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obsessed-with-fake-men · 1 year ago

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After His Show

After seeing the band play a gig in the city, you ride back to town on Seb’s motorcycle. But, you get a little distracted along the way…

Sebastian xF!Reader, Sebastian xAFAB!Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Tw: nsfw, mdni, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, mentions of cigarettes, pet names, semi-public sex, oral male receiving

AN: This fic can be read as a follow up to Under His Desk or as a stand alone. I have been on the motorcycle thirst trap side of the internet lately and I thought that perfectly aligned with a fic idea. I have never ridden a motorcycle so if my descriptions are inaccurate, I’m sorry :)

Wc: 4400

It was another fall day and you had just finished a harvest which meant one thing - it was time to pop into Pierre’s for some more seeds. You head down the road that leads into town trying to decide if you want to focus on artichokes or if you have enough time left in the season to plant some fairy roses. You’re so lost doing the mental calculations that you would’ve run into Sam if he hadn’t grabbed you by the arms.

“Look where you’re going, farmer! You could’ve made a dent in me,” he jokes, squeezing your biceps. “No, but for real you’re strong right?”

“Uh yeah, I guess I am?” you shrug.

“Well, we could use an extra roadie for the Goblin Destroyer show tomorrow night if you’re free,” he says. “I know Seb would be really happy if you were there.” Sam winks at you.

You flush, forgetting that Sam knows you and Seb have been fooling around since he almost walked in on the two of you. If you’d only grabbed your bra before hiding under Seb’s desk this embarrassment could’ve been avoided.

“Yeah, sure I don’t have any plans for tomorrow,” you say. “It would be cool to see y’all at a real gig and not just rehearsals.”

“Sweet! Okay, we’re meeting at the bus stop at 4, see you there,” Sam calls as he heads for home.

The next day you finish your chores around the farm as quickly as you can. You may be a roadie tonight, but you’re a groupie at heart and you want to look the part. When you’re satisfied that you look somewhere between halfway decent and slightly hot, you head for the bus stop.

As you approach, you see Seb leaving. You try to catch his eye but it’s clear his head is elsewhere. When you get to the bus stop, Abigail whistles at you.

“Damn girl, you clean up nice,” she exclaims. You hadn’t really had a chance to dress up for a night out since you moved to Pelican Town a few months ago.

“Thanks,” you laugh. “You look great too, very punk rock.”

“Dude I wear this outfit literally all the time, but thanks,” she laughs.

You help load the rest of the equipment, looking around every now and then hoping to see Seb. By the time all of the gear is loaded, Sebastian still hasn’t appeared. You see Sam lingering by the doors to the bus.

“Hey Sam, is Seb… I mean I saw him heading to town when I got here and we’re about to leave,” you trail off.

“Oh yeah, he had to help his mom with something, he said he’ll meet us there,” Sam replies.

Disappointed, you board the bus behind Sam.

The ride to the venue goes by faster than you expected, and you spend the whole time laughing and joking with Sam and Abigail. Upon arrival you jump into your role as a roadie, unloading gear off the bus with the same focus you use to plant or harvest crops. When everything is set up, you head outside for a smoke break. You’ve always smoked off and on, but since hanging around Seb the habit has admittedly gotten a bit worse.

Searching your pockets for a lighter, you come up empty. You wish Seb was there, he always has one on him. As if in answer to your prayers you hear a motorcycle nearing. Looking up, you see Seb riding towards you. You had to focus to keep your mouth from falling open. Sure you’d seen him working on the bike and that was objectively hot, but seeing him ride up on it was another thing entirely. You weren’t sure if it was the confidence he rode with, but even with his face obscured by the helmet he looked sexy.

Seb pulled the bike up right next to you. He was surprised he parked straight because he had been looking only at you since he entered the lot. Seb knew you were going to be there tonight, but damn he didn’t know you were going to look this good all dressed up in black. He knows that it’s the traditional color crew wears, but he hopes you considered his reaction as you picked out your outfit - the thought makes him blush. Those tight black jeans seem to hug every curve and your top is cut just low enough to get his heart racing.

Sebastian pulls off his helmet and runs a hand through his dark hair.

“Need a light?” he asks, nodding toward the unlit cig in between your fingers.

“Yeah, your timing is perfect,” you say, as Seb dismounts the motorcycle and pulls a lighter from his pocket.

You lean forward, breathing in as he lights the tip of your cigarette.

“Sounds like you were missing me,” he teases, plucking the cig from your fingers to take a drag.

“Missing you or just your lighter, who’s to say,” you retort.

Seb offers the cig back to you, instead of taking it, you lean forward making eye contact as you take a drag while it’s still between his fingers, lips brushing his digits. Seb’s cock twitches at your brazen flirtation and he huffs out a laugh. Damn, you really know how to get him going.

Seb grabs your hand and pulls it up to his mouth. He kisses the inside of your wrist, causing you to draw in a ragged breath.

“Well I missed you, y/n…” he whispers against your wrist.

You can’t think beyond his admission and his breath dancing across your sensitive skin. It makes your heart race and you’re certain he can feel your pulse quicken under his soft touch.

“Are you sure you haven’t missed me too?” he teases, pulling your body flush with his. Seb’s other hand captures your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his - the cherry of your cig reflected in his blown-out pupils.

“You can tell me, baby,” he coos. “I know how to keep a secret.”

The back door to the venue opens with a bang.

“Yo Seb, you out here?” Sam’s voice calls. “It’s time for the final soundcheck!”

“Yeah man, I’ll be there in a minute,” Seb shouts back, not taking his eyes from yours.

Without warning, he pushes you back against the wall of the building, lips locking with yours, cigarette dropped forgotten on the pavement.

His hand travels to your waistband, fingers skillfully popping the button of your jeans.

“Seb what are you doing??” you hiss. “Someone will see us!”

“Not if I’m quick,” he promises with a wink.

Undoing your zipper, his long fingers find their way to your underwear. A moan escapes your lips as he brushes over the wet cloth barely covering your pussy. Seb is quick to capture the sound with his mouth.

When you quiet he whispers in your ear, “Can’t believe how wet you are for me already sweetheart.”

Gently he runs a finger through your folds under the fabric. You gasp, struggling to remain silent. Seb plunges the finger deep into your hole, covering your mouth with his other hand to keep you from crying out.

He pumps his finger into you a few times, just enough to make you ready to beg for more when he removes his digit from you, bringing it to his lips. Watching Seb suck your juice from his finger causes your walls to clench around nothing - you can’t get over how hot and bothered this man makes you.

“Don’t worry baby, I just wanted a taste. Let’s call it a good luck charm,” Seb chuckles. “C’mon, they’ll be wondering where we are.”

As Sebastian heads onstage for sound check you grab a drink from the bar and join the waiting crowd. You’re not in the first row but you don’t mind. Positioning yourself in front of the keyboard, you look around, shocked by the number of unfamiliar faces at the show. The second the lights go down and the band takes the stage, there’s a palpable shift in the energy. Sure you’d been to rehearsals and a couple of local shows, but seeing the guys and Abby on a stage in the city, they look like they belong up there.

Seb had played it cool in front of you, but as he walks onto the stage he can feel his hands begin to shake. Shit, this is the biggest crowd they’ve ever had. He can NOT fuck it up now. Positioning himself behind his keyboards, Seb blinks through the spotlights to the sea of faces. Well maybe not a sea, but it’s a decent-sized lake. As soon as his eyes adjust, he sees you. He’d recognize your smile and bright eyes anywhere. He’s always nervous for shows, but locking eyes with you, he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. You mouth “you got this” and blow him a kiss. God you’re so cute, he thinks, shaking his head to himself as his heart swells.

Abby starts the count-off with her drumsticks and muscle memory kicks in. Seb loses himself in the music as he always does. Forgetting he’s on a stage in front of a crowd of strangers, his fingers know just where to go. As the first set ends Seb slowly comes out of his daze, guided by Sam’s voice distantly addressing the crowd.

“We are Goblin Destroyers, thanks for coming out tonight!” Sam shouts as the crowd cheers. He introduces the band, and as you hear him say “...and on the keys we have Sebastian!” a huge cheer erupts from the audience. It’s a little too big of a cheer for your liking, and you can see Seb trying to hide his flushed face behind his dark fringe. You feel a sudden surge of jealousy and mentally kick yourself for not having marked Seb’s neck with your lips and teeth before the show. You’ll have to remember that next time.

The music starts back up and you surrender yourself to the sound. The bass thrums in your chest and your eyes are glued to Sebastian. You love watching him play. It’s as if all his worries melt away leaving just Seb and the music. It’s so hot to see him this way, totally raw - the mask he usually keeps up between himself and the world is replaced by a look of utter calm.

The only other time you’ve seen him like that is when he’s inside of you. Watching his fingers expertly fly across the keys sends a shiver down your spine as you remember where they were just an hour before. You try to keep your lust at bay and enjoy the show, but the only music you want to hear now are the sweet groans from Seb’s lips as he fucks you.

After a few more songs, the show is over and people begin filtering out of the venue. You head backstage to help pack up when a hand grabs your arm and pulls you into a dark corner. Just as you open your mouth to shout, Seb slots his lips between yours for a devastating kiss, full of tongue and teeth and the adrenaline high he still has from the gig. You pull back for breath and punch him in the arm.

“Ow, what was that for?” he asks rubbing where you struck him.

“For making me think I was getting kidnapped,” you laugh, putting your hands around his neck. Leaning up, you whisper into his ear, “You looked really hot up there,” and you take his lobe between your teeth. Seb lets out a soft groan and cups your ass in his hands.

“Ahem,” Abigail clears her throat.

The two of you freeze, debating whether it’s too late to pretend you were doing something, anything more innocent than what she’s seen.

“Oh my god, chill out you two,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “I know you’re fucking, Sam called me as soon as he left your little sex pad.”

You burst out laughing and Seb says, “Ew, Abs don’t call my room a ‘sex pad’.”

“Whatever, will y’all just help pack up the gear?”

You turn to leave, but Seb pulls you in for another quick kiss.

“If everyone knows, I might as well show you off,” he says with a wink before walking away.

Packing up is quick work and before you know it everyone is piling into the bus.

“You want the same spot?” Abigail asks.

“Oh um actually Seb said he’d give me a ride back….” you say.

“Ah, I get it. You two drive safe and use protection,” She says, closing the last door on the equipment storage.

You flush and stammer, “wha- we won’t uh-”

“Oh my god wear a helmet, dumbass,” Abigail laughs, punching you lightly in the arm as she heads for the bus.

You make a final sweep of the venue to make sure nothing is left behind. Emerging into the parking lot you see Sebastian, leaning against his bike. The lone streetlight above like another spotlight, and he’s putting on a show just for you. Seb’s lips curve into a soft smile as takes a drag from his cigarette. The smoke curls up around him, obscuring all of his features except his gleaming eyes that track you as you approach. All his.

Finally alone, the desire that has built up over the course of the night threatens to overtake you right here in the parking lot. You reach for him as Seb puts an arm around your waist pulling you close. He leans down, kissing up your neck to your ear.

“Did you get all dressed up in black just for me?” he whispers, nipping at the sensitive shell of your ear. You let out a shaky breath.

“All for you Sebby,” you sigh.

His cock hardens from both the nickname and your admission. He pulls your body flush with his. You gasp as you feel his hard length pressing against you.

“Let's get you home sweetheart, there’s so much I want to do to you,” Sebastian growls into your ear.

Taking one last drag from his cig, he drops it to the pavement putting it out with a twist of his foot. Seb reaches behind his back and produces two helmets. He hands you the smaller one.

“I thought you only had the one helmet,” you tease.

“Gotta keep my girl safe,” he says with a wink.

The two of you put on the helmets, and you watch as Seb straddles the bike. Ugh, he looks so hot, something about the helmet covering his features, only his neck exposed, really gets you turned on. He starts the bike and revs the engine. Seb reaches out a hand to you and you take it, straddling the bike behind him, you wrap your arms around his stomach. He reaches back, running his hand down your thigh, giving you a quick squeeze. And then you’re off.

God, you feel so good nestled behind him. Your arms hold him in a tight hug as your thighs squeeze him. Fuck he loves your legs and with your tits pressing into his back, he’s in heaven. Seb has always loved taking his bike out, he feels so free flying down the quiet highway under the stars.

His heart swells at the trust you place in him, to keep you safe as the two of you speed through the empty streets. He hopes you’re having a good time too when he feels you lean back and let out a whoop into the night air. Seb laughs and does the same. When he’s with you, it’s like gravity’s endless weight is lifted and he can dream again. You must sense this because you squeeze him tighter for a moment.

Something no one ever told you about riding a motorcycle is that it’s basically one giant vibrating seat. And with your arms around the man you’re planning to fuck the second this ride is over, the sensation is making you extremely horny. You can feel the wetness pooling between your legs and you try to adjust your position to get the vibration right where you want it. Seb must think you’re uncomfortable because the moment you shift his hand reaches back to squeeze your thigh again.

His worry for you makes you determined to let him know just how good you feel. You start to move one hand, running it down his stomach. Seb returns his hand to the handlebar, thinking your touch is to reassure him, but you aren’t done. Your fingers drift downward, searching and finding. His cock stiffens and his hands clench the handles. You give him a rough squeeze through his jeans and he lets out a groan barely audible through the sound of the wind. You tug on his length as you rock your hips on the seat.

Closing your eyes you begin a slow pace of jacking him off over his jeans and grinding your pussy into the vibrations. You’re so lost in seeking your pleasure that you don’t notice Seb has turned off the highway until the motor cuts off. You whine at the lack of vibration, not fully comprehending what’s happening until Seb pulls you off the bike. His helmet is still on but his visor is open. You can see the desire flashing in his eyes.

“My needy girl, couldn’t wait to finish the ride before needing my cock,” he growls.

“I- I didn’t mean to…” you whimper as Seb pulls off his helmet, and runs his hand through his hair.

“What am I gonna do with you,” he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head.

Setting down the helmet, Seb circles the bike. You take off your helmet, shaking out your hair. He drinks in the sight of you, the moonlight shining off your hair, the desperate look in your eyes, the way your black clothes cling to you and how he wants to peel them off. He pauses in front of you, hand palming his now aching erection. Your gaze is glued to that hand, taunting you.

Seb undoes his belt buckle, pops the button on his jeans and slowly pulls down the zipper. Watching you squirm with every small movement, he could do this for hours, basking in your hungry gaze knowing that you want him just as much as he wants you. But he won’t keep you waiting. He eases his cock out, hissing as the cool night air trails over his hot length.

“On your knees baby.”

You oblige instantly, he chuckles at your obedience.

“That’s a good girl,” he growls.

He shudders as you grab him, pressing a light kiss to his tip before you flick your tongue along the slit dripping with precum. And when your warm, wet mouth wraps around his length he has to stop himself from thrusting into the back of your throat. You take your time, sucking with your mouth and pumping with your hand until he can’t take it anymore.

