dirty in a way, like he wasn’t allowed to look, not allowed to have the urge to bash in the head of any man who looks at you wrong. Like the guy you were helping now, Mike, every time you turned away to get him what he asked for, he could see his slimy gaze caressing your curves.
He felt like he was going crazy, not being able to be near you like he truly wants. He wasn’t sleeping well, barely eating enough to keep him upright and almost missed patrol on more than one occasion. His mind was playing tricks on him, he would find you in dreams, wake up to find you cooking breakfast in his kitchen or walking hand in hand down the streets of Jackson. The cruel reality that he would never have that always hit him hard in the morning when the sunlight came streaming over his bedspread.
He often found himself turning over, searching for you.
Sometimes they were nightmares, visions of you being attacked by the dead or one of Jackson’s very own.
That’s why he was here, making sure you were safe from the dangers of this world. It was his job.
He was there until you got off work, gathering your belongings and heading out the door when Mike popped around the corner. Joel was immediately on high alert, watching the man’s every move as he advanced on an unsuspecting you. He stalked after the two of you, staying just out of sight. His blood boiled when he saw Mike call after you.
She’s mine, he thought.
He stayed across the street, just in case things went sideways. In case he put his hands on what didn’t belong to him.
“Hey! Saw ya leaving work, how was your night?” Ok, nice enough but Joel knew he was clearly waiting for you to leave work.
“It was ok, just tired and ready to go home.” You were being polite but clearly trying to convey that you were going home, alone. That’s my girl.
“I’d like to talk to ya though, ya know i’ve seen ya ‘round and think you’re real cute. Come on, please? One chance?” He’s persistent, that's for sure. Walking the line there, Mike.
“That’s sweet but I’m not really looking for anyone right now, I just got here a few months ago…” You kept walking and you kept your eye contact away from him, smart girl.
“If you give me a chance I’ll show ya I’m worth it. I promise baby.” You were not his baby.
“I’m not your baby, Mike. Please, I just want to go home.” You turned towards him now with determination in your tired eyes.
Mike clearly wasn’t hearing you, or just not caring because as you tried to turn away he grabbed your arm and pinned your back against a wall.
He’s dead.
YOU
I’m dead. This stupid asshole is going to kill me. Your mind was racing as you looked for ways out. Mike’s front was almost completely pushed against yours now as he trapped you against the brick wall. You could now smell the alcohol on his breath now that he was on top of you. You tried to break free, maybe he was drunk enough where you could shake him off. You could tell that wasn’t the case when he groaned in delight.
“Mhmm, keep doing that baby. I like feeling ya move that pretty body.” You wanted to puke, his greasy beard and sour breath was assaulting your space. You froze your body in an attempt to get him off you but he leaned in, trying to capture your lips. You whipped your head to the side and squeezed your eyes shut trying to block out whatever he might do next. Only, when you expected his lips or something on you, there was nothing. His entire weight was gone and you almost slumped to the floor in relief. When you opened your eyes, there was nothing, no one in sight, not even a sound. Mike was nowhere to be seen, nor was anyone else. If you weren’t so relieved that the creep was gone, you’d be freaked out. It felt like one of those eerie horror movies you watched before the word turned into one itself.
You weren’t really sure what else to do other than go home. You walked the quiet streets towards your small house and barricaded your door that night, just to be safe.
…..
“Have you heard?! I can’t believe it!” Angela’s voice shook you out of your tired daze. No matter how you tried to occupy your mind or sleep last night you couldn’t shake what Mike did to you. “It was Mike! That’s who it was that was found behind the dinner hall.”
Mike? Did you hear her right?
“Wait, Mike, like creepy Mike?”
“Yes!” Angela never learned how to not raise her voice.
Mike was dead. He was dead behind where you worked after he assaulted you. That seemed… convenient. Did that make you a bad person?
“They are calling everyone to the town hall for an announcement.” This was the only time they have done this in the short time you’ve been here.
Everyone walked over and filled the hall wall to wall. Tommy, Maria and a few other members in charge of running Jackson stood on the stage of the building that looked to once be a school auditorium, including Joel. Your eyes caught him up there as soon as you walked in, recognizing his brown curls anywhere. Tommy walked up to the top of the stage and everyone immediately quieted down, they clearly respected him.
“Hey ya’ll… Uh, unfortunately it's not good news that calls us together today.” He was clearly nervous. “One of our own is gone, Mike Walton. Now I know in this world losing someone happens more often than we would expect but this one is different. It happened in our walls and we think, committed by one of our own.”
Murder. He was killed. Fuck.
The crowd was starting to murmur and quietly panic. You felt responsible somehow, like you being the last one to see him, you think, meant… something. You had to tell them what happened last night, if only to make sure they know now instead of finding out some other way. So they know you're not hiding anything.
You stayed after the crowd cleared, listened to Tommy assure everyone that they are safe and he is putting security measures in place. You went up to the stage and caught Maria’s attention, you felt comfortable with her and maybe she would be more understanding. She really helped you assimilate when you recovered and felt kind of like a sister in a way.
“Hey sweetie, how ya doing?”
“I need… I need to tell you something.”
She took you to a more private area and you told her what happened the night before. She listened dutifully as you recounted your story and it really made it strangely better to talk about it. It was by no means easy to forget but knowing someone was listening helped. After you finished and she gave you a reassuring hug, she brought you back to Tommy… and Joel.
“Ok hon, I will need to tell Tommy about this, I’ll only include the necessary things.” You nodded knowing you could trust both of them with the news. “Joel, would you be able to walk her home? I don’t want to take any chances here.” Maria did say to you privately that she was going to treat this as if you were in danger in some way, in case this turned out to be about you.
He only nodded in your direction, extending his arm, signaling you to lead the way. You walked the streets, the silent tall man trailing behind you. You stopped so abruptly that Joel backed up in surprise.
“I don’t need you walking behind me like a bodyguard.”
“Where should I walk?” His voice dripped with something dark.
“W-well…I don’t know, next to me like a normal person?”
All he does is silently walk up to you and nod forward urging you on. You kept walking, feeling Joel’s arm brush up against yours and the tension was building before either of you said anything. You arrived at your building in silence and he walked you up the steps, more than you were expecting from the distant man. You paused as you opened the door and realized something, if Maria is right and someone is after you, they could be in your house.
“Y’ok?” His voice was low and rough.
“Uh… actually, no. Joel, would you be able to come in… and uh, check it out? Just to make sure, I don’t know…someone’s not— not in there?”
You swore his eyes softened at your nervous request, maybe he felt bad. He followed you inside and had you wait by the door as he surveyed the rest of the house. He came back within only a few minutes and you were relieved it was quiet in the house.
“You’re all good here darlin’,” he stood by the kitchen counter almost like he was avoiding leaving.
But you didn’t want him to leave.
JOEL
He knew no one would be in your house, there was no one after you. Except him. He saw Mike put his hands and other parts on you and something flipped in his brain. He went feral and had been looking for an opportunity to take this guy out. He was a menace to the community but Tommy said there was no legitimate reason. Usually he wanted a blatant offense to take action or even exile someone. Mike was sneaky, that was the problem, he was good at hiding his deplorable behavior towards women behind being friendly with most of the male Jackson population.
Joel was so sick of it, and he likes to pretend that’s why he was there that night, not that he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. For weeks now he had been everywhere you were, coincidence of course. He needed to make sure that you were safe, that someone would be there for you. Even if he couldn’t have you, he needed to watch over you. You had completely consumed his life, every waking and sleeping hour he had his mind on you.
The worst of it he thinks was a few weeks into his obsession, he found himself across the street from your house, crouched in the bushes like a maniac. He watched your silhouette as you turned about the room, picking things up, gathering our belongings and just generally going about your home life. It was so magical to him to see you living your life unencumbered by the burden of how cruel people can be. He had to make sure no one took that from you.
He was pulled from his thoughts by your sweet voice. “Joel? You ok?”
“Y-ya sorry, what did you say?”
“I asked if you wanted a drink.”
“Oh, uh- sure sweetheart.”
He watched you go over to a cabinet and pull out a dwindling bottle of something dark that made his mouth water. You had good taste.
That's my girl.
You slid over the glass with a small amount of whiskey and you each sipped it slowly.
“Thanks for walking me home, I really appreciate it.”
“No problem darlin’, but I'm sure you’re safe. No one’s gonna hurt ya.”
“Sure doesn’t feel that way.”
YOU
“I promise you, no one will ever…ever hurt you again.” The way Joel said it, it was like he had murder in his eyes. He was so intense that you believed him, like he would protect you. You felt a thrill pass down your spine from his gruff voice. He was always a rugged man with his height, his broad shoulders and intimidating dark eyes but now, he looked downright deadly.
For a minute you worried that Joel could be responsible— no he would never. Even if he did, could you really be upset at him making this community safer? Did that make you a bad person?
He was looking at you like prey he wanted to devour. It made your pulse race, it made your core throb. The tension had been growing since the walk back and it was evident to both of you. Joel circled the kitchen counter to come right in front of you. Both your glasses forgotten, he caged you in with his hands on the counter bracketing your hips. Without a word he brought a hand up to cup your cheek, his calloused skin caressed your skin much lighter than you were expecting. The only sound in the house was your heavy breathing as he stared down at you. You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off about Joel. Not necessarily bad but just something sharp and scary, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as he slowly leaned down to hover his lips over yours, asking for more.
Even if Joel was a bad man, fuck it.
You leaned up slightly to meet his lips and all self control went out the window. His hands were all over you in a second, hips pressed into yours as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. Your head spun as he licked into you and nipped at your bottom lip causing a whimper to escape your lungs. It all became very frantic as he lifted you up onto the counter and bit and kissed his way down your neck. You knew there would be evidence of it the next morning and it kind of excited you to know you’d have Joel’s marks on you. His greedy hands were groping and squeezing every inch of you and you couldn’t get enough. With your own shaky hands you tried to unbutton his shirt but Joel stopped you.
“R’ya sure baby girl?” You swore you felt slick dripping down your inner thighs. “Jus’ gotta tell me and I’ll stop, ’k?”
All you could do was nod.
“I need words.”
“Y-yes,” you practically moaned.
“Good girl.” Fuck, his voice. Your hips rolled forward on the counter, trying to gain any friction. Your clit was pulsing with need and both of you were getting impatient. “Thank god, otherwise I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.” He mumbled it almost to himself.
You gasped as he pulled off the counter and led you up the stairs in silence. Any other person would think he was angry but you knew, he was anything but. He led you to your bedroom and it briefly dawned on you that he was leading you there, he knew where your bedroom was. There was always something intense about Joel, you knew that from the start, it's one of the reasons you were drawn to him. But due to recent events you were starting to question just how depraved he might be. You hated to assume anything but you somehow knew deep down that he was the one who… saved you from Mike. That’s what it was, he saved you from being killed, or worse.
Once in your bedroom Joel turned and pushed you against the wall, attaching his lips to your neck.
He hummed deep in his throat, almost a moan. “Mhmm, darlin’ you are so sweet. Y’smell so good.” He was mumbling into your throat, half kissing, half biting. You were each pulling clothes off the other, desperate to feel skin. When Joel had you completely bare for him, you tried to cover yourself, mostly out of habit.
“You… you are perfect baby.” His eyes dark with desire as he pulled your hands up his mouth and kissed your knuckles. “Don’t cover up, I wanna see ya.” He pulled your hands away as he backed you up to the bed and gently pushed you back onto the soft quilt. You stared up at him, taking in his form, he was still in his jeans but bare from the waist up. You admired his graying hair that led below his belt, mouth watering at the bulge underneath. Before you could reach for his belt, he looped his strong arms under your knees and pulled your butt toward the end of the bed. With cracking knees he knelt in front of the bed and his face became level with your dripping core. His eyes were locked on you, his lips almost matching the way you drooled between your legs.
“Joel—,” you were unable to form words, the breath perpetually caught in your throat.
“Shhh, I know hon, I gotcha,” his voice was lower than you ever heard it, something dangerous simmering below the surface.
“Joel, wait—,” he moved up your body at your request. “I just… I’m confused,” you were shaking and out of breath but you needed to ask him. “I thought you didn’t like me… it’s just every time we would see each other you seemed to avoid me at all costs and now…”
“The only reason I was acting like that was because I liked you… too much.” His eyes hovered directly over yours, deep pools of obsidian overtaken with the desire. “I thought I was protecting you, from myself. But I… I,” he almost seemed nervous in a way, but there was still the underlying grumble of anger in his chest.
“What?”
“I see now that I have to protect you from everyone else.” He said it with such a darkness settled over his face, and it took you a minute to register what he was admitting.
He killed Mike. Holy shit.
Your whole body froze and you felt your eyes widen and breath pick up. But you also had this deep feeling in your gut, was that arousal? Were you attracted to this? That dropping feeling in your stomach told you that you were. Jesus, did that make you a bad person? Fuck it.
You grasped your fingers through his hair, pulling him down to you as you attached your lips to his.
JOEL
You were a vision, puffy lips wet from kissing, eyes blown wide as your chest heaved. “You protected me?”
Oh, fuck me.
“Of course baby girl,” he needed you to know this was all for you. He was yours and you were his. “No one will take you from me.”
He worked his way down your body, kissing and nipping his way to your center again. He spread your legs and stared into your dripping folds as he got onto his knees again. You whimpered and moaned his name and he relished the sounds, he loved hearing and seeing you react to his touch. He wanted nothing more than to hear you scream his name.
“I wanna feel ya’ cum on my tongue darlin’,” he loved the way your pussy drooled for him. Joel felt like a man starved, like he was finally seeing water after a year in the desert. He licked a broad stripe up your folds then sealing his lips around your clit and sucking. You screamed and he felt your thighs wrap around his head only spurring him on further. He pulled your legs in front of him and pushed to the mattress, opening you up further for his enjoyment. When he worked two fingers into you, he knew you were close based on your shaking and whimpering.
“I-I’m so close baby,” you sounded so cute, so desperate. “I need— please Joel.”
He wanted you to fall apart, speeding up his movements he knew it wouldn’t be long now. He curled his fingers while lapping at your clit, he felt your walls flutter and tighten around his fingers.
“Cum for me angel.”
You broke. Joel’s fingers were covered in your juices and you screamed his name as you came. He kept up his movements to prolong your pleasure, he reveled in the way your legs shook with overstimulation.
“Oh… my god,” you sighed as Joel crawled his way back up to your face, slotting himself between your legs.
YOU
He entered you slowly. You could feel every vein and edge of him and you were thankful he readied you with his fingers because Joel was not a small man. He started slow, presumably for your benefit, but soon his pace picked up and the crown of his dick was hitting a spot inside of you that made you see stars.
“Fuck— You feel so good,” he puncuate each word with with his hips, each time driving you up the bed. You grabbed onto his shoulders, trying to gain leverage but you were unable to do anything except take his brutal pace. He was past holding himself back now, you swore you felt him in places you never thought possible. You recognized somewhere in the back of your mind that letting the man who… murdered someone for you fuck you into your mattress might be a bad move. Too bad he was too good at it for you to care. You felt the coil of your orgasm tightening in your lower stomach as Joel leaned back, looming over you like a dark angel.
“I want you to touch yourself,” he pulled one of your hands towards your clit. “Cum for me baby.”
You pressed and circled your fingertips into the bundle of nerves, your pleasure just seconds from cresting. Joel must have felt it because he gripped your hips and pulled you into his lap, picking up his pace and punching into your g-spot.
“Oh fuck!— I’m gonna cum baby…plea—,” you couldn’t even get the rest of the word out as your orgasm crashed into you. You think you might have blacked out as your vision went blank for a moment and you think you heard yourself screaming. Joel kept up his pace and rode you through it all.
“Mmm that’s it, that’s my good girl…,” his voice was low and gravely in your ear when he leaned over, pushing almost all his weight on top of you while he chased his high.
“P-please Joel, cum inside m-me,” his harsh movements made it hard to talk, hard to breathe. You didn’t care though, you were desperate to feel him finish inside you.
“Inside you baby? Ngh, tha—that’s my good gi—,” he didn’t finish his sentence either as he almost collapsed on top of you. You wrapped your legs around his hips and held him there as he filled you up. He grunted and groaned in your ear as he came down, he pulled out slowly making sure you were comfortable and kissed his way down your neck and chest. “Stay here baby.” You laid there unable to move and watched his naked form as he found your bathroom with ease and came back with a warm washcloth. As he cleaned you, you recalled his words, ‘my good girl’. His.
“Joel?” He didn’t respond with words, only hummed at you to continue while he cleaned your inner thighs. “Did you mean it? I’m…,” you were hesitant to speak it, what if you were wrong? What if it was something he said in the heat of the moment. You felt the bed dip and he settled beside you, towel discarded.
“Use your words honey, what’s on your mind?” He moved a bit of hair out of your face and waited patiently for you to continue.
“I’m yours? Not just tonight.” You met his gaze with timid eyes.
