#female dancer x perfumer | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

flowersforbucky · 6 months ago

Text

acquainted

bucky barnes x reader (undercover stripper!reader x undercover bodyguard!bucky)

word count: 3.3k

warnings/tags: SMUT, oral (male and female receiving), vaginal penetration, language, strip club setting, creepy dude being a piece of shit, violence and a brief mention of blood, protective/possessive bucky, reader is afab, no use of y/n, touch her and die trope, Bucky might have a slight lingerie kink... 18+ only!

The pulsating fuschia and lime green strobe lights illuminating the club had been making your eyes throb for the last three hours. EDM plays so loudly that you're surprised blood doesn't trickle down from your ears. Not to mention the suffocating combination of cheap perfume, body odor, cigars, and booze that permeates the air makes your empty stomach churn.

If you never step foot into another nightclub when this is all over, you'll consider yourself lucky. Not just any nightclub - one of New Orleans’ scummiest strip clubs.

Five goddamn nights of this operation and not a lick of progress.

Your objective was simple - obtain proof that the owner was operating a sex trafficking ring out of the club, and then call for the back-up squad parked a block away. So far, you had not been able to acquire any kind of definitive proof. No hints of anything shady going on behind the scenes, and you had yet to even see the owner make an appearance at any point since the mission began.

Everything seems as above board as a strip club can be.

One last night, you compromised with Fury. One last night and if it went as the last few have, you were done, and he owes you a few days of paid leave for putting you through this.

“If you don't stop picking at your garter belt, it's not going to have any sequins left.” Bucky's low voice murmurs through the communication device placed discreetly in your left ear.

“If you don't stop watching my every movement, you’re not going to have any unbroken toes left,” you threaten lightly, taking a sip of your drink - just a Shirley Temple, to keep up appearances. “Shoes like this could do a lot of damage.” You glance down at the pointy heels of the black velvet stilettos.

“Is that not my job?” he counters. You don't have to look over at where he's standing in the corner of the room to know he's smirking. “To not take my eyes off of you?”

“Then do your job. Watch me. You don't have to make comments on my sequins to do that.”

“Alright, alright,” he concedes. “I'll be over here, admiring your sequins from afar. You won't even know I'm here.” The com line clicks off before you can retort.

Except you absolutely would know that he's here. Just as you have the previous four nights of this mission - painfully aware that he's here, tracking your every movement in the skimpiest outfits you've worn in your life, doing the most provocative dances imaginable, and flirting with men that you wouldn't touch with ten foot long poles in real life, all while he keeps to the sidelines in case something were to go wrong.

Keeps to the sidelines and just watches you. Even when one of the dancers approached him to ask if he'd be interested in a private dance once he's off the clock on the first night on the job.

Even when there's gorgeous, topless women crawling on the stage and all but humping the pole in his direct line of sight.

He isn't here to look out for them, of course. He is here solely to keep you safe if things were to go sideways. But you had assumed you would have caught him sneaking glances at the dozen other women at least once by now.

It's almost your turn to go up on stage. You've performed a solo set every night so far, and you still feel every bit as nervous as you did the first time.

You enjoy dancing, actually. In the comfort of your own room, when listening to music alone. When you go out with friends, occasionally. When you took ballet lessons as a child. This, however, was leagues out of your comfort zone.

“The creep from a couple nights ago is back,” Bucky's voice is a strained whisper in your ear.

“Gonna have to narrow it down a bit for me, Barnes. You could be referring to at least half of the men in here right now.”

“Sitting in front of the stage, to the left,” he mumbles back. “He's wearing a red wife-beater–”

“See him,” you interrupt, your eyes zeroing in on the short, stout, beady-eyed fuck who had been thrown out of the club night before last. One of the other security guards on duty chucked him out when he repeatedly got too handsy with one of the girls who had been giving him a lap dance.

“Fantastic,” you huff under your breath, as you finish touching up your lipgloss and reapplying the iridescent baby pink body glitter across your chest. “Just in time for my dance.”

You get up from your seat at the bar and adjust your lace bustier and thong as the announcer calls your stage name.

“He won't lay a finger on you,” Bucky assures you as you're walking up the steps of the platform.

There's a weak round of applause and a few whistles as you take your place on the center of the small stage. You give a vague nod in the direction of the DJ’s booth to indicate you're ready for your song to begin.

An upbeat but sensuous synth-pop song pours out of the speakers throughout the room and you begin to sway your hips.

You're hyper-aware of the fact that you can see Bucky making his way closer to you, away from his position in the back of the room. He settles when he's just a few tables behind the man in the red wife-beater.

There's an eruption of butterflies in the pit of your belly at how close he is. Each night prior to this, he has kept to lingering around the exits and the far wall towards the back of the club. Now, he's close enough that you can actually see his eyes following every languid movement that your body makes around the pole.

“Take your fucking top off!” a grating voice bellows from the audience. “We want to see your tits.”

You don't have to look to know who the voice belongs to. You decide to ignore him, hoping he would stop if you didn't give him any attention. You go to wrap your thighs around the pole again, preparing to spin–

“Did you not fucking hear me?” he shouts even louder this time, audible to everyone over the roaring music. “I said take your fucking–”

A flash of movement in your peripheral vision causes you to freeze around the pole. You turn your full attention to the ruckus, just in time to see Bucky fisting the man's greasy, shoulder length hair and pulling his head back. The music comes to an abrupt pause.

“You don't fucking talk to her like that,” Bucky snarls. “In fact, you don't talk to her at all, you don't look at her, you don't even breathe the same fucking air as her.”

The man is thrashing around, trying and failing miserably to get out of Bucky's grasp.

“Let me go you fucking–”

He doesn't get to finish his sentence before Bucky snaps the man's head forward, sending his face crashing into the granite tabletop.

The instantaneous pool of blood that contrasts so starkly against the white stone snaps you out of your fear-stricken trance.

Bucky pulls his head back up, forcing the man to look up at him.

“It's not my fault she refuses to show off those perfect–”

You all but jump off the stage - miraculously not breaking an ankle in the six inch heels - and rush over to where Bucky still has the man's hair yanked into his fist.

Just as Bucky is beginning to shove the man's head downwards again, you place both of your hands on his chest, gently but effectively shoving him backwards. He immediately releases his grip on the man as the other few security guards on duty arrive to detain the pervert.

“Hey, hey,” you place your hands on his biceps, trying to turn his attention to you and away from the man who he's still glaring after, as he's hauled off by security. “I'm fine, yeah? Everything is fine,” you try to assure him, though you're not sure your shaky voice sounds very convincing. “He's just a creepy, entitled asshole.”

Noticing that Bucky is shaking beneath your touch, you rub your hands up and down his arms in hopes of calming him down.

He finally meets your gaze. He doesn't say anything for a moment, just stares at you as he takes a few deep breaths.

“Go get dressed,” he orders you calmly after a moment. “I’m getting you the fuck out of here.” You want to leave too badly to even think about objecting.

You make a beeline for the changing room, where you throw on a sweater and force your pants over your heels, not even bothering to change out of the lingerie and stilettos.

Bucky's waiting for you right outside the door as you sling your duffel bag across your shoulder.

“How mad do you think Fury will be that we are abandoning our positions?” you ask in a hushed tone as Bucky ushers you through the club, his metal arm wrapped around your waist.

“Not as mad as I am that he's had you doing this bullshit for no reason for almost a week now.”

You and Bucky exit the club as quickly as possible, ignoring the curious and confused stares of the other dancers and security guards. He guides you down the block, then through an alleyway where his motorcycle is parked in a heavy silence - other than the obnoxious clanking of your heels against the pavement.

Bucky straddles one leg over the seat of the bike, taking his place in the driver's position and then hands you the helmet.

“Wait,” you pause before putting it over your head. “I'm starving.” Your stomach growls, as if on cue. “Can we stop and get some take-out?”

He looks at you incredulously. “I just shattered that guy's nose and likely severely concussed him and then just dipped. Our cover is essentially blown, don't you think we should get back to the motel room and lay low until the morning?”

“There's a Chinese place open late just a few blocks from the motel–”

“If I say yes will you put on the helmet and get on the bike?”

Taking that as a win, you slide the helmet over your head and hop on behind him. You wrap your arms securely around his midsection in a tight hug and he takes off down Bourbon Street.

You spend the drive trying to ignore the thought that of all the times you've ridden on the back of Bucky’s motorcycle, you don't remember him ever feeling so tense beneath your touch.