He grabs a fistful of your hair and rocks his hips forward. Forcing his cock to hit the back of your throat. The feeling of your tongue on the underside and the light scrape of your teeth on top force out a groan from deep within his chest. His eyes lock on yours, so full of tears just waiting to spill out. He thrusts a few more times, relishing in the feeling of his balls hitting your chin. When your throat squeezes him as you choke on his cock, he swears if he died right now at least he’d die happy.

And as much as he craves to chase his own pleasure and pump his seed into your waiting mouth, he has to make sure you’re okay. Pulling his dripping length from your lips, Seb crouches down to cup your face in his hands. You cough and take in a few ragged breaths before meeting his gaze. He strokes your cheek, “such a good girl for me” he sighs pulling you in for a searing kiss.

“Up you go,” he says, pushing you up to standing. You lean back against the parked bike, not trusting your legs to hold you. Now it’s your turn to look down at Seb, even though you know you have tear streaks on your face and drool on your chin, his eyes are full of adoration. It’s so cute you don’t know if you want to laugh or to cry.

He rubs his hands soothingly up and down your thighs. Then his fingers catch the hem of your shirt, lifting it just enough for him to press a soft kiss to your stomach. He grabs the waist of your jeans, eagerly undoing the button and zipper he pulls them down to reveal your black panties. This pair has a little bow just below the waistband like you’re a present that’s his to unwrap. He stands slowly, moving his hands from your waist to cup your breasts.

He kisses you softly then whispers in your, “Turn around for me baby.”

You do, bracing yourself against the bike. He softly touches your ass. It’s fully on display, framed by the lacy black straps of your thong. He growls, slapping your soft flesh. You let out a moan as the cool night breeze instantly soothes the sting. Seb cups your pussy and chuckles when he feels the hot wet crotch of your panties.

“If I knew you’d like the bike so much, I would’ve put you on it ages ago,” he teases, pulling the fabric to the side.

He teases your slit with a long finger, dragging it through your folds to lightly flick your clit. You gasp and arch your back. Fuck he loves how responsive you are, every touch eliciting a reaction. He plunges two fingers into you, pumping his cock at the same pace. He gets lost in watching his digits disappear into your warm, wet hole.

“M-more Seb, please,” you whine, pulling him from his trance. Before you register the loss of his fingers, the tip of his cock is already teasing your folds. You moan, pushing your hips back.

Seb chuckles. “Is my sweet girl ready for my cock?” he asks under his breath.

He knows the answer is yes, he knows you’ve been ready since before the show, but he likes making you wait. Teasing you until his cock is the only thing that could make you feel better. He notches his length at your entrance and slowly pushes into you. You groan, finally getting what you’ve been craving for days. Your toys at home can’t compare to this feeling. Being filled and fucked by your man.

He slowly enters you until his entire length is sheathed inside your perfect pussy. Your walls clench around him causing his breathing to turn ragged. His grip on your hips tightens, as he eases out of you until just his tip is inside of you. Then without warning, he shoves all the way back in. You cry out, arching your back and Seb knows he’s hit the spot inside you that makes you see stars. He thrusts into you again and again, fingers leaving bruises on your flesh as he steers you closer and closer to orgasm. Your walls squeeze him tighter and he knows you’re close.

“That’s it, baby,” he grunts, “Cum for me, you can do it.”

And you do, expletives and his name string together in a chant that he’s sure could raise him from the dead as you cum around his cock. He follows you over that cliff, pushing as deep as he’s able, sealing his body with yours as tightly as he can. If two souls could join, it must feel like this, he thinks as he empties himself into you.

The two of you stay in this position, you draped over the motorcycle like Seb’s wet dream and Seb still inside you, head hung low, trying to keep his legs from giving out as he decides if he ever wants to move again. And then your pussy flutters around his length and he’s sure if he doesn’t pull out now he’ll die from the overstimulation. Easing his cock from you he watches entranced as his seed drips out of you.

He’s never wanted kids but his mind is suddenly filled with images of your belly swollen as his child grows inside of you. He flushes and his cock twitches painfully at the thought. He pushes that desire down, your relationship (if you can even call it that) is so new, he’ll do anything to keep from scaring you away.

Carefully, he covers your dripping pussy with the thin strap of fabric that is your thong. You groan and wiggle your hips as he rubs you through the fabric. Seb slaps your bare ass, huffing out a laugh at your little yelp. After tucking his cock away and pulling on his jeans, Seb helps you up and turns you around. Leaning against his bike, he pulls you into his arms kissing the top of your head and breathing in the smell of your hair. You rest your head on his shoulder, kissing his neck.

His heart is so full he fears it might burst. You pull back to see his face, the look in his eyes is so tender, so loving you have to hold back tears. You slide your hands behind his neck and pull him in for a kiss. The kiss is long, full of hope and passion and all the things you are too nervous to say.

Pulling away from the kiss, Seb squeezes your still-exposed ass. “Let’s put this away before you tempt me to go again,” he says pulling up your jeans. You giggle, buttoning your pants. When you look up Seb is back on the bike, his arm extended toward you with helmet in hand.

“What do you say, baby, let’s keep this adventure going?” he asks, hoping you understand the weight of his words. You know that after tonight, your heart is his whether he knows it yet or not. You take the helmet and climb onto the bike behind him. You whisper into his ear, “Lead the way Sebby,” and set the helmet on your head. He starts up to engine and with a whoop, the two of you speed off into the night.

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so-i-did-this-thing · 24 days ago

Note

I’m 18, and admittedly there’s no real hope for me transitioning until I’m in my 30s ( education, family, finance- stuff like that ). It leaves me feeling kind of hopeless a lot of the times- I don’t have the energy to be ambitious or to feel good about my future because, even optimistically, it’s another six-seven years of hell waiting for me. Existing is hard. Can’t date, can’t leave the house without wearing a jacket, can’t look in the mirror too long. At least my dysphoria doesn’t drive me to suicide, but it’s drained me in every other way possible.

So, thank you for existing. I burst into tears today when I saw your profile. Thank you for reminding me that this…isn’t my forever. I just need to pull through. Joy is waiting on the other side.

Hey, Anon. Sounds like you have a bachelors + advanced degree lined up? I hate that college is so fraught for young trans people right now, when it should be your chance to start expressing some personal freedom.

A lot can change in just a few years, and change for the better can happen faster if you plan what you can now. Part of my transition stalled simply because I was just waiting for something Good to happen to me, instead of making it happen. (Working on job skills, being responsible with my money, meeting other queer people, etc.)

If you *are* to be stuck in Limbo for a while, please don't fall back on "at least I'm not suicidal" when evaluating your mental health. I did this for 13 years, and so much of me broke down under the weight of that inertia -- my family hoarding triggered and my depression got so bad, I nearly became homeless.

If it helps, here's a timeline of my own journey:

4: knew I was a boy

20: tried to come out, didn't go well, went back in the closet

21: too depressed for grad school for my music degree, went to tech school and fell into a stagnant web career

27: dad died, stress made a lot of my mental issues worse

30: near rock-bottom, got fired from work, nearly lost my house, living below poverty line, drained retirement, credit score probably like 300, I couldn't even get a secured credit card, new BFF started abusing me

31: started dating (never went well), too poor to fix AC, power frequently shut off, hoard starting to block rooms

33: almost out of money, started HRT, lost a lot of music gigs, stuck in payday loan hell

34: found steady employment again tho at a toxic web shop, $45k/year, cleaned up my hoard for the first time

36: met my partner, lost my virginity, started hanging out with queer people

37: got AC fixed, slowly started improving home, stopped being stealth, partner moved in with me

38: told abuser to fuck off

40: got top surgery, caught up on back taxes w/the IRS, able to secure credit again

41: got out of a toxic job industry, free from payday loans, started making $80k/year in a new field

41: got married to my partner, hoard pretty under control now

45: broke 6 figures for my salary

46: left Florida, bought a house

47: got a promotion to a senior role, hit 800 credit score, home is clean and organized (except for some stalled unpacking, I'll get there...), working on rebuilding my retirement

It was really around age 37 where I made a concerted effort to plan my way out of my shitty living situation. It's also when I really embraced being queer. I wish I had managed it earlier, but I was a goddamned mess and hid a lot from my family & friends. And I didn't know how to energize myself when things felt bleak.

So, please avoid my mistakes by taking efforts to set a higher bar for your mood. Get outside in nature, make things with your hands, consume and spread queer art, try to find safe outlets for expressing and exploring your gender, and above all, create a network where you can safely vent and have folks take care of you when you need help. Stoicism goes toxic far too quickly - you're going to need to cry *and* become a shoulder to cry upon.

And then pick yourself back up and continue with your plan towards joy. I believe in you - I don't think it'll be as long as it appears. <3

#trans stuff

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snottyped · 2 days ago

Text

the maid

vampire x female reader nsfw

The manor loomed like something out of a forgotten century—ivy-choked stone, tall iron gates, and windows that gleamed with candlelight instead of electric bulbs. You double-checked the address on your phone. It matched. Barely.

You’d taken a dozen cleaning gigs like this—mostly empty places with dust and old furniture. Rich people had weird ideas of hospitality. But this one felt… off. Not in a dangerous way. Just too still. The air pressed against your skin like velvet.

You stepped inside after the door creaked open at your touch, expecting to call out to some absent owner.

But you weren’t alone.

He stood at the top of the grand staircase, one hand resting on the banister like he’d been waiting. Tall. Broad shoulders. Black slacks and a dark shirt undone halfway, exposing pale skin and the hard line of his collarbone. Silver streaked through his dark hair, temples touched with age in the most devastating way.

You froze.

He smiled.

“Little one,” he drawled, voice like crushed velvet. “You didn’t knock.”

“I—I wasn’t sure anyone was home,” you said. “The agency said—”

His gaze slid over your body—your tight work shirt, the scuffed jeans, the way your bag sagged low on your hip.

“Yes. They said you’d be ‘clean and efficient.’” His smile curved higher. “But they didn’t mention how cute you’d be. Come in.”

You stepped fully inside before you could think better of it. The door clicked shut behind you of its own accord.

The house was warm. Fragrant with old wood and something darker beneath—like roses left to rot on the vine. You glanced up. He was still watching, leaning casually on the railing, as if he had all the time in the world.

“You’re the owner?” you asked, trying to sound professional.

“Something like that.” He descended slowly, barefoot, making no sound. “Call me Nicodemus.”

Of course he had a name like that.

You bent over to plug in your vacuum. A moment later, you felt his presence behind you—close enough to feel the heat from his body. Or maybe it was the lack of it. A strange chill rolled down your spine.

“You keep bending like that in my house, pet,” he said, his voice low and near your ear, “and I’ll put you over my knee.”

You shot up straight, flushing.

“I—I’m just here to clean.”

“Mm. And yet you’re already so messy.” He turned, sauntering toward a side table and lifting a crystal decanter. “Wine?”

“I don’t drink while I work.”

“It’s not while you work. It’s before.” He poured anyway, red as blood. Handed it to you with a smile that showed the faintest glint of fang.

You hesitated.

He tilted his head. “Scared of me already?”

You took the glass.

He watched you take a sip, eyes dark with something between amusement and hunger.

“Good girl.”

The words hit like a switch flipped inside you. You tensed, arousal flashing unexpectedly in your gut. He noticed. Of course he did.

He stepped closer, fingers brushing your hip. “What’s your name, little one?”

You told him.

He repeated it slowly, like tasting it. “Lovely. I’ll enjoy saying it when you’re on your knees.”

Your breath caught. “I think I should—start upstairs.”

You turned, forcing distance between you, but your heart was racing. His voice followed you like smoke.

“Be careful in the north wing. The house is old. It gets… excited.”

You had no idea what that meant.

The halls were vast and winding, full of portraits whose eyes seemed to follow you. Still, you worked. Tried to focus on the motions. Dust. Wipe. Polish. But your thoughts kept drifting back to his voice, his eyes, that teasing smirk. When you finally made your way back down, an hour later, he was reclining on a velvet chaise near the fire.

Reading, shirtless now.

You stopped short. Your throat went dry and you admired his upper build. How strong he looked, how his arms could close around your throat. He didn’t look up. “Leaving already?”

You cleared your throat. “I’ve done everything on the list.”

He turned a page. “Then by all means.”

So, you started for the door.

“Ah,” he said lazily. “One thing.”

You paused.

“If you’d like to leave, you may. But only if you say it properly.”

“…What?”

“Say, ‘Please, Daddy, let me go.’”

Silence stretched between you. The fire crackled. His eyes finally met yours—molten, waiting.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, to your chest, to the tips of your ears.

“I—I’m not saying that.”

His smirk sharpened into something dangerous. “Then stay.”

You swallowed. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want to. Because you want me to. And because you flinched when I showed you my teeth.” He stood, stalking toward you slowly. “You flinched, but you didn’t run.”

You backed up until your spine hit the door.

“You don’t even know me,” you whispered.

“I know enough.” He reached out, brushing your jaw with his thumb. “I know your scent. Your heartbeat. The heat between your thighs.”

You gasped.

“I could take you here, right now, against this door. Fill you until you begged to stay. But I’m a patient man.” His eyes glinted. “Say the words. Or don’t.”

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

He leaned in, mouth brushing your ear.

“Say it,” he whispered.

Your lips parted.

“…Please, Daddy. Let me go.”

He shuddered—just once. Smiled like the devil.

“Good girl,” he said. “Now run.”

You didn’t run.

Not far, at least. You made it to the edge of the foyer before your hands trembled too hard to twist the doorknob. Your breath came in short, shallow bursts—your thighs clenched, heat pulsing in time with your heartbeat. Your body didn’t want to leave. It ached to stay. And of course… he noticed. Nicodemus was suddenly behind you again, without a sound. That damn velvet voice.

“Changed your mind, little one?”

“I—” Your mouth opened, but no words came. You weren’t sure what you were asking for. Only that you were wet, dizzy, and throbbing with something you couldn’t name.

He didn’t wait for you to figure it out.

“Come here.”

His hand closed around your wrist gentle, firm, and unshakable. He walked you back into the parlor like you were made of nothing. You didn’t resist. You couldn’t. He sat in a tall-backed chair by the fire, legs spread, shirt still gone, bare chest gleaming amber in the flickering light.

Then, with terrifying calm, he pulled you down across his lap.

You yelped, hands flying to brace against the floor.

“What—what the hell are you—?”

“Teaching,” he said smoothly, running one palm across the curve of your ass. “Such a mouth on you. Filthy little brat.”

You squirmed. “You didn’t say—”

Crack.

The first spank hit fast—hot, loud, sharp.

You gasped. He didn’t stop.

Crack. Another. Then again, rhythm building, each smack echoing off the high ceiling, your ass warming fast beneath his palm.

You twisted against his thigh, whimpering as heat bloomed deep in your core. He chuckled darkly.

“Thought you could give attitude to Daddy and get away with it?”