“Yes, of course. Y’have been since I first saw you.” He kissed you deep, lips prying yours apart. “I protected you, remember? I wasn’t gonna let anyone hurt you, especially not him.”
He looked at you with nothing but truth in his eyes. He really did kill Mike, holy shit. He did it for you. In this world maybe you could rest easier knowing you had someone to protect you like that. Joel may be a scary man, but you had nothing to fear for yourself with him around. You slept that night more soundly than you had in ten years. wrapped in the strong arms of a man who chased your nightmares away.
#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader#tlou#tlou fanfiction#joel tlou#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller#pedro pascal#din dijarin x reader
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where there’s sparks, there’s fire!
pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader
summary: you can’t tell if patrick hates you as much as you hate him. every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. but he’s only doing all that to piss you off. you think back to tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. you don’t see it. patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special.
—or: patrick zweig is a slut. you can't stand him.
word count: 4.6k
contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), public sex (doing it in a coat closet lmao), more hate sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, light choking, light hair pulling, degradation, even more hints of mean!reader cause i really do live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties always, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.
author’s note: i originally wanted to post a tashi fic next but i realized i don't have any like actual full on plot filled patrick works lmao i felt bad neglecting him and my patrick girlies so yeah. once again had literally so much fun writing this, like i hardcore love this niche!!! i ride so hard for it!!! the tashi fic i'm working on also falls into this category lols and yes this is fourth of july themed and it's late shut up i cannot write fast for the life of me...anyway! to the anons who requested something like this, hope you love it! okay bye mwah xoxo.
Patrick Zweig is a huge slut.
Everyone knows that. He doesn't even go to Stanford but he's still somehow managed to sleep with a third of the girls on campus, maybe even more than a few guys too if the rumors going around are true.
You hate him. Hate isn't even a strong enough word. You loathe him. You despise him. You detest him. Pick any other fancy synonym, the point still stands. You just really fucking hate him.
It blows your mind that someone as sweet and angelic as Art would be best friends with someone like him. Someone who's so obnoxious, so arrogant, so crass. Art’s the guy that goes out of his way to protect you from the gross frat bros at parties, only to bring his very own as a plus one.
Sigma Nu throws a rager every year on the fourth, extending invites to those who are still in Stanford for the summer. The women’s tennis team is always invited, and Tashi always ends up convincing you to go. Well, she’s less convincing than she is more forcing you, but it’s basically the same thing to her anyway. She did your makeup and wrestled you into a Hollister dress, vowing to get you laid as she straightened your hair.
Tashi’s almost more invested in your sex life than you are, constantly hand-picking guys on campus for your consideration. She actually offered up Patrick once when you told her you wouldn’t fuck any of the guys on campus at all. The two of you were practicing, she suggested it as casual as ever while returning your serve. You were so shocked you stopped in your tracks, letting the ball fly right past you. She assured you she wouldn’t mind if you did, that what the two of them had was quote “Nothing serious, he’s just a really good fuck.” and that you should “Totally do it. He definitely wants to fuck you, I can tell.”
You just brushed her off, ignored the way she smirked knowingly at you over the net. Your cheeks burned as you served again, you wrote it off as annoyance. As if you would ever let Patrick Zweig fuck you.
You lost Tashi when she took off to the bathroom, texting you that she’d be a while thanks to a long line outside the door. You were leaning against a wall nursing a half-empty cup of jungle juice when he came up to you. You can’t remember his name, you think it starts with a B. Something like Brandon? Or maybe Brian? One or the other.
He’s Sigma Nu’s secretary, you sit three seats down from him in your economics lecture. Tashi says he has a crush on you, and he’s nice for a frat guy but he’s definitely not your type. He’s been droning on about his upcoming trip to his family's summer house in Cabo for almost ten minutes. You try your best to seem interested, humming and nodding every couple seconds. You’re in the middle of tuning him out when a loud, familiar voice calls out your name.
“There you are!” Patrick Zweig shouts from a few feet away, ugly American flag patterned flip flops smacking against the ground as he makes his way over to you. He’s wearing a bright red button down and white cargo shorts you scrunch your nose up at. He’s tanner than the last time you saw him, legs long and even more toned. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that pretty face.” He coos sweetly, his hand that isn't holding a bottle of Bud Light comes up to pinch your cheek.
You scoff, smacking his hand off your face. “You found me, so you can go bother someone else now,” you say, rubbing your cheek lightly. “Bye.” You press, waving your hand dismissively when he makes no move to walk away.
Patrick grins, unfazed by your reaction, he steps in even closer. “Yeah, I missed you too,” he says breezily, his breath smells like cheap beer and camel blues. He’s just as tall as you remember. He has tacky blue shutter shades resting on the top of his head. His eyes rake over your body shamelessly, lingering on the low dip of your neckline. “Cute dress.”
You ignore him, rolling your eyes before turning your attention back towards Brandon/Brian. He’s silent now, eyes flicking between you and Patrick skeptically. “Are you like, together, or something?”
You laugh loudly, quickly shaking your head ‘No’. Patrick beats you to speaking though, “God no, man.” he says through a laugh, dark curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “I came over here to warn you.” He continues, voice and expression going overly serious like he’s not talking out of his ass.
Brandon/Brian’s brows furrow, clearly confused. “Warn me?” he asks, head tilting to the left slightly. His puka shell necklace makes a small clicking sound as he moves.
Patrick nods his head gravely, clapping his free hand down on Brandon/Brian's shoulder a little too roughly to be considered friendly, shaking him back and forth like a rag doll. “Yeah, best of luck trying to get inside that snatch, man.” he says earnestly, jerking his head in your direction. “Cause’ she’s really fucking picky–”
You whip your head in his direction to cut him off, grimacing in disgust. “You would say snatch, you sick fuck.” you snap, red solo cup crunching quietly in your hand. Patrick just laughs, dropping his hand from Brandon/Brian’s shoulder. Anger stews inside you the longer he looks at you with that stupid shit-eating smirk on his face.
You can’t tell if Patrick hates you as much as you hate him. Every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. But he’s only doing all that to piss you off. You think back to Tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. You don’t see it.
Patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special. Sure, he may feel the constant need to be a horn-dog when he’s around you. That doesn’t mean anything. Patrick’s just gross, constantly making crude comments or lame innuendos. What Tashi fails to see is him making sex jokes around you is just another way he can piss you off. It’s not an open invitation into those god-awful shorts.
Patrick takes a small step back, big hands raising in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Put the claws away,” You try to ignore the way him saying your name in that goddamn infuriating condescending tone makes your cheeks start heating up. Patrick leans his shoulder on the wall next to you, looking down at you with a small grin on his face. “I actually wanted to congratulate you on cracking the top twenty.” He takes a long sip of his beer, head lolling to the side lazily as he swallows. “Lucky number 14.”
You’re not too proud to admit that Patrick is kind of hot, especially in this lighting. He’s objectively a hot guy, and he knows it. All tall and firm looking even in his horrendous outfit. But he’s kind of cute too, in an ass-holey way. His hair's a mess of soft-looking black curls and his ears stick out from his head sort of endearingly. He’s close enough that you can see he’s got a little brown in his eyes, and long lashes. There’s a handful of freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose.
His big, strong nose that looks like it could work wonders between your legs. Or at least that’s what you’ve heard from Jen in your chem lab. Maybe this jungle juice is stronger than you thought.
Patrick's smirk widens, wolfish and dirty like he can see what you’re thinking. “That’s pretty impressive.” he continues, his tone a mix of genuine admiration and teasing. "Especially for someone who's always so...busy." He lets the last word hang in the air, a clear innuendo that makes your blood boil all over again.
"Busy training," you snap back, not willing to let him get under your skin any more than he already has. "Some of us have actual work ethic, Patrick. We put in the hours on the court instead of fucking anything that breathes, you know? So we don’t look like idiots that get their ass handed to them on tour by nobody scrubs."
You can feel the heat start to simmer in your stomach, anger and frustration bubbling beneath the surface as Patrick's presence continues to grate on your nerves. The tension between you is thick, amplified by the chaotic energy of the party swirling around you. You see Brandon/Brian take a long, awkward sip of his beer as he steps away, turning on his heel to quickly disappear into the sea of bodies crowding the living room. You roll your eyes internally, pussy.
Patrick grins, not deterred in the slightest. “You’ve been keeping up with my matches?” His voice is low and pleased sounding, shiny green eyes slowly getting swallowed by the black of his pupils.
You pause, owlishly blinking up at him in silence. You’ve been caught. Shit.
You can feel the immediate warmth of embarrassment burning hot on your cheeks as you cast your gaze to the floor. “Only when I need to cheer myself up, a losing streak that high is actually laughable.” You mutter to the floor, lightly swirling your drink in your cup.
Patrick laughs loudly, throwing his head back in amusement. “Still thinking about me though.” he says matter-of-factly, a lazy grin taking over his face.
His audacity sends another wave of anger and embarrassment through you, your grip tightens around your cup. "Only because you make such a spectacle of yourself," you retort sharply. "It's hard not to notice when you're crashing and burning so publicly."
Patrick's grin doesn't falter. If anything, it widens. "I'll take what I can get from you," he says, his tone a blend of amusement and something else that you can't place. "But seriously, congratulations. You deserve it."
His unexpected sincerity throws you off, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. It's rare to see Patrick in a light that isn’t coated in sarcasm or sleaze. You catch a glimpse of something genuine in his expression, something that almost resembles respect, and it confuses you.
It confuses you, and it makes something warm start to burn in your stomach. You can’t afford to feel any warm, fuzzy feelings around a guy like Patrick, not if you don’t want to get majorly fucked over the second he gets bored of you.
You don’t know how to react so you do what makes sense, you lash out.
“God, will you just fuck off and leave me alone Patrick,” you say, tone over-dramatic and long-suffering as you tip your head up to the ceiling in annoyance. “I’m trying to have fun.” A lie. The party kind of sucked compared to last years. You were planning on talking Tashi into leaving when she came back, but he didn’t need to know that.
Patrick’s cool exterior finally cracks, letting out a quiet huff of disbelief as a frown starts tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is your fucking problem? I’m being sincere.” The playful light in his eyes is gone, replaced by something darker.
You let out a loud laugh, shaking your head in amusement. “Maybe I’d believe that if you weren’t such an ass. I know you too well, Patrick.” You say, tone mean and condescending. You know he’s right, on some level, but that doesn’t stop you.
Patrick is silent for a beat, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes you want to start squirming. He lets out a quiet, bitter laugh, bringing his beer up to his lips to take a long sip. You watch the way his throat moves as he swallows, the way his lips look wrapped around the neck of the bottle. You feel a familiar heat start to pool between your legs, thighs clenching involuntarily as your mind envisions something else his slick, pink lips would look good wrapped around.
He drops the bottle to his side, finally breaking the silence. “You know, now I do believe you.” he says casually, swiping his tongue over his lips lazily. “You must really not be getting any dick acting like this much of an uptight bitch.”
You reel back in shock, his words hitting you like a punch in the gut. The wave of fury that sweeps through you is almost tangible, your vision narrowing to a tunnel that begins and ends with Patrick’s infuriatingly smug face. “What did you just say?” you ask completely taken aback, voice low and rough. Your hand twitches at your side with the need to throw your drink in his face, anger and embarrassment lapping white hot flames in your stomach.
Patrick just scoffs, heated gaze not breaking from your own. “You heard me.” He says, jaw set stubbornly. “You need like, emergency dick, or something to chill the fuck out for once.”
You feel your heart rate spike, your free hand clenching into a tight wrist by your side. “You’re a fucking pig.” your voice shakes with anger, you feel sweaty and hot all over. The heat swirling between your legs is persistent.
Patrick laughs, a loud and infuriating sound. “Come on, we both know you’re fucking begging for someone to give you what you need.” He says like it’s obvious, you clench your fist a little tighter. He takes a step closer, voice dropping down to a whisper meant just for you. “I can help you with that. I can fuck all that bratty shit right out of yo–”
You’re reacting before you can stop yourself, hand flying up to slap him hard across the face. The loud crack pierces through the room, loud enough that a few eyes turn in your direction. Patrick's head snaps to the side, the shades resting on the top of his head fly off.
Your heart stops, hands shaking with the realization of what you just did. You expect Patrick to flip out, start shouting and threatening to sue you or whatever else it is that rich people do. Time seems to slow down as he turns his head, and when he looks back at you, there's no trace of anger in his eyes. Instead, they're dark with something else entirely— something that makes your stomach flip.
He licks his lips, a slow, deliberate motion, and then he laughs, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. A clear hand print grows steadily, red and angry on his cheek. "Fuck." he breathes, his hazy eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat.
You’re stuck staring at each other for what feels like hours, the music and chatter from the party reduced down to a low hum as you’re caught under Patrick’s heavy gaze.
He drops his beer bottle on the floor carelessly, hand shooting out to grab your wrist tightly and drag you away from the living room. Your cup falls from your grip, splashing down onto the hardwood in a red sticky mess. You fall into step behind him, letting him guide you into the hallway outside the living room before he lurches to a stop in front of a closed door, ripping it open and shoving you inside. Patrick follows quickly, closing the door behind him and bathing the coat closet in darkness.
It’s a tiny closet, you’re pressed up against too many coats fighting for space on the tiny rack, kicking loose shoes around as you try to find your footing. “Patrick, I–” You start, but you're cut off by a strong hand gripping your forearm and whipping you around. Your back hits the door with a dull thud, you don’t have any time to react before his lips are on yours.
The kiss is the opposite of gentle, Patrick’s lips are almost violent as they move with yours. Your hands tangle in his soft hair, kissing back just as roughly. He hisses into your mouth as you twist the strands in your grip meanly, pressing you into the door harder. His tongue forces its way past your parted lips, claiming your mouth fiercely. He tastes like beer, his fingertips are rough and calloused on your skin, pulling you closer as if he wants to meld into you.
“If you don’t want this, say the word and I’ll stop right now.” He says against your lips, breathless and rumbly. His hands squeeze your hips reassuringly, his own version of sincerity softening the moment.
Yeah fucking right.
“Zweig,” you say slowly, yanking his hair roughly. “If you don’t shut up and fuck me in the next ten seconds, I’ll kill you.”
Patrick grins wildly, surging forward to connect your lips again. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt as the two of you kiss, working them open one by one until you get too frustrated and rip the two half-open sides apart. Buttons clatter onto the floor of the closet, Patrick groans into your mouth, breaking the kiss with a huff. “I liked that shirt, dick. You owe me twenty bucks.”
You’re not listening, eyes trained on the bare skin of his chest as everything seems to slow down for a second. Of course, you’ve seen Patrick shirtless before, when he’s on the court and it’s above ninety or when he’s taking up space in Art’s dorm. This feels different, a completely new situation where it’s actually okay for you to stare at the expanse of his torso.
You can’t help reaching out to touch him again— running your greedy hands down his chest, his abs, the sharp ‘v’ cut of his hips that makes its way into the waistband of his shorts. Your manicured nails scratch through the dark hair of his happy trail, you can see the muscles in his stomach jump.
“Fuck,” you whisper breathlessly and immediately regret it. He was already insufferable— all you fucking needed was for him to know how you felt right now. How the sight of his barely undressed body is making your pussy soak through your panties.
Patrick doesn’t even gloat, just uses his tight grip on your hips to flip you so you’re pressing onto the door harshly. He impatiently yanks the skirt of your dress up, wasting no time in hooking a finger on the lace of your panties and moving the fabric to the side for easier access.
You hear him pop the button of his shorts open, his zipper following close behind. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” He says, sliding the thick tip of his cock through your slick lips, brushing himself against your entrance teasingly. “I’m gonna make you think twice about bitching me out ever again.” He seals his promise by grabbing your hair and yanking, causing a surprised whine to fall from your lips. His voice is so patronizing, but you aren’t getting mad like you should be. You’re just getting wetter, getting desperate with the need for him to get inside you right fucking now.
You grit your teeth in frustration, exhaling sharply through your nose. “I hate you.” You hiss, grinding back against his hard cock. You gasp raggedly as he starts to sink himself inside you, not stopping until his hips are flush against your ass. “Shit!” Your hands grip the door so hard you’re scared one of your nails will break. The stretch of him burns in the best way possible. You’d never say it out loud, not wanting to inflate his ego anymore than you probably already have, but he’s definitely the biggest cock you’ve taken. Almost porn-star big.
“I know.” He replies easily, hiking your thigh up with his hand as his hips start to pound mercilessly into the meat of your ass, not even giving you time to get used to the thick stretch of him. The loud smack of skin on skin fills the tiny closet easily, you hope to God the amount of clothes shoved in here somehow muffles the sound. The rough denim of his shorts scratches against your raw skin, adding to the sting of his hips.
Patrick was pounding into you in a way that makes you feel every inch of him. His cock felt impossibly big, filling you up like he was carving a place for himself inside of you. The sting in your pussy at the stretch of him is mind-numbing, you think you’d collapse from how hard your thighs were shaking if he wasn’t practically holding you up.