Half an hour later, you're lounging on the rickety motel bed, stuffing your face full of sweet and sour chicken and vegetable fried rice while Bucky fills Sam in on what happened over the phone.

He sits in one of the small chairs at the singular table in the corner of the room, his posture rigid. He answers all of Sam's questions with clipped, one-word responses as he massages his temple between his thumb and forefinger.

He hangs up the phone, refusing to meet your gaze. Instead, he pretends to be interested in the episode of Family Guy playing on the old motel TV.

“Your egg rolls are going to get soggy,” you tell him, pushing the to-go box across the mattress towards him.

“I don't have an appetite right now,” he says, picking up the box of food as he stands. You grab his bicep in your hand as he begins to walk past where you're sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” you say, stopping him. “Everything's okay. Really. Don't let that guy get to you–”

“A little late for that, don't you think?” He snaps, pulling his arm from your grasp. You sit back, too stunned by his reaction to know how to respond. You just stare after him as he crams his take-out box into the motel room's mini fridge.

“I shouldn't have reacted so harshly,” he says after a moment, still facing away from you. “I couldn't stop myself. He spoke to you that way, and I could have killed him and not thought twice about it. Probably would have if you hadn't intervened.”

He turns back to you. You're frozen in place.

“Do you know what that's like?” He asks, taking a step closer to you. “To feel like you aren't in control of your own body? To be so irrationally protective of someone that you'd kill for them without a second thought?”

You feel like all air has been stripped from your lungs. He's just inches away, staring down at you from where you sit on the edge of the mattress. The way he's looking at you makes your skin feel like it's on fire.

“Because that's what you do to me. That's how you make me feel.”

Heat pools between your legs.

“Come here,” you say - it sounds more like a question than a command.

He closes what little distance is left between the two of you, and pulls you up from the mattress by the tops of your arms so that your body is flush against his.

His mouth hovers over yours - not quite making contact, though you can feel his breath fan across your skin.

He takes his flesh hand and cups the side of your face with it, his thumb trailing across your bottom lip. His metal hand wanders down your back until it reaches the curve of your ass - grasping your cheek in a firm hold and squeezing until his touch borders between pleasure and pain.

“This is what I wanted to do to you every time I saw a man so much as glance in your direction in that club,” he whispers against your mouth. “I thought about bending you over the stage and making them watch me take you right then and there, but they didn't deserve to see that.”

“They aren't here to see us now,” you murmur as you bring your hand to cup the noticeable bulge of his jeans, eliciting a hiss from him. “So what are you going to do now?”

There's a dark grin spread across his face. He pushes you, softly but effectively, back down on the bed. You scout back a few inches on the mattress, and then bring one of your feet up to remove the stiletto heels that you'd completely forgotten to take off upon returning to the motel with your haul of Chinese food.

“Oh, no,” Bucky laughs lowly. “I want you to keep those on. I've grown to like those quite a bit.”

Your cheeks warm in both arousal and bashfulness. You begin to push your pants down your thighs as Bucky kneels on the ground and helps you maneuver the fabric around your shoes. The sweater that you threw over your bustier goes next.

You're left in the lingerie set that you wore at the club.

“Call me jealous,” Bucky sighs as he begins trailing sloppy kisses up the insides of your thighs. “Call me possessive, call me crazy..”

You lay back down against the scratchy comforter as Bucky gets closer and closer to where you're aching to have him the most.

“But I don't want anyone seeing you like this but me.”

He pulls the already soaked lace material of your thong to the side, exposing your cunt.

He licks up your center torturously slow, causing you to let out a sharp exhale. He repeats the motion, and then locks his lips around your clit. Your hands shoot to his hair, fisting your fingers through the short brunet strands.

He eats you until you're a mewling and squirming mess beneath him.

You come hard, clenching your thighs around his head and riding his face through your orgasm.

“Stand up,” you instruct him as soon as you can think semi-clearly.

He obeys without any hesitation. The warm glow of the singular lamp in the motel room highlights the way your slick coats the lower half of his face.

You get up on your hands and knees before him and he lets out an audible groan at the sight in front of him. He bends down enough to kiss you - cupping your face in both of his hands and tipping your head up to give him a better angle to slip his tongue into your mouth. You moan into the kiss - the ache between your thighs reappearing already.

He removes his hands from your face, unbuttoning his pants while still kissing you.

You pull away to help free his cock from the confines of his boxers. Your mouth waters at what's directly in front of you. He's impressively long and girthy, with a thick vein running up the side.

You pump him a few times in your hand, swirling your tongue around the pre-cum dripping from his slit. He's already putty in your hands - groaning above you and placing his metal hand around the back of your neck to keep you where he wants you.

After you've run your tongue up and down his length a few times, you spit on the tip of his cock and massage it over the entirety of his shaft before taking him as far into your mouth as you can in the first go. He throws his head back, moaning your name.

You feel him hit the back of your throat and you gag before pulling back.

He curses under his breath, nudging himself slowly back towards your throat again.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl,” he praises and you moan around his dick. He gradually increases the speed at which he pumps himself into your mouth, obscene noises echoing off of the thin motel room walls.

When he pulls out, you feel drool running down your neck and mascara-tinted tears leaking from your eyes.

“You're so gorgeous like this for me,” he tells you, and despite knowing that you look thoroughly fucked out, you believe him. “Will you turn around?”

You do as he asks, turning around on your hands and knees. You lower your chest down to the bed so that your ass is angled upwards.

“Jesus Christ,” he grunts under his breath. He grips your hips with both of his hands, yanking you to him. His erection juts against the cloth of your underwear.

He tugs them aside once more, giving him access to tease your slit with the head of his cock. You rock backwards, grinding against him. He brings his flesh hand around your stomach and reaches down to rub your clit as he begins to slowly fill you from behind.

He pauses for a moment once he bottoms out, giving you time to adjust to the fullness of him before he starts fucking into you.

The combination of him slamming into you at such an intense angle and massaging you so perfectly has your climax building shamefully fast.

You grunt his name, bouncing your ass to meet his thrusts. “I'm gonna come,” you mewl, knowing he's on the verge of doing the same as his movements become uneven.

One, two, three more pumps and you can feel your pussy clenching around him as you come together.

You pull off of him, collapsing onto the bed and rolling onto your back. He crawls over you, propping himself up on his arms above you.

“You know,” he stares down at you, his eyes trailing to your breasts that are now spilling out of the black lace bustier. “As much as I hated every second of that mission, I do hope I might get to see you in some of these outfits again.”

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist!!!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes one-shot #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine

2K notes · View notes

noxturnalnymph · 1 year ago

Text

Dancing is a Dangerous Game

(FrankieMorales x F!Stripper!Reader)

A/N & Warnings: Sexual Content below - 18+ only, Frankie doing what he do (iykyk), unspecified age gap (anywhere from 10-15 yrs), talk of stripping/dancing as a job that pays the bills. The photos on the Moodboard are just for fun, the female Reader is not specifically physically described so you can imagine her however you want. Thank you to @saradika for the divider.

Did I make this prompt up myself for me and some fellow writers? Yes. Did I set the word count limit? Also Yes. Did I stick anywhere even close to that limit? *laughs hysterically.

PROMPT: Pick a Pedge Daddy character - Joel Miller, Frankie Morales, Dave York, etc. (it can be Canon or Non-Canon/AU/No Outbreak).

PPCU Daddy is surprised - and excited - to learn that the grad/postgrad student he hires to watch his child sometimes also works as a: stripper/dancer/cam-girl/onlyfans-model/dating-or-escort-service (or straight-up SW)

*1000 word Minimum - 2000 word Maximum

WC: 4749 (I have a problem)

Frankie’s mouth was hanging open. He knew he should close it. He knew he looked like a weirdo. He knew he was about to get a “Catfish, lookin’ like a fish” joke from his friends. But for the life of him he couldn’t take his eyes off the stage, or close his gaping jaw.

Not since his babysitter walked on stage and started taking her clothes off.

To be fair, you're not his babysitter anymore. Not since he called you three weeks ago asking if you could babysit for him tonight and you broke the news to him that you'd gotten a new job and couldn't babysit anymore. At least now he understands why you left the not-so-lucrative world of babysitting for an arguably better-paying gig.

You've only been dancing for two minutes and he already sees more money on the stage than he would've paid you to sit his kid tonight. He’s been watching as you undulate your body across the stage, bending and dipping, stripping down to your underwear. Even though part of him thinks he should, he definitely doesn’t look away when you divest yourself of your lacy little bra.