“I—I didn’t mean—”

“You did.” Crack. “But you’ll learn.” Crack. “Oh, sweet thing, I’ll make sure you learn.”

Your moans were muffled by your own arm. You felt your panties soaked through. You hated how much you wanted him to keep going.

And gods help you—he did.

When your body finally sagged, legs trembling and face flushed, he paused. Smoothed over the burning heat of your ass. His hand lingered, gentle, almost affectionate.

“There now,” he murmured, low and close to your ear. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

You nodded. Breathless. Barely coherent.

His lips brushed your cheek, then your neck. His tongue flicked out, tasting the skin just below your ear. You shivered.

Then came the bite.

Slow.

Not violent. Not sudden. Just sharp enough to make your body seize, to make your hips buck. You gasped—a startled, high sound that turned into a moan.

He groaned behind you, low and needy, as he drank.

Heat rolled through you, thick and dizzying. Your blood sang beneath his mouth. His fangs buried deep into the tender hollow where neck met shoulder, drinking just enough to blur your thoughts.

It didn’t hurt. It thrilled.

When he pulled back, you were panting, flushed, aching everywhere.

“Such sweet blood,” he murmured, tongue flicking the wound. “I could keep you here. Filled. Marked. Trembling.”

He laid you down across his lap again, stroking your thighs with warm fingers. His hand slid beneath the curve of your hips, tugging your panties down slowly. His voice dropped lower.

“Do you want that, little one? To be kept? Bred full, fed on, spanked red and made to say ‘thank you’ when Daddy’s done?”

You whimpered—half shame, half want.

“I—I don’t—”

He chuckled. “You do. It’s written all over you.”

His hand slid further, fingers slipping between your folds, finding you soaked and needy. He hissed through his teeth.

“Greedy little cunt,” he muttered, rubbing slow circles against your clit. “You liked Daddy’s punishment. Liked bleeding for me.”

“I shouldn’t—”

“Shhh.” He leaned down, kissing the sting of his bite. “Let me show you how good it feels when you’re obedient.”

He curled his fingers inside you and you cried out, legs twitching.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Just like that. Come on Daddy’s fingers if you want more.”

You wanted everything.

And he knew it.

The fire crackled low behind you, the room heavy with heat and the scent of blood—your blood—still damp on his lips.

Nicodemus didn’t rush. He simply moved, slow and sure, as if he had centuries to take you apart. You lay back against the velvet chaise, skin hot, legs open, your panties long discarded somewhere on the floor. Your chest rose and fell with shaky breaths, nipples hard, thighs slick with your need.

He knelt between them, dragging the backs of his fingers along your trembling inner thighs. The bite on your neck throbbed with every pulse of your heart, like it knew he was coming back for more.

“I should leave you like this,” he murmured, voice thick with hunger. “All pink and swollen. All mine.”

You whimpered as he lowered his head.

His tongue licked a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, warm and firm. You arched up into his mouth, hips twitching. He groaned, the sound vibrating against you.

“So sweet,” he murmured. “All soaked from a little spanking and a taste of my teeth. You were made for this, weren’t you?”

“Please,” you gasped.

“Please what, little one?”

“Please, Daddy…”

He growled. Just softly. Just enough to let you feel it in your bones.

With agonizing care, he licked at the bite again—tongue swirling around the tender wound until your thighs shook. Then, when you were gasping and near tears with need, he stood and undid his belt.

You watched as he stripped—slow, deliberate. Every inch of him was pale, powerful, carved like marble but warm now from the firelight. His cock hung thick and heavy between his legs, already hung and his balls tight and aching to cum. You whimpered at the sight.

He knelt on the chaise between your legs, pushing your knees back.

“You sure you want this?” he asked, but his cock was already nudging against your entrance. His hand cupped your jaw. “Say it.”

“I want it,” you breathed. “I want you, Daddy.”

“Good girl.”

He pushed in.

The stretch was immediate. Delicious. Painful. Perfect.

You gasped, mouth falling open as he sank in, inch by inch, filling you deep. You could feel every ridge, every vein, the thick head pressing high inside you. The feeling of his fat dick molding your pussy lips against him. He bottomed out slowly, groaning through gritted teeth.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Beautiful girl. So wet. So good.”

Your nails dug into the velvet beneath you. He leaned over, kissing your neck, your collarbone, his hips rolling in a slow, deep rhythm.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice low and cruel with affection. “Dripping down my cock like a needy little thing.”

His fingers moved to your throat, not choking—just resting, owning.

“Say it.”

You blinked up at him, dazed. “Say… what?”

“Say who this pretty hole belongs to.”

You whimpered.

“It’s yours,” you whispered. “Daddy—it’s all yours.”

“That’s right,” he growled. “Mine.”

He started to move faster—rougher. His hands gripped your hips tight as he pounded into you, each thrust making the chaise creak. You were half-mad with the feel of it—of him, everywhere, inside and over and around you. The scent of blood and arousal thick in the air.

Then he flipped you.

You cried out as he yanked you up, bent over the back of the chaise now, his hand fisting in your hair. He dragged you back onto his cock with brutal force, grunting as he slammed into you over and over.

“You take it so fucking well,” he groaned. “Just open for me. So eager to be filled.”

Your legs buckled, but his arm caught your waist, holding you up like you weighed nothing compared to him. Which was most likely true, the power imbalance turned you on even more.

“Gonna make a mess of you, sweet thing. Gonna breed you full. Spill into that greedy little cunt until it overflows.”

You whimpered, crying out his name as your climax hit—hard, full-body, blinding. You clenched around him, trembling.

He didn’t stop.

He thrust once, twice more—then growled low, possessive, as he buried himself deep and came. You could feel it—hot, thick, spilling inside you. He stayed there, grinding slow, making sure every drop stayed in.

Even as you sagged, boneless and shaking, he didn’t pull out.

His mouth brushed your ear.

“Next time,” he murmured, “I drink while I fuck you.”

You shivered. You believed him.

And you wanted it.

Your scream was half-ecstasy, half-despair.

Your orgasm tore through you just as his fangs sank in again—deeper this time, right over your pulse. The pain was exquisite. Sharper, bloodier. Your muscles seized, your vision went white.

He moaned against your throat.

You came hard around him, clenching tight as he filled you again—hot and thick, spilling deep with every last thrust. His hips ground into yours as he rode it out, rutting forward, making sure every drop stayed.

“Take it,” he groaned into your neck, the sound feral, undone. “Take it all. Keep it. You’re mine now, inside and out.”

You whimpered, dazed and twitching, pinned against the back of the chaise with his cock still buried deep inside you.

You could feel it—him—leaking down your thighs.

He licked the fresh bite, slow and gentle, tongue dragging over blood and bruises. Your body sagged, boneless, against the velvet. Every nerve was alight. Your breath came in shallow pants.

He didn’t pull out. Not yet.

His hands smoothed your hips, thumbs tracing over your flushed skin.

“Beautiful mess,” he murmured. “Beautiful body.”

You shuddered.

Finally, he eased you off his cock—his cum sticky between your thighs—and lifted you into his arms like you weighed nothing. You curled against him instinctively. He was all heat and muscle and control.

He carried you to the fire and sank down into the same chair where he’d spanked you earlier, settling you in his lap.

And just like that—his hands were soft again.

He pressed a damp cloth to your neck, cleaning the blood with surprising care. One hand massaged your thigh where it trembled, the other held you tight to his chest, anchoring you.

“You did so well for Daddy,” he whispered, lips brushing your temple. “Took your punishment. Took my cock. Took my bite.”

You hummed, barely coherent, your cheek resting over his heart. You felt claimed. Marked. Owned in ways that still hadn’t fully sunk in.

Then he shifted slightly—cupped your jaw—and brought his wrist to your mouth.

“Here,” he said, tone velvet-rich. “Taste.”

You blinked up at him.

“I thought—”

“It won’t turn you. Not unless I take more and give more. But a sip… it’ll heal you. Strengthen you. Bind us.”

He pressed the open skin—still fresh, still red—to your lips.

You licked.

And gods.

It was fire.

Sweet, burning, overwhelming. It filled your mouth, your head, your chest. Your limbs stopped aching. The bite on your neck pulsed, then dulled to a low throb of pleasure. You felt stronger. Brighter. His blood lit you up from the inside.

You gasped, pulling back.

His eyes were glowing crimson.

“Good girl,” he whispered. “You wear me now.”

You blinked, dazed and drunk on him.

“…What happens now?” you asked, voice small.

He smiled. Slow. Wicked.

“Now?” He ran his palm down your thigh, possessive and lazy. “Now I show you what eternity feels like when you can’t walk straight for days.”

#smut #monster smut #monster fucker #snotwrites #monster lover #x female reader #teratophillia #x fem!reader #x reader #monster x reader #daddy’s brat #smut writing #vampire x reader #vampire smut #vampire x human

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ilguna · 1 month ago

Text

☼ wildflowers (Haymitch Abernathy) ☼

summary; haymitch never was the same after the tragedies that followed his games. and even with his best attempts to push you away, you never budged. so he allows you to take him to the meadow sometimes to make up for it.

warnings; swearing, lots of drinking, talks of killing/murder but nothing actually happens.

wc; 2.3k

notes; mid-twenties haymitch. no outright spoilers for sotr but if you think hard enough, you could make connections yourself lol.

“This is my favorite time of year, Haymitch.” You say, bouncing down the grassy hill, keeping a tight hold of your bag. “You wanna know why?”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you look over your shoulder long enough to see the tail end of him taking a swig of the bottle of liquor he insisted on bringing with him. You give him a playful eye roll, shaking your head with disapproval.

You couldn’t object, as much as you wanted to. You knew it meant risking the day you’d planned with him, and you’ve been looking forward to coming out to the meadow ever since the weather got warmer.

No liquor, no Haymitch.

“Why?” He asks, appearing beside you.

He’s got this dumb smile on his face, holding out the bottle for you to take a drink, a habit he formed after you agreed once a couple months ago. He always wants you to drink with him, claiming it’s more fun if two of you are drunk than one. That way, you’re less likely to complain about the stuff he does.

You wave the offer away, attention focused on the beauty that’s hidden beyond the fences of District Twelve. If the Peacekeeper’s knew you were out here, they’d likely string you up and whip you for it. Or worse, kill you. They’ve been cracking down on the rules again, you’re not entirely sure what triggered it, but they’re taking nothing lightly.

“The springtime feels like a fresh start.” You tell him, closing your eyes when you feel a breeze come through. “New beginnings.”

“Isn’t that what New Year is for?” He asks.

You scowl for a moment at his attitude, and then let out a laugh. “Sure, Haymitch. But it’s also a time for hope and growth.”

“I’ve experienced plenty of springs and nothing has changed.”

“Except your attitude.” You remind him, because his personality before the Games didn’t resemble a wet rag. “Which is far from your fault.”

He grunts.

This really isn’t anything new when it comes to Haymitch. You’re lucky you were able to get him out of that house at all. The place reeks of vomit and liquor, so he’s begun to take to the bench outside. You’re sure the smell isn’t doing any good for his sense of smell.

So, while you pull him out of the house for some overdue fresh air, you begged your father this morning to do you a favor and clean Haymitch’s house. It wasn’t easy by any means to convince him, but you managed to do it after a few pleas and a promise to mend a couple pairs of his old pants and shirts to make them look brand new. He wasn’t thrilled when you gave him a warning about the smell, but he sighed and said he’d open every window and the front door to let the spring air come in while he cleaned.

He truly is the best father you could ask for, and the most qualified person for this job—considering his background with some of the wealthier families in Twelve. He started cleaning as a side gig in high school to get himself and your grandparents through without having to get tessera.

It turned into a more serious job when people discovered they do mind having a layer of coal dust on their belongings. From there, he cleaned the Mayor’s mansion, the Justice Building, the Peacekeeper base—whatever, whenever. As you’ve grown up, you’ve joined him a few times to see the process, but you’ve never been inspired to make it a permanent career.

Anyway, it’s a win-lose situation. In this case, you’re the winner, because you’re not trapped inside of Haymich’s house for an extended period of time. And you get to spend the afternoon with your best friend by the lake. Which, by the way, if your father knew you were out here, he likely would’ve murdered you twice. Once for making him clean Haymitch’s house, and twice for breaking the law.

“Just over here, Haymitch.” You tell him, waving him on. “I think the lake is in this direction.”

“It is.” He murmurs behind you.

He should know, he’s the one that showed you it in the first place, some years ago.

It was right after a huge blowout fight you had with him. He was at the lowest point you’ve ever seen him, and you were trying to continue to give him the benefit of the doubt. He hadn’t always been like this, his entire life changed in less than a month after he won his Games.

He needed a friend, and you wanted to continue to be that friend. He’d already pushed away the rest of the group, one way or another. You were the last one hanging on because being friends with a group of boys gave you thick skin. If he wanted you to leave, he needed to say or do something that would change your mind about him.

And he did. He chose to insult you until you were in tears. You remember the way he had been sitting on his couch, completely casual, as if what he was doing was easy. Like he didn’t care that you’d been friends for nearly two decades and you’ve been his shoulder to cry on since the beginning.

You were fuming, hands balled into fists. He had his back turned to you, eyes locked on the television the Capitol had given him, watching the news like he always did. You kept thinking to yourself how easy it would be to punch the lights out of him. Maybe a hard reset was what he needed to be normal again or at least polite. You’d just bought him a basketful of white liquor because he’d been too embarrassed to do it himself.

“What are you still standing there for?” He asked, his face twisted in disgust. “Give me the basket, and go.”

You’d never been the one to turn to violence before that moment, but his tone had made something snap inside of you. “You want the fucking liquor, Haymitch?”

Your hands were shaking with rage when you slammed the entire basket to the floor, causing him to jump at the sudden noise. Liquor and shards of glass went flying everywhere, and little did you know, you’d still be finding it years later. As Haymitch got to his feet, eyes wide, you stomped on every bottle, making sure they were shattered, and there’d be nothing he could salvage from the mess.

“Then get down on your hands and knees and drink up.” You told him, eyes boring into his, daring him to challenge you.

“Get out of my house.”

“With pleasure.” You smiled at him, body full of nothing but hatred for him. “No wonder you’re alone.”

“Go fuck yourself, (Y/n).” He finally said to you. “You don’t know anything.”

“I know more than you ever could’ve possibly imagined, Haymitch.” You stood in his doorway. “And I’m sick of dealing with your shit. Goodbye.”

You swung his door shut with a slam, pissed off he treated you that way and you let it happen for so long. The anger would wear off by the time you got home, where you went and cried in your father’s arms about the situation. Haymitch was your best friend, you didn’t want to watch him succumb into the darkness you’d been trying so hard to save him from.

Your father made you take a hot bath, and even though you were too old for it, he tucked you in. Before he went to bed for the night, he told you that if Haymitch truly cherished the friendship you had, he’d see what he’d done and apologize. If not, then you need to move on to better things.