His big hand grips the sensitive skin of your inner thigh hard enough that it’ll probably be bruised by tomorrow. You distantly hope he’s high up enough that your tennis skirt will cover it, because if not it’ll be a hard thing to talk your way out of.
You throw your head back, a strained moan erupting from your lips. Your nails scratch at the paint on the door's edges, raking small lines down the wall. The loud squelch of your pussy’s overflowing wetness every time he sinks back inside you would be embarrassing if you had the mental capacity to care.
“Fuck yeah, keep making those slutty sounds, baby. Want the whole fucking party to hear how good I’m making you feel on this cock,” he mutters, hiking your leg up higher so he can pound into you deeper.
He drops your thigh, sliding his hand up your body and around your throat. You whine loudly, pushing back into his thrusts harder. Guys have tried the choking thing in the past, but Patrick’s hand is the only one that’s felt right. His long fingers curling around your throat like they belong there.
“Shit, fuck- don’t stop.” you mewl, lips parted in ecstasy. His hand squeezes a little tighter, not enough to cut off your breathing, just enough to get your eyes rolling back into your head as your pussy weeps around the thick length of his cock.
“That’s it, taking my fucking cock like you were made for it,” Patrick grates through a groan, gripping your hips and pulling out from your tight hole to spit on where his cock bumps up against your entrance before plunging back in. You jolt at the extra wetness, whining at how dirty it is. “So fucking tight— does it hurt, baby?” he asks in a barely breathless voice, laughter edging his tone. “Is my fat cock hurting your tight little pussy?”
“God– shit, yes!” you sob loudly, cheek rubbing against the wood of the door as you nod your head frantically. “Hurts so fucking good.” You stop caring about inflating his ego, letting moans fall freely from your lips as you get closer to the edge.
“Fuck yeah, I’m gonna come,” he grunts, his rhythm growing sloppy and erratic as his muscles tense. He wraps your hair in his other hand, pulling hard enough to make your neck crane back awkwardly. He leans forward, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I can feel you, fucking clenching up on me so tight,” he whispers, still pounding into you roughly. “I know you’re close. Do it. Come all over my cock like a slut.”
Patrick's hand tightens around your throat as he talks, cutting off your air for just a second. “Patrick!” Your voice sounds weak and strained, your hand coming up to wrap around his wrist desperately.
He pulls out abruptly, dropping your hair from his fist to frantically jerk his cock, burying his face in your neck. You can hear the lewd shlick shlick shlick of your wetness help his hand glide over the skin of his cock quickly. Patrick lets out a loud growl before you feel the sharp bite of his teeth sinking in where your shoulder meets your neck, muffling a loud groan of your name as he sprays hot come over the skin of your lower back and the swell of your ass.
The feeling of Patrick’s hand wrapped around your throat as his come paints your skin has you catapulting over the edge. Eyes rolling back in your head as your convulsing pussy gushes wet over his spent cock.
You drag in greedy lungfuls of air, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “You came first.” You say breathlessly, voice scratchy and hushed. Patrick chuckles against your skin, swatting the tender flesh of your ass lightly.
“Shut the fuck up.” He mutters half-heartedly, nuzzling his nose in your neck in a way that seems far too intimate for what the two of you just did. You don’t say anything.
Patrick eventually peels himself off your back, but the warmth of his body stays wrapped around you as he starts to gently wipe your skin clean. You’re ready to scold him for using some poor guy's coat as a come-rag, but when you turn your head to glare at him he’s using the inside of his own shirt. You wrinkle your nose, but a tiny smile fights its way onto your lips. So gross, you think with a sort of reluctant fondness.
He leans over to fix your panties back over your puffy, abused pussy. Your thighs continue to shake weakly as you try to stand on your own, still unsteady without Patrick holding you up. He gives you a sweet kiss on the back of your shoulder, smacking his lips loudly. You huff out a tiny laugh, pushing away from the door to face him.
You watch him as he languidly gets re-dressed. He looks well-fucked, his hair and clothes are mess, his face is flushed and sweaty. Your eyes trail down to where he’s buttoning up his atrocious shorts.
The fabric around the crotch is darkened with your release, wetness soaking the denim around the zipper and front pockets. You gawk at it, a mix of terror and excitement swirling through your stomach. “You can’t go back out like that.” you say to his shorts, shame burning your cheeks.
Patrick follows your gaze down to his crotch. A pleased smirk plays on his lips when he looks back at you. “I’ll text you later.” Is all he says, zipping his fly and turning towards the door.
“You don’t have my number.” You say, tugging the skirt of your dress down over your hips. You can slowly feel the horny fog leave your brain, leaving you clear-minded and a little panicked.
He cracks the door open, but before walking out of the closet he looks back at you over his shoulder. “Art’ll give me your number. “ He says casually with a small shrug of his shoulder. You suddenly feel sick, wondering how many other people have heard that line before getting completely ghosted.
Patrick must see the negative thoughts running through your mind play out on your face. He gives you an actual smile, one that has his eyes crinkling up the tiniest bit at the corners. “Promise.” He says with a reassuring nod, it’s the most sincere you’ve ever seen him. You bite your lip to stop from smiling at the hope blooming in your stomach, nodding back at him slowly. He throws you one last toothy grin before he’s walking out and closing the door behind him.
You sigh contently, staring at the closed door for a few beats before your phone buzzes to life from where it's laying on the floor. You bend over to search for it, blindly rooting around until you see the tiny display light. The ringing stops before you can answer, when you flip the screen up to check your inbox you have seven missed texts and two missed calls.
Four texts and two calls from Art, and just three texts from Tashi.
arty where are you? i’ve been looking for you are you okay? hello???
tash you know you're not invisible right? everyone saw your little show have fun <3
tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!
mini a/n: yes i did change the title leave me lmao love you!
#— 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘢 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 ♡#natalia cant write anything under 1.000 words#*places this in your notifs*#hehehehe#i actually have ANOTHER patrick fic that's probably gonna take me a sec#it's more plot heavy#and more angsty#the way i struggled with this#i was terrified the dialogue would sound cheesy#the group chat was consulted#and now we're here#and i like it more now lmao#okay bye!!!#love you!#challengers x reader#challengers x you#challengers fanfic#challengers smut#patrick zweig#patrick zweig x reader#patrick zweig x you#patrick zweig smut#patrick zweig imagine
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୨୧ ˗ˏˋ OTAKU HOT GIRL ! | suguru & satoru x yn “i like a tall woman with a nice, big ass.” ꒰ 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 ! ꒱ this is me being delusional srry, but thinkin ab gojo & geto fucking tall, curvy! reader after she begs them to watch her favorite anime with her . . like ugh rn. also forgive me if this is pure degeneracy. i was bein a horn dog n’ there’s no plot rlly :/ inspired by the one n only stallion ofc, we luv u mama
꒰ 𝑛𝑠𝑓𝑤 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡 ꒱ : blk fem reader, uses she/her pronouns, usage of pet names like cocksleeve, love, baby, babe, sweetheart, etc. positions included such as doggystyle, double pen, themes such as choking, bratty reader, dom! satoru & suguru, rough sex ??, oral fem recieve, oral male receive, dirty talk, mentions of a size kink, lots n lots of cum, mmm yum so gross — 5.3𝑲 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕
“hurry up, boys! m’ gonna’ be mad if you miss the intro. it ruins the whole experience of watching for the first time!”
“we’re comin’, woman. calm down.”
both satoru and suguru scurry around in your shared kitchen, gathering the rest of whatever horrid snack combinations they could find before jogging lightly to make their way over to you on the couch. with your feet positioned criss-crossed n’ a warm bowl of popcorn sizzling down in your lap, the only thing really missing were the two imbeciles of men you mistakenly decided to roommate with around a year or two ago.
you roll your eyes fondly as satoru and suguru finally plop down on either side of you, their arms laden with an assortment of junk food. satoru’s got a family-sized bag of cool ranch doritos tucked under one arm and a jar of peanut butter in the other hand, while suguru’s juggling a pack of oreos, a can of whipped cream, and what looks suspiciously like . . ew, a jar of pickles. what?
“are y’all for real right now?” you laugh, eyeing their haul with a mix of amusement and disgust. “ we’re about to watch anime, not enter a county fair eating contest.”
“hey, don't knock it til’ you’ve tried it,” satoru grins, ripping open the doritos and the peanut butter simultaneously. his gaze dips briefly to your chest, taking in the way your soft pink lace cami clings to your curves. “besides, we’ve gotta’ fuel up. you said this show is, and i quote, ‘a cultural reset that will redefine our understanding of feminism and body positivity in media.’ i don’t know man, that sounds intense.”
suguru snorts, unscrewing the oreo package. his eyes briefly lingering on the bare expanse of your thighs, the flimsy matching shorts riding high as you curl your legs underneath you. “pretty sure she just meant it’s got a lot of ass shakin’ and women empowerment. still, sounds pretty lovely.”
you chuck a kernel of popcorn at his head, giggling when it bounces off his nose. “excuse you, that’s a very tiny observation of ‘megan - sama : twerk hero for a new generation.’ s’ a journey of a woman’s adventure to self-love and confidence in a world that constantly tries to tear her down. she uses her sexuality as a form of power. she like, challenges the male gaze and double standards with, well . . every clap of her ass.”
satoru blinks at you, a glob of peanut butter sliding off the dorito he’s holding halfway to his mouth. “that . . was surprisingly deep, yn.”
“mmm, that's our girl,” suguru says proudly, throwing an arm around your shoulders. his fingers skimming over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “beautiful, brilliant, and able to find meaning in the most unlikely places. like a twerking anime.”
you elbow him playfully in the ribs, warmth blooming in your chest at the casual praise even as heat prickles across your skin at the contact. “you’re jokin’ but m’ serious,” you whine, “it celebrates a body type that’s so often shamed and or fetishized, like i dunno’ . . she faces some of the worst - but she never gives up, and that self-love is what ultimately gives her the strength to change the world around her in the end . .” you keep gushing, waxing poetic about megan’s badassery and the show’s powerful message. the boys listen attentively, nodding along, but you don't miss the way their gazes keep drifting south, tracing your figure with barely-concealed appreciation.
you hated to go on your fourth tangent of the week right now, but god, representation really did matter. it was practically rare to see your body type in entertainment — let alone that exact body type standing at a whopping 5’10. this was . . like you said, a real cultural reset.
a comfortable silence then settles as they finish taking it in, the low murmur of the anime’s opening theme — otaku hot girl, now filling the room. you sneak a glance at satoru out of the corner of your eye, surprised to find him looking thoughtful rather than skeptical like any other guy your age would.
“i can dig it,” satoru says slowly, popping a peanut butter dorito into his mouth. “more representation of different body types in media, s’ important. and i mean, objectively speaking . . .” he rakes his eyes over your form, lingering on the swell of your hips and ass. “i like a tall woman with a nice, big ass. ain't nothin’ wrong with a little extra somethin' to hold onto, y’know?”
you raise a brow, something playfully bold and a little reckless brewing in your chest. “is that so? didn’t know y’liked your girls thick, gojo.”
satoru swallows, adam's apple bobbing as his gaze snaps to yours. “no, yn. i love, my girls thick,” he says, voice pitched low. “well that and, exploring your sexuality n’ confidence in general is jus’ sexy . . as hell.”
“hmmm, i see. getou?” you turn to suguru, head cocked. “any thoughts?”
suguru’s smile is slow and devastating, dark promise in his eyes. “he’s not wrong. m’ sure you know that though. body like . . yours, s’the kinda canvas i could spend hours worshipping. takes an incel to not appreciate it, honestly.”
“oh please. all that bravado, but i can’t you couldn’t handle me even if you tried.” you shimmy your shoulders, drawing attention to the truly tremendous amount of cleavage your cami isn't concealing. “you'd probably bust in your boxers if you so much as touched this ass. thank youuu.”
but even as you say that with all the confidence in the world, you can’t help but to think . . ‘what if?’ what if they could? what if you were talkin’ straight out of your ass right now just to have it be thrown in your face later on? — no, never, couldn’t be.
and later on, as the end credits of the final episode roll, you stretch languidly, you’d forgotten about the thought, feeling pleasantly buzzed from two pretty drinks the three of you had earlier and the easy camaraderie of the night. satoru and suguru have been the perfect viewing companions, cracking jokes and providing commentary that had you in stitches more often than not.
but all in all, underneath the lighthearted banter, you can feel something else tiptoeing - a tension, an electricity that’s been building all night. it’s in the way satoru’s gaze lingers on the curve of your throat as you tip your head back to laugh. it’s in the heat of suguru’s palm on your knee, his thumb rubbing absent circles that inch higher and higher with each passing minute.
“so . .” satoru drawls as the autoplay timer counts down to the next season. “that was . . actually enlightening annnd i just followed megan on instagram. so, when will she be mine?”
“mhmm, told you,” you laugh, feeling loose and languid from the warmth of the alcohol in your veins and the solid press of their bodies on either side of you. “and i dunno, join the club. she’s a fuckin’ queen. knows what she wants and goes for it, she’s inspirational, and an overall bad bitch, duh — i want her too.”
“kinda like someone else we know,” suguru muses, a sly curl to his lips as he turns to face you. his eyes are dark, heated in a way that makes your breath catch. “ain’t that right, yn?”
you swallow, pulse picking up speed as you meet his loaded gaze. “oh? and who might that be?”
“you,” satoru says bluntly, shifting to angle his body towards you as well. the movement brings him close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off of him, the firm press of his muscular thigh against yours. “talkin’ all that shit earlier, bout’ how we couldn’t handle you. you think that, babe?”
oh . . so maybe you were wrong.
and they had planned on it proving that to you.
there’s a challenge in his tone, a dare that sends a frisson of anticipation skittering down your spine. you lick your lips, noting with a thrill how both their gazes zero in on the movement, “maybe i did,” you say, pitching your voice low and breathy. “what’re you gonna’ do about it?”
suguru makes a rough sound in the back of his throat, fingers flexing on your knee. “oh, well since you asked . . we can give a little demo - show you exactly what we’re gonna’ do about it. ain’t that right, satoru?”
“damn straight,” satoru growls, a wicked gleam in his eye. “whaddaya’ say, sweet thing? why don’t you go ahead n’ show us what makes you a hot girl, yn?” he finishes.
heart pounding, skin prickling with goosebumps, you lift your chin in clear provocation. “tch, whatever. bring it on then, bitches. show me what you’ve got.”
of course you’d challenge them. why wouldn’t you? you quite literally had the power of god and megan on your side.
twin groans meet your bold words, suguru’s hand tightening convulsively on your leg as satoru’s eyes blaze with intent. “don’t mind if we do,” satoru rasps, voice gone low and gravelly with want. “been fuckin’ gagging for it all night, watchin’ you all curled up and cozy in this tiny ass pajama set, lookin’ good enough to eat . .”
“gonna’ fuckin’ devour you,” suguru vows, already shifting to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. “gonna’ put this bratty little mouth to good use, fuck, been dyin’ to feel these pretty lips wrapped around my dick.”
you moan, head tipping back to grant him better access even as your hands come up to fist in satoru’s hair, dragging him down for a filthy, biting kiss. he groans into your mouth, licking past the seam of your lips to tangle his tongue with yours, one large hand palming roughly at your breast through the flimsy lace of your cami.
“fuckin’ tease,” he pants when you break apart for air, fingers already working at the tiny buttons holding the top closed. “prancin’ around in this scrap of nothin’ all night, like a slut. y’knew we wouldn’t be able to stop thinkin’ about you, baby.”
“why don’t you tell me?” you breathe, emboldened by the blatant need in their faces, the desperate flex of their hands on your body. “c’mon, boys, use your words. what’ve you been thinkin’ about doin’ to me all night, huh? how’re you gonna’ shut me up, put me in my place?”
“jesus fuckin’ christ,” suguru swears feelingly, wrenching himself away from your neck to stare at you with wild, hungry eyes. “keep talkin’ like that and i’m gonna lose it, i swear.”
“then lose it,” you purr, hooking a leg over his hip and using the leverage to grind yourself against his straining erection. he hisses, hips rocking forward to press the thick line of his cock harder against your aching center. “c’mon, sugu baby, show me how bad you want it. show me exactly what this bratty little tease does to you.”
“fuck, you fuckin’ - get her naked,” suguru snarls to satoru, already fumbling with the tie of your shorts. “fuckin’ get her naked right goddamn now, i can’t - i gotta’ taste her, gotta’ get my mouth on this sweet cunt before i fucking explode . .”
satoru doesn't waste any time, practically ripping your cami open in his haste to get at your bared tits. you cry out sharply as he latches onto one straining nipple, suckling hard and grazing the sensitized bud with his teeth. “oh fuck, oh god, yes!”
your shorts and panties are yanked down your legs, the sudden rush of cool air on your heated flesh making you gasp. and then suguru is shouldering past satoru to find his way between your thighs, pushing them open wide and burying his face in your dripping cunt with a guttural moan of satisfaction, “i call first,” he mumbles into your pussy.
satoru scoffs an agitated, “not fair, but whatever,” and you can’t help but to giggle at the sheer fact that they were quite literally bickering over who was gonna’ eat your pussy first.