He always thought you were hot. He was a newly-single dad, interviewing you for a semi-regular babysitting gig. He tried to focus on your resume and your qualifications. He tried to breathe through his mouth so he couldn’t smell your delicate perfume. He tried to ignore the dewy pink lipgloss you had spread across your mouth, which is in stark contrast to the bright red lipstick you are currently sporting.

He was very motivated by the fact that you, as a graduate student in your mid-20’s, seemed more responsible to leave his kid with than the other applicants to his babysitting ad, all of whom were literal teenagers. But truth be told - you were also really fucking hot. Horny dad and the hot babysitter, what a fucking cliche he was.

However, in the eleven months you babysat for him, he never acted on his inappropriate attraction to you. He never treated you as anything other than an employee. You’d show up to his house, hair in a messy bun, wearing comfy clothes, ready to sit on the living room floor all evening playing with his kid. He was polite, and respectful, and was almost positive you never caught him staring at your tits.

Your tits that he’s most definitely staring at right now. Holy shit you have great tits.

“Fuckin’ A Fish, if you’re gonna keep your mouth open, you could at least pour some beer into it.”

“Huh?” Frankie snaps his head back to the table he’s sat at, surrounded by his friends. They all chuckle.

“We’re about to order the next round and you didn’t even drink any of that one yet,” Benny says as he points to the dripping bottle in Frankie’s hand.

Oh, sorry, Frankie mumbles as he pushes the now-warm bottle to his lips and begins to drink the beer down, his eyes moving back to the stage. The entire club is lit only by colored lights that coordinate with the twirling lights and lasers pointed at the stage, pulsating to the tempo of the music you’ve picked. Fog rolls across the floor of the stage, cascading over the edge.

There’s a single golden pole at an outcropping of the stage that you’re now gripping with both hands, sticking your ass out towards the audience and giving it a wiggle. You let go of the pole and hook your thumbs into the waistband of your panties. You slowly begin to push them down and just as the crack of your ass comes into view Frankie momentarily forgets that he can’t swallow liquid and breathe at the same time.

He begins to sputter and cough, choking on the bubbly liquid and spurting it across the table onto the faces of half of his friends. He’s met with groans, curses, and several swats to the back of his head as he attempts to get his wheezing under control, and the fluid out of his trachea.

Santi, who somehow managed to avoid Frankie’s beer-foam projectile, slaps a palm on Frankie’s shoulder and says,

“Guys, Frankie’s real sorry, he’s just never seen a naked woman before.”

The laughter at Frankie’s expense serves as some form of forgiveness, and everyone slowly goes back to flirting with the wandering dancers and ordering their second round. Santi keeps his hand on Frankie’s shoulder and leans into Frankie’s personal space.

“You alright?” Santi asks, squeezing his friend’s shoulder firmly.

Frankie manages to mutter a strangled yeah before several rounds of trying to clear his throat. The lights have dimmed, sinking the club temporarily into a hazy darkness. He briefly registers that the song you were dancing to has ended, so you’ve most likely left the stage.

Santi laughs, shaking his head. He moves his mouth right to Frankie’s ear, almost whispering.

“When I convinced Will to have his bachelor party at this club I thought you’d be the one making your hot babysitter choke, not the other way around,” and he claps Frankie on the back hard, “if you know what I mean.”

Frankie’s eyes go wide as he meets Santi’s crooked grin, but his friend offers nothing more as he moves to the other side of the table, turning his devilish smile on the waitress. He orders two beers and three shots for each man, dismissing the groans of protest from the table. Bachelor Down!, he shouts at Will as everyone does their shots and chases them with cheap beer.

You approach the table full of men with seven other dancers, each of you assigned by the club to give a 20-minute private dance to one of the members of the bachelor party. You’re each in various states of dress, but most are only half-dressed. You’re back in your lacy underwear set - panties and bra - but the sheer nature of the fabric leaves little to the imagination.

Your previous job as a part-time nanny worked while you were an undergrad. When you started law school it became too much and you had to switch to more infrequent evening babysitting gigs so you had your days free for school and studying. Unable to keep up with school payments you recently had to find something new. Something that only required night and weekend availability, but paid really well.

Enter: Stripping.

You’ve only been doing this job for a little over a month but you’d quickly gotten very comfortable with being naked in front of strangers. You had your little dance routine and could easily make flirty banter with the club’s customers. Your boss was impressed enough that he’d started assigning you party gigs with some of the other girls, like this bachelor group.

You walk up to the group of strangers, the rest of the girls fan around the table as you’re left standing just behind a broad-shouldered man with a baseball cap on, curls sticking out from under the back strap. You turn to the man with a big smile on your face.

Holy Fuck.

Not a Stranger.

It’s Francisco Morales. The hot dad you until-recently babysat for.

He looks at you sheepishly. Your hands immediately fly to cover your breasts, suddenly mortified that your nipples are showing through your nearly-transparent choice of outfit.

“Mr. Morales!”

“Oh I- I already,” he begins to stutter. Is he telling you that he’s already seen your tits?

You look around at the collection of empty beer bottles and shot glasses on the table and figure that they’ve all been here for much longer than just your dance. So covering your nipples does nothing for your modesty as hot dad has probably already seen everything. You drop your arms to your side, attempting to look relaxed and casual.

“So I-uh. I guess you found a babysitter for tonight.”

He laughs. He actually laughs at your awkward attempt at diffusing the tension. Thank god. He opens his mouth to speak but before he can say anything one of his friends is speaking to the group. He explains that “everyone gets a private dance” and no one can object - and he looks right at Mr. Morales when he says this - because “it’s all been paid for already.”

Following the lead of the other girls you gently grab Mr. Morales’ hand, missing the looks back and forth between him and his friend. You do your best to confidently lead him back to the private rooms with the rest of his group. There are a dozen rooms in the hallway and eight of them have been held in reserve for this bachelor party group. Pulling him inside the last room on the right, you close the door behind you.

The room is dim, save for the red glow of the lights. The ceiling and floor are both painted black and the three walls without the door are mirrored. Towards the left is a single high-backed black leather chair facing a brass pole that sits in the exact center of the room. On the far side of the room is a curved loveseat against the wall.

This should be easy. Not just because this is your job but because unlike any other man you’ve ever led back here, this is a man you are extremely attracted to.

This is a man you have fantasized about.

You’ve imagined his curls between your fingers when you’ve grabbed a fistful of a customer's hair, imagined that it’s his stubble scratching between your breasts when you’ve pressed them close. You’ve envisioned his wide chest as you ran your hands down their front, his massive paws in your hands as you’ve taken their sweaty palms and placed them on your rolling hips.

You’ve wished they were his thighs that you were grinding your ass onto and his erection that you all-too-frequently felt pressing into you. That should make this easy. But instead you’re super fucking nervous. Even more nervous than your first night here, when you dragged your panties down your legs and bent over, exposing your pussy lips to a packed room of strangers.

What makes you most nervous is probably that the fantasies didn’t stop in the club. It would be one thing if they were just here, serving as a comfort, self-soothing by putting a familiar face in place of a groping stranger’s face. But that’s not the truth. You’ve imagined him at home too.

In the shower, pretending your hands were his hands as you pinched and plucked at your wet nipples. Daydreaming about his weight on top of you, fucking into you, as you drove one of your toys in and out of your wet cunt.

And if you’re being perfectly honest, you can admit that it’s been going on for almost a year, since shortly after he hired you to be his babysitter. Remembering the times you’d made yourself come on his couch, hours after his kid had fallen asleep, waiting for him to return home from a night out with his friends. Your hand stuffed down the front of your pants, petting your clit to the thought of him on his knees in front of you.

You never thought you’d actually be naked in front of your fantasy-DILF. This is like being slapped in the face with your own wet dreams. This is kind of a nightmare.

“Listen, you don’t have to-” he begins just as you start to speak as well.

“Mr. Morales I know-” and you both stop and let out breathy, nervous laughs.

“C-Can you please stop calling me Mr. Morales?”

“Oh sorry! Is that weird?”

“It sounds like the start of a bad porno,” he groans, laughing again. “Please just call me Frankie.”

“Of course, I’m so sorry Mist- Frankie. Sorry. Frankie.”

You both break out in laughter again, loudly this time, hoping to finally diffuse some of the tension. A knock sounds at the door and a deep voice - security - asks if everything is alright. You shout back that everything is fine and the room quiets down.