Haymitch didn’t come back for a while. You resisted every urge in your body to go and check in on him, because he stopped being seen in District Twelve. You were almost convinced he’d died, but he’d showed up on your doorstep a month later. He had a box of your favorite treats in his hand and apologized.

He told you if you forgave him, then you should meet him at his house later that afternoon. He handed you the box and left. You forgave him, of course, and listened to his request. When you saw him, he had a wrinkly shirt and a pair of shorts on, and a sunhat.

“I have something to show you.” He told you. “I haven’t been there in a while, but I’m sure you’ll like it as much as she did.”

You knew who he was referring to as soon as he said it, so you didn’t pry. Haymitch brought you to the lake, which you’d heard so much about. While the others had come out here from time to time, you never wanted to break the law, fearing for what your father would say about it.

“A lake.” You were surprised. “This is what you’d been talking about?”

“Yeah, I should’ve told you to bring a change of clothes but I didn’t want to spoil it.”

“Who cares?” You asked with a laugh, taking Haymitch into a hug. “Apology accepted.”

He gave you a squeeze. “Thank you.”

The meadow peeks out from between the trees, letting you know you’ve made it. You stop in to take in the sight of the wildflowers, spread throughout the field. You don’t mind taking a dip in the lake every now and then, but your favorite part is seeing what grows around it. This is what you came here to see.

Haymitch goes to lift the bottle to his lips, but you direct his hand back down. “Take it easy on the liquor, will you? It’s too early for you to be drunk already.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Haymitch.” You tilt your head at him. “Please.”

He stares at you for a moment, before nodding his head gently, capping the bottle and tucking it back into his pocket. You give him a smile, before leading him down to your favorite spot beneath a large tree.

You sit with your legs crossed, bag sitting next to you. Haymitch leans against the base of the tree, staring off. You timed this trip perfectly, the flowers have bloomed all sorts of different colors: reds, yellows, blues, oranges, pinks, purples and all the hues in-between.

The wind blows hard out here, since there’s nothing to obstruct its path. The flowers dance, flowing in different directions, sometimes being pushed so far you’re sure that the petals are on the verge of flying off, before they pop right back into their upright position.

The spring’s sun beams create this dreamy look in the bright, healthy grass. The scene looks vaguely familiar, a sense of deja vu coming over you, but you can’t quite put your finger on the reason why.

“So what’re we doing out here, anyway?” Haymitch asks, breaking the soft silence.

“Do you have a favorite flower?” You ask back, looking at him. “I don’t. I could never pick between them all.”

“I haven’t given it much thought.” He admits.

“Well, you have plenty of time to think now.”

You reach into your bag, pulling out the snacks, but really you watch the sketchbook. When you flip it open, Haymitch leans over, head tilted to get a better look at the drawings inside. It’s just full of flowers, some you’ve observed in person, but most you get through books and pictures. Beside the art is information: the bees they attract, the trees they cling to, the many shades of colors they can be found in.

“I didn’t know you liked art.” He murmurs, reaching for the book. “Can I?”

“Yes, please.” You tell him, handing it over.

He’s very gentle when he flips through the pages, taking time to actually drink in the art before him. After a while, he stops, about three quarters of the way through, and places his finger down on the page.

“This one.”

You lean over, invading his space as you look over his arm to see what he’s picked.

A sunflower.

“Sunflower, huh?” You ask, looking down at what you’d drawn. “It’s a summer flower. If we plant it soon, we might see it bloom by the time your birthday comes.”

Haymitch looks up, a smile hinting at his lips. “Really?”

“Yeah! I know a thing or two about flowers.” You laugh. “Actually, if I were to choose what to do with the rest of my life, I’d probably own a greenhouse with every flower under the sun.”

He thinks about this for a moment, looking off to the meadow. “I can help you.”

“What?” You ask, face twisting. “No.”

“Why not? You don’t want to clean houses, do you?” He asks.

“Well, no, but that’s your money.” You shake your head.

He picks up his bottle of liquor. “It’s all going to waste, anyway.”

You take your sketchbook back from Haymitch, closing the book and setting it in the grass, trying to end the conversation. “That’s nice of you to offer, but I can’t accept.”

“You could if it were a gift.” He says, looking away from you. “I could pick a nice spot next to the market near Victor’s Village. You’d get a lot of traction there.”

“Haymitch, no.”

“You wouldn’t accept it?” There’s a smirk on his face. “You’d let it go to waste?”

You press your lips together. “If you built it for me, I wouldn’t let it go to waste, but—.”

“Then it seems like it won’t be long before you’re selling flowers.” He tells you. “And I expect those sunflowers to be a bestseller.”

You can feel the tears gathering in your eyes, lips pulling downward.

“Don’t cry.” Haymitch tells you, pushing your head away. “I don’t want to cry with you.”

“Do you know what sunflowers resemble, Haymitch?” You ask, wiping away the tears that escape. “It resembles growth and resilience.”

Haymitch lets out a laugh, rolling his eyes as he lifts his bottle to his lips. “Of course.”

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fuctacles · 18 days ago

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Small World

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

@genderthings Stobin at Work: custodians T | 771 | Hellcheer, Stobin, one-sided Steddie and Buckingham | Hellcheer's POV, pining, Stobin sharing a braincell, Humor, Everybody Lives AU, banter

Life is good. Everyone is alive and well, escaping Vecna with only minor injuries. And now Eddie and his best friend Chrissy, safe and sound, can focus on the mundane things in life once again. Like evading their gay crushes as they try to figure out their sexualities and not make a complete stuttering idiots out of themselves.

It seems simple, at first--ask the boys of Corroded Coffin to rent movies for them so they can avoid Family Video, or just keep up to date with what's currently showing.

It's at one of the latter instances when they first learn how difficult it could be to actually avoid them.

They're at the late night screening of some hyped up thriller. On a weekday, there were barely any people at the cinema, and Eddie was taking advantage of it by having his legs thrown over the backrest in front of him. The lights are already back on and Chrissy is ready to leave, but she settles in to wait him out--he's a firm believer of having his money's worth and he's paid for the whole movie, end credits included.

The employees usually hate him for it, but worst case scenario they'll start cleaning everywhere around and get to his seat last. But it's not like they come in vacuums blasting as soon as the lights are on.

Well, unless it's a weekday and there are literally just two assholes between them and going home.

"Hey man, could you put your feet down?"

Eddie almost falls on his ass in his haste to fix his position. Because he knows that voice.

He cranes his neck to see down the row of seats, where an unimpressed figure stands with a broom in one hand, the other one resting on his hip.

"Steve?" he asks, unwilling to believe his eyes.

"Yeah, don't get so excited." Steve rolls his eyes in that bitchy ways of his. And then he's walking down the aisle towards them, so Eddie straightens himself up. Chrissy throws him a judgmental look, but is otherwise occupied looking for her own kryptonite, undoubtedly hiding nearby.

Now that he can see him better, he can tell Steve is wearing a shirt in cinema's signature colors, thrown haphazardly over his civilian clothes.

"Don't you work at Family Video?" he blurts out.

Steve shrugs, stopping next to them and leaning against one of the seats. He finally seems to spot Chrissy, giving her a small finger wave.

"Hi, Chris. Robin is right behind, had an accident with a butter nozzle," he tells her, because her looking was not subtle in the slightest. Then he turns back to Eddie. "Well, they've cut our hours so we're looking for extra gigs."

Before Eddie can ask any extra questions, there's a clatter at the entrance, followed by a sound of distress.

"Steve! Everything is buttery!"

Steve sighs, turning around.

"I told you to use the paper towels. And the dish soap. You said you had this!"

"Well, I don't!" Robin pointedly waves her hands around, shiny with, presumably, butter residue. "I had to touch the doorknobs and the sink and the soap bottle and now everything--! Oh, hi, Chrissy!"

Chrissy waves at her, stunned.

"Well, sorry to interrupt your chit-chat but I really need Steve to be doing his job right now."

"I am!" he pointedly waves his broom around. "And what are you doing? Adding more job to our job!"

"It was not my intention! Now come help me, it's an all hands on deck situation!"

"It will be an all hands situation when we clean yours from grease!" He sighs, leaning the broom against the wall. "Sorry guys, we'll talk some other time." He smiles apologetically to their friends while trying to dodge the hands trying to oil up his face and hair. "You okay to see yourself out?"

That's a weird question. Eddie has been to the movies enough times to know his way around, and the doors stay open until the last screening is over.

The credits are still rolling, but he nods his head.

"Sure, don't worry about us Steve-o." Eddie hastily stands up, pulling Chrissy along. "We'll get out of your hair."

"Bye Chrissy, bye Eddie!" Robin yells as she's pulled into the dark depths of cinema corridors by her wrists.

"Bye guys!"

"Bye Buckley!"

"Good luck with the butter!"

Once safely outside, they scream into the dark night sky.

"Nowhere is safe," Eddie sighs, looking at the joke of a universe spreading above him.

"Not anymore," Chrissy sighs along.

"Let's just grab a TV guide on the way back."

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squoxle · 10 months ago

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hayy can I request Heeseung and yn hotel sex

Sex is always better in someone else’s bed, especially when you don’t have to clean up afterwards…

Who’s in the mood for a spicy hotel hookup? I know I am…

Room #216 ~ L.HS

𐙚pairing: stranger!heeseung x fm!reader | 𐙚wc: 950 | 𐙚plot: one night stand with Heeseung. | 𐙚cw:🔞MDNI!! SMUT!!! unprotected sex and dirty talk (hint of fluff at the end)

“Here’s your room key,” the man said, holding out a key card for the room you had just paid for…well, technically the room Heeseung paid for.

You met him a few hours ago at the club about 15 minutes from the hotel. Though you were in the healing process after a messy breakup, you weren't looking for a hotel hookup...

But he was so fucking hot. And you were so fucking horny. How could you pass up an opportunity like this?

You didn't know much about him other than the fact that he was single and had a singing gig at a jazz club. Oh, and that he was hot...as if that wasn't clear enough.

He held your hand as you walked with him down the hallway to the room. With a gentle beep, the door opened as he waved the key in front of the touchpad.

You felt a cool breeze hit your face as the door swung open. He didn't say a single word as he slammed you against the door, closing it with the force of his body on top of yours. He grabbed your face, sucking your lips in as he scrambled to lock the door as he kissed you, tugging eagerly at your hips, pulling you in closer to him.

You moaned softly as he moved down to your neck, biting you as he groped your ass. He started to grind his hip into you, lifting your leg up to wrap it around his waist before lifting you off the ground completely.

He walked you over to the king-sized bed, throwing your body down as he tore your legs apart. He pressed his clothed dick against your pussy before unbuckling his pants. He leaned down to kiss you as he stepped out of his pants.

You looked down to see his dick twitching in excitement as precum seeped from the tip. He pulled his shirt over his head as he slid your panties to the side. You threw your head back as he pushed his dick into you.

"Mmm!" you winced, covering your mouth.

"You okay?" he paused to make sure you were okay.

"Mhm, yeah I'm--AHH!!" you moaned as he bottomed in you.

"Don't worry, baby. I'll make you feel good," he hummed as he fucked your sloppy wet cunt. He raised your legs over his shoulders as he pounded into you.

You moaned as he pumped himself into you, stretching your pussy open. "D'you like that, baby? You like it when I fuck you like this huh?" he cooed.

"Mhm," you hummed as you bit your lip.

"It feels good, doesn't it? I know how to make my baby feel so fucking good." He was so big that you could feel him hitting your cervix as he pushed every inch of his big dick inside of you.

He picked you up, flipping you on your stomach before pulling you up by the hips. He lined his dick up with your ass as he pushed into your dripping wet pussy. "Ugh, fuck," you moaned.

"Mmm fuck, baby. You're so fucking tight," he groaned. "Ngh! Fuck I can feel your pussy gripping my cock. Ugh, I'm gonna cum" he moaned as he fucked you faster before pulling his dick out to spray cum all over your ass.

He climbed off the bed and walked around to the other side to shove his dick into your mouth. "Suck my dick like a good girl," he hummed as your head bobbed.

You gasped for air as he pulled his dick out. It was coated in your saliva and a stream of saliva kept you connected. "C'mere," he whispered as he climbed onto the bed. "I want you to ride me."

You climbed on top of him, slowly lowering onto his dick, feeling every inch going deep into your pussy. He threw his head back as you bounced on his cock.

You reached down to stimulate your clit as you rode him. You were coming closer to your high as he pressed his thumbs into your core. You could feel his dick even better with the added pressure. He was so thick, you felt him stretching you open as your pussy tightened around him.

You leaned back as you felt yourself getting ready to finish. "Uh uh, I wanna feel you cum on my cock," he groaned as he pulled you forward. You placed your hands on his chest, balancing your posture as he bucked his hips into you.

You whined as he fucked your cervix, breathing heavily as you lost all control. "That's it, good girl," he hummed as he gripped onto your ass. You fell onto his chest as he flipped you over onto your back.

Your legs hung over his shoulders as he pounded into you, making you cum all over his thighs.

This is usually the part where you fall asleep next to each other and wake up alone, never to see the other person again, but this was different.

Your eyes slowly fluttered open to see the sheets pushed to your side, covering your nudeness. You looked around, wondering if he was still there only to find a small brown bag and a note on the bedside table.

"Hey, sorry I had to leave you in bed like that...completely forgot I had work this morning. Anyways, I picked you up some breakfast. Hopefully you like donuts. And here's my number," You looked down to see his phone number written at the bottom of the paper.

"Maybe we can meet up again sometime. I really enjoyed hanging out with you last night," you held the paper to your chest as you opened the bag to see a pink-sprinkled donut and a few napkins.

❀ Thank you all so much for reading! Make sure to check out other works on my masterlist!

❀ 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @chlorinecake @mimikittysblog @nikisvanillaccola @wonbinisbabygurl @mrswolfhard3 @laylasbunbunny @sussyjake @furious-eagle @cherrriesss @abbyizzy @weyukinluv @addictedtohobi @thatonenoona @wavykook @givemeyourtmihyun @jaeljn @hoonmywk @valennshit @19-yunalyn @hoonbby @frostedblankets @hoonsyo @no-mannerism @perfectxserendipity @chubbibish @ihrtlix @bunniesforsoobin @thereadersparadise @thatbooknerdfr @aiden2001 @belongstoheeseung @jakeybabe @donut-crazs @rizzhee @nikimeows @woonieees @uarmyxtae @rebecca-johnson-28 @they2luv1naia @isa-2007 @silcry @riverscafe @pearlwhitesoul @nikohiroshi @thatbooknerdfr @wonniewonwon @sughoonieeee @babyy-bambii @adrika04 @sehunsharpasseyebrows @wtfyangjungwon @fr-3-akn-4-stymf @rikiloversworld @shawyle @sunoosrightbuttcheek @uarmyxtae @lovesickxmina @urfavberry @urauntiefaye @breadlover01 @taehyunsfavmoa

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pricegouge · 4 months ago

Text

In Your Web

part two - masterlist

nikolai x f!reader

cw: stalking, mention of alcohol, male masturbation MDNI

By all accounts, you need a return address to ship to Latvia.