“shut the fuck up — ”
“aht, aht! hey, all my munches get along so . . y’all about to argue all day or what?” you mutter, and as if they were being scolded back in their early sourcerer days - they hush, and then, “holy shit!” you whimper, back arching clear off the couch as suguru goes to town, licking and suckling at your clit like a man starved. “o-oh my god, sugu, you’re s’good . .”
“mm, y’like that, sweetheart?” satoru husks, sucking and then pulling off your nipple with a lewd pop. his hand palms roughly at your other breast, plucking at the stiff peak, drawing high, breathy cries from your throat. “like the way he eats this pretty pussy, fucks you with his tongue? gonna’ make you cum so hard you scream, baby, gonna’ make you fucking flood his mouth.”
“y-yes,” you gasp, fisting your hands in both their hair as suguru goes even harder, slipping two fingers into your clenching hole and pumping them in time with the relentless suction of his lips around your throbbing clit. “yes, fuck, m’gonna cum already, gonna’ come on your face sugu, please, fuck, m’ so close . .”
“that's it,” satoru coaxes, pinching your nipple viciously, making you yelp. “give it up, yn, fucking come for us like a good girl, wanna hear you scream . .”
suguru crooks his fingers just right, rubbing mercilessly against the spot that makes stars explode behind your eyelids, and you shatter with a raw sob of their names. your cunt clamps down vise-tight on his thrusting digits as you gush around them, release flooding his chin and dripping down his wrist.
he works you through the aftershocks with hitching praises and soft kitten licks, only pulling away when you start twitching from oversensitivity. he rocks back onto his heels, wiping and licking around his mouth with the back of his hand and tongue, eyes hazy and satisfied as he takes in your wrecked, limp form. “fuckin’ gorgeous,” he slurs, words edged with wonder. “shit - look at you, jesus, all fucked out and dripping just from my mouth. i told you i could spend hours between these thighs, baby, i wasnt lyin’.”
“h-hours, huh?” you manage, breath still coming in shuddery gasps. “that mean you’re done with me already, sugu?”
his eyes sharpen, a predatory curl to his lips that sends a bolt of heat straight to your core. “not even close, pretty girl. m’ jus’ gettin’ warmed up.”
“why don’t you let her catch her breath,” satoru suggests, something dark and intent in his gaze as his eyes rove over your naked, trembling body. he palms his cock through his sweats, hissing at the contact. “still gotta put that mouth to work, remember?”
your cunt clenches weakly at the implication, arousal already starting to rekindle in your veins. “gimmie’ a minute to recover and i’ll put it to work all night long,” you promise, licking your lips. “wanna’ choke on it, toru. want you to fuck my throat . . please.”
“jesus, fuck, you’re so nasty,” satoru groans, fisting a hand in your hair and dragging you up for a brief, brutal kiss. “gonna’ wreck you, baby. gonna’ fuckin’ ruin you for anyone else, mark you up inside n’ out until all you can think about is us, all you can feel is us stretching that hungry little pussy wide . .”
“oh please,” you whimper, already halfway there just from their words, their roving hands, the hot press of their bodies caging you in on either side. “god, please, i want it — fuck me stupid, i don’t care.”
“and we will,” suguru vows, fingers dipping back between your legs to circle your slick, twitching entrance. “gonna’ pump you so full of cum, baby, shit, gonna fuckin’ breed this cunt.” you keen high in your throat, the images they’re painting sending heat licking through your veins like wildfire. you want it, want them, with an intensity that’s scarce.
“so what’re you waiting for?” you rasp, disentangling yourself from their groping hands to shimmy off the couch and drop to your knees between their splayed thighs. you rest your palms high on their legs, thumbs teasing at the straining bulges tenting their sweats. “i believe i was promised a face fucking . . and y’know i hate broken promises. don’t make me beg.”
“brat,” satoru husks, eyes practically black with lust as he lifts his hips so you can tug his pants down his thighs. his cock springs free, thick and ruddy and leaking at the tip, and your mouth waters at the sight. “let’s see how cocky you are with your mouth full. won’t be able to sass when you’re chokin’ on dick.”
“choking? you promise, daddy?” you purr, shuffling closer on your knees, hands running teasingly up and down their thighs. suguru makes a strangled noise, hands clenching into fists at his sides like it’s taking everything in him not to grab you.
“open,” satoru demands hoarsely. “open that smart fucking mouth. lemme’ feed you.” you part your lips obediently, tongue darting out to swipe at the swollen head of his dick. he jerks like he’s been electrocuted, a guttural moan punching out of his chest as you proceed to lave at his cock like an ice cream cone, all kittenish licks and teasing flicks that have him cursing up a storm above you.
“gonna’ kill me,” he grits out, hips flexing like it's taking everything he has to keep from fucking up into your mouth. “yn, jesus, quit teasing and suck it, shit — suck it baby, please . .” deciding to put him out of his misery, you open wide and sink down, relaxing your throat to take him as deep as you can. he shouts, hands flying to your hair as you set up a steady rhythm, bobbing and sucking and swirling your tongue until he’s leaking a steady stream of precum down your throat.
suguru is panting harshly on your other side, fisting his own cock with short, rough strokes as he watches you work over satoru. “look so fuckin’ pretty with a dick in your mouth,” he praises raspily, thumb collecting the bead of moisture at his tip and reaching down to smear it across your lips where they're stretched wide around satoru. “made to be a fuckin’ eater, weren’t you sweetheart? made for us, made to take what you’re given, aren’t you?”
you whimper around your mouthful, the degradation making your cunt clench up hard. you redouble your efforts, relaxing your throat and sinking down until satoru’s cock is nudging the back of your throat, your nose pressed against his pelvis.
“holy fucking shit,” he wheezes, fingers tightening in your hair to hold you there. “oh my god, oh fuck, your fucking throat, m'gonna come, gonna come right down your slutty little neck . .”
“do it,” suguru growls, hand still fisting his own cock, the wet slap of skin on skin obscenely loud in the otherwise quiet room. “feed her that load, man, fucking paint her throat, make her gag.”
satoru cums with a hoarse shout, cock pulsing on your tongue as he empties himself down your throat. you swallow it all, working your tongue along the throbbing underside to draw out every last drop until he's shaking and pushing you off with an overwhelmed grunt. and you pull off with a gasp, lips swollen and spit-slick, chin wet with drool and the remnants of his release. before you can even catch your breath, suguru is grabbing you by the hair and dragging you over to his waiting cock, the head an angry purple and weeping steadily.
“looks like s’ my turn now, hm?” he grits out, tracing the seam of your lips with his cock, smearing the slickness around like obscene lipgloss. “back open, c’mon.”
you let your jaw drop wide once again, and then he’s pushing in, stretching your lips wide around his girth as he feeds you every thick, throbbing inch. he sets a punishing pace from the start, one hand cupped under your chin to feel his cock moving in your throat as the other winds tight in your hair, holding you still for his thrusts.
“oh fuck yeah,” he rasps, eyes fever-bright as he stares down at you, taking in your glazed eyes and drool-slick chin, the vulgar bulge of your throat. “takin’ it like a champ aren’t ya’? so pretty like this, baby. y’like it, like daddy’s cock buried in your throat like this?” you moan around him, looking up at him through your lashes as you hollow your cheeks and suck viciously — vacuum technique doing absolute wonders by the looks of it. he curses, rhythm faltering as his cock throbs warningly against your tongue.
satoru is suddenly there, pressing up against your back, arms banding around your waist as clever fingers find your aching nipples and pluck at them roughly. “your face is so pretty,” he husks in your ear, stubble rasping against your neck as he mouths at your throat. “it’ll look even prettier painted . . c’mon make him cum, you’ve earned it.”
the filthy words combined with the sharp mix of pleasure pain of his fingers on your nipples has you shuddering, cunt clenching down on nothing as a bolt of heat sizzles up your spine. suguru’s is close, you can tell by the way his thrusts are going erratic, his cock pulsing faster against your tongue.
“f-fuck, oh fuck, m’gonna cum,” he warns, high and tight, hips snapping forward once, twice more before he's pulling out abruptly, fisting his cock with desperate strokes. “open your mouth, fuck, stick out your tongue baby, wanna’ see it, fuckin’ shit!”
you obey mindlessly, tipping your face up and extending your tongue, a lewd, pornographic presentation. suguru loses it at the sight, shouting brokenly as his orgasm crashes over him, cock jerking in his grip as he paints your face with ropey streams of pearlescent white.
you moan shakily, back arching as some of his release hits your waiting tongue, the salty-musk taste of him flooding your senses. you feel debauched, utterly wrecked and still desperately turned on, your cunt a throbbing mess of need between your legs.
“holy shit!” suguru pants, slumping back against the couch, chest heaving. he takes in your cum - streaked face, the way you’re panting and squirming, still perched on your knees between them. “you’re a fuckin' vision, you know that? prettiest thing i’ve ever seen, all messy and marked up, fuck.”
“mmm, but she’s not finished though, are you baby?” satoru purrs, fingers drifting down to tease through your soaked folds, making you gasp and buck your hips. “look, she’s still hungry for it, so ready for more like the insatiable little slut you are. tell us what you need, sweetheart. tell us how you want us to wreck this pussy.”
“both of you,” you manage, voice a needy rasp. you reach down to circle your swollen clit, putting on a show for them. “want both you in me, filling me up t-til’ i can’t fuckin’ take it.”
“fuck,” satoru swears emphatically, cock already twitching with renewed interest. “yeah baby, we can do that, no problem. so sorry if we make you cry.”
“we gotta’ get her on the bed,” susguru demands, pulling you up and herding you towards satoru’s room. “need you spread out for us, wanna’ wreck you properly.”
you go willingly, eagerly, practically trembling with anticipation as they usher you into the bedroom, tearing their clothes off as they go. they descend upon you like men starved as soon as your back hits the mattress, hands and mouths roving over every inch of bared skin until you're writhing and keening beneath their attentions.
suguru pushes your thighs open and buries his face between them, groaning at the taste of your arousal. he licks into you like a man dying of thirst, tongue delving deep and curling just right to make you see stars. “fuckin’ drenched,” he mutters, pulling back just enough to circle your entrance with one long finger, gathering the slickness. “absolutely soaked for it, aren't you baby? dripping for our cocks, greedy little pussy desperate to be stuffed full.”
“please,” you whimper, back arching as he pushes two fingers knuckle-deep, pumping them lazily. “oh fuck, g-getou, more, need more!”
“ive got you,” satoru rasps, rolling on a condom and slicking himself up with lube. he shifts up the bed until he’s bracketing your head with his knees, the thick jut of his cock bobbing mere inches from your face. “gonna’ give this filthy mouth something to do while sugu opens up your hungry cunt, yeah? gonna’ fuck your throat while he fingers you sloppy, get you nice and ready for us both.”
you open eagerly for him, relaxing your jaw as he feeds his cock past your lips. he groans at the wet heat of your mouth, at the way you hollow your cheeks and suck, working your tongue along the throbbing underside.
“there you go,” he praises roughly, grabbing a handful of your hair and giving a shallow thrust. “just like that baby, fuck, feel like heaven around my dick . .”
you moan around him as suguru works a third finger into your dripping cunt, scissoring and curling them just right to graze that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. the dual stimulation has you shaking, the obscene sounds of satoru’s cock gliding through the slick clutch of your throat and suguru’s fingers pumping wetly into your pussy filling the room.
“she’s good to go,” suguru declares after a few endless minutes, pulling his fingers free and wiping them clean on the sheets. he slicks himself up, shifting into position between your spread thighs. “gonna’ wreck this pussy, baby, you have no idea how bad i’ve wanted this, wanted you. i think about you while i dream . .”
how could something said be so blended with both degeneracy and sweetness.
he pushes in on one smooth glide, the breath punching from his lungs in a guttural moan as your walls clench down greedily around him. “mm, what a tight fit. shit. gripping me, yn, goddamn.”
you sob brokenly around satoru’s cock as suguru bottoms out, hips flush against yours. he gives you a moment to adjust before he starts moving, rolling his hips in deep, devastating grinds that have you seeing stars.
satoru keeps rocking into your mouth, hands fisted in your hair to hold you in place for his thrusts. you take it eagerly, gagging a little when he hits the back of your throat but relaxing to let him push deeper, until your nose is pressed against his pelvis with every pump of his hips.
“m’ gonna’ cum down your throat again,” satoru grits out after a few minutes of spit-roasting you between them. “gonna’ get you all warmed up, honey.”
you moan helplessly, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you struggle to breathe around his considerable girth. just as spots start to dance in your vision, satoru stiffens and curses, hips jerking erratically as he spills into your mouth with a hoarse shout. “there you go baby, breathe for me — agh fuck yes. choke on daddy’s dick, thas’ good girl.” he then pulls out carefully, cradling your jaw as you cough and gasp, chest heaving.
suguru is still working into you from below, the drag of his cock against your fluttering walls almost unbearably good. you’re so fucking full of him, stretched around his thickness, but you still feel so empty, aching for more.
“please,” you rasp, looking up at satoru with wet, pleading eyes. “need your cock inside me too, need both of you fucking me, filling me, please.”
“such a needy little thing,” satoru marvels, eyes dark and hungry on your face. “gonna’ give it to you, baby, don’t worry. want me to stuff that pussy, hm? confuse you on whose is whose,” he laughs.
he slides down your body, shifting to kneel behind suguru between your lewdly spread legs. slicking up his fingers with more lube, he circles your stretched rim where suguru is steadily pumping into you, dipping just the tip of one finger in alongside his thrusting cock.
you keen high in your throat at the added stretch, the slight burn as he works you open further. suguru groans at the increased tightness, at the filthy drag of satoru’s fingers around his pistoning cock as he meticulously stretches you out. “god, look at you,” suguru pants, sounding absolutely wrecked as he stares down at where you're taking them both, hole straining wide and shiny-slick with lube and your own arousal. “pretty, little cunt all desperate for it, practically begging to be stuffed full. you want that, baby? want both of us crammed up in that pussy, wanna’ be our fuckin’ cocksleeve?”
“yes,” you sob, past the point of shame or restraint. “please, fuck, want it, want you both so deep in me, wan’ it to almost hurt . .”
“holy shit,” satoru swears feelingly, pulling his fingers free and lining his cock up alongside suguru’s. the blunt pressure against your already stuffed hole has you nearly hyperventilating, squirming down onto them eagerly. “okay, baby, deep breaths. gonna’ put both of us in, yeah?” you nod, and he pushes in hard, forcing his cockhead in alongside suguru’s with a devastating stretch. you wail brokenly, back bowing as you’re split open on their straining cocks, the burn of it so intense it borders on both pleasure and pain. but then suguru is rolling his hips and satoru is grinding into you and oh, oh it’s fucking perfect, the drag of them against your walls, the way they throb and pulse in tandem inside you.
“fuck,” suguru wheezes, sweat rolling down his temples. “o-oh fuck, fuck, fuck!.”
“m’ not gonna last,” satoru warns, voice absolutely shattered as he starts to move, drawing out only to slam back in, forcibly creating space for himself in your overstuffed channel. “yn, o-ooh, pussy’s stranglin’ me, baby — m’gonna cum.”
“do it,” you demand breathlessly, rolling your hips up to meet their thrusts, taking them impossibly deeper. “cum in me . . claim m-me.” with twin shouts they comply, snapping their hips forward one, two, three more times before they’re cumming hard, cocks pulsing in tandem as they empty themselves into you. you moan brokenly at the feel of it, of their release flooding your cunt, marking you up from the inside out.
they collapse against you as they come down, chests heaving and skin slick with sweat. you whimper as their softening cocks slip free of your abused hole, a river of come slipping out after them to soak the sheets.
“holy f-fuck,” satoru rasps after a long moment, pressing a reverent kiss to your shoulder. “that was fucking crazy . .”
“and incredible,” suguru adds, sounding just as dazed. “yn, baby, fuck. we wrecked you, jesus.”
“mmm, you did,” you agree, feeling utterly boneless and fucked-out in the best way. “absolutely ruined me for anyone else, jus’ like you promised.”
“good,” satoru growls, something fiercely possessive in his gaze as it rakes over your limp, satisfied form. “because this pussy? this filthy, perfect pussy? it belongs to us now. you belong to us now . . .”
you glance briefly at the tv, dick drunk and pleasure high. part of you thinks you should probably pay your respects to the anime that facilitated this unexpected but very welcome turn of events, but the rest of you is preoccupied with trying not to black out as satoru and suguru keep their attention on you.
megan-sama, you think muzzily, just before suguru starts to nip at your shoulder again, bless your ratchet heart. you the real mvp.
and then coherency flees completely as your boys descend on you once more, cutting off anything resembling higher thought.
the last fleeting thing you remember is a deep, unshakable gratitude for your beautifully crafted body and the incredible dudes about to spend the foreseeable future worshipping it.
thick thighs save lives, indeed.
there’s only one you.
we love you meg.