“I should start the music and get going,” you say quietly, motioning for him to sit on the curved red velvet seat against the far wall.

You press a button above his head and music starts up, the first of three songs forming a 10-minute loop that will repeat for this booking. You look into the mirrored wall to your left and notice how nervous you look. Then you meet his eyes in the mirror. Why does he look just as nervous?

You straddle one of his legs and shakily reach back to undo the clasp on your bra. You meet his eyes again. Fuck he can see how your hands are shaking. You look like such a fucking kid. A goddamn amateur. This is going to be the least-sexy lapdance he’s ever been given.

You can’t stop the gasp that leaves your lips when you suddenly feel his hot hands covering yours at your back.

“You can leave this on if you’d be more comfortable,” he says softly, barely heard over the pumping bass of the music.

“No I’m fine, I’m just…” you don’t know how to explain to him without embarrassing yourself but suddenly you’re making an admission and the word-vomit has left your mouth before you can even do anything to stop it. “I just always thought you were hot.”

There it is. It’s out there now.

He opens his mouth to say something and your nerves bubble up and come out as more words and why the fuck are you talking more?

“I know, I know,” you spit out before he can get a word in, “the babysitter thirsting after the hot dad, how prosaic, right? Talk about a bad porno.”

His warm hands still touching you, he slowly moves his fingers around yours, deftly undoing the clasp of your bra for you.

“It’s okay, I kinda… thought you were hot too,” his admission slips out in a whisper.

You really want to kiss him right now. But that would be a very bad idea. Security patrols the hallway and the door has a small window towards the top of it. It allows security to peek inside and see from the shoulders up. Usually if they can see your shoulders, all is good. If they can’t see your shoulders, it gives them an idea if rules are being broken or if the girls need help.

Kissing - among other things - is against the rules.

You barely turn to look at the windowed door but you’re embarrassed to think that Frankie must know what you’re thinking because it’s like he can read your mind. Or maybe he’s just thinking about kissing you too? Either way he puts his hands back down to his sides and lets you lean into him, allowing your bra to slowly shift down your shoulders until it falls into his lap.

Your tits are right in his face. You’re half naked in front of the hot dad whose child you used to babysit. The hot dad who you’ve pictured doing this exact thing with - and more. But he’s not even looking at your tits. He’s looking you right in your eyes and making you feel more naked than you’ve ever been in your whole life.

He shouldn’t be here, not doing this, not with you. He should ask for a different girl. He should tell the security guy to kick him out. He’s making you so uncomfortable, he can tell by your twitching movements and halting breaths. He can’t stop staring at you like he’s some kind of lonely creep, what a fucking weirdo he’s being.

You position your legs on the outside of his, keeping his legs slightly open and his hands obediently face-down on the couch next to him. You’re straddling him but hovering above his lap, seemingly careful not to touch him. When you put your hands on his shoulders to brace yourself you begin to stiffly roll your body towards and then away from him.

He doesn’t know where to look. He can’t keep looking at your face, he knows the eye-contact is getting very disturbing. Why the hell did he tell you he kinda thought you were hot too? At least he didn’t admit the truth, that he thought you were fucking supernova-hot. He’s had to bite his tongue countless times to stop from asking you out.

He focuses his eyes at the hollow dip that lies at the base of your throat. It has a dance of its own, moving slightly with your pulse and rolling with your shallow breaths, the rise and fall of your chest a baseline rhythm. He tries not to think about your bare breasts just below, breasts that he’s thought about putting his hands on every single time you’ve walked into his house for the last year.

He can see your deep red lips in his peripheral vision, and immediately the image of those lips on his skin is conjured. He pictures a chaste kiss planted on his cheek followed by a less-chaste thought of his thumb pressed into your mouth, your eyes looking up at him while your lips leave a red ring on his hand. He needs to fucking calm down. This is just a dance. You’re at work doing your literal job.

He suddenly notices you’ve almost completely stopped moving. He looks up at your face and you’re wearing a tight, pained expression. His brows furrow. Oh no. What’s wrong? Is his erection noticable? Is he creeping you out too badly? Do you want him to leave? He opens his mouth to ask if you’re okay but you silence him with a gentle squeeze to his shoulders.

“I think I’m gonna die if you don’t touch me,” you squeak out in a strained whisper.

In the back of his head a part of him thinks that he shouldn’t immediately cave. It shouldn’t be this easy. Part of him thinks he should need more than just you saying that.

But he doesn’t. At all.

He slowly slides his body down the sofa, pushing his frame between your legs. You move your feet apart to accommodate his wide shoulders once you realize he won’t fit otherwise. He stops when his ass is sitting on the floor and his head is just above the seat of the sofa, you towering over him. He reaches down and begins to take off your platform heels one at a time.

As your bare feet hit the floor you run your hands up your neck, over your face, and through your hair, your knees knocking at his shoulders. Touching you gently with only two fingers on each hand, he pushes on the backs of your thighs, guiding you even closer to his face. He grabs your feet and holds them in his hands, forcing your legs to fold and pushing your knees past his ears as his head rests back on the seat.

You’re kneeling at the edge of the sofa, shins on the cushion, feet dangling over his shoulders, your toes curled in his massive hands on his chest, and his head between your thighs. Your face still looks uneasy, and he can just make out whining noises over the music. High-pitched and breathy, the way a dog would beg for scraps at the dinner table.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna touch you now,” he growls.

You grab the brim of his hat and twist it off his head, immediately diving your fingers into his locks. He squeezes your toes and you take his cue, lifting your hips and canting them towards his waiting mouth. Latching his mouth onto your underwear, he runs his tongue up and down your covered seam.

He feels you begin to rock your hips into his face, rolling your body above him. Any security who looked in the window would see your shoulders moving to the beat and assume you were kneeling on the couch and giving a lap dance. He can only barely see you from his angle, sees the lace of your panties, sees your wrists grabbing at his hair.

Letting go of one of your feet, he grabs at your wrist, dragging your hand from his head to the front of your own underwear. You run your fingers down yourself, parting them around his mouth, letting his tongue tangle in them. Then you grab the edge of the gusset and pull it to the side.

Wasting no time, he immediately begins to lick at your folds, tasting the wetness that has gathered there. A lot of wetness. Christ, you’re so fucking wet. His nose touches just below your clit and a string of your arousal attaches him to you when he pulls back slightly.

A slight pause in the music has his heart stop and his stomach in his throat. After a couple seconds - that seem to stretch on forever - the first song begins playing again, restarting what must be a looped set of music.

That must mean this private dance-time is halfway over. Ten minutes left but since you two probably started after everyone else you might not have the full ten minutes of privacy if his friends decide to burst in the door. Which, if they’re led by Santi, is a real possibility.

Less than ten minutes. No problem.

You must also feel the sense of urgency because you adjust your hand that is holding your panties to the side. You take your thumb and pointer finger and move them over yourself, parting your lips to open yourself more to him and pulling up slightly, exposing your nub. He flattens his tongue in response and drags it over your sensitive bundle, noting the way your body trembles when he does so.

He knows he doesn’t have the time to edge you as he’d like to, but he can’t help himself when he moves his head lower and twists his tongue into your hole, thrusting it into you. You are bouncing yourself slightly up and down, helping him fuck yourself on his tongue. He feels your wetness pouring over his lips and dripping down through his whiskers.

He feels your hand leave your own body and tangle back in his curls along with your other one, grabbing two fistfuls of hair tightly in your grip. Having had enough of his teasing you’re apparently deciding to take matters into your own hands.

Frankie loves eating pussy but this? This might be his favorite thing in the whole world.

He angles his head perfectly, opens his mouth, and sticks his tongue out stiffly as you begin to grind your pussy against his face. You’re using his nose, his tongue, his chin, even the bristles of his facial hair. You’re using whatever you can to get yourself off as you ride his face. It takes everything in his power not to break out in a giant smile.

He doesn’t hear you, you’re still being the quietest you’ve been since you got in this room, but he feels it. Shit, does he ever feel it. He feels your body tense, then your legs quiver, feels the pulsing in your cunt as you press yourself firm into his still-open mouth. He gently laps up your gushing orgasm as you release the grip on his hair and whimper softly above him.

Knowing you’re short on time, he has you climb off him much sooner than he’d like you to. Your heavy-lidded eyes meet his and then yours go wide. You bend down and grab his hat, plopping it back on his head and attempting to tame his just-fucked-hair back underneath it. You run to the corner of the room and grab a small robe hanging on a hook, skipping back over and roughly wiping his face off with it the way you would a toddler after a meal.