Rather, you need a return address to ensure your package doesn't get opened by customs, where agents will laugh at best, or steal your panties at worst. Maybe even steal your DNA? To what end, anyway? No! Worse than that - what if they used their connections to trace the package back even without your address and -?

One is predictably unsympathetic.

» Then send it with one.

It doesn't surprise you that he thinks you're that dumb.

You toy with the idea of leaving a random address in the return spot and cringe when you imagine a surly Russian man accosting some random family four states over. It's a mental image you carry with you over the next week, playing it on repeat every time you get cut off in traffic, or you find a coworker has pissed on the toilet seat without cleaning it up. Once, you even catch yourself thinking of it when a particularly annoying regular dominates your feed during a regularly scheduled live performance.

But One is not your knight in shining fiber optic cable. Neither do you actually wish to inflict him on anyone.

So you send it without a return address, watch the shipping updates closely, and feel your stomach slowly boil when it sits for five business days at an importing station. Evidently, One watches it as well.

» You did not do as I asked.

He's uninterested in your offer to refund his money - half now, half later. All you can manage.

» If I wanted my money back I would simply cancel my subscription and request a chargeback from the service.

» I want what I purchased.

Talk of chargebacks makes you flighty. There are only two things you know about One, those being that he is very wealthy, and very rude. The bane of all customer service operators. You don't think it's likely the service would honor a reimbursement for a tip issued over a week ago, but it's not something you want to risk seeing as, unlike your plan to split his reimbursement, OnlyFans would reach into your bank account with the cold unfeeling hand of a multi-million dollar company and steal it back all at once, a prospect you simply can't afford at this time, as embarrassed as you are to admit. Long ago you'd made a promise to yourself that any and all large tips received from this side gig would go immediately toward paying off debts - student loans, ill advised credit cards you'd taken out while still living off said loans. It was a decision that had done you nothing but good up until this very moment, when his money was already spent and you were staring down the barrel of having to pay him back using your own funds.

Or, barring that, he could cancel his subscription and not only get a chargeback for the remainder of his pay period (probably the year, knowing him - you'd have to check) but you'd also stand to lose your best customer. One you're not entirely sure how you managed to land in the first place and one whose income you'd likely never manage to replace. Already, One's singlehandedly paid off an entire card for you, and until now he's showed no signs of stopping.

« i'll fix it

It's a bold promise to make when you have no recourse, but one you don't see your way out of making.

» No, I will.

—

For as much as the line had made you nervous at the time, One does not make any overt moves to follow up on it that you can see. Lapses into an uncharacteristic sort of radio silence for a time. He even skips the next few liveshows, something that strikes you as very unlike him. One does not seem the type of man to let a service he's already paid for go unused. The first night it's kind of nice, seeing as he has an annoying little habit of just paying the target price within the first ten minutes because he 'doesn't have time for this' (funny, how he always has enough time to request a private cam after) but then it's three shows later and you've barely raised anything because, apparently, all your other customers are used to sitting back and reaping the benefits of One's impatience. Something you'll have to address. He stays out of your DMs, too. Offers no tips in exchange for personal requests.

You'd be lying if you said it doesn't light a fire under your ass, gets you chatting with other creators searching for ideas on how you can fix the situation. People much smarter than you say to cut your losses and just refund him. Be done with it. But mostly it just leaves you with a large level of concern. You know these people aren't dumb, but you can't imagine the level of trust they've placed in some of their own favorite customers. Maybe it's because they're lucky enough to have attracted nice people, or at least people with enough social aptitude to know how to pretend to be nice. Something to be said for One, he's never once let you forget he's not the sort of man you should trust with your personal information.

Finally, inspiration strikes in the form of another stupid suggestion, one creator admitting they've put their work address in the return slot. They do not comment on whether or not they used their legal name, but given their stage name contains the word anal, you have to assume.

No desire to let One know where you work, or even the town you're from, you begin to think about other nameless faceless organizations you can use as a fall back instead, finally settling on a random Walmart two states over. You use your stage name and post it, sending One the new tracking number along with a free vid of you getting the replacement pair all messy in hopes that he returns immediately to his normal spending.

Of course, he doesn't so much as thank you. When another two pass with no contact, you begin to grow concerned. You triple check your account to make sure he hasn't unsubbed, but he's still right there at the top - even with no tips given in over a week.

He's disappeared for a few days in the past, but this is different. You think. Or maybe it's not. You wouldn't know seeing as you don't know him. Seeing as he's never given an excuse for his absences. Not that you'd ever asked… It's normal to be worried for someone you talk with nearly every day, right? You don't know him, sure, but you'd be a bit worried if your favorite barista from the shop you frequent just up and left one day. And your income doesn't even depend on her.

Perhaps that's why you break character when he finally resurfaces, the joy on your face when you see his handle pop into chat the next night genuine. Your giddiness is infectious, even. At least one other regular bothering to welcome him back when you stop your stream dead just to say hi. Foam falls around you, slips over your bare skin down to the tarp laid over the floor where already a good foot of it has accumulated like a blanket of snow. It was an idea you'd been quite proud of, always a fan of a simple dance party. The foam machine was a small expense given the high engagement you've received so far, your subscribers happy enough to watch you shake your ass while covered in soap bubbles and glow sticks. The machine had already paid for itself, but now that One was back, you couldn't help the building hope that you'd even meet your goal for the night, which could make for a pleasant weekend full of meeting friends for drinks.

"Glad to see you're alive. Was getting a little worried about you," you grin, settling back into your roll easily. You pinch your tits between your arms as you mime snapping on a pair of gloves. "Got thinking maybe it was time for a visit from your favorite nurse."

But One is not feeling very playful tonight, if he ever is.

» Check your phone.

You huff and kick some foam at the camera obnoxiously, pleased when it falls short and hits the TV it's mounted on top of instead. You don't need to kill the mood even further by stopping to clean your lens. You eye it now, pretend you're staring up at him defiantly when you refuse, tell him you're in the middle of something with one hand snaking down your belly. On the TV below, large enough you can read even from the middle of the floor, you watch the feed as they would see it: yourself on the left while the chat bubbles in excitement on the right, egging you on. You nod at them, a silent promise, check to make sure your position looks good and that you've got a smattering of foam on you, at least enough to keep some mystery for them to unravel as the show continues -

» Now.

Irritation doesn't sell well, but sometimes you can package it as chastisement. "Play nice," you caution, voice whistling through clenched teeth. It's not One's thing specifically, but there are other regulars who you know will eat it up. "Gotta learn to share."

But One goes above and beyond simply not liking being nagged at.

He waits until your fingers are just barely tracing your thatch of curls, movement from your laptop screen catching your eye. You drop pretenses entirely when a new window opens, your private chat with One maximized so you cannot possibly miss it. Carving a path through the accumulated foam, you slink out of the field of view of the mounted camera, show long forgotten as you approach your laptop, mounting fear confirmed as you watch your mouse move across the screen of it's own accord to hit play on the video he'd evidently sent you while you were otherwise occupied.

You know what it will be based on the thumbnail, but it shocks you anyway. The panties he holds look like nothing more than candy floss in his thick fist, wrapped around a fat cock so tightly the lace is stretched. Distorted. It's weird, the things you notice when adrenaline bends time. The camera work isn't great, doesn't let you see his the root of his cock or even his belly. Its focus shifts a few times, undecided if it wants to settle on the display before it or the dark hardwood below. He wears a watch, a simple leather band nestled in a pelt of dark hair. His knuckles are dusted too, hiding the glint of a thick gold band on his pinky. Uncut, thick. He grunts the next time his foreskin pulls back enough to reveal his glistening head and your breath stutters with his when the lace catches, synthetic fibers relaxing back into a recognizable pattern as he eases them off, untangles it from his grasp to flatten against the table, flimsy gusset laughably small framed between the thumb and forefinger of his free hand.

His native tongue spills from him like his seed, molten and thick. Language, even if you can't understand it, is enough to tug at you and you yelp, your brief moment of shock fracturing enough to compel you into movement.

Nik likes the way the suds paint her, the rainbow foam a nice contrast with her skin. It slides down the valleys of her body naturally, highlighting recesses he'd previously been unaware of. Pesky self consciousness, always framing herself so carefully to hide away the bits she think he won't like. They won't like, he supposes.

He's never minded sharing. Nature of the beast, paying for it. But he doesn't see why he should have to suffer the same experience as these others, not when he gives so much more.

It was one of the first issues that had lead him to this little perversion, the impersonal uniformity. The self-editing. He pays to see her body, not the careful curation of videos and stills which she deems tasteful enough. So he settles in behind the wrong camera most nights, his field of view lower. Off center. Only watches the proper stream - the one he actually pays for - when she looks dead at the camera to talk to him, ring light glowing eerily in her irises.

Close enough, for now.

He's logged into a burner account while he works himself up, watching as she bounces around her room to an obnoxious beat. Her audio mixing is off tonight, the club music she plays just a hair too loud. He likes to watch from alternate accounts sometimes, likes to see how well she fights her dismay when these other viewers struggle to collectively pay her bills. She's more likely to grant him special requests the longer he waits to show up, he's learned. Off the menu orders, she calls them. Cute, but not what he's looking for tonight.

Her thong hangs from the corner of his screen. He hates to have already ruined it, but consoles himself with the knowledge she'd been sweet enough to send him another pair. They won't smell as good, he's sure. Another censure she'll have placed on herself. None of the sweat from having been worn all day. But she tried. Wanted to please him. Desperate thing.

It's laughable, thinking Latvian customs would be able to stop him from acquiring what's his, but it's not like she would know that. It's why he prefers small, no-name performers like her. So unsuspecting. Passably genuine, smile growing on her face when he switches to his regular account, the one she has memorized. It makes his cock twitch, excitement growing when she showers him in attention, singles him out in the middle of her show. Forgets to keep dancing, even. As she should. He wonders if he paid for her new toy, the noisy machine currently leaving soap scum on her walls. Wonders if she'll let him pay for it again or if she'll have him summarily blocked within minutes. It won't matter, of course, but he's excited to see how she'll unfold. Another off-menu order. One more bridge too far.

What she gets, taking so much of his money yet never offering more. He just wants to see sides of her no one else has.

It's hard to control himself when she starts to get catty, shows her teeth. He'd imagined stretching this moment out a bit more, thoroughly ruining the mood for all other viewers. But when she looks right at her camera and tells him to behave, his breath goes ragged, and he has to let go of his cock to show the little bitch better - taking over her laptop to bring up the video he'd sent, a low grumble building in his chest like a warning when she slinks closer, as if proximity will give her a better understanding.

Three monitors, one for every angle of his omniscience. On the right, the chat in her official feed grows annoyed as she walks out of frame, a few of them even accusing him of foul play. Hero-types. He's going to enjoy watching them try to comfort her if she doesn't delete her account entirely after tonight - after he mouses over the video displayed on his middle screen, the mirror of her own laptop. On his left, she looms closer, expression open and honest in a way he's not seen it yet. Painted in the blue light of her monitor, it contrasts garishly with the heavy makeup she'd applied for the show, all warm-toned to match her pink neons; catches on the tiny pockets of popped soap bubbles which fleck over her cheek. It's not a good look, one she'd likely touch up before even taking a selfie for her Instagram account, a post-show teaser meant to make potential viewers feel like they'd missed out. And now that he's seen it, he knows how much he's been missing out, fist working over his cock with renewed vigor as he imagines all the ways he wants to see her now, all the ways he can, even if -

He fights the cursor when she tries to take control, but she's clever enough to know some keyboard commands. His right monitor blinks back to her profile when she cuts the feed, the middle one slowly returning to her home screen as she closes out of each window. She pulls away quickly after, palms clamped over her jaw as she breathes through the panic, soft belly caving with each pant. Foam still spews from the machine, dye having run out. It catches in her hair, paints her skin milky. He has half a mind to open a word doc on her computer, tell her she should skip the dye next time, the white more suggestive.

Doesn't get a chance. Cums when she scrambles back to the desk, his left monitor dropping the feed when she smartens up and rips the battery out of her laptop.

Left languid and lazy, he tracks her movements across her socials from his bed, thumbing through his phone. Detached, he watches her accounts blink out one after the other. A small city going dark under the approach of his hele. She deletes some outright, settles for blocking him on others. Even issues an apology to her viewers from a site she doesn't know he even has an account on. It's vague, boring. Doesn't mention him. He gets an email around midnight, her time, telling him to expect a refund for the remaining term of his payment, but is pleased to find her account still in place when he checks from a burner. The save of her live show is taken down shortly after, but he's not worried. Had it saved locally.

Can't rely on strangers from the Internet to behave, after all

#in your web #nikolai cod x reader #nik cod x reader

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nameless-jamie · 3 months ago

Text

And they were Roommates...

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, suggestive scenes

9 pm. The knocking at Y/N's door was loud. Too loud. And too persistent for it to be anyone but Jamie Tartt.

She sighed, tossing her phone onto the coffee table as she made her way to the door. She was so close to ignoring it but knowing Jamie, he’d either stand out there all night or start texting her ridiculous things like I’ve been kidnapped or What if I perish in the hallway?

With an exhausted huff, Y/N pulled the door open. Personal assistant is a 24/7 job after all.

There he stood, his signature pout firmly in place, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and his hoodie damp like he’d just run through a car wash. His normally perfect hair was sticking up in odd places, and the scent of chlorine and something vaguely metallic clung to him.

She blinked. “Jesus. What happened to you?”

Jamie exhaled, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “Fucking pipes burst, didn’t they? Whole place’s flooded.”

She turned to watch as he plopped his duffel bag on her floor and immediately started toeing off his sneakers right in the middle of the hallway like he lived here.

“Okay… but why are you here?”

Jamie gave her a look. “Where else am I supposed to go?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Y/N crossed her arms. “Maybe a hotel? You can literally afford to stay at The Savoy.”

Jamie scoffed. “Yeah, but that ain’t as fun as annoyin’ ya in your own home.”

She stared at him, unimpressed.

“‘Sides,” he added, flashing a more genuine smile, “you’re my PA, love. Pretty sure takin’ care of me is in your contract somewhere.”

She opened her mouth, ready to argue—but technically, he wasn’t wrong. Managing Jamie Tartt’s life was literally her job. His schedule, his bookings, his diet, and sometimes even making sure he remembered to do laundry like a normal human being.

She groaned. “Fine. One night. But if you so much as breathe weird, you’re out.”

Jamie smirked. “Knew ya couldn’t resist me.”

Day One: And the chaos begins...

Her mistake was thinking Jamie would behave.

Within an hour, her flat had transformed into a disaster zone.