#🎀 — www.satorubiwrites.com#AGGHHHH#OTAKU HOT GIRL IS HERE#gojo satoru x female reader#gojo x female reader#gojo x black reader#geto x female reader#geto x y/n#geto smut#geto x black reader#geto suguru#satoru gojo#jjk x poc!reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujustsu kaisen x reader
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for your viewing pleasure┃vol. 1
pornstar!eddie x director!reader
all my pornstar!eddie blurbs together at last b/c I hated how I published them originally. the og posts are still here, but they have been edited/expanded somewhat, and I’ve included a “finale” of sorts that is new! index for this story is here.
cw: pornstar!au, so…porn. but it’s also a kind of fantasy porn company/industry, so not really at all based in reality or fact. sex work, oral sex (f & m rec), public-ish sex, piv sex.
18+, MDNI┃8.7k
special thanks to @urhoneycombwitch for helping come up with like 90% of this via mutual flailing in my inbox 🥰 ilyaaf
After dark thoughts about pornstar!eddie…who gets fired from his first job.
Because he’s great at sex, but bad at porn.
So, so, so bad. Like, he’s incredible at eating pussy, but incredible because he does it with his whole face completely buried in his co-star. We’re talking fully and wholly submerged in her folds, as though she’s his breathing apparatus.
And that’s great for her, but terrible for camera.
They keep stopping him, telling him he has to pull it back, that they have to see her pussy and they can’t with his big head and bigger hair blocking their view. But much like a dog that’s been told to leave a treat where it is, he keeps edging closer and moving back in little by little until he’s right back where he wants to be—and they’re yelling “CUT” and scolding him all over again.
And the girl is getting frustrated because, like, she’s about to actually come and she looks at the director with this look of pure desperation and ‘just do me this solid—please?’ in her eyes.
So he finally lets Eddie get her off and just films super tight on her face and her trembling legs so it’s really obvious how real it really is.
And so they can move the fuck on already.
Then they’re filming the fucking, and once again Eddie is fucking like he would fuck in real life and the way he fucks in real life is Not. Good. Porn.
He’s not just slamming into her without any care; he’s not using her to get off; he’s trying to make it good for her. And it is very, very good for her.
Like so good, she’s this close to giving him her number once they wrap for the day.
Her boyfriend of six years be damned.
And once they wrap, Eddie’s not exactly “fired” but he’s pretty sure he’s not getting called back.
Except then the movie comes out and BLOWS UP. People are obsessed. Women are buying it in droves (who knew women even watched porn??) and the VHS is back-ordered to shit.
So the production company is like, “We gotta lock this kid into a contract. Now.”
And just so we’re clear, he gets that contract.
But he (rightfully) feels like he has a bit of juice behind him and refuses to work with that director ever again. And they agree to his terms, but that first guy is hardly an anomaly and Eddie is still butting heads with these other ass hats who keep trying to force him to do it their way.
“My buddy, my guy, my man, you’re fucking her like she’s a person and that’s not gonna sell. It may have worked for you before, but no way does lightning strike the same dick twice.”
So Eddie walks. And he’s ready to call it quits entirely…until you approach him.
Because you are former talent, trying to branch out and direct, but no one will take you seriously. So you went to the heads of production and told them even if all they gave you was a shoestring budget and one Eddie Munson, you can spin some gold. Spoiler alert—you do.
You come to Eddie with your vision of porn for women: story-based, more realistic dialogue, and real orgasms. Some of the same tropes, but done in a way that doesn’t feel so tired and gross and vapid and soulless. Something new.
Something different. Something special.
And, oh. He is so on board with that.
Meanwhile, back in Hawkins, the rumor mill is milling. Because how in the hell did Eddie “The Freak” Munson become a sex symbol overnight? It has to be a deal with the devil—that’s the only possible explanation, right? He clearly sold his soul for a magic cock and a porn career.
And Steve Harrington is LIVID.
He would have bet his entire college tuition Eddie was a virgin, but now every babe who comes into Family Video is renting that damn tape.
They’re literally pouring in looking for it, marching straight to the back, going behind that red curtain where normally only the creepers go. And they don’t so much as blush when Steve scans it.
Robin teases him about it mercilessly. Tells him maybe if he watches it, he’ll pick up some new moves. And, like, Steve has watched plenty of porn. He can’t imagine Eddie is doing anything that earth-shattering. There’s only so much to it, you know? People must just be caught up in the novelty of it being someone that they kind-of sort-of know. It will wear off, it has to.
Then he watches it.
And, oh…Steve has been doing sex all wrong.
For one, he wasn’t going down on girls. He just wasn’t. He’s not like…against it, or anything. But he sort of didn’t realize that was a thing? He lost his virginity in high-school for fuck’s sake—what did he know besides porn and magazines? And that was all the same, so wasn’t that what girls wanted? (Oh, you sweet summer dingus, Robin would shake her head and lament later.)
Secondly…the girls he was with never sounded like that. And he never realized just how fake all those other “orgasms” in porn sounded until he heard the real deal. Now he can’t un-hear it.
From that day forward, for almost two months, they are short one copy of Eddie’s tape because Steve snuck it home in his bag one night after closing. For research purposes only.
No, seriously.
Eddie is a fucking star. Literally.
The second you and he get together, (in a, ahem, professional sense) something shifts. It feels like a long-laid plan plotted from a distant corner of the vast universe has finally come to fruition.
Your first tape is a smash. The camera you get is barely a step up from a hand-held camcorder, but it doesn’t matter in the slightest. Even with a bare bones crew (you wind up doing a lot of the sound, the lighting, the editing yourself) and everyone doubting you from the jump, it’s a hit.
The concept isn’t anything crazy—Eddie shows up to deliver a pizza, and instead the girl accepts his delivery. But you add a twist: the pizza is for a poker game her boyfriend is hosting. He canceled date night for it and she’s been sitting out here all alone while they play in the other room.
Not on Eddie’s watch.
He goes to town on her, bringing her to the brink three or four times while her boyfriend’s pizzas go cold on the countertop. You push the camera in close on both of them, really trying to give the sense of Eddie as a person. So he’s not just another disembodied guy with a nice dick.
Although his is very, very nice.
His personality shines through when he does things like hike her leg up to fuck into her pussy deeper, chasing her pleasure like her high is his own; and when he grins down at her all devilishly as she tries to stifle her sounds so her “boyfriend” won’t hear; or when Eddie mocks her, making her own little whines and huffs and squeals right back at her in a way that is so infuriatingly hot.
He talks her through it, locking those big brown eyes of his on her, clutching the back of her neck while she tries to block her moans, until at last she can’t hold it back any longer and explodes.
And you have the sound guy stand off to the side and call out, “Everything okay in there, babe?” after she’s done. Nothing but a shuddering, trembling mess on a black leather sofa.
Cut. Print. That’s a wrap, folks.
Eddie is a dream to work with. He’s collaborative and creative; he communicates effectively and often. You guys are like two halves of the same brain, often anticipating what the other wants before they even know it themselves.
It’s alarming, almost. To be seen so clearly.
Even short on crew, equipment, time, money—you can’t seem to fail when you’re together.
The one thing you’re never short on is actresses. Ever since Eddie’s first tape came out, word of mouth (pun intended) has spread. Rapidly. And since you know most of them, you know who to hire. You know which ones are the flakes, which ones are divas, which ones will vibe best with the kind of set experience you’re trying to create. So Eddie trusts your judgment, completely.
He just waits for you to tell him who he’s fucking and then he does it. And he does it so well.
The fucker has chemistry with everyone—down to the guy who brings the sandwiches when you break for lunch. He’s so charming and funny and considerate practically to a fault. He’s fully dialed in from the moment he steps on set to when you wrap for the day. And afterwards, he’s checking in with you, making sure you got exactly what you wanted, asking if you want anything else, if you need him to stay because he’ll be happy to.
It’s…completely and utterly disarming.
He has every right to be a full blown asshole. This entire venture hinges on him and his magic dick, so his head should be as big as a hot air balloon. But he doesn’t ever stray from that unflagging decency that’s so rare in this industry.
And you pray he never will.
It’s Eddie who pitches your next film.
He’s got this notion of a good girl—a cheerleader—who’s having a hard time and goes looking for weed from the mean and scary tattooed dealer.
(One guess who’s playing him.)
Except he’s not so mean and scary. He’s actually kind of a goof, mock-stabbing himself in the heart and flailing around like a clown, throwing himself off the picnic bench you and he dragged out to this clearing at the ass crack of dawn.
All part of the vision, he assured you.
They look great on camera. His dark, wild hair and clothes and everything in direct contrast to her sweet, round face and bright pastel hues and soft waves. Chemistry’s off the charts, as usual. She starts out really nervous and fidgety, but he makes her comfortable and flirts, offers the bud at a discount. And then her brow cocks daringly and she asks if he has anything…stronger.
Cut to her being eaten out like a banquet spread out on this table in the middle of the forest.
It’s oddly lush and romantic with the rich color of the leaves and the dappled sunlight that filters in through the branches—a foil to the lewdness of their acts and their wanton sounds.
And when they’re dressed down to nothing, bare skin on bare skin on gray weathered wood, they look almost like forest nymphs or elves caught up in the throes of passion, secluded in the trees.
Especially with the leaves still clinging to Eddie’s hair from when he fell off the table.
Not for the first time, you feel a certain twinge of something that squirms low in the pit of your stomach while you watch them.
Except you’re not watching them…because you can’t take your eyes off of him.
After you wrap, he hangs back. Asks what you thought of the shoot while he helps break down the equipment. Blushes when you tell him you loved it and how good he looked. Explains how it was inspired by these daydreams he used to have about this one girl he knew in high-school.
And you almost, almost, ask him about her—but you’re cut off by a PA who runs up in a panic.
The studio is calling, and they’re pissed.
They’ve just gotten a look at the contract you had drawn up. Rights to a boutique company under their banner, unlimited use of their distribution channels. Full creative control and intellectual property rights to anything and everything.
Plus exclusive use of Eddie.
(Effectively nullifying that horseshit deal they originally gave him for a much, much better one.)
You know they’re gonna fight you on a lot of it—you swung big so you’d have plenty of room to negotiate—but it will all be worth it when they fold. Because you and Eddie have big plans.
You both know you’re onto something special and you’re in it together, to the end of the line.
Apparently, Eddie is also interested in editing.
He shows up to the production offices on a day he’s supposed to be off, but knows you have the editing bay reserved. Brings you coffee and an egg sandwich like a literal angel on earth.
An angel dressed like the devil, maybe. Because he’s got on this tank top with arm holes that’ve been stretched way, way beyond their natural elasticity, drooping down around his ribs and flashing glimpses of his tattoos and the tops of his obliques. And you aren’t entirely sure why you’re getting all hot and bothered over a tank top when there’s not a single intimate inch of his body you haven’t already seen up close and personal through your viewfinder.
In fact, it’s the same body you’re watching fuck the shit out of that girl on the picnic table from a few days ago. And he’s wearing a whole lot less than a tank top.
You share a brief chuckle over it—the fact that his bare ass is flickering on three screens while you scroll through footage. And it’s not so much that it’s awkward, more like you’re mutually tickled by the fact that it’s not? There’s not an ounce of self-consciousness left between you two.
In a way, it’s like there never was.
He asks if you want any help, or if you mind him sitting in. He’s interested in the process, thinks it might help him on set too. There’s such a rich vein of enthusiasm and curiosity in him, a real thirst to be better and to learn. It’s ridiculous it took him three tries to graduate.
You think it’s a great idea…at first.
But then you’re watching him on the screen with him sitting right next to you. His earthy, woodsy scent layered with the smell of his soap in your nose; his recorded grunts and groans of pleasure in your ears coming through your headphones that are starting to slicken with the sweat.
It’s all wildly distracting. And you must be some kind of masochist, because (not for the first time) you can’t help but wonder how he makes all these women come the way they do.
“So, uh, what…what exactly are you doing here?”
You clear your throat, trying to cover the tremor in your voice as you ask. Eddie scoots in closer, his eyes darting between yours and the screen as he describes the way he’s using his tongue, swirling it around the edges of her entrance, plunging it deep inside her while his nose pushes firmly on her clit. Pretending not to notice your chest heaving with his every word.
“How do you even breathe?” you chuckle.
“I find my moments,” he says.
Smirks back. Winks.
And uh-oh. When did his hand touch your knee? When did he start to rub his thumb over your bare skin through the hole in your jeans? When did his long, ringed fingers start to curl under your thigh to squeeze it? When did he start to lean further into your space? When did you get so wet?
He’s close now. It wouldn’t take anything for you to bridge the gap and let your lips meet his. You can’t, though. You don’t. Because it would be so…stupid. It would be wrong and bad, and it could jeopardize both of your careers. Everything you’re working towards, totally gone.
You’re starting the porn for women movement, here. You can’t fuck your first star!
And you don’t. You keep it professional. You tell him you’re going to call it a day and head home so he’ll do the same. But later that night, when he calls with some new ideas for a script, asking if he can run a few lines by you (just to know how it sounds out loud, you know?), and you wind up having the most insane, mind-blowing phone sex of your entire life…Well, that’s different.
That’s totally and completely different.
The next time you see him, it’s business as usual.
You knew it would be. You two are nothing if not consummate professionals, fully committed to this endeavor. Neither of you would dare let your goals be derailed by a silly little crush.
And it is just a crush. It has to be.
Just the natural result of working so closely with him; of seeing him so completely in his element; appreciating his work ethic and his creativity.
Not to mention the fact that you are consistently watching him have the hottest sex you’ve ever seen in your life. But that’s unrelated.
The next shoot is your biggest yet. It’s at this massive mansion that you’re dressing to look like a spa with two massage tables set up by the pool that looks like something straight out of a resort. Eddie is playing a masseur who offers a lonely, neglected housewife consolation in the form of his cock after her husband chooses work over their couples massage.
After the success of the pizza delivery tape, you think it’s best you lean hard into the “Eddie fucks it better” sort of storylines.
Because why not play to your strengths?
Except that the call time of your female lead has come and gone and she’s nowhere to be found. You know Trina, this isn’t like her, she’s never late. But you called and got no answer. Twice.
The light is perfect, everyone’s in place…but there’s no one for Eddie to fuck.
Even if you could get a replacement, it would take at least an hour for anyone to get out here and that was being generous. By then, the shoot would be way behind and you’ve literally only got today in this stupid model home before some fucking billionaire moves in tomorrow.
It’s gonna be a massive loss of time and money if you don’t think of something. Like, right now.
Eddie can see you’re stressed. He comes over and you huddle by your storyboards. And neither of you has to say it, but you both are thinking the exact same thing. As per usual.
You could do it.
You’re here, for one. And you’ve done this plenty of times. It just makes good business sense.
It’s been a while, and you’re not quite “camera-ready” after not having to be for the past couple of months, but you and Eddie have been talking about using more normal-looking bodies; bodies that jiggled and had hair where it grew naturally and are authentically real, regular bodies.
The camera guys know what sort of shots you want and you’ve got a bigger crew now—people who know your vision and can help bring it forth.
Plus, you’ll be with Eddie. You know he’ll take care of you. He’ll be sure that you get exactly what you need, no matter what. You’d bet your life on it.And, well…you and he did just rehearse your lines the other night.
The shoot is…interesting.
From the outside, it goes great. Perfect, even. Eddie looks all kinds of cute in his white polo and white pants. He’s got his long hair twisted up off his neck, a few loose tendrils framing his face.
And you somehow forgot until he puts his hands on you the first time that the whole concept for this shoot was born out of the fact that he actually went to massage school for real.
Before you even get to the sex stuff, you’re putty in his hands. He moves them up and down your calves, slides his thumbs over your muscles in a dizzying pattern en route to your thighs.
You’re not even faking the deep moans of relief you let out as he moves up higher and higher… arousal promptly pooling between your legs.
He starts going through his lines, striking that perfect balance between his casual, trying-to-be professional voice, while slowly getting more and more desperate and possessive.
As if he’s constantly fighting the urge to take you right then. Right now.
Telling you how awful it is your husband chose work over you like this; how you should always be his number one priority; how Eddie would never let you out of his sight if you were his…
His hands reach your ass and he grips one round globe in each, spreading you apart so he (and the camera) can see how you glisten, the sunlight reflecting like it does off the water in the pool.
You wait for his next line—when he offers you a very ‘special’ massage with a ‘special’ technique he ‘doesn’t use on just anyone.’
But Eddie goes off script.
He licks a fat, wide stripe directly through your folds and your head pops out of the little headrest at the end of the table, the pure shock and delight on your face captured instantly by the camera.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he pleads, his tongue still swirling in between the words muffled by your ass cheeks, like he can’t stand to take it away, even to speak. “I had to taste you…”
“It’s okay,” you moan, voice nearly cracking in a dry sob, “It’s okay, just please don’t stop—”
And he doesn’t. He keeps going until you come, until you’re reaching back behind you to grip his hair as you push your hips back to meet every thrust of his perfect tongue. From there, it’s back to regularly scheduled fucking. He stays on script, peppering in the sort of ad-libs he knows from experience get a good reaction every time—
That’s it sweetheart, you’re doing so well for me.