He quickly adjusts himself, tucking his protruding hardness under his belt in an attempt to conceal it as he watches you adjust your askew panties. Still topless, you throw the robe back towards the corner in a panic just as there is a quick knock at the door. Without a signal to enter the door flies open anyways, no less than three of his friends bursting through the doorway drunkenly, shots in hand for Frankie to partake in.

They make Frankie drink the shots before he even leaves the room and then they drag him away from you, hollering obnoxiously. All he can manage is an apologetic look over his shoulder as he hears the final song finally come to an end. Time’s up. Luckily you’re laughing at their antics and don’t seem to be upset. Maybe you were just flirting with him because that’s your job. Maybe you just wanted a good tip.

A tip! Shit.

Being dragged down the hallway Frankie grabs Santi by the arm and asks in his ear how much he should tip you. Santi says he usually tips $200. Frankie is shocked that a 20 minute dance would garner that big of a tip, but then again it’s been a long time since he’s been at a place like this. And to be fair, you - albeit unknowingly - let him fulfill a long-time fantasy of his.

$200 is more than he would have paid you to watch his kid tonight. No wonder you’re not his babysitter anymore. He fishes around in his wallet and takes out all the cash he has, $236. He manages to break off from the group of guys after they do another couple shots and he looks around for you.

Unable to find you he spots one of the girls you came to the table with and she lets him know you’re on a break but she can get the tip to you. He hands her the folded bills and she thanks him by leaning in and giving him a peck on the cheek. When she pulls back from him she widens her eyes at him and flashes him a knowing smile.

“I’m sure she’s very appreciative… of the tip,” she winks.

Frankie tries not to blush and resists the urge to high-tail it to the bathroom and wash his face off, opting instead to keep the scent of you on him. He returns to the table of his too-drunk-to-notice friends and finishes out the night of revelry.

3:03am

Hey

3:06am

Sorry

3:09am

You’re probably asleep

3:10am

I’m just getting home actually

3:11am

Oh cool me too

Sorry to bother

I just wanted to make sure you got your tip

I left it with your friend

3:14am

I did, yes. Thank you so much.

3:14am

Cool 👍

3:16am

Don’t take this the wrong way…

But how drunk were you tonight?

3:18am

Idk

Why?

What did I do?

I’m so sorry

3:19am

No, don’t be sorry!

I’m not trying to be rude.

I just….

Did you mean to tip me that amount?

3:25am

Oh my god

Was it not enough?

I can give you more

I’m really sorry

Do you have Venmo?

3:27am

No! OMG. It was plenty!

Literally the most I’ve ever been tipped is like 40%

You tipped me 118%

3:30am

3:31am

Yeah so I just wanted to make sure you didn’t get too drunk

And accidentally just give me everything in your wallet

3:35am

Is that what happened?

3:37am

Because I can Venmo some money back to you

It’s really not a problem

3:40am

Sorry no

I just tipped what my friend told me to

3:41am

Well I checked with the other girls….

NONE of your friends tipped that much

And they were all very generous!

3:44am

But none as generous as you

3:45am

He’s such an asshole

I’m sorry

I didn’t know

I feel like an idiot

3:46am

Again, please don’t be sorry

It was VERY generous of you

And I’m very grateful

3:50am

I was in a giving mood tonight I suppose

3:51am

Mr. Morales, is that you being flirty?

3:53am

Oh we’re back to Mr. Morales now?

3:55am

Can you get a babysitter on Wednesday night?

3:55am

I don’t have custody this week so no babysitter needed

Why?

3:56am

We should go out to dinner

3:57am

Oh we should?

3:59am

Yeah we should

Frankie

4:01am

MY treat

4:01am

LOL I should hope so!

4:02am

Pick me up at 7 😉

4:02am

I will

See you Wednesday

#frankie morales x reader #frankie x reader #frankie morales fanfiction #writing prompt

326 notes · View notes

lennadanvers · 11 months ago

Text

Pure Imagination: going to parties with him

Pairing: Eddie Munson x female!reader

Eddie Munson doesn’t like parties.

He doesn’t mind the loud music, even though he doesn’t love pop. And having a place to be on a Saturday night is not bad, either. Sometimes it’s hard to sleep if he hasn’t burned all his energy. Plus, sales are pretty good.

What he hates about parties is being alone.

Sometimes, Steve will go with him. And Robin will tag along, of course. But they just drink, and even though the first thirty minutes are fun, after that he’s alone. Harrington always finds some old friend or a pretty girl and disappears. When Robin doesn’t follow him, she ends up falling asleep somewhere or calling Vickie because she misses her.

Eddie drinks a beer, maybe two, but can’t afford to get too tipsy if he wants to make cash.

Instead, he stands in a corner. Looks around the room. He’s always been a bit of a voyeur. Eddie likes analizing watching people. He used to call them sheep, all of them wanting to be part of a group, looking for guidance, ready to be one among many. In high school, he had tried. He soon realized he simply didn’t fit, and decided to take it as a sign that he was destined to be on the other side: a shepherd.

Now, older and more experienced, Eddie knows people aren’t that easy to classify. Take King Steve as an example. How come he can be popular, Hawkin’s golden boy, and, at the same time, a decent human being, willing to protect the whole town- including oblivious pricks like local psychopath Jason Carver?

Still, he likes to try. At parties, there are little groups. The drinkers. The dancers. The kissers- the ones who have drunk sex in a stranger’s house. The ones who are there with one goal in mind: revenge, seduction, letting loose.

And then there’s him, ready to provide with any kind of substance to any kind of person.

If he was there to have fun, he thinks he’d be part of the dancers. Usually, his exaggerated movements catch the attention of the people around. But in a dim lit room packed of drunks? He’d be part of the crowd. Eddie wonders how that feels like.

Must be a simple feeling. Not having weird looks his way. Being just another body existing there, a nobody.

But the Munsons aren’t nobodies.

So he’ll have to settle for imagining he’s dancing. Like he belongs at parties. Like he could walk up to you- who belong everywhere, like a magical puzzle piece that completes everything- and ask you to dance.

You were in Eddie’s first party. He had finally managed to get into one- not with a formal invitation, but he was there, nonetheless. The lunchbox in his hand was like a free pass. The proof he had earned to be there. That they needed him wanted him to be there.

He was wearing his usual attire; his hair particularly rebellious due to the heat of way too many people in a limited space. His hands were sweating, surely because of the same reason. Eddie hadn’t been able to convince Jeff to come- he used the words “not going into the dragon’s den”. He took a couple of slow steps, full of false confidence. Fake it till you make it, he mumbled to himself.

That’s when he saw you. Your hair down, surrounded by friends, laughing. Enjoying yourself. That short, pretty dress you looked so comfortable in. Your sneakers. Eddie dried his hands on his jeans.

He spent the night selling, looking awkward and stealing glances at you. It looked like you were having a great time. Your smile helped Eddie breathe, kept him at ease. You liked to dance with your friends. You weren’t particularly good at it, which made it even better.

Now, that night felt like ages ago. Eddie had learned how to move in parties: where to stand, what to say, who to flash a smile to. How to look for you without missing customers. How to handle the disappointment when he didn’t find you.

How to fill that void picturing you there. Your heat next to him, against the wall, between his body and the people. Your arm chained with his, your lovely perfume over the smell of sweat and alcohol. Your excited look when he asks you to dance. The way your hand fists the back of his jacket as to not lose him in the crowd. How you get even closer, moving with him. How you laugh at his silly movements and blush at the confident ones.

In his mind, you like how much taller than you he is. Not that he’s ridiculously tall, but he’d look down at you- if you were close enough. He imagines you like the way he holds your hand and makes you spin on your feet- not at all the kind of movement appropriate for this music. But you enjoy being dramatic with him. You giggle when he bows, asking for your next dance- even though you’re already on the dance floor.

When it’s too much- too many drinks, too much noise, people, heat- you hold his hand and walk with him outside. You leave the party with him; Eddie puts his arm on your shoulders and kisses your head. Whenever you’re with him, sales are good. They’re never the best thing of the night, though. Not when you exist.

Actually, Eddie Munson doesn’t like real parties. Only fantasy ones.

Pure Imagination Masterlist

General Masterlist

Taglist: @whataboutbibi @hellfirenacht @daisyridleyss

#eddie munson #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #fanfiction #stranger things #lennadanvers

169 notes · View notes

eternal-love · 2 months ago

Text

STAR

gif isn’t mine, it’s: @beautifulbutler

Pairing: Peyton Leverett x female!reader/you

+18 (smut, blowjob, going down in a girl, y’know the drill)

Summary: You decide to help Peyton out on his new project, you’ll be his subject, or as he calls you, his star. Things take a turn when you give him a more exciting thing to film.