His boots? Dumped haphazardly by the door. His duffel bag? Exploded across the living room. And somehow—somehow—he had already managed to use every single clean glass in her kitchen.

“Jamie,” she groaned, stepping over a random sock, “I didn’t realize letting you stay here meant signing up for a full-time babysitting gig.”

Jamie, currently sprawled across her couch under her blanket, flashed her a lazy grin. “This is what ya signed up for when ya decided to work for me, love.”

“I work for you, not live with you.”

“Semantics.” He waved a hand. Then, after a beat, he smirked. “Kinda nice, though, yeah? Like a married couple an’ that.”

She shot him a glare.

He only cackled.

Day Two: The Naked Incident™

She woke up way too early the next morning.

It took her a moment to remember why her flat felt off—why there was an extra presence in her space, why she could hear the faint sounds of movement from the kitchen.

Jamie. Right.

With a groggy sigh, she stumbled out of bed and padded toward the kitchen. Her brain was not functioning yet. She just needed coffee. Nothing else mattered.

Except—

She stopped. Dead.

Jamie was standing by the counter, casually buttering a piece of toast. Shirt on top. Nothing else.

Her soul left her body.

“JAMIE.”

He looked up, completely unfazed. “Mornin’, love.”

She slapped a hand over her face. “What. The fuck.”

Jamie blinked. “What?”

She gestured wildly at all of him. “Why are you NAKED in my kitchen?!”

He snorted. “Not naked. Got me top on.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“‘Course it does,” he argued, taking a massively casual bite of toast. “Top half’s covered. Bottom half’s—y’know—free. I get hot at night an— ”

She made a strangled noise. “Jamie. Put. Some. Pants. On.”

He smirked. “Why? You peekin’?”

She almost threw a dish towel at him.

Instead, she turned on her heel and marched out of the kitchen. “This is exactly why you should be at a hotel.”

Jamie called after her, still grinning. “Oi, if we were married, ya wouldn’t be so uptight about seein’ your husband in his natural state.”

She grabbed the nearest pillow and launched it at his head.

Idiot.... His ass is fuckin' phenomenal, though.

Day Three: The Honeymoon

She had no idea how this happened.

One moment, they were watching a movie. The next, Jamie was close. Way too close.

He was draped across the couch, arm along the back, body turned toward her in a way that made the air feel different. His knee bumped against hers, and his stupid cologne was messing with her ability to think straight. They were freaking cuddling on the couch aka Jamie's current bed.

Then, he turned his head toward her, voice softer than usual. “This is nice.”

She swallowed, face beet-red. “Yeah. Kinda cozy.”

Jamie’s gaze flickered down to her lips, and suddenly, the air shifted.

Thick. Heavy. Loaded with something unspoken.

His eyes searched hers. Daring. Waiting.

And then—he smirked.

“Kinda romantic, yeah?” he teased. “Like it's our honeymoon, just without the sex. I mean doesn't have to be—”

The moment shattered.

She groaned, shoving him away. “Oh my God, GO TO BED.”

Jamie cackled. “Sweet dreams, missus Tartt.”

She threw a pillow at him. Again.

Day Four: Maybe, just maybe…it ain't so bad.

By the time Day Four rolled around, she had officially lost control of her own flat.

Jamie had taken over every inch of her space—his socks scattered around the floor, his duffel bag still wide open, and somehow, his ridiculous number of protein bars had migrated into her kitchen cabinets like they belonged there.

She could handle all of that. She could even handle the way he walked around half-naked and left his stupid expensive (sexy) cologne smell lingering on her couch.

But what she couldn’t handle was the way he was making it too easy.

Too easy to get used to. Too easy to imagine him sticking around.

And that thought? That was dangerous.

Because Jamie Tartt wasn’t hers.

She was his assistant. This was temporary.

Right?

So why did it feel like something was shifting?

Jamie was still a slob. A slob that cared... He can't seem to pick up his socks but does the dishes every night. He's so bad at cooking, but he makes her the best damn coffee every morning.

That night, everything came to a head.

It started with an argument.

A stupid one.

She’d been exhausted, running on fumes after a long day of sorting out his schedule, making calls, and handling things she probably should’ve let him deal with himself.

So when she got back to the flat and saw Jamie sprawled on the couch, feet kicked up like he didn’t have a single care in the world, something inside her snapped.

“Do you ever clean up after yourself?” she blurted, tossing her bag onto the table.

Jamie blinked up at her. “What?”

She gestured wildly. “This! All of this! Your boots, your socks, your ridiculous protein bars in my cabinets—Jamie, you’ve turned my flat into your personal playground.”

Jamie sat up, frowning now. “Alright, what’s this really about?”

“What do you mean?”

He tilted his head. “You ain’t mad about the boots. You’re mad about somethin’ else.”

Her jaw tightened. “I’m mad that you act like this is normal. Like we—like you’re supposed to be here.”

Jamie stared at her for a long moment.

Then, his voice softened. “And what if I enjoy being here with you?”

Her stomach flipped.

She shook her head. “Jamie—”

“I really like bein’ here,” he admitted, standing now, his expression serious in a way that made her breath hitch. “I like wakin’ up in the morning and seein’ you walk out all grumpy ‘cause you ain’t had coffee yet. I like makin’ you laugh when you’re tryin’ real hard to be pissed off at me.”

She swallowed. “That’s—”

He stepped closer. “And I like sittin’ on that couch with you, watchin’ shite movies, even when you’re yellin’ at me for leavin’ crumbs everywhere.”

Her heart was pounding.

Jamie reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Gentle. Careful.

“I don't know, feels right, doesn’t it?” he murmured. “Like I belong here. With you. Near you.”

Her breath caught.

She could feel it—the moment balancing on a knife’s edge.

The air was thick with something dangerous. Something inevitable.

She could step back. Laugh it off. Pretend like this wasn’t happening.

Or—

Jamie’s fingers traced down her jaw, his eyes locked on hers.

“Tell me I’m wrong Y/N and I'll be out that door, no more socks on the floor, no more coffee in the mornin',” he whispered.

She didn’t.

She couldn’t.

Instead, she did the only thing she could—

She closed the gap and kissed him.

#jamie tartt x y/n #roy kent #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt imagine #ted lasso show #ted lasso #jamie tartt #sam obisanya #afc richmond

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selfishdoll · 2 years ago

Text

LITTLE MISS PERFECT FT. EREN YEAGER ୨୧ ｡ ⟡

⠀ ⁺ 𓂋 𓈒 it was just your luck that a coworker you simply couldn’t stand figured out your side gig as a bottle girl.

❛author’s note...❜ ━━ i’ve never written for eren before so don’t clown me yall— also i know little about bottle girls so also don’t clown me, i just like the way they look.

You were delicate and careful, assuring the oddly shaped makeup tool was setting the makeup perfectly. You couldn’t afford to mess up or restart your routine— you were already three minutes behind schedule.

“Damn you Yeager..” You mumbled to yourself, glossed and lined lips pulled into a subtle frown. Why exactly were you forced to work with him? With that.. absolutely annoying man child? His temper was too much for you at times, and the way he just loved questioning just about everything— God, some days you believed your supervisor purposely set you two to work together.

So it was no surprise you two got into an usual spout; for what, you can’t even remember. You simply remember your gaze fixated on his — dare you say — handsome features, absolute venom escaping your plump lips. Words faltering every single time you saw his own jade colored gaze fall to your lips.

You could not stand Eren Yeager no matter how much he made you weak at the knees.

You tossed the tool to the side, rising from your vanity whilst grabbing the bottle of setting spray. Closing your eyes, you quickly sprayed your beat face, assuring to get every inch. Having it run in the middle of your shift was something you wanted to avoid.

You slammed the bottle down once you were done, stepping back and glancing at yourself in the mirror. French white nails carefully plucked the curls of your burgundy colored lace, nodding at the way they fell so pleasantly around your features. The second thing to critique was your outfit; a mesh sleeveless romper that had several splits between your cleavage and was just dark enough it covered your bottom half. Your eyes traced yourself for a split moment, finally nodded once satisfied.

Grabbing your bag, phone, and keys— you rushed out of your apartment after locking the door.

You reached the night club you work at about ten minutes late, your close friend luckily getting most things ready before your arrival. Once arriving you cleaned up your sections, assuring the tables were spotless and booths were in proper order. Finishing that task you moved towards the locker room to touch up yourself, spritzing your body with a sweet perfume whilst your friend separated your curls.

“You and that Eren guy should just fuck and get it over with.”

You scoffed at her words, placing your perfume away; going for your lipgloss next. “I’d rather chew on glass.” You murmured softly, gliding the stick substance across your two-toned lips. Fuck Eren? He was easy on the eyes, sure— but not easy anywhere else. As said before, you couldn’t stand him. And you highly doubt you would stand him enough to sleep with him.

You heard your friend sigh, releasing your hair to walk around and face you. “I don’t know.. it just sounds like unresolved tension or something— ya know?” Her lips curled at the deadpanned expression that crossed your features, gaze watching you hurriedly place your things away.

“C‘mon our sections may be filling up.”

“Don’t ignore me, [Name]!”

The night continued as pure usual, you lifting large bottles of alcohol ranging from Hennessy to Pink Whitney and much more; over to your booths, flashing forced smiles and moving your hips to the beat of the music. The multicolored lights reflected off your sun-kissed highlighting each feature you had.

At certain tables a customer would get up and dance with you and the other girls; causing your smile to worsen but otherwise continue the service with no issues.

That was how your shift as a bottle girl was supposed to go. No issues, just simple adult fun.

Until you reached a certain table.

You walked over as pure usual, pearly whites on display account of the glossed smile stretching your features. Sauntering over with a notepad, you gave your usual winning pitch; attempting to persuade the customers to buy the most expensive alcohol to assure the best experience — usual customer service nonsense.

Except as your eyes cased the table surrounded by men, your gaze settled upon a certain one. One whose own gaze was fixated onto you. A rather, familiar gaze.

“Ma’am?”

You cleared your throat, eyes blinking over to a man with light ash-brown hair. “Ye—yes, have you decided what you wanted to order?” You questioned, smile becoming even more forceful the moment you noticed a smirk from your peripherals. You barely registered the order that escaped his lips, scribbling upon your notepad quickly whilst the other men chimed in with their own requests.

“Okay, I’ll be right back!” You spoke, spinning on your heels and basically rushing towards the bar. You stood behind it, eyes tracing the many bottles lining the case. It took a moment to find what you were looking for, stepping back a bit before a small ah fell from your lips, approaching a case. You pulled the large bottle of Gin from its rightful place, turning and jumping the minute your focused gaze landed on someone else’s.

“Hey [Name]..” Was the cool words that escaped Eren fucking Yeager, lips curled into the most subtle grin. You took in a deep breath, placing the bottle down and turning to search for another.

“Sir, the whole point of a bottle girl service is I bring the drinks to you. You have no need to approach the bar.”

“There’s no rules stating I can’t though, right?”

You gritted your teeth a bit, noticing the clear amusement circling his tone. Grabbing a bottle of cream liquor you turned once again, placing it down with a little more force. “Eren, would you fuck off? Save your taunting for another time, i’m trying to work!”

The man tilted his head, strays from his messy bun intruding on his face. “I didn’t come over here to taunt, [Name]. I was just..” He trailed off for a moment, lips curling into an even more prominent grin. “Surprised little miss perfect had a job such as this. Didn’t seem like your style.”

You rolled your eyes a little, grabbing a few shot glasses and placing them on a tray. “Well, everyone has their side hustles..” You murmured softly, beginning to pour a few shots— grumbling the moment ring covered fingers lifted one. You settled the bottle down once you were finished, eyes focusing back to the man infront of you. “You gonna blab to the whole office you saw me working here?”

You weren’t ashamed to be a bottle girl, if anyone asked you were more than happy to share. However, that didn’t excuse the fact you enjoyed keeping your private life.. well, private. You could just imagine the annoyance it would be with such information circling your “normal” workplace.

“No.” Eren began slowly, lifting the glass to his lips and taking the shot. His tongue glided across his bottom lip after pulling the glass away, placing it back down on the tray. “I’d much rather keep you all to myself.” His eyes flicked between your eyes and lips, enjoying the perplexed expression that crossed your face.

Eren rose away from the bar with a soft hum shortly after. “See you at the table..” He dragged giving you one last look before stalking off towards his section.

Leaving you the perfect mixture of confused and heated.

The rest of the night continued without a hitch. Except his eyes followed your every move. From you walking over with the shots, hips rocking along to the harsh beats of the music blasting — to you dancing beside the other bottle girls.

You tried to ignore it all, tried to focus on anything but him. But, you found your eyes trailing over to his own constantly— spotting his pretty lips lift into a smile.

Suffice to say, you were a little distracted for the remainder of the night.

And several others down the line.

Your schedule was so you worked Friday-Sunday, taking up a shift once in a while as a favor. Either the man had guessed your schedule or he asked because every other Saturday Eren and his friends were seated at your section; his eyes never leaving your form the entire time.

The second time he came in you remarked it as a coincidence, but the fourth? Yeah, you were sure the man was messing with you. Especially since he acted so normal at work; still as combative, and still as annoying.

It was boggling, you constantly questioning Eren’s motives. It’s not like he ever got extremely drunk; settling for a shot or two. Was he really just here to watch you? To antagonize you? To approach the bar each time you walked off just to speak or compliment what you were wearing?

You sighed heavily the moment familiar footsteps followed you back to the bar, walking around the counter; thankful it placed distance between you and the man. “You’re starting to act like a stalker, Yeager.” You mumbled, grabbing a bottle of Hennessy. You heard the barstool squeak the moment he sat on it, turning to spot his ringer covered fingers tapping against the sleek marble.

“Gonna have the bouncer throw me out?” He questioned, green gaze looking at you through pretty lashes. The moment you turned away silently Eren was smiling, tongue gliding across his lips. “Guess not..”

You tried to ignore him, you really did; attempting to focus on your shaky hands pouring the usual seven glasses resting your tray— not even batting an eye when he grabbed one without asking.

“You look nice tonight..” Eren spoke lowly, eyes not so shamelessly tracing over the black attire you wore; a black leather skirt, with a mesh halter top, a silver necklace hanging accompanying the outfit.

You rolled your eyes a little, reaching for another bottle. “You say that every single time you see me.”

“And I mean it— every single time.” He countered, placing the now empty glass down.

You could only blink at the man for a moment, completely forgetting the drinks as a heat covered your entire body. Your eyes fell to the bar, lip caught between your teeth as the softest stammer escaped you; “Why do you keep coming here? To compliment and watch me? You don’t even get drunk like your friends do.”

The words settled in the air for a while, Eren silent— his eyes focused completely on you; an intense stare you avoided. Moments passed before the man spoke again;

“I’d much rather show you, why I keep coming here.”