Your husband doesn’t know what he’s missing.
This pussy is all mine now, you understand?
And, yeah, that stuff gets you off, no problem. But it’s the other stuff he does—the quieter, subtle things you aren’t expecting—that really push you over the edge again and again. And again.
It’s the things he whispers (actually whispers, not stage whispers) low in your ear so you’re the only one who can hear. You feel way too good/I gotta slow down or I’m gonna come/I know you faked that last one, gimme a real one now—
It’s…it’s almost too much. You knew he’d be good, you just didn’t expect how good.
And you definitely didn’t expect to feel the way you do when he checks in between takes: asking if you want more or less of anything, making sure he’s not being too rough, telling you how great you’re doing, apologizing again for that initial snafu. It makes you all…fluttery.
But it’s not until after you wrap for the day, after you’ve gotten in the shower at home and start to wash off the massage oil spread all over your skin, that you realize Eddie never kissed you.
Not once.
When Eddie calls later that week, it’s to ask you out. Not on a date, though.
Which is good. Really, it is. A relief, even. Because contrary to the way your heart leapt into your throat when he asked if you were busy this weekend, you absolutely cannot date him.
It doesn’t matter that you’re attracted to him. Or that you came out of your eyeballs multiple times with him the other day. Or that you haven’t been able to think about anything besides him since.
You. Can’t. Date.
You’re pretty much his boss, don’t forget. Maybe not technically, maybe not on paper—but if you start something up with him, it will be messy and complicated and it could put everything you and he have worked for in jeopardy. More than that, you don’t want anyone thinking he got where he is by any other means besides his hard work (pun intended). He’s earned everything he’s gotten.
And now that includes an award.
That’s what he’s calling about. He’s been nominated for what is essentially the porn equivalent of an Oscar for that first tape he made. And now he has to go to this ceremony, except he’s sort of freaking out because he’s never done anything like this before and he’s really nervous and he kind of needs you there because ‘you’re the only one I’m always comfortable with.’
So he asks if you’ll go with him. As friends.
And you say you will. And it’s fine. You can do this, you can do this, you can do this—FUCK.
Why does he have to be so hot? Showing up in a black Prada suit with a sheer shirt underneath? Almost as bad as wearing nothing under it at all. Worse, maybe.
It’s unbuttoned nearly to the middle of his torso, layered chains dangling low, hanging around that tree trunk of a neck you can’t stop wishing you could sink your teeth into, wrap a hand around—
Nope. Nope. You’re not going there. The only place you’re going tonight is these awards.
Except when you get there, the organizers don��t want you photographed with Eddie. At least not arriving together. People still aren’t familiar with you as a director, and you haven’t starred in a project in months. That’s practically a century in porn time.
Plus, the tape Eddie is nominated for you didn’t even work on. It wouldn’t make any sense.
Eddie is immediately poised to protest, but neither of you is given much of an opportunity. While you’re shuffled into the long line of people already being photographed in front of the venue, he’s being whisked away so he can walk with the girl he starred in that very first film with.
You know her, sort of. You did a group scene once upon a time. She’s a biter.
They even sneak him into her limo so it looks like they came together. He gets out first and then holds out a hand to help her, a storm of flash bulbs going off, making her jumpsuit sparkle.
And you tell yourself not to watch. You try to smile pretty for your own pictures and look like you are having a good time. Or at least not look like you’re chewing on glass. But it’s…difficult.
Especially when you look up at the worst possible time—the exact moment she places a dainty hand on his chest and he turns his face toward hers, their lips meeting for a long kiss.
Long enough for every camera there to capture it.And the very last shot they get of you that night is one of your back as you head inside to get a drink. Or ten. Trying not to think about this sour, putrid, inconvenient feeling in your chest.
Eddie should have walked with you.
He should have done a lot of things, actually.
He should have told those uppity event coordinators to fuck off. He should have ignored that girl from his first film when she whispered under her breath for him to look at her. He should have dodged that sticky, tacky kiss she planted on his lips without any kind of warning.
He should have asked you out for real instead of hiding behind this ‘as friends’ bullshit.
Maybe if he had, he’d be tasting your lipgloss instead of the glittery mess he was wiping off his chin. Maybe it would be your hand in his as you walked the carpet. And maybe it would be him getting you a drink and clinking his glass with yours instead of the guy you’re with right now.
Eddie knows him. Well, he doesn’t know him, he recognizes him from a tape with some absurd name like Sex Kittens 4 that featured a surprising amount of doggy style, considering the title.
Plus you in a never-ending stream of animal-print bikinis.
(He definitely did NOT go looking for every movie you’d ever made. No, that would be ridiculous. He just sort of…happened across one. Or five.)
And it’s not that he’s jealous—because there’s nothing to be jealous of. You met him doing a job. A job very much like the one you did with Eddie. You’re just catching up with an old coworker.
It’s fine. Totally fine. Did he mention it’s fine?
But then Tom Wanks put his hand on your hip, and before Eddie can take even a second to think, or to rationalize his actions, he’s striding up to you and taking your hand to drag you away.
The beaded fringe on your dress swishes noisily as he brings you with him behind a curtain that was set up as a backdrop for more photos. In the shadows behind it, your eyes glint a little meanly and your voice is barbed when you ask what the hell is the matter with him.
And he’s really not sure.
Because much like you, he’s not used to this; he’s not used to not saying exactly what is on his mind at any given time; he’s not used to holding anything back—not when it comes to you.
“I should have stayed with you,” he blurted out at last. “That was messed up, I—”
Your face falls and you dodge his gaze. “It’s fine, Eddie. Don’t worry about it.”
“But I am worried about it,” he shot back. “I could have said something, I could have told them—”
“What for?” you mutter, arms crossing in front of your chest. You look at the floor, hurt. Not just hurt, disappointed. “I mean, what…what would be the point? It’s not like we’re…or that you’re…”
He watches the words stall behind your lips, all of them trying to fight their way out like people on a crowded bus. But in their efforts, they only wind up clogging the exit so nothing gets through.
“God, listen to me!” you laugh bitterly. “I sound like some crazy, jealous…something, and I don’t know why I’m getting this upset when you don’t even like me—”
“Wait, what? Who the fuck said that?”
He can tell you’re shocked by the panic that rises in his voice, staring back at him wide-eyed.
“Wh-when we were filming, you never kissed me. So I thought…”
You fell silent as Eddie’s hands covered the sides of your face. Softly cradling your jaw, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks, he stares straight into your eyes and determinedly holds your gaze.
Your breath stuttered, so lost in those deep brown pools you could hardly recall your own name. And even if you could speak, you weren’t entirely sure what you wanted to say.
Luckily, Eddie gave you something better to do with your mouth.
His lips meet yours in a gentle brush. His hold on your face never tightens, but you can feel the way his fingers flex like he’s resisting the urge to grip you harder. There’s a tenacity in his kiss, as if he’s trying to savor the taste of you, but struggling not to devour you whole.
You break apart too soon for his liking. He easily would have stayed there forever. And he braces himself for whatever might be coming—a slap across his face, a knee straight to his balls.
He might deserve both, but receives neither.
You don’t pull back so much as an inch, happy to let him keep your face close to his. He inhales shakily, still breathing you in, “I didn’t want the first time I did that to be on camera.”
You chuckle at him, dazed and grinning, trying to decide if this is a dream or not. If it is, you don’t ever want to wake up. You want to live in it. Your own hands creep up his stomach, tugging on his silky shirt, feeling the way he shivers in it when he feels the caress of your fingertips.
“What about the second?” you whisper.
And then he’s kissing you again.
Deeper. Hungrier. Messier.
He’s not kissing you like it’s his job; like he’s just doing what was written for him in a script—he’s doing it like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted, desired, chosen to do. Like it’s all he needs.
Your bare back meets the cool wall as he pushes you up against it, sliding his hand inside the slit of your dress, hooking it under your knee to hitch your leg over his hip. He presses every single inch of himself against your seam, harder than he’s ever been in his whole fucking life.
The closest second being when you and he filmed just a few days ago.
You claw at him, pushing his suit jacket off his shoulders, pulling open more buttons on his shirt until the gossamer fabric tears and unravels.
“More,” he begs, kisses trailing down your neck. “Fucking please, sweetheart, I need more—”
Your hand takes on a life of its own, sliding down to cup his length through the luxurious suiting. It causes him to release a deep, desperate moan you can feel his lips spreading apart to let out. The sound of it ripples through your body like an electric shock in every extremity.
The dull roar of the crowd right on the other side of that curtain is only barely enough to cover the sound of you and Eddie’s passions. His touch is so enthralling, so engrossing, you are this close to letting him fuck you right there.
Room full of people be damned.
Eddie seems to have the same idea, his mouth blazing a trail down the middle of your chest and stomach as he drops to one knee, his other foot planted to support himself as he drapes your leg over his shoulder. A rush of excitement floods your body as you realize his intentions, fingers sliding into his unruly curls to grip them at the crown of his head.
But the very second his fingers pull your panties to the side and his tongue finds its home in your folds, a commotion breaks through your bliss.
There’s a loud crash as a cater waiter stumbles into the curtain obscuring your entangled bodies and drags it down with them as they fall.
Light floods the darkened space and a sound of collective amusement ripples through the crowd. No one is exactly surprised to see people hooking up—but it’s usually not until the afterparty.
Cocktail hour isn’t even over, for crying out loud.
Then they realize who it is.
The shutters of opportunistic photographers snap as you give Eddie’s hair a sharp tug. But he just moans loudly—too absorbed in what he’s doing to even realize what’s happened.
Finally, you pull him off your clit and he looks over his shoulder at the rest of the room.
Another round of snaps and flashes go off and his eyes return to yours, brightening when he sees the way you’re covering your mouth, fighting back laughter. His own lips, still shiny with your arousal, spread into a wide grin. His gaze lands on an emergency exit and he jumps to his feet, taking your hand in his and pulling you towards it tucked securely under his arm.
Flipping off the room behind him as you leave.
Together.
The trip back to your apartment is the longest cab ride of your life.
Whereas on the way to the convention center, you’d ridden mashed against your door trying to leave a respectable distance across the middle seat, Eddie practically has you in his lap on the way back. It’s like he thinks he’ll die if he stops touching you for even a second—lips on your neck, his hands roaming hungrily, whispering filth in your ear under the cover of the radio.
You do your best to catch the driver’s eye in the rearview, trying to shoot him an apologetic look or at least mouth a wholly insincere ‘sorry’ for the display. But he seems unphased.
Still, you stuff a wad of extra bills in his hand as you scramble out of his car. Unceremoniously crashing through the front door, you’re lucky not to break it down in your haste to get Eddie inside.
Of your apartment, that is.
Lips locked for every step across your cramped studio, you tumble to the bed and let out a soft grunt when a plastic hanger digs into your back. Hearing you yelp, Eddie pulls back and can see you’re lying on top of the ten or so discarded outfits you went through trying to decide on what to wear tonight. Sequins rustle under your bodies as the bed shakes with your gentle laughter, and Eddie drops a kiss to the tip of your nose before he climbs off you. Reluctantly.
He watches while you gather the dresses strewn across the bed, smiling when you try and stuff them back in your closet, fumbling with only the amber street light filtering through your blinds to see by. When you finally turn back to face him, he’s still smiling. Head tilted at you, eyes slowly raking over your form, heart rate picking up in his chest when yours do the same to him.
The pause is nice. It gives you both a minute to catch your breaths, for your brains to catch up with your bodies. Your steps turn careful and slow as you move towards him. With trembling fingers, he pulls open the last remaining buttons of his sheer shirt and lets it fall to his feet.
Remembering only just now that his jacket is still on the floor of that hotel ballroom.
You come to a stop in front of him and he closes the distance left. He reaches around you and pulls down the zipper of your dress, fingertips dragging lightly along your spine as he reveals it.
It’s the closest you’ve ever come to feeling like a gift someone is unwrapping.
With your dress pooled around your ankles, Eddie’s hands are free to wander. He runs them up and down your arms, sweeping them along the inside of your wrists to twine your fingers with his. He brings them to his lips to kiss and the sight of plush pink brushing your knuckles is bordering on being too much to handle—more erotic than anything you’ve ever filmed.
He’s going slow because it’s slowly dawning on him what you’re about to do.
And how this time it’s not going to be for work or for a camera. It’s going to be real.
Except…is it going to be real?
Should he do something different than what he did when you filmed? How can he, when he used all his best moves during the shoot? Shit…
He doesn’t want you thinking he’s just doing with you the same thing he does with everyone else; that this—that you—aren’t special to him.
Then suddenly, he’s not going slow anymore.
He’s stopped completely.
“You okay?” you whisper.
“Y-yeah,” he chokes out, like the word is made of sawdust. “I just, ahhh…I don’t know, I think I’m psyching myself out? Thinking too hard.”
“Thinking about what?” you whisper, your teeth tugging back your bottom lip.
His head just shakes, eyes still scanning your face while his thumb lightly strokes your jaw, until he lets out a sigh that’s heavy with fondness and whispers, “How I don’t want to mess this up.”
He takes another deep breath, letting his forehead rest against your own as his chest shudders. Confounded as to how something he’s done in front of a whole-ass camera crew could make him feel so self-conscious when it’s just you here with him. A few seconds of silence pass until his lips part in a smirk and his gaze cuts to the side, right to where a camera would be.
“Is it just me…or does it feel like something is missing?”
It takes a few minutes of digging to find your old camcorder buried in the depths of your closet.
Eddie chuckles when you emerge, brandishing it with a flourish and a little ta-da! before you set it on top of your dresser pointed at the bed, angling it slightly to properly frame the shot.
The red light blinks as you hit ‘record,’ barely taking a second to check if there’s a tape inside. You let it run, capturing your figures half in shadows as he sits on the bed and pulls you into his lap. He helps you settle on his thighs, runs his hands up the backs of yours, slips his long fingers under the elastic band of your panties to rest on your hip. He pulls them back and snaps them softly on your skin, earning a hum of approval from behind your pressed lips.
You wriggle on top of him and delight in how it makes his chest reverberate with a low groan.
“That better?” you whisper, the answer to your question immediately stiffening underneath you. He nods fervently, his voice tight and strained as he struggles to keep his cool.
“Wanna taste you,” he grunts out roughly.
He moves his hands to grip your waist so he can flip you underneath him, but your hands find his shoulders and stop him before he can.
Big, doleful eyes look up at yours, his face etched with concern as you shake your head. His bottom lip wobbles as he searches your face for why.
In a reassuring press, you mash your lips to his and lace your fingers behind his neck. You kiss all the air out of his lungs, until his fingertips are digging into your flesh hard enough to leave ten tiny bruises. You kiss him like you’re trying to take the weight of the world off his shoulders, like you’re going to accept his every burden as your own so he doesn’t have to carry them alone.
There’s a quiet pop as your mouths separate and you press your chest flush with his, wrapping your arms around his neck so your lips find his ear as your nose nudges through his curls.
“Tell me you want me,” you whisper. “Tell me how much you want this.”
“I don’t want it,” he groans back, “I need it. I’ve needed it since I fucking met you.”
The heat in his voice, the rumble of it in your ear, causes a wave of arousal to rush through your body. You unwind your arms from around his neck and slip slowly, painfully slowly, from his lap to stand between his legs. You place a finger under his chin and tip his face up for him to look at you, your thumb settling in the tiny dip at its center. Too small to see, it could only be felt.
“Everyone always uses you,” you tell him softly, almost mournfully.
His eyes stay wide and hopeful, never leaving yours as you sink down to your knees. His long, dark lashes flutter as your hands run up his muscled thighs, the edges of your thumbs grazing the outline of his cock. He hisses through his teeth and you grin devilishly at the sound.
“I want you to use me,” you instruct him. “Take whatever you need, as much as you want.”
And you can literally see how your words affect him, his eyes bugging wide as the wheels in his head are turning behind them. He reaches out to touch your face and you turn it to kiss his palm.
“Sweetheart, I—oh, fuck,” he gasps, cut off with your sudden squeeze of his clothed cock.
“I’ll stop you if I need a break,” you reply firmly.
The muscles in his neck pull taught as he nods. He leans back on one elbow, reluctant to let his other hand leave your face. You kiss his bare stomach along the top of his waistband and he curls his hand around the back of your head, gripping it tighter when you tug down his fly.
And you knew Eddie’s dick well by now. You knew it inside of you as well as out. But there was nothing that could have prepared you for the sight of it tonight. Thick, and veiny, and weeping with pre that dribbles down its sides. He’s almost ashamed of it, almost embarrassed by how hard he is for you; by how close he is to blowing his load when you’ve not even gotten started.