You met Peyton once in Central Park, you had tripped over and all the contents of your bag had basically fallen out your bag. He helped you and since he was hot, you started talking to him. Hanging out with him.

He told you all about his short and long films, about how his teacher loved them. And how his hobby was still heavily involved with the career he studied in NYU. He told you that he was looking for another person to film and he said you were interesting.

You didn’t know if to feel flattered or insulted, did he see something interesting in a weird or a cool way? Whatever it was, it meant that Peyton had his eyes set on you, and you liked it. So you agreed.

You were just going to help a friend out, right?

So you made sure to look your best as you got ready, fixing your hair a thousand times in front of the mirror, applying different lipsticks, changing a thousand times. Suddenly you had forgotten what colors he liked.

Maybe helping a friend out didn’t mean shaving, or using your best perfume.

But even the taxi driver complimented your perfume, the smell that impregnated his small taxi. Happy that the old man, who spent the whole ride saying that you remembered him of his daughter.

You finally made it to Peyton’s apartment studio, taking deep breaths, you knocked and he opened the door.

“Hi, sorry but the traffic was horrible.” You apologized for being exactly ten minutes late.

“Don’t worry, it’s fine. I have all day.” Peyton let you in, smiling. His studio apartment was neat, not the most clean you’ve seen but you’ve seen worse. He had his camera in his desk, you sat down on in front of the window where he had a small chair.

“Nothing is rehearsed or script. I’ll just ask you some questions and you answer them.”

“I don’t think the camera likes me so much.” You chuckled, putting strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Doesn’t matter. We’ll make it work. Remember, you are my star today.” He pointed at you with a smile.

You smiled, feeling flattered. His star. Just his. He started recording you, making zooms of your face as you fixed yourself once again.

He asked rather normal questions, your age, your name, your hometown. You could ramble about your hometown and family for hours.

“Why did you come to New York?” Peyton asked, zooming into your face.

“Well, I want what everyone wants when they come to NYC. Success. I believed that it would be very different from my hometown. It is, but everyone here is different too. You don’t just stand out in a crowd, and because everyone here is so different, you get lost in between all the faces.”

You said, coming to New York with big aspirations only for them to be shattered as you find out that everyone here came with the same dream.

“A dreamer. I like it.” Peyton chuckled. “And your parents? Did they support you?”

“My dad did, he drove me all the way from my hometown to Madison Square Garden. My mother, I think it was hard for her. She definitely didn’t know what I would be up to. She probably thought I would end up as an exotic dancer…” you laughed, covering your mouth.

“Don’t. It’s pretty and it makes it more raw.” Peyton said, smiling at you. “My teacher likes it when the films focus on the real subject.”

You nod, licking your lips and continuing to speak. “Yes. I know she misses me, that she can’t stop thinking of me. I guess she worries, when you tell your mother that you dance at a club, they think the worse. And I get it. But I like it. I like dancing in the club, I’m not a stripper or a hooker. I just like being on stage. It’s not Broadway but I belong there.”

Peyton was basically enamored by you, more than being his subject, he had made it obvious that you were his star. The two of you had a break to eat, ordering Chinese food as you sat on a small table he had.

“The camera loves you. And I’m sure my teacher will too.” Peyton spoke, his mouth full.

“I never thought I would get this sincere, it’s strangely freeing.” You say, you tried to reach for a napkin but end up knocking the bottle of soda down. Wetting everything. “Shit! Sorry, let me—”

“There’s a rag on my desk.” Peyton tried to remain calm. He hated messes but, it was you. He didn’t care.

You nodded, going to his desk and scanning for a towel or something. Going through the first drawers, your eyes widened at the sight of lotion and Playboy magazines.

“Damn, you’ve been spending your money right.” You said, smirking.

“That’s private. Thank you.” Peyton practically rushed by your side, wanting to take the magazines from you.

“I don’t even want to see why they’re sticked together.” You laugh again. His face was flushed.

“I like having options. And they’re only fourteen dollars anyways.”

You turned to face him. You know, since he mentioned how the film would be filmed, you couldn’t help but think of the Audition format in porn videos.

You know, you get to the audition couch, you sit down. They ask you to slowly strip down until you’re butt naked. They compliment you, then they proceed to fuck you senseless while recording you.

You wouldn’t have done it with anyone else. But it was Peyton. You yearned for him to do that.

“You’ve ever done anything else apart from interviews?” You asked him, as he sat behind the camera.

“Yes? I don’t do much. It’s my style.”

“You’ve never had any girl flirt with you? I don’t know.”

“I haven’t brought many girls here. Only the other girls that live here.” Peyton shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh, so you have brought girls back.” You teased him with a smirk. He blushed, his cheeks and ears were pink.

“Yes, I have. Is that a crime? A guy has needs.” He confessed while chuckling, a bit ashamed. But they were friends, right? “Look, I’m just doing this to practice. I guess. For fun too. That’s why I’m letting you swear.”

“So, you’re telling me that you’ve never thought of ever filming yourself having sex?” You asked, staring right at him.

“I’ve thought of it. But— I’m scared of one day sending that video to my professor. Or showing Sharpay the wrong video.”

“It could be fun. Just saying.”

It was just harmless fun, was it not?

“Are you sure?” He asked you. Just imagining you on all fours in his bed made his jeans feel tighter.

“Damn sure.” Peyton didn’t waste a minute in closing his curtains and placing the camera on his desk, recording his bed.

It didn’t take long before you two were making out on the bed. He appeared to be extra hungry for this kind of feeling. The lust, the edge, everything. Perhaps NYU had been everything in his mind lately that he forgot he could have fun too.

And you? Too many lonely nights in your miserable no-bedroom apartment. Too many miserable nights watching whatever FOX was playing.

So when you got the chance to touch Peyton’s hard cock, you didn’t waste it. He grunted as you touched it and squeezed it lightly. His tongue fighting yours as he grabs your face to keep you close. Unbuttoning his pangs, you get yourself on top of the bed completely.

But he was significantly stronger, making it easier for him to pin you down on the bed. His lips making their way to your neck. There’s a chill going down your spine. When was the actual last time you time you had sex? Because you don’t even remember it.

“You smell so good.” He groaned on your neck, leaving love bites wherever he pleased. He was quick go pull down your skirt, leaving you in just your panties. He moved on to take off your shirt, his mouth going directly to your breasts, sucking on them.

“You taste so good.” He muttered against your skin. He took off your bra quickly, his hand agile enough to do it in a snap. He kissed softly, your neck, your chest, your stomach, until he reached your underwear.

One of his hands found their way to your clothed and wet slit, his fingers softly gracing your throbbing pussy. He began rubbing you softly through the panties, gently and not really following a pattern, but making you feel like you were about to touch heaven.

“Do you like that?” He purred softly, his head turning to look at the camera for a few seconds. Making sure it was recording.

“Y-yes…” you whispered softly, making his press his fingers even more, you whined in response.

“Talk louder or the camera won’t pick it up, baby.” He said, his tone a bit forceful.

You didn’t answer. That only made him basically pull your panties down, pulling your thighs apart, the camera getting a one-person pov of your throbbing pussy. His finger immediately went to your sensitive bud, circling with slow touches.

You moaned even louder, your back arching as your hair became a mess underneath you. You began panting, and he was just rubbing you.

“I’ll make you feel good for the camera. It will love seeing you moan for me.” Peyton muttered as he kept rubbing your core before suddenly stopping. You whined, but he didn’t give you much enough time to think before he moved you around the bed, making sure you laid correctly as she positioned his head between your legs, kissing your pelvis, your thighs until his mouth found your core.

His tongue flicking in and out as he devoured you relentlessly, tasting you whole. He knew was he was doing, attacking your sensitive pussy, he wanted to capture how you had been the one with the idea yet you had let him posses you. How you squirmed under him and only him. How he had this sort of power over you. His tongue moving in ways you didn’t know it could, as you felt yourself coming undone over him. You grabbed his blond locks, so that he wouldn’t tease you again and stop without warning. Bucking your hips against his face.

“I’m gonna, I’m gonna!—“ and you finished, he devoured your orgasm as if he were a thirsty man. Tasting your sweet cum on his lips and tongue. You were left panting, but not for long as he suddenly crawled on top of you, capturing your lips for yet another kiss.