His lips were hot against your own, body flush against you whilst pushing your back into the cool bathroom wall. Eren’s large hands remained on your waist, pulling you into him each time you attempted to back away. Why exactly? Because he was so overwhelming. His taste, tongue, smell— all of it muddling your brain far too quickly, rendering you into putty he could so easily play with.

You were finally able to pull back from the kiss, when he needed air, pants flowing from your lips; lipgloss a mess with your mixed salvia tainting your mouth. The hands on Eren’s shoulders gripped the cream colored longsleeve he wore the moment his lips pressed against your neck, breath quickening as he sucked a kiss into your skin.

The events leading up to now were a complete blur, Eren uttering such words and suddenly leading you into the woman’s bathroom; locking the door the second the two of you entered. After that well.. you found yourself against the wall by the sink, Eren’s hands situated on your form to assure you didn’t move an inch away.

Truthfully, you didn’t want to.

It seemed he got bored of your neck quickly, rising back up to steal your lips in another kiss. You moaned against his mouth the moment his fingers gripped your waist, switching you around to place you onto the counter. Your legs naturally opened, Eren taking this moment to step between them, smoothing his hand down to your exposed skin.

You pulled back, hands rising to his hair quickly to tug the moment he tried to go for another kiss. “Let me breathe, Eren— fuck..” You gasped out, watching a smirk pull his lips which were stained with your gloss.

“Then breathe.” He spoke, leaning close and pressing his forehead against your own. Despite his allowance, you couldn’t; feeling his hand travel between your legs, tracing your inner thigh for a moment before moving farther. Eren’s other hand moved to your lower back, keeping you in place while his thumb pressed against your thinly covered pussy, brushing at the wet spot slowly starting to form.

“Already a mess down here, huh?”

“Eren, quit it..” You drawled, legs gripping his waist the moment his thumb pushed to find your covered clit, rubbing the little bud the moment he did.

A soft chuckle flowed from his lips right into your ear, lips tracing the delicate shell just to feel you shiver. “Quit what? Quit touching you?.. quit talking?—“ Eren murmured, pushing your panties to the side, exposing your pretty cunt to his fingers. “Either one, you don’t want me to stop at anyway. Not with how fucking wet you are for me.” He spoke, fingers gliding up and down your slick slit whilst his thumb pressed harder against your little bud.

Your legs widened, trembled— hands gripping his shirt and moaning the moment two thick digits pushed inside your awaiting entrance. Your walls clenched around his fingers, gasping as they pushed in and out of you so easily. He was down to the knuckle, reaching far deeper then your own fingers. The squelches of your messy cunt was drowned out by your own sweet moans, head pressed against the mirror behind you whilst your hand fell to his forearm; feeling his muscles twitch with each thrust of his fingers.

Eren pulled back from your ear to instead plant his lips against yours again, pace quickening. His fingers pushed against the rough spot within you, gummy walls sucking his fingers in each time it dragged in and out of you.

Your moans were muffled, eyes pinched closed with a tight band forming in your lower stomach. You were shaking at this point; breaking the kiss to allow sharp whines to escape your swollen lips. Your pussy was spasming around his digits, hips rocking to meet each thrust.

Eren took in your form, sucking in a breath as he felt his cock strain against his pants. You were so fucking close; your walls greedily sucking him in, your plump stomach rolling with each arch— fuck, from just his fingers you were already in such a state.

He sucked his teeth a bit, withdrawing his fingers before you could even reach your peak. Your eyes flew open at this, shaky gaze focusing onto Eren.

“Eren why’d y—“ Eren came close, cutting off your words with a gentle hand on your throat and lifting you away from leaning on the mirror.

“Whining over nothing… you’ll come baby, just wait.” Eren spoke, hands falling to your thighs and pulling you towards the edge of the counter. Once there, he stepped back to push his boxers and pants down to his thighs; allowing his length to spring out.

He was nice and thick, long too— tip resting just below his belly button, adoring minimal hair. You weren’t given much time to gawk before he was coming close, hands falling to your hips and pressing the crown of his cock against your wet slit.

Slowly, he glided his length up and down your wetness; coating himself in your arousal. Each time his tip bumped against your clit you were twitching, white nails digging into his shoulders while your hips moved for more friction.

Finally after what seemed like hours but was nothing more then agonizing seconds, Eren was slowly pushing inside; groaning the moment your walls clenched around him.

“Relax mama..” He murmured, leaning down to kiss you. A hand then released your hip to travel between your legs, slowly circling your clit. You moaned against him, feeling him ease the rest of himself inside; a soft squelch emitting from the intrusion.

Eren pulled back from the kiss, eyes traveling to where the two of you were connected; sucking in a breath. “Taking me so damn well, pretty girl..” His grin grew the moment your walls clenched around him, eyes flicking to your face. “Oh— you like when I call you that, huh?” A snicker escaped him the moment your eyes traveled to the side, leaning to kiss your neck.

“So cute when you’re embarassed [Name].”

“Sh.. shut up Eren..—“ The words barely escaped you before said man was pulling his hips back, tip resting inside you before flicking them forward. Your hands grip tightened on his shirt, legs tightening as the experimental pumps turned into deep, quick thrusts.

Sputters of his name escaped you, head resting back as your body rocked with each unrelenting movement of his hips. You were squeezing him so damn tight, greedily sucking him in each time he pulled out. The breaths that escaped his mouth were hurried, fanning across your hot skin whilst his fingers dug into your plump form. You were stuck there, unable to run, to move; exposed to the pace he set— ruining you so perfectly.

Perfect.

That was the only thought in his mind as he green eyes took you in, watching your pretty lashes fluttering— struggling to keep your own eyes open. What’s more, little tears began to form, threatening to spill and ruin the makeup he’s sure you spent agonizing minutes on. The thought alone caused him to bury himself deeper, hands falling to the underside of your thighs and pushing you to lay on the counter.

“F—Fuck—!” You cried out, feeling him lift a leg to lay on his shoulder; drilling into you. His heavy length was brushing you in all the right spots, tip pushing against your cervix; the pain and pleasure molding into a single feeling. “E—eren..hah— shit, you’re too deep!” You whined out, tears spilling, causing black streaks to run down chubby cheeks.

Eren groaned softly, pushing to hover over your body whilst gripping the thigh pressed against his chest. “You want me to stop, baby? Huh? Want me to pull out?” The moment you shook your head he was grinning, pace never faltering, the slick mess between your thighs growing.

“Thought so..” Eren breathed, pulling back to kiss against your chubby thigh while his free hand moved to your stomach, pressing against it to feel each thrust. “Wanted this just as bad as I did, didn’t you? So fucking mean at work, yet here you are— whining and making a complete mess on my dick.”

You wanted to tell him to shut up. That he was wrong and much more. But you couldn’t, the man drilling into you with such precision the only legible words escaping your bruised lips were honeyed moans of his name and pleads to come.

Which Eren ate up completely, biting your skin just to feel you twitch— watch you gasp. Fuck, you were the prettiest sight; a complete mess for only his eyes.

Eren lowered to hover over your withering body, lips pressing against your chin. “Look at me, baby— lemme see you.” He breathed, attempting to keep your gaze. Instead you kept looking away, even closing your eyes and refusing to return his look.

That alone caused the man to suck his teeth, hips slowly before stopping completely; eliminating the bubble forming inside you.

Again, your high was ruined; eyes flying open to complain— a surprised yelp interrupting as he snatched you up and off the counter; pushing to turn you and lay you out— stomach down, ass up.

You wished to question this sudden position change, only for the answer to stand right infront of you. The fucking mirror. You attempted to glance away again, moaning the moment he grabbed a nice hold of your braids, pulling your head back to force you to look.

Eren leaned over you, speaking right into your ear whilst sliding back in; “Close your eyes again, I dare you.”

You whimpered at his words, gasping as his quick pace returned. You struggled to keep your eyes open with each thrust into your weakening body, nails clawing at the sleek counter whilst your moans bounced off the walls. You had long forgotten the remaining two hours of your shift, forgot about the many customers you were sure your friend was saddled with— you could only focus on Eren, his dick, his hot breath and dirty words being whispered into your ear.

You were being consumed completely, so easily— and you welcomed it fully.

The wet sounds of skin on skin contact acted as a background to the combined sounds you two released, Eren pulling back to watch himself push in and out of your wet pussy. Your ass bounced with each flick of his hips, rippling the moment his palm slammed against a cheek.

Eren grinned at the sharp whine that escaped you, pulling you right back on his dick the moment you tried to pull away. “Nah.. take it, mama. Don’t fucking run.” He huffed, gripping your hip and keeping you in place.

You felt your orgasm approaching quickly, tears treading down dried streaks as you watched yourself in the mirror. Your edges were curled, lips wet with both lip gloss and saliva, while your makeup began to run from the sheen of sweat tainting your skin. Even so, Eren still looked at you as if you were completely perfect, leaning down and whispering such right into your ear.

You gripped your hands into tight fists, crying out as you stared at him in the mirror, desperate pleas falling from your lies;

“S—so close.. fuck, fuck! Eren, please—!”

The whines were music to his ears, eyes threatening to roll back the moment he felt you fucking back; ass slapping against his body with each messy bounce. “Shit, [Name]..” He dragged, blunt nails digging into you plush skin as he drilled into you. “Come all over me, mama. Make me a mess— don’t fucking hold it.”

Eren hissed, mouth hanging open the moment he felt you clench around him tight; creaming all over his length. A drawn out swear escaped him, leaning down close whilst his hand rose to your throat. “That’s it baby, cream all over this dick.. So fucking filthy.”

You were pulled into a sloppy kiss, tongues playing and teeth colliding as he pushed himself deep inside; flooding you with his hot, thick come. Your toes curled at the feeling, walls spasming around his length as your combined arousals slipped to his balls and down to the ground beneath you.

As his hips slowed the kiss became more uniform, breathing into the other’s mouth, Eren sucking your wet muscle.

Moments passed before he pulled away, watching your form rest on the counter; rapid pants escaping you. A satisfied grin pulled his features, slowly pulling out with a soft hiss— watching his cum slowly flow out of you.

He had half a mind to push it back in.

Instead, Eren whistled lowly, hand falling to your ass and massaging where he previously slapped. “Tired sweetheart?” He questioned, eyes flicking to the mirror. He grinned at the expression that crossed your features, gripping your butt even more.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

You slowly turned onto your back, ignoring the feeling between your legs and standing on shaky legs. You warmed as he came close, assisting you in pulling your clothes back on. “But my shift..” You dragged, gaze lifting to his face.

“It got covered.”

You blinked slowly, the pieces slowly coming together. “She was in on this, wasn’t she?”

Eren remained silent for a moment, pulling his pants up. Your gaze narrowed, reaching over to lightly slap his arm. “Eren!”

The man snorted, coming close and resting his hands onto your hips.

“You weren’t worried about it the moment you stepped in here. And you definitely won’t be when I get you home.. so come on.”

REBLOGS & COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED <3

#mani writes ━━ ★#black!reader #aot smut #eren x black reader #eren x reader #x black reader #eren yeager #eren yeager x black reader #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager smut #eren yeager x reader smut #eren yeager x black reader smut #x black reader smut #ambw #ambw smut

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mehtallee · 2 months ago

Text

The Tutor

I never imagined my first real experiment would be with Aiden Cruz.

A guy like him—intimidating at first glance, but surprisingly polite—wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I developed the serum. I always thought my first test subject would be some random thug, someone who deserved to have their mind turned into useless mush.

But Aiden? He was different And that’s exactly why I chose him.

It started with a simple tutoring gig. I was a nerdy college student just looking for a side hustle. Science was my thing, and I didn’t mind helping students out for extra cash, especially if they were willing to pay well.

Aiden was a criminology major, and he wasn’t exactly failing, but he needed help with his research paper. The guy was always in the gym, always training, always moving. He wasn’t the type to sit down and write for hours.

So when he found out I was available, he sent me a message.

“Bro, you do tutoring? Need help with this damn research paper. Got cash, just name your price.”

His messages were always short and to the point—just like what you'd expect him to be

That’s when I had the idea.

See, I’d been working on something—a neurological erasure serum. A drug designed to turn a person’s brain into a useless pile of goo while keeping their body fully functional. It started as a theoretical experiment, but curiosity got the best of me. I had finally perfected it.

But I needed a real test subject. Someone strong. Durable.

And Aiden?

He was perfect.

I told him I’d help, but I preferred tutoring at my place; quieter, fewer distractions. Aiden, being the chill guy he was, didn’t even question it.

“Cool, bro. I’ll swing by later.”

That was it. No hesitation. No suspicion.

I prepared everything—set up my laptop, cleaned my desk, and most importantly… spiked his protein shake.

Aiden was a fitness freak. I knew he wouldn’t turn down a supplement boost, so I made it look real—a proper protein mix, just laced with my serum.

When Aiden stepped into my place, I was immediately reminded of how casual yet intimidating he was.

He wore a simple sleeveless shirt and a jacket, thick enough to hint at the muscle underneath. But from a distance, he looked like a typical lean college guy, but up close?

You could tell.

he removed his jacket for his comfort, revealing his muscled arms. His arms were solid, veins lightly visible beneath his skin. His chest pushed against the fabric, and when he moved, his muscles shifted slightly, hinting at power.

He dropped his bag on my floor, glancing around. “Yo, nice place.”

I swallowed. “Uh, thanks.”

He pulled out a chair and sat down, stretching his arms with a sigh. “So, where do we start?”

I cleared my throat. “Uh, you said you’re working on a criminology research paper?”

“Yeah.” He scratched his head. “Shit’s boring as hell, bro. I’d rather be working out.”

I chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah, I figured…”

We actually worked for a while. A couple of hours, even. I helped him structure his arguments, fix up citations, and even explained some of the theories he barely paid attention to in class.

At first, Aiden was restless. His knee bounced under the table, his fingers drummed against his notebook, and he sighed a lot.

But over time, he got into it.

I caught him nodding along, genuinely thinking about what I was saying. It was weird seeing him so focused.

At some point, Aiden leaned back, stretching his arms over his head with a grunt. “Damn, bro… it’s hot as hell in here.”

I blinked. “Uh, is it?”

Aiden fanned himself with his hand. “Shit, man, I dunno if it’s just me, but I’m sweating.”

I hadn’t really noticed—until he pointed it out. There was a sheen of sweat on his arms, making his skin glisten slightly.

Then, without hesitation, Aiden grabbed the hem of his compression shirt and pulled it off.

I swear, for a second, my brain just stopped working.

His torso was… something else.

Lean, yet solid. His pecs were well-defined, his abs sculpted, and his skin smooth except for a light dusting of hair near his lower abdomen.

He sighed in relief, tossing the shirt onto the back of his chair. “Much better.”

I forced myself to look away. “Uh, yeah. I guess it’s a little warm…”

Aiden stretched his arms again, then smirked. “Bet you don’t sweat much, huh? No offense, bro, but you look like you avoid the gym like the plague.”

I laughed nervously. “Y-Yeah, uh… working out isn’t really my thing.”