It was practically a miracle he didn’t soil the inside of his suit when you pulled his hair earlier.
His pupils are blown out when your eyes meet his, your lips hovering so close to his cock he can feel your breath on it. Saliva pools under your tongue so rapidly, you almost feel like you’re at risk of it spilling out of your mouth and running down your chin when you speak.
“Fuck my throat, Eddie. Please.”
And he does. He lets you set the pace at first, still holding fast on the back of your head he watches your lips surround his tip. His chest heaves with deep, gasping breaths as you take him fully into your mouth and start to bob on his perfect cock. It’s almost too much, too perfect, the feeling of your warm, wet mouth and your soft tongue and, fuck, your hand—
He pants wildly as you cradle his sack, your fingertips stroking them and spreading the spit from your mouth that’s dribbling down his shaft to his balls. They tense in your palm and his stomach tightens the faster your mouth moves, the more your throat relaxes to take him in deep.
The man who gives the best head imaginable finally having the favor returned.
“Jesus Christ…”
Eddie's words are whispered like a prayer and you look up to take in the sight of him.
Eyes pinched shut, his brows drawn like he’s in pain even though the sounds he’s releasing are nothing short of euphoric. You tease all the most sensitive nooks and crannies of his cock, all the places that make his eyes roll back and his head loll on his shoulders and his chest heave. Every ridge, every vein, every muscle that twitches under the attention of your tongue.
“Oh, pl…p-please,” he gasps, tightening his hold on your hair to still your movements as his hips start to move in an instinctive and primal thrust.
He hits the back of your throat and you swallow more of him down, taking him deeper, deeper until your nose brushes the wiry hair at his base.
You groan around his length, enthralled by the exquisite ache of him hitting your soft palate, and the sound is Eddie’s undoing. He lets out a long, low moan and spills hot and thick down your throat. His arm trembles as he fights his own iron grip on the back of your head, forbidding himself from pulling your hair. You can feel the tremors of his fingers against your scalp.
His abdomen spasms as you stroke him through the aftershocks, flirting with overstimulation. Fucked-out eyes, heavy-lidded and sleepy, but nothing short of reverent, find yours and they’re wet—shiny, shimmering with tears that crowd their rims and threaten to spill down his cheeks.
Quick as you can, you’re on your feet cradling his jaw to ask if he’s okay. And Eddie can’t answer, can only nod as he kisses, kisses, kisses your palm, the heel of your hand, your wrist, down the inside of your arm all the way to your elbow.
He can’t kiss you enough, it seems.
You giggle softly as you sit beside him and reach out to ruffle his bangs, tucking some of his hair behind his ear and letting your touch linger on his neck. With the pad of your thumb, you brush a tear that has leaked out of the corner of his eye. He looks back at you with a smile and swipes the pad of his thumb along the corner of your mouth to wipe away a drop of his spend.
And you know there’s still a lot left to figure out—damage control that will have to be done, difficult conversations that will have to be had. There will be whispers and rumors and sidelong glances.
Not to mention the firestorm those pictures of you two at the ceremony will undoubtedly stir up.
But none of that matters right now. Nothing does, beyond this bed and this night. Nothing else even exists outside the confines of this room.
All that matters is you and him.
You lay there for a while, just…being. Your fingers tracing his tattoos and the soft planes of his chest and stomach; his, the slope of your shoulders and the lines of your body he’s always wanted to know better. Quiet words pass back and forth, teasing jokes and soft confessions. Admissions of fears that held you both back and don’t seem so daunting anymore. Don’t seem so scary.
When he’s hard again, you pick up the camera and point it at him as you guide him to lay on his back. You push in close on his face when you sink down fully onto his length and start to ride him at an egregiously slow pace just so your shot holds steady. And because he looks so pretty taking it.
“Something wrong, Ed?” you goad him a smidge, toying with him in more ways than one when your pussy squeezes so tight around his cock it makes him lose his breath and pant out of control.
“F-fu…fuuuuuck meeee…” he whines and writhes, throwing his head back into the mattress.
“Oh,” you chuckle at him, speeding up just a hair, “I’m sorry, is that not what I was doing?”
His head jerks up, eyes ablaze as he stares you down through the camera lens. You peer at him over the top of the viewfinder and shiver despite the thin layer of sweat building on your skin.
Okay, yeah, that might have been a little too far. Or just far enough, you think, almost giddy.
“Nah,” he growls, the corner of his mouth curling up in a smirk. “Sorry is what you’re gonna be.”
A loud squeal bursts out of you as he rolls your bodies to the side and pins you underneath him, somehow managing to keep himself seated inside you the whole time. Breathless, you watch as he takes the camera from you and practically tosses it away so he can hold your arms over your head. For a while, all it captures is a blurry close-up of your duvet cover, the frame shaking in time with every deep, solid thrust of Eddie’s hips that rattles the entire bed and you in it when he gets going.
Your moans and his grunts mix in a symphony that will surely earn you some side-eyeing from your neighbors tomorrow, but you can’t bring yourself to give a single ounce of a shit.
The song that you make together swells to a crescendo as you topple over the precipice you’ve been dangling off the edge of practically from the moment you met him. Eddie fumbles like mad for the camera and picks it up, recording your blissful expression before he swoops in to press his lips back to yours. Kissing you like he’s trying to eat you, like he’s trying to fuse your faces.
You’re certainly not complaining.
And now that he’s the one with the camera, he’s eager to keep going. He pans it up and down your whole body, guiding you into every filthy position he’s been imagining all those long nights alone in his bed. Through his eyes behind the lens, there’s not a single angle on you that isn’t pristine.
He gets you up on all fours, films tight on your ass as he squeezes it and cracks his palm down on it when he lets go. The sting makes you keen, your back arching as your hips thrust back—seeking more, more. His hand then smooths over your buzzing flesh, soothes the ache he’s made.
And even as you’re making it, you can tell this is not just another sex tape.
It’s a love tape.
thank you for reading — love you, mean it! 🏝️
#eddie munson#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson stranger things#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things eddie#eddie stranger things#eddie munson smut#stranger things
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Okay. Fine. I'm making this blog because you fucking ASSCLOWNS keep posting shit that's so flagrantly unacceptable that, were it to be posted, would have angry righteous concerned citizens chasing you out of town with fucking pitchforks. I cannot for a god damn second believe any of you are posting in good faith. Take a fucking lesson in humility AND GET OFF YOUR HIGH HORSE. This is the INTERNET. The shit you post here HAS CONSEQUENCES. I didn't put up with losing my fucking cousin to your stupid bullying just to stand idly by and watch as you make the next kid cry and get off the internet forever. Which in this day and age is almost as fucking bad as physical assault or fucking murder.
FAQ:
Yes trans men go to the gulag. No I do not respect them or treat them any differently than I would cis men who I also do not love or respect. Yes even the "good ones". Yes I think cis men should be giving birth. Yes Dio was a better front man for Sabbath than Ozzy. Childbirth is too painful for women going through it not to be misogynist. Yes trans women have a place in the feminarchy. Non binary people can choose where they want to go. Yes I support women's wrongs. The Cumcopter is a real solution that I do support sincerely.
Okay, now that I've got that shit out of the way. My introduction.
Hi, I'm Bethany/Jacks (if you're cool 😎). I'm not saying my age!!! (you creepy incels need to leave girls alone. Nuff said.) My pronouns are She/Her. I'm a proud Wisconsin girl:) (I LOVE cheese it's so good y'all.)
You can find my brother Dee at @yorhusband
My DNI list is as follows!!!!!
DNI:
Adults over 25 / kids under 12 (preference! Sorry but you gotta be a teen to talk to yours truly :/) | MOBA players (except Dee, he's chill I guess.) | Vivziepop fans (UGHGHHHH) | Proshippers (GROSS!!!!!!!! GODDDDD!! Stop fucking kids...) | Homophobes / Transphobes / Alcoholics (Basically just anyone who is or says there my dad.) | Metal fans (Taylor is better. Later loser 👋) | Antishippers (Nuff said.) | Paw Patrol fans/stans | People who smoke. (Including weed 🙄) | Taylor Swift haters (You are the worst fucking people on the fucking planet I hate you as much as Hitler and my dad. And she is gay btw. There isn't anything you can do about it.) | BTS / Kpop fans (nothing against y'all, I just don't like boys) | People who love America (It's the "land" of the "free" for a fucking reason. Read a book.) | Racists | ISIS | Proshippers (Fuck you.) | Kink freaks (Maybe I'm biased but piss is weird) | Pro-life (Fuck you!!! Hands off my youterus) | and finally last but not least. Proshippers.
Anyway now that my DNI is out of the way let me tell you about my interests!!
I like Taylor Swift (obviously), Stardew Valley, puppies, kittens, baking, Animal Crossing, Netflix, tarot cards, witchy stuff, and other stuff too!
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“You totally like Eddie!” Robin accuses him one day as they are sitting on the couch, just shooting the shit. She had come over to watch a movie but they got distracted talking about people from school. Apparently some little freshman boy had been continuously hitting on her, despite knowing he was a senior. They eventually got on the topic of how Eddie acts in school. Steve remembers the way he pranced on tables at lunch and flirted with the jocks everythime they made a comment about him. He has been friendly with Robin at school, considering he’s officially a part of their little monster slayer group after the events of spring break, going as far as to drape himself across her all dramatically after being given homework in their shared math class.
“I do not like Eddie. I like girls, Robin. You know this.” She has had to hear him lament about failed dates several times.
“You can like both Steve. Bowie does. And I know how you talk about someone you like. You get a smile you can't shake off and this sparkle in your eyes. And you have it right now. Talking about Eddie.” Steve hated that she was right. He couldn't stop smiling.
“David Bowie likes women?”
“Stop deflecting. It's called bisexual. Do we need to have a crisis together or are you okay with knowing you like men?” They have been together for many crises. They were together through the nightmares that came with the upside down too. Steve can admit a man is hot. He figured that out during his very homoerotic friendship with Tommy Hagan. Fuck, why did he think Eddie was hot?
“I think I'm okay with liking men. I've had to deal with real life monsters. Men are fine. But I don't like eddie. He’s weird. His music is loud. I get migraines. And he's so energetic. Not to mention his aura will make you fail a drug test.”
“Yet you ditched movie night the other day to go smoke up with him. And everyone in your life is weird. I’m in band. I do drama. All of your children play dnd. I'm sure he would turn his music down if it meant making you happy. I've seen the way he looks at you. He likes you too.”
“Can you stop being right for once. Why did I fall for him? Out of all guys, him? At least he’s better than the last guy I liked. Tommy, Carol, and I were closer than friends.”
“You liked Tommy? Tommy Hagan?”
“Yeah yeah laugh it up. But he was cute. He had a bunch of freckles. Can you blame a guy?”
“I can blame anyone who dares to like a man. They are gross.” Steve doesn't have a good argument against that so he grows a pillow at her face. It of course gets chucked back at him which causes a pillow war.
#eddie munson#steddie#stranger things#st4#steve harrington#stobin#pwacp#platonic soulmates#platonic stobin#robin buckley
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Ok but Aizawa is absolutely obsessed with chubby/fat women bc they’re soft and they smell nice and he will use you in place of his sleeping bag all the time. He will come home from a shift or his hell class, see you on the couch and bully you into a position where he can sleep comfortably on you.
If you pout n whine at him just right he’ll let out this huge sigh like you’re stressing him out and then wiggle down between your legs to eat you out until you’re crying, wailing that you can’t take anymore and then he’ll just smack your thigh or ass, enthralled at the way the flesh jiggles before diving right back in.
You wanted his attention right? So be a good girl and take what he’s giving you, and thank him for it.
anon u r brilliant i’ve been thinking ab this for days
you’re not thinking much of him when aizawa comes to sit by you. no, not even when he slots his huge, dense body over your back.
you gave him an initial side eye, but he just grinned real lazy. said he likes being close—don’t you, pretty lady?
you don’t think much of shouta, or his schemes, until he raises his head from motorboating the back of your thighs to slapping a hand into the meat of said luscious thigh. he’s sick, you decide, when he presses his nose against the sweat-slicked skin there.
you squeal and tense at the sudden pain that blossoms where he hit you. you don’t have long to relish in it when his fingers sink into you. he holds you still where you lay on the couch, and shouta groans deep as he molds your flesh with hands.
“it hurt?” shouta asks, sounding like it hurts him to breathe anything but the bewitching aroma of the cute, twitching pussy beneath his nearly drooling mouth. “sorry.”
“i need—,” you whine, rocking back to meet his mouth despite knowing you shouldn’t. “y’can’t, ‘cause i’m gross.”
your shouta doesn’t even bat an eye. the minute the words leave his mouth, he’s gone back to harassing your pussy-soft pillow thighs with his scratchy beard. “i don’t care for the shaved shit.”
“i need t’shower,” you hiss. “you’re tactless.”
you’ve been home all day. well, you showered last night for your early-morning errand run. and then you went and did some roller skating. then, you came back and watched a movie. and now, your husband is home and hungry—
and you’re trying to tell him dinner isn’t ready?
you don’t even bother after that. shouta’s strong hands take to your legs, spreading them a bit. just enough to get space for his shoulders to take up between your hips. for a while, aizawa just looks. and talks shit. fake worry drips from your husband’s tone when you, to his pleasant surprise, fight back against him.
“i just want to lick you a little,” aizawa says. he kisses you now, soft half-bites to soft, delectable parts of your legs. “woke up thinkin’ ‘bout it, came home thinkin’ ‘bout it…”
“you want my pussy in your mouth all the time,” it’s more of a hiss than you mean for it to be. and you nearly cry out as part of him brushes your clit. one of his hands supports your weight on his face; the other slides up your body to pinch your nipple.
“fuck yes. are you offering?” shouta loves how your hips grind back to him, taking the pleasure he’s giving you with a clenching, sloppy pussy. “wish you’d cut it with the panties, too.”
“think i give a fuck about a shower?” aizawa is not shy about it at all as he continues. he bites into the silence your swirling brain so dumbly encourages you to leave. and your brickhouse of a man fills it with the filthy, nasty ways he plans on making those pretty eyes cry as you grind cum all over his mouth.
he growls, “make me fuckin’ messy, baby.”
you whine.
“whining about later—you don’t think this spoiled pussy needs me now?”
shouta revels in the gooey squishes your pussy makes when his thick fingers come to pry your ass cheeks apart. you don’t even get a chance to answer before he spreads you again, and this time his tongue claims the insides of your cunt instead.
#aizawa <3#i can’t write him leave me alone 😭#don’t actually#aizawa shouta x reader#aizawa shouta x chubby reader#chubby!reader#fem!reader
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⭑ Mine all mine ⭑
Masterlist
Pairing: (TGC) Gaius Julius Caesar x fem!reader
A/N: as requested by multiple people ;)
Warnings: +18 mdni, mutual pining, cheating reader, murdered/poisoned husband, affair, making out, grinding/humping, oraljob (both f and m receiving), handjob (both f and m receiving), vaginal sex and creampie.
Summary: You hated your husband and want to be rid of him, luckily you meet a certain man who will change your life.
Word count: 3.6k
Another boring fucking supper party hosted by your boring fucking husband. You were only married to him for about two months but you never wanted him. All you got married for was the money and power your husband could provide. You came from a great ancient family in Rome.
So does he, your husband was a well known and feared senator. Quite an important man, but also old. And not to mention gross and too horny. It was well known you were beautiful and from when you were young you had many suitors lined up, begging for your fathers approval, but your husband was the richest, so he won.
You rolled your eyes as he looked way too proud to have you at his side. You greeted your his guests and your husband got many envious stares from his male guests. You never needed to persuade him much, many men fell to their knees at the sight of you. And you knew that even though you were a ‘helpless’ woman, you at least had that power.
Many old, ugly and plain people passed you, while the women all gave you glares. You never understood why they had to be so envious while you were all in it together. Most women were actually girls, some even as young as 14 to 15. You were more lucky though, you were married the day you turned 18. Some consider that too late but those were your fathers terms.
You were very grateful for him and you knew that he would have your back. You started to get more and more bored when the amount of people didn’t seem to end, luckily you had one of the biggest houses in Rome and it could fit thousands of people if it had to. But the guest list for tonight was only about two hundred. Two hundred of the most important people in Rome.
But then it seemed time slowed when a certain brown haired man stopped to greet your ugly husband. The man then introduced himself to you. “Gaius Julius Caesar, thank you for having me, it’s a beautiful home. Almost as beautiful as you, it is true what they say... You are very lucky.” He said that last part while turning to your husband before joining the larger party in the main hall. Your husband thinned his lips and looked at you angrily.
You shrugged your shoulders and placed a hand on his, faking your empathy for the idiot. He of course fell for it, as always, and went back to greeting the last guests strolling in. Only a couple more stiff smiles before finally the whole party was here, and your husband went to check on some of his men. You strided towards some women you knew growing up and started a conversation with them.