He took off his pants and threw them anywhere, taking off his tshirt, and his boxers. He was well endowed, very well-endowed. Grabbing his cock with his hand, he didn’t waste a single second before entering you. Making him groan loudly, and you whimpered, your eyes rolling at the back of your head. He started off slow, very slow, so you’d get used to his size. You felt his cock stretching every single part of your right pussy, if he wasn’t made for you and you for him then you don’t know who else could match up.

“You’re so good for me. So eager.” He said, before grabbing your chin and making you look at the camera in the desk. “The camera loves you, can’t you see?”

His pace started to escalate. His thrusts were a bit more determined and strong. Your hips rolling too. One of his hands went to your breasts, tracing the outline of them, pinching your nipples.

“So perfect for me. So perfect for the camera.” He said, his mouth going to kiss your breast. The sound of skin slapping against one another filled the studio apartment. “I’ll ruin you for other guys. They won’t have a thing on me, I promise you that.” He basically groaned out, oh, he wanted you all for himself.

His pace and thrusts became more rapid, deep and harsh, making you squirm around him as you moaned. Were you trying to control yourself? No, you wanted all the girls that ever flirted with him that you were marking territory. As weird as that may sound, you wanted Peyton all for yourself. Because, how could you ever let his guy go?

His body slamming into yours, feeling your walls tightening around his cock. You two were lost on each other, the way his face was buried on your neck, just wanting to never forget how you smelled, how you taste, how you sound.

A minutes later, you both finished at the same time. He buried himself as deep as he could, filling her up.

“Peyton…”

“Y/n…”

They both repeated out of breath, almost in the way you would say amen after a prayer. He laid on top of you for a few seconds, his hand rubbing your cheek. He let you rest for a few minutes.

“I’ll reward you, and I’ll give you the best closing scene.” You told him. As you sat up from the bed, your legs trembling a little, grabbing his camera from the desk and giving it to him.

He stood up from the bed too, confused as he held the camera. He was confused until he saw you kneel you in front of him. Just the sight of you going on your knees made him get hard again. The camera was huge but that did not stop him from finding a good angle.

“You’re a star.” He said, his thumb tracing your bottom lip.

“You said I was your star today.” You said, as you leaned to place small kisses on his pelvis, he resisted the urge of already making her swallow his cock whole.

“You like what you see, baby?” He asked, his cock on full display for you and the camera to see. He gripped her hair, tangling in his hands. “Be a good baby. Show the camera how good you are to me.” He purred.

You licked his dripping tip, before slowly wrapping your lips on his cock, moaned and groaned. Oh, you were good.

“F-fuck.” He moaned, but he kept the camera steady. He wouldn’t have to buy Playboy magazines anymore. “You were made for the camera. Look at you.”

You never bit him or hurt him, you were just perfect, you just had the most perfect mouth. Made just for him, just for his size, just for his cock.

“I’m not going to last very long…” He warned you, bucking his hips too, making you gag, your eyes watery as you were relentlessly sucking him down. His body was tense, in need to release himself. You looked up at him with your widened eyes. Oh, he got off on that too, it nearly made him cum on your throat right then in there.

“I can’t- I won’t last…” He forced out his voice, strained. You couldn’t help but pull away from him for a moment. He gasped, trying to keep himself on control. You stared up at the camera.

“Swallow or face?” You asked him. Just the image of him coming all over your face or making you swallow made him even more weaker.

“Face.” He said quickly. He would rather watch the video in repeat on his you’re covered in his cum than having to imagine you swallowing.

You nod. You spat in your own hand. Now using your hand to please him. Waiting for him to have his climax. It didn’t take long before his face contracted. His cum all over her face.

“Oh… God!” He groaned.

You licked your lips. You never allowed guys to finish in your face. Not even. You didn’t even blow them. But Peyton, damn, he deserved it. He kept recording you, your beautiful face all drenched in his juices. He stopped recording and placed the camera on his bed.

He pulled you up to you feet and kissed you, tasting himself as his tongue made his way into your own mouth. He pulled away. His thumb cleaned your cheek, recollecting some of his cum in it, he brought it to your lip, making you lick it clean.

“I think I’ll need you to star in more of my films.”

Author’s note: this was the most embarrassing things I’ve ever written. I don’t ever write this ‘overly-detailed’ smut. But I tried. This was oh-so-deeply inspired by Austin’s character in NCSI: New York too. Where he plays a porn star.

I hope you guys like it! Love you all! 🫶💕

#austin butler #austinbutler #peyton leverett x reader #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler fic #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler is so hot #sharpays fabulous adventure #austin butler stories #austin butler smut

51 notes · View notes

queenoftheworldisdead · 17 days ago

Text

Need me

Chapter 3

Note: Prequel to Six Feet. Reader is female. No physical descriptors used. Let me know if i fucked up and not do that. Chat me up i don’t bite! Thank you

Summary: Stripper just wants to work to support herself, but her bad life choices come back to bite her in the ass.

Warning: Adult content only! 18+ only please. Dark! There is potentially triggering stories ahead.

Dark Mafia Bucky x Reader (stripper), Mafia AU ( mentions of past relations with Tony Stark)

👠

Tony POV

The sharp scent of stale booze and the faint trace of cheap perfume mingled in the air, wrapping around Tony like a hug. He took a slow sip of his whiskey, the burn just right on the way down as he sat and waited. It had been too long. Not because he’d wanted to stay away, but because the old ball and chain made it clear this place was off-limits.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed it—the soft neon lights, the topless girls on stage and on the floor, the heavy bass-line of whatever song was in rotation. Even the over priced watered down drinks, a reminder of the life he’d left behind to play the part of a good husband.

Today, though, was different.

Daisy missed her mommy. You said you’d only be gone a few days and promised to call, but nothing. Not a word.

You could be petty at times, even fiery—that’s one of the reasons Tony took a shine to you. But you never ignored Daisy, no matter how mad you got at him. Sure, you liked to make him linger on the line before replying, but never longer than a day.

Now? It’s been over a week.

The dancer on stage moves in rhythm, but the atmosphere feels off—stiff in a way that’s hard to ignore. The usual slouches occupy their spots around the room, but the men in suits? They’re new.

Tony glances at his watch, then sweeps the floor again. You were always either on stage or working the floor around this time. A flicker of jealousy crawls through him at the thought of you in VIP. That room held memories—of you and him, tangled in ways that made him stiff in the seat of his pants. You weren’t together, but in a way, you were still his. Forever tied to him through the child you shared.

“Um, sir?”

The waitress’s voice pulls him back as she reappears at his table. “Sorry, but… we don’t have a dancer by that stage name here.”

You were here he knows it. He saw your car in the lot. A smirk tugs at his lips. You’re playing games again. Fine. He’ll play along.

“Okay, uh, why don’t you send Bubbles my way? I’m looking for a little VIP action, if you catch my drift,” he teases. He knows you’d hate that—probably why he does it. The payoff was always worth it an angry fuck in the back of his sedan. The memory had him growing hard again.

His eyes follow the sway of the waitress hips as she disappears backstage. She wasn’t really his type, but that had never stopped him from sampling before. The table lights up, the subtle buzz of his phone rattling his half-empty glass. His expression sours as the name on the caller ID flashes across the screen—his wife.

With a sharp exhale, he flicks the call to voicemail. He’d deal with the fallout later. Right now, he had other things on his mind.

“Um sorry again, but Bubbles is with another client right now. Is there anyone else?” She says as she returns an edge of nervousness in her voice.

His voice lowers, the teasing edge gone, replaced with simmering frustration. “Go find Sweaty and tell her to stop playing games. Her daughter misses her. And tell her this—if she wants to lose full custody, she’d better get her ass out here now.”

“She isn’t here I swear.” She takes a deep breath a but of panic in her brow. “I asked a few of the few girls in the back and they don’t know where she is. She might be one of the girls that got let go a while back.”

The news hits him like a ton of bricks, settling into his gut like a stone. Now all the strange little things—the missed calls, the new guys in suits, the no-shows with Daisy—clicked together in a way that felt wrong.

A thought flashes to your last visit. You looked off—shaken, distracted—but he hadn’t pressed. He’d been too focused on satisfying his own needs to wonder why you seemed weird that day. Now, the memory gnaws at him, sharp and unforgiving, filling him with a dread he can’t shake.