He grinned. “Man, you should try it. Bet you’d get some gains if you actually trained.”

That’s when the idea hit me.

I hesitated, then casually said, “Actually, I’ve been working on something. A… uh, smart supplement.”

Aiden raised a brow. “Smart supplement?”

I nodded quickly. “Yeah! It’s, uh… a performance enhancer. Helps with muscle recovery and, you know… focus.”

He hummed, thinking. “That so?”

I pulled out the protein shake, heart racing. “Wanna try it?”

Aiden gave it a skeptical look. “You made this?”

“Yeah! It’s just, um… experimental.”

Aiden snorted. “Bro, you tryna turn me into some test monkey?”

I chuckled awkwardly. “N-No! I mean, well, sort of… but not in a bad way! Just, you know, feedback and stuff.”

He sighed, then shrugged. “Eh, screw it. Why not?”

I held my breath as he grabbed the bottle, twisted off the cap, and took a long sip.

At first, nothing happened.

He smacked his lips. “Tastes… kinda weird.”

Then, slowly, his expression changed.

Aiden blinked.

His fingers twitched.

His broad shoulders stiffened.

His breathing hitched.

“Yo…” he muttered, rubbing his temples. “Why’s my head feel heavy…?”

I said nothing.

He exhaled sharply, shifting in his seat. “Bro, this shit hittin’ weird. What was in that?”

His words slurred.

His muscles twitched.

Then, before he could say another word—

His body seized.

Aiden jerked violently, knocking over his chair as he collapsed onto his knees. His hands clawed at his head, his breath turning ragged.

I backed away, eyes wide.

“It’s working…” I whispered.

A deep, wet gurgle left Aiden’s throat. His body convulsed, arms locking up in unnatural positions. Veins bulged, sweat dripping down his temples.

Then came the drool.

Thick, viscous strands leaked from his mouth, trailing down his chin. His lips trembled, his eyes rolling back as his body shook violently.

Then—

The goo.

A dark, gelatinous substance seeped from his ears, trailing down his jaw. His brain; his thoughts, his memories, his intelligence; was melting.

I clutched my chest, my breath shallow. Then Aiden twitched one last time before suddenly going still.

The moment Aiden’s body finally stopped convulsing, the room fell into an eerie silence. His muscular form lay sprawled out on the floor, his limbs twitching slightly as the last remnants of his former self faded away. His eyes were half-lidded, unfocused, his mouth slightly open with a thin trail of drool running down his cheek. The air was thick with a mix of sweat and something darker, something almost unnatural. My heart was still hammering in my chest, but as I took a shaky step toward him, a slow realization settled in—Aiden was mine now.

"Aiden…?" I murmured, kneeling beside him. No response, of course. His head lolled slightly, his lips parting as a low, guttural moan escaped. I watched in fascination, gently nudging his jaw up with my fingers. He was still warm, still breathing, but there was nothing behind those eyes. A shell. A body with no mind. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for his cheek, pressing against the firm flesh. He felt… real, solid, human. And yet, he wasn’t anymore.

I let out a breath, a mix of exhilaration and unease. "Alright, big guy. Let’s see if you can still move," I whispered to myself, grabbing his broad shoulders and shifting him upright. His muscles were stiff, resisting at first before going slack again. I adjusted my grip, sliding my hands down to his arms and lifting them up, forcing his entire body to follow. With a slow, deliberate motion, I pulled him into a standing position, his legs locking into place like a mannequin being propped up. His head bobbed forward, his lips parting as another sluggish moan slipped from his throat. "Nnngh… uhhn…"

I smirked. "Looks like you still got some sounds in you, huh?" I murmured, tilting his head side to side, watching how his body simply followed my guidance. No resistance. No understanding. Just pure, empty obedience.

I let my fingers trail over Aiden’s thick biceps, feeling the solid muscle beneath my touch. A chuckle escaped me as I pressed into the firmness, kneading and prodding at his arms like examining freshly sculpted marble. "You’re so stiff now… not like before," I murmured, running my hand down to his forearm, then back up to his delts. His muscles barely reacted, holding their shape without any sign of resistance or tension from within.

Aiden’s head wobbled slightly, his lips parting as another sluggish grunt rumbled from his throat. "Uhhhn… huhhh…" His eyes remained blank, completely uncomprehending of what was happening to him.

I pressed a finger into the center of his chest, feeling the warm, sweat-slicked flesh give slightly before bouncing back into place. "Damn, Aiden. You’re really just… nothing now?" I mused, squeezing at his pecs before running my fingers down his firm abdomen. He didn’t react, didn’t shift or acknowledge the attention. His body was there, but Aiden... the person he had been was long gone.

"Nnngh… huhhh…" he exhaled, his chest subtly rising and falling. His fingers twitched faintly at his sides, as though attempting to process the new posture, but no recognition flickered in his vacant eyes.

"Good boy," I murmured, admiring how effortlessly he stood now, completely under my guidance.

"Nngh… uhh…" His lips twitched as another sound rumbled from his throat, a low, clueless grunt. He blinked sluggishly, like his body was just now registering the concept of standing. I chuckled, patting his solid chest. "Now, let’s see how flexible you still are."

I took a step back, admiring how his muscles remained tense, as if locked in place. Slowly, I reached out and grasped his wrist, lifting his arm over his head. His bicep flexed naturally with the movement, the thick muscle taut beneath my fingertips. He made no attempt to resist or even acknowledge the action, only grunting softly as his arm moved. "Mmh… huhh…"

I smirked, giving his bicep a firm squeeze. "Damn, you’re really solid," I muttered, rubbing my fingers along the defined curve of his muscle. I leaned in, inhaling deeply against his exposed underarm. The scent hit me instantly—thick, masculine, heady with sweat. A shiver ran down my spine. "Hah… you smell strong, Aiden. Real strong." I murmured against his skin before dragging my tongue experimentally across the damp flesh. Salty. Musky. Perfect.

Aiden gave another mindless groan, his chest subtly rising and falling as I continued exploring his unresisting form. I trailed my hands down his torso, fingers mapping over every dip and ridge of his sculpted abs. The heat radiating from his body was intoxicating, his skin slick with the remnants of his former effort. My palms glided down to his waist, then back up to his pecs, tracing slow circles around the hardened muscle. Then, with deliberate slowness, my hands drifted lower, sliding down his abdomen, tracing the deep grooves leading toward his shorts. I pressed my palm against the bulge beneath, feeling the weight and heat radiating through the fabric. Aiden let out a sluggish moan, his hips shifting slightly in response to the touch.

"Mmmh… uhhn…" he exhaled, his fingers twitching faintly.

I chuckled, squeezing gently. "That’s a good boy," I murmured, my fingers grazing over the taut fabric of his crotch, testing his responsiveness. His body remained slack, obedient, a sculpted machine waiting for my guidance.

"Tell me, Aiden," I whispered, my fingers pressing firmly against the thick bulge beneath his shorts. "Who owns you now?" I traced slow, deliberate circles over the fabric, feeling the heat radiating from his body.

"Hnnnh… uhhn…" Aiden groaned, his lips parting as he tried to form words, but nothing coherent came out.

"That’s right," I murmured, leaning in close, my breath ghosting over his sweat-slicked skin. "You're mine. Completely mine. Say it. Say who owns you."

"Uhhn… y-you…" Aiden’s voice was weak, broken, the last remnants of his former self dissolving beneath my touch.

I smirked, dragging my fingers up his abdomen, feeling the way his muscles flexed instinctively under my control. "Good boy."

"Mmmh…" Aiden hummed blankly, his fingers twitching slightly as his arms dangled at his sides.

"Let’s get you to pose a little," I mused, grabbing his wrists and guiding his arms into a flexed position. His biceps bulged as I positioned them, his forearms coiling with dense muscle. His broad chest pushed outward, every inch of him sculpted into a perfect display of strength. His lips parted as a low, breathy moan escaped him.

"Uhhn…"

"Yeah, that’s it. Hold that for me." I stepped back, tilting my head as I examined him like an artist inspecting a sculpture. He was perfect. The raw definition of muscle, a body chiseled into peak form—and now completely under my control.

I reached forward again, pressing my fingers against his abdomen, feeling the tautness of his core. I leaned in once more, dragging my tongue along the edge of his obliques, tasting the salt and heat of his sweat. "So good…" I breathed, savoring every inch of my new creation.

Aiden let out another grunt, his muscles twitching slightly under my touch. He didn’t understand what was happening—he didn’t understand anything anymore. He was simply reacting to stimuli, a blank slate for me to shape and command.

"I let my fingers trace his rigid muscles, savoring the way his body barely responded beyond a sluggish twitch. "Tell me, Aiden," I whispered, my hands pressing firmly over his broad chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breath. "Who owns you again?"

"Uhhn… y-you…" Aiden groaned, his voice fragile, struggling to shape the words.

"That's right!" I smirked, trailing my hands down his abdomen, teasing along the sculpted ridges of his core. "You're mine. Forever. No more criminology, no more research. Just this. Just you, staying right here, as my perfect, obedient plaything. And tonight… tonight, we’re going to do something wild."

I grinned, stepping back to admire my masterpiece. His empty eyes stared ahead, waiting, unthinking.

============================

I woke up to the warmth of Aiden’s body beside me, his steady, rhythmic breathing filling the quiet room. A slow smile curled on my lips as I turned onto my side, drinking in the sight of my sleeping toy. His powerful chest rose and fell, his muscles relaxed, his expression blank and peaceful. It was real. He was real. And more importantly—he was mine.

The weight of my accomplishment settled in my chest, a thrill of satisfaction coursing through me. My little experiment had worked flawlessly, and now, Aiden was completely under my control. No thoughts, no resistance; just pure, obedient muscle, waiting for my every command. As I ran a hand over his thick arm, squeezing the bicep that I would soon make even bulkier, a deep sense of responsibility mixed with excitement settled in. Taking care of him, training him, growing him into the ultimate plaything—it was all up to me now. And I was more than ready to embrace it.

#male muscle #male puppet #gay hypnosis #dronehypno

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st4rgiirll · 19 days ago

Text

babysitting troubles.

rafe cameron x babysitter!reader.

this has sat in my drafts collecting dust for months, so i hope you enjoy! im definitely doing a draft clear out so keep an eye out!

synopsis: reader needs help babysitting some kids for the weekend and calls her boyfriend rafe, who as never really been good with children, to come and help wrangle these kids, that for some reason refuse to listen to her, into bed. only for her to find out he's better at dealing with them than she is.

you were exhausted. you love kids, you really do, but boy were they tiring. you'd been running around all day after these kids, trying to wrangle them in for a nap before you went out for the afternoon. these kids were proving this task to be quite difficult.

it was only friday, the parents had only been gone a few hours and yet the way these kids were acting you knew the weekend would be a long one. and god, you were not looking forward to it at all.

"oscar! millie! get back here!" you called after the mischievous twins.

the house echoed with the giggles of the partners in crime, along with the pitter patter of their synced footsteps. you let out a sigh of exasperation, running a hand over your face before walking after the two.

you made it into their shared bedroom, spotting the two. "hey, let's get you to-"

and they made their way back downstairs. you groaned, this was aggravating. why couldnt they just be good kids? you walked downstairs, phone in hand as you debated calling the one person who might be able to help with his authoritative vibe.

on one hand, he might scare the kids into cooperation. on the other hand, he hated kids. he might just completely disregard the message and refuse to come and help.

you argued with yourself in your head until ultimately you decided to call him, resting the phone between your shoulder and your ear as you cleaned up the mess of toys they'd made in the living room. you could still hear them running around and giggling but you were too tired to even begin to chase them again.

"hey, sweetness. how's it-" he began.

"rafe cameron. you need to come over now. i need your help." you cut him off, the stress getting to you.

"why? what's wrong? im out with the guys, playin' golf." he explained.

"these kids will not settle. no matter how hard i try, their parents told me about their set nap time which was half an hour ago! they just wont settle, they keep running around and i cannot deal right now. i need your help, they need someone with authority and you're the only person i can think of." you definitely over explained but you felt the need to.

"okay, alright, darlin' i'll be over in a minute, yeah? calm your pretty head down." he hums comfortingly.

when the call cuts off, you let out a sigh of relief. that went surprisingly better than you thought. and so, you continued cleaning the living room as you waited for your boyfriend to arrive. before any of your babysitting gigs, you texted your location to him because you never know what could happen and it gave you piece of mind that someone knew where you were.

it only took twenty minutes until the doorbell sounded and of course you bounded up to the door like a kid, almost throwing the door off its hinges at how happy you were to finally have some sort of help with these kids.

"you have no idea how happy i am to see you. these kids have driven me near enough mental." you say exasperatedly, immediately ushering him in.

"anything to help my girl out. where are they?" he asks.

"running about the house, somewhere." as if on cue, the twins revealed themselves to rafe's gaze.

they were curious, that much was clear. "who's you?" oscar asks.

"im rafe, what are your names?" he crouches down to their height, though he still was taller than them.

"im oscar, that's millie. she's shy." oscar explains as his sister buried herself closer into his side.

"don't you two have a nap to get to?" he asks. "tell you what, you play for another ten minutes, then you have to go for your naps. how's that sound?"

the twins nodded, ten minutes seeming like forever to them, and ran off to go play in their play room.

"i said the same thing and yet they still only listen to you." you scoff, shaking your head in disbelief.

"cause you're too.. soft. i mean, you have this vibe that just seems like you let yourself get walked all over. which i know you dont, of course. but it always seems that way. im just authoritative." he grins, wrapping an arm around you.

"hm, thanks. nice to know." you huff, rolling your eyes but still leaning your head against his shoulder.

the both of you sat down on the couch, just soaking in his presence as the both of you spoke and laughed quietly. it wasnt until rafe checked his wristwatch, standing from his seat and walking towards the play room.

"hey, c'mon. times up, nap time." he says, knocking against the door.

"oh, but rafe-"

"nuh-uh, not buts. we had a deal, c'mon out. now." he orders authoritatively.

the twins sigh, walking out dejectedly. rafe and you walk up to their bedroom, standing by their beds.

"rafe.. can you read us a bedtime story?" millie asks in her meek voice.

"uh, i dont- i mean, y/n would probably be a better pick for reading-"

"no! we want you!" oscar joins in, and that's when rafe's resolve diminished.

he sighed and picked a book to read. almost immediately after he began reading, the twins were snoring away. it was uncanny really. how easily he put the twins to sleep, mirroring how easily he could put you to sleep. not in a mean way, mainly in a comforting way.

he soon put the book away, tucking the twins in and closing the door once finished. you grinned, looking up at the man you've known longer than you havent.

"you'd be an amazing dad, y'know that?" and that was the first time you'd actually managed to render the poor man speechless and flustered.

#obx fic #obx imagine #obx #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #outerbanks #jj maybank #outer banks fanfiction #obx x reader #babysitter!reader

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