They provided you with some gossip and soon you were talking about the husbands all of you wanted instead of the ones you got. So you told them about Gaius and of course they knew who you were talking about. “Of course you want the most devious one of them, and I bet you could get him too, I saw how he looked at you, only moments ago.” One of them told you. And sure enough, when you looked over one of the women’s shoulders, his brown eyes were looking at you.
You smiled at him, the way you did when you ‘persuaded’ your husband, he grinned back. One of his men looked at him questioningly. “Too bad she’s already married.” Agrippa whispered to Gaius, which earned him an annoyed look. “So? Divorce exists.” He fired back. “You really think that that old man is going to let a woman like her go? And what if she’s pregnant? She’ll have to give up that child.” Agrippa argued.
“Don’t think she is, a girl like her wouldn’t let an old fuck like him touch her.” He smiled, Agrippa rolled his eyes. “She doesn’t have a choice obviously, that’s why she very well could be.” Gaius got annoyed by his friend and needed a break from his constant nagging. He always got what he wanted and he would have you too.
He strolled over to Cicero’s wife, not nearly as pretty as you but he was hard from your smiles at him and he needed relief. He wasn’t too sure about getting away with fucking you at your own husband’s party. So the desperate one would do, he knew she would do anything he asked, he was one of the most young, handsome and richest ones here.
So he whispered something in her ear, that of course didn’t go unnoticed by you and jealousy filled your chest. Your face fell, and he glanced at you while he discreetly followed the other woman up the stairs. You decided to ignore it and went back to talking with your ‘friends’ instead. You did learn that he wasn’t married and you envied him. He could do whatever he wanted but you couldn’t.
You tried to focus on anything else but the thought of him fucking that other woman right now but you couldn’t and before you knew it you had excused yourself and rapidly ascended the stairs. Glancing behind, you saw your husband and his guests busy talking and drinking. He didn’t have a fucking clue.
You searched around the quiet upper floor for a while, until you heard soft groans and moans. The sounds lead you closer and closer to your own bedchamber. When you pulled the soft fabric aside and your eyes met his, he was laid on your bed with the woman between his legs, sucking him off. He started to pant and moan faster at the sight of you.
The sounds and the sight of such an arousing scene made heat puddle in your own belly. And soon you were panting along with him, your eyes never left each other and the look on your face quickly made him cum in the woman’s mouth, waking you up and moving yourself behind the fabric again, being careful the woman didn’t see you when she left.
Then he appeared from behind the curtain, giving you a wink as he walked off. “That’s Cicero’s wife.” Your words made him turn around as he walked back over to you. “Yes.” He replied curtly. “I thought he was your friend.” He stepped closer to you. “He is. He married her because her family’s rich. That’s why everyone gets married, money, power, family. They’re the only things that matter.”
You looked up at him and he glanced at your lips, licking his own. “To the son of a money lender I’m sure that’s true.” He smiled and inhaled. “Grandson.” He mumbled, before crashing his lips on yours. You whimpered at the sudden feeling and he only deepened the kiss, gripping your hips tightly. Your hand travelled up his leg and he leaned into your touch. Then you squeezed his bulge, he let go of your lips and groaned in response.
“That’s my bed.” You said, he looked at you with heavy eyes. Then you let go of him, leaving him there with another erection. You went back to the party and your husband, much to your approval, was already drunk, good, no sex tonight. He had only fucked you once on your wedding night, but his seed didn’t take root so you were still free from the burden of a child, but you knew that one day he would succeed, so you had to take action.
The party was soon over and the guests started to leave, you were once again at your husband's side but now bidding them goodnight. And soon enough Gaius walked past, only giving you a grin. Your husband looked at you questioningly but you again pretended not to know Gaius’ intentions. Since he was still drunk he quickly forgot and the last of the guests had left for the night.
That night you were thankfully in your own bed, your husband passed out in his own and your hand slid down your stomach between your thighs, pleasuring yourself to the thought of him. And that night after you had one of the best orgasms of your life, you dreamt of him. Gaius Julius Caesar, showing up on a huge white stallion with a hundred knights, slaying your husband and claiming you as his.
A few months went by and everytime you still managed to avoid being with child. Much to your husband’s dismay, who grew more impatient and annoyed. But you promised him that soon you would bear a son. This was not true, when he did have sex with you, you had your servant bring you water, and you washed his spend out of you. So far it worked, as you showed no signs.
You were only a few moments back home from the market with some other wives when your husband barged in. Snapping you out of your thoughts as you admired some of your new jewellery. “I have good news!” He laughed. It made your stomach curl. “Gaius Julius Caesar himself has invited us to a supper party at his house. Some three hundred are invited and we are one of them!” Now that made your smile return.
So only a few nights later you arrived at Gaius’ house, it was even bigger than yours and he greeted you with a big smile. Your idiot of a husband didn’t even notice, taking in the house. Soon you were joining the larger party and your husband was quickly lost in the crowd. Good. You didn’t need that fool tonight. No, your plans were different from his. Tonight you would get yourself a new husband.
It didn’t take long for him to find you, you purposely had left to ‘catch some air’ and had walked to the balcony outside. He walked up behind you and joined your side. “You enjoying the party?” He asked. “Not really.” You responded, looking at him with heavy eyes. His tongue pressed the inside of his cheek. “Me neither. Follow me up soon, third door to the left.” With that he made his way back inside.
Moments later when you knew for sure he was in his room already, your feet guided you inside, and you as discreetly as possible made your way upstairs. You passed the doors, one, two, three. You knocked on the door and it opened fast, a hand pulling you inside. “No one followed you?” You shook your head. His lips then pressed against yours and he pulled you against him tightly. He broke the kiss for only a moment.
“I will make you mine.” He groaned against your lips. You smiled and his tongue soon invaded your mouth. You moaned at the feeling, heat cursed through you and you knew you had made the right decision. He moved both of your bodies towards the bed, climbing on top of you. Then he started to nip and suck at your neck, your moans echoing through his room. Never had you felt such pleasure from so little.
“Gonna show you how a husband is supposed to fuck his wife.” He growled against your skin. You gasped at his words and he harshly ripped off your robes, sucking and licking at your exposed skin. Your body responded beautifully to his touch and he had never been this hard in his life. Your own body was aching as well, begging him for relief.
He kissed down your bare body and didn’t neglect your breasts, he flicked his tongue over your nipples and you shivered at the sensation. Is this what sex is supposed to be? When he was pleased with your now sensitive nipples he kissed down until he reached your glistening folds. He licked his lips before dipping his head down, licking at your clit. Your back arched and a loud cry left your lips.
“Feels good doesn’t it? My little slut, you’re all mine now.” He groaned swiftly going back in. He moaned against your cunt when he grinded his hard cock against the bed. Only adding to your own pleasure. Your hand moved to his head, grabbing his brown locks for support. He saw this as a sign to move his tongue faster and so he rapidly flicked his tongue over your clit.
You could barely breathe, the pleasure was suffocating you and you could only whimper at the warm tongue between your legs. He noticed your peak was near and moved his hand to enter a finger inside you, sliding it further in until he reached that sensitive spot inside you. He knew he found it when you jerked at his touch. He never slowed down his tongue as he now fingered you as well, bringing you to edge of release.
With only two more licks and a press against your sensitive spot inside, you contracted when your climax rushed through you, coming with a loud cry of his name. You didn’t give a single fuck about if anyone had heard you, since he made you cum so hard you saw spots. When the overwhelming feeling had calmed, you looked down at him, he was still between your legs, resting his face on your left thigh. Your juices over his face and his pupils blown wide.
He only allowed you a moment before he came back up, licking your lips and into your mouth when you opened it on instinct. He let go off you for a moment to take off his own robes, revealing abs and a dark happy trail leading to his thick hard cock. It had veins and a red leaking tip. You couldn’t wait to put it in your mouth, nevertheless inside you.
You sat up and moved on your knees, Gaius positioned himself on the bed, him now in your previous place against the pillows. You moved between his legs now and realised you had never sucked a cock before. Your husband always just immediately penetrated you and that was the end of it. “Do you ever do this for your husband?” He asked, his voice raspy as his eyes were glued to your tits. You shook your head. “Good.”
He motioned you to come closer and he wrapped your hand around his cock, helping you pump it up and down. “Now just kiss it, and then wrap your lips and suck on it.” You did as told, you knew you’d do anything to him. You carefully kissed his tip, right at the slit where pre cum was dribbling out and he hissed at the feeling. Then you wrapped your lips around his uncut cock, he helped you pull the skin down a bit so his whole tip was exposed. You instinctively let your tongue swirl around his angry head, and he let out a cry of pleasure.
You stopped for a moment, “Am I better than that whore from my husband’s party?” A grin played on his lips, “She doesn’t even slightly compare to you.” You smiled at his words and went back to swirling your tongue over his tip. “Fuck- go deeper- take it deeper- ah!” You took him deeper in your throat as he commanded and he grabbed your head. His other hand furiously holding on to the sheets.
He wasn’t too long but he was very thick and his was so much prettier and bigger than your husbands, it made you drool all over his cock. You wondered what his response would be to fondling his sack so you moved your free hand up his leg. He looked down at you with an open mouth, completely frozen when you started to massage his balls. He could only let out hitched breaths and grunts.
“K-keep going- almost there- please!” He moaned when you licked his slit, your other hand still giving his balls attention too. And soon his abdomen tensed, his breath stuck in his throat as his cock twitched in your mouth, then his seed spurted down your throat, a guttural moan leaving his. “Fuckkkk!” He came so much it dripped out of your mouth, on your chin as well as his shaft and balls. He gasped and moaned at the sight.
You let go of his cock and swallowed the salty liquid, he sat up and swiped his thumb over your chin, gathering the remainder of his seed and putting it in your mouth. You made sure to suck his thumb all clean before he pulled it out, chuckling at how dirty he had already made you. Gaius then pulled you towards him by your waist so you laid upon his chest. “I will have one of my men discreetly kill your idiot husband, so you might be mine.” You looked at him with uncertainty. “What?” He asked.
“How though? My husband is a powerful man, we have a lot of guards.” He smiled sweetly at you before kissing your head. “Don’t worry about that, Agrippa and I will make a plan. Then we shall have the most beautiful wedding Rome has ever seen.” And so you got dressed after a while and looked for your husband. Gaius gave you a smile before blending in with the crowd.
You were awoken by screams of members of the household, it had been a week since the party of Gaius and you anxiously awaited for your husband's death. You and Gaius knew he would never divorce you and so he had to die, in order for you to marry him. You threw the sheets off you and ran to where the screams were coming from. Your husband's room, finally. You were stopped by one of the servants who begged you to stay back but you pushed past him.
There he laid, in his bed, In a puddle of blood. Blood stain trails out of his nostrils, tear ducts and mouth, even out of his ears. What had Gaius done to him? Clearly some sort of poison. You pretended to be surprised and screamed, pretending to want to go to him and ‘struggling’ against the servant's grip holding you back, he then led you back to your room. Not long after the body was removed, the news was all over Rome. And a grim funeral followed. Gaius attended as well as his friend Agrippa and he ‘comforted’ you during the remembrance supper.
Two days after the funeral, Gaius arrived at your house. You, by law, had inherited the estate and got approval to find a new husband, what the senate didn’t know, was that you had already picked one. And so the news of your wedding soon spread like wildfire across Rome, the women jealous and talking about how fast you had found a new husband. But you didn’t care.
The wedding itself was somehow better than your previous. A thousand had come, and you wore the finest jewellery and fabrics. Even Gaius had on a marvellous robe and his hair was for once neat. You couldn’t help but stare and smile at each other during the ceremony and it was soon officiated with a heated kiss. Gathering a loud applause from the guests. The rope that tied your gown was loosely fastened, ensuring Gaius would have easy access later that night.
You only had a quick supper party after the ceremony, wanting nothing more than to finally fuck your new husband. So you rushed up the stairs, not bothering to wait for the last guests to leave and immediately rushing to his bedchamber, slamming the door shut behind him he almost jumped you. Slamming his lips against yours in a frenzied kiss.
“Finally I have you.” He said between kisses, once again moving you to his bed. But this time it was you who climbed on top of him, grounding your hips against his, he easily pulled the rope out of its knot. Your gown almost fell off you with the rope discarded but Gaius helped pull it off anyway.
You could already feel how soaked you were. Your heated kiss resumed and Gaius’ hips bucked up into yours eagerly. “How about I just fuck you right now hm?” He groaned. He didn’t even pull off his own robe, rather he helped you lift up the skirts, revealing his aching cock. You held yourself steady with both hands on his chest, he lined his length up at your entrance and you carefully sank down on him.
Both of your moans filled the room, the sensation of his cock filling you up so well becoming overwhelming. “So fucking tight-” He gritted out, hips snapping up into you as his patience had run out. He had to have you, fill you with his child. The thought of you waddling around with a swollen belly made him dizzy.
You rode him with urgence wanting nothing more than for him to fill you with his cum, the thought drove you crazy. His cock hit that sensitive spot inside you with every thrust and it made you a blabbering moaning mess, clenching down on his cock as you came with a cry. His grip on your hips tightened and he fucked into you mercilessly, soon his hips started to falter and cuss after cuss left his lips. With a couple more harsh pounds into you he filled you with his seed.
And just like last time, he came so much, it dripped out of you. He quickly turned you around and pulled out in the process. With two fingers he pushed his cum back inside ensuring a child would be on the way soon. And it worked, in no time you were walking around with a swollen belly, a proud look on Gaius’ face. But of course he still fucked you every night.
#tom glynn carney#tom glynn carney smut#tom glynn carney character#gaius julius caesar#gaius julius caesar x fem reader#gaius julius caesar x reader#gaius julius caesar x fem reader smut#gaius julius caesar x reader smut#gaius caesar x reader
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“And that’s why I don’t mess with girls who still live with their parents,” Jeff said, finishing his story off with a flourish, “Never again. I was almost shot.”
“Oh don’t say that!” Freak laughed, “We all got a secret weakness. What was yours again? Girls with Daddy issues?”
“Hey, that was Eddie!” Gareth jumped, not seeing the way Eddie immediately tensed up, “Jeff was into the lingerie thing. You don’t remember the catalogs under his bed?”
“Oh my god the catalogs!” Freak cackled, “So many catalogs.”
“Hey, don’t laugh at me, Mr. Foot Fetish,” Jeff pointed out, giggling himself at his friend’s scandalized gasp, “Oh yeah, I remember! We all do!”
“Well I stand it’s better than girl’s with Daddy issues-”
“Daddy kink,” Eddie emphasized, using everything in his power not to look at Steve. This kind of thing was normal for them to talk about, sure, but he had never gone there with Steve.
“Oh potato, potatoe,” Garthe joked as he poked at him, “Same shit.”
“I think there’s a little bit of a difference,” Steve piped up next to them, casual enough for Eddie to chance a look at him. He looked normal, sipping at his beer with a small smile as everyone drunkenly snickered.
“Oh, you do huh?” Gareth challenged, “Do you got the same predilection?”
“Not exactly,” Steve said, “I’m more vanilla than anything else.”
Eddie highly fucking doubted that not with the way he’s heard Steve beg. There was nothing fucking vanilla about the sounds that boy could make. Nothing at all. But he kept that thought to himself.
“King Steve really never got freaky?” Jeff asked, a brow raised, “Come on now, we’re all guys here.”
“We can’t all have libraries of women’s underwear dude,” Steve said instead of answering. He was met with a round of laughs. Enough for no one to even notice when he stood to leave the room, all of them too busy back to poking fun at each other. Everyone but Eddie.
Eddie, who got right up and followed him into the kitchen.
“Sorry about them,” Eddie said the second he was out of earshot, watching Steve with eagle eyes as he grabbed another beer. He leaned up on the counter across from him, apologetic, “They’re a lot. We’re a lot.”
Steve shrugged with a light laugh, turning to face him, “It’s fine. They’re fine. I just didn’t know what to say.”
“You don’t gotta say anything. We’re a little too comfortable with each other,” Eddie said with a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
“That’s what friends are for,” Steve said with a small smile. Bordering on sad, “If anything I’m a little jealous.”
Eddie blinked at him, “Jealous?”
“A little,” Steve said, not meeting Eddie’s eyes, “We never talk about stuff like that.”
“I kind of thought I was sparing you from my gross shit,” Eddie said quickly, “I just- I didn’t think you wanted to know-”
“It's not gross,” Steve interrupted, with a furrowed brow, “When did I say it was gross?”
“You sure about that?” Eddie asked, raising his brow, “The Daddy thing kind of had you running.”
“I wasn’t running!” Steve said, giving Eddie a slightly tipsy pout, “I was… embarrassed. That’s all.”
“That you aren’t into it?” Eddie asked, confused, “It’s definitely not everyone’s thing, Stevie. Don’t worry about it.”
“Well…” Steve said, his voice going quiet the longer he talked. His cheeks getting redder, “I never said I wasn’t into it.”
From the newest chapter of this fic
#steddie#steddie fic#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie ficlet#stranger things#oh no not me id never lose control
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