👠

Reader POV

Your shoulder aches, a dull, persistent throb from hours of keeping the tray level as you weave through the haze of the club. Cigarette smoke clings to your skin, mingling with the faint tang of cheap cologne and spilled beer.

You didn’t make the cut for dancer—not the right type, whatever that supposed to mean—but you were decent enough to serve drinks. The uniform left little to the imagination, bits and pieces of you peeking out from one end or another.

The music hums faintly beneath the blare of televisions mounted on the walls, each tuned to dog races, horse tracks, or some sport. The patrons’ eyes flick between the screens and their drinks, sparing little attention for the dancers who move with a listless rhythm under neon lights.

The girls on the poles were just for show it seems a front for when the law came to sniff around you presume. The real action lay with the bookies.

A sharp whistle from the bar cuts through the noise, drawing your attention. Polly waves you over, her perfectly arched brow lifting in a way that tightens your chest. She doesn’t like you—doesn’t like half the girls here, if you’re being honest.

You cradle your tray and make your way over, bracing yourself for the whatever may come. Her gaze flicks over you and you try not to squirm under its weight.

“Are you skimming?”

The accusation hits like a slap. Your eyes widen, but you recover quickly, forcing your expression into something neutral. Drunk men don’t count, right? If they’re too far gone to notice an extra tip slipped onto their credit card bill. You highly doubted they’d dispute it.

“No,” you lie offering an innocent smile. Polly’s lip curls, a mixture of amusement and disdain.

“You’re a lying bitch.”

“Polly—”

“Don’t start.” She cuts you off, leaning in just enough to make her point clear. “You’re not as slick as you think you are. Keep your hands clean tonight, or this will be your last shift.”

The threat hangs between you, heavy and unmistakable. She doesn’t wait for a response, turning on her heel and leaving you standing there.

If you get fired, it’s fine. This wasn’t supposed to last more than a few days anyway, but the money was too good to pass up.

“Causing trouble, are we?”

The voice slides over you like silk. You turn slowly, already knowing who you’ll see. Tommy Shelby. His blue eyes pin you in place, sharp and unyielding, as he drags lazily from a cigarette.

“No, Mr. Shelby.” Your voice is smaller than you’d like, your gaze dropping unable to hold his.

“We’ve got some out-of-town guests coming, and we need everyone on their best behavior.”

Polly’s warning echoes in your mind. Does he knows you've been skimming tips too?

“Yes, sir. Mr. Shelby.”

He studies you for a moment longer, his eyes dragging over you in a way that makes your skin crawl, though not from disgust. Unease settles deep in your chest, coiling tightly. He takes one last drag from his cigarette before flicking it aside, his gaze flickering back to you.

“See that you don’t disappoint.”

👠

You weren’t sure how Polly had found out about your little tip scheme, but at least for tonight, you’d keep your hands to yourself. From time to time, you caught her watching you, and each time, you met her gaze with a bright smile. She’d forget eventually, you were sure. After all, you couldn’t be the only one skimming in a place like this.

You squeeze into the narrow space at the crowded bar, wedging between an old man nursing a whiskey and another still clad in neon construction gear, unmoved by your need for space. For a Tuesday night at a gentlemen club, it felt unusually crowded —but then again, Tommy’s comment about “out-of-town guests” might explain it.

Even the girls on stage looked more polished, like brand-new dolls. Their makeup and hair were done up more extravagantly than you’d seen since you started working here. The whole place felt different, like it was putting on a show. Maybe that’s just what happens when important people roll through.

“Hey, can I get some service?” you shout at one of the bartenders, frustration lacing your voice.

You raise an imaginary glass to your lips, mimicking a drinking motion to signal the bartender. But you’re too far away for either of them to notice. They turn to the next customer without so much as a glance in your direction, their backs to you like you don’t even exist.

“Seriously?” You mutter, your frustration barely audible over the nose of the club. A heavy sigh escapes as you drop your hand in defeat, fingers curling against the worn and damp surface of the bar-top.

You shift back, ready to slip away, but something halts you—solid and unyielding, pressing into your back. The bar-top digs into your ribs as the weight bears down, sharp and suffocating.

“Hey,” you bite out, heat flashing sharp under your skin as your jaw locks tight. “Do you mind?”

Your elbow jerks back, an instinctive attempt to carve out some space, but the resistance doesn’t budge. A curse slips from your lips as the pressure builds, the edge of the bar digging into you. Men were bold, but this felt different.

You twist your neck, muscles straining, fighting against the tightness as you try to face your assailant.

“Well, hello, Kitty.”

The voice cuts through the noise—low, familiar, and dripping with mockery.

You blink, dread sinking in as your mouth falls open. His eyes are bright, alive with excitement as they sweep over you, taking in every detail

“Cat got your tongue?” he teases, but the humor falls flat, lost in the growing tension. His arms cage you in, and the men beside you vanish. What could you say to him? What would he believe? If you were a betting woman, you'd wager nothing. Still, you try.

“Oh,” you say, dumbly, forcing false excitement. “Hey, honey, what are you doing all the way out here?”

You push a smile, eyes bright, puffing yourself up with the hope he’s as clueless as the men you danced for.

"You've been very bad," he informs you coolly. It’s confusing—you expected him to be angry, furious given the state you left him in. But the look in his eyes reminds you of every man you used to dance for, the ones who wanted to bend you over and prove to the world that you were just a stripping whore.

Your gaze flickers to the figures closing in behind him, and faint hope washes over you. Tommy, Arthur, and Johnny approach, but they're halted by the men clinging to Bucky’s side.

“Is there a problem here, gentlemen?” Tommy asks, his accent thicker than usual, his gaze shifting between you and Bucky.

“We’ve been looking for this one,” Steve replies, nodding toward you, his voice barely audible over the din of the club as Bucky’s stance tightens against the bar.

“I see,” Tommy says coolly, his voice smooth and unaffected, cutting through the noise. He doesn’t raise it, but it commands attention. “But here’s the thing.” He pauses, the weight of his words heavy enough to quiet the room. “…She’s under our employ. I can’t have you lot barging in here and doing as you please.”

Bucky finally speaks, sharp and dismissive. “Alright. What do you want for her?” He keeps his back to Tommy, gaze fixed on you. His eyes drill into you, daring you to react, though you refuse to flinch.

“I’m sure we can come to some understanding,” Tommy suggests, his tone cool and measured. The weight on your back lifts, and you straighten, stepping away from the bar. Turning, you face both men—each equally dangerous, each a mask of unreadable intent.

Tommy motions for you to step forward. Hesitation grips you as your eyes dart to Bucky, catching the faint smirk curling his lips—a silent promise of something unknown. The unease settles like a stone in your stomach, yet your legs move of their own accord, carrying you toward Tommy.

“Polly why don’t her for a smoke in the back while we discuss.”

You feel sick, queasy, your legs turning to jelly as you follow his command. Polly doesn’t help steady you instead, she marches off, fuming at the trouble you’ve caused. You should have run sooner. You shouldn’t have gotten greedy. But, as always, money has a way of landing you in trouble.

👠

Bucky POV

Bucky takes his seat across the table from Tommy Shelby, both men reserved in quiet contemplation. The dimly lit room, tucked behind the VIP section, feels worlds away from the hustle and bustle of the main floor. The faint hum of activity seeps through the walls, a distant reminder of the Shelby empire at work. Behind them, their men linger in the shadows—Shelbys outnumber the Commandos, but the Commandos remain steadfast, unfazed by the odds.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” Bucky begins, his voice gruff but steady. “We’ve got guns that need moving.”

Tommy listens in silence, his expression unreadable. The glow of his cigarette briefly illuminates his sharp features as he leans forward, flicking ash into the tray with deliberate ease.

“I’m not running a bloody courier service, Mr. Barnes,” he finally says, his tone cool and cutting. “You’d do better ringing up FedEx.”

Bucky’s jaw tightens, and his grin falters, replaced by a hint of aggravation. “Cut the crap, Shelby. You run the docks. Nothing goes in or out of this city without your say-so. We’re offering you good money and a few weapons for your trouble. Safe passage and storage—simple as that.”

Tommy leans back, still and unreadable, his sharp eyes fixed on Bucky. He lets the silence stretch, the tension in the room thickening with every passing second.

“That’s were you are wrong. We take on the majority of the risk. It’s our asses on the line.” Tommy finally says. “And for that we want more than just a few bucks and guns. We are in America we can spit and find a gun Mr. Barnes.”

“Well what do you want?”

“We want to open up a gambling hall in your town, protection on top of the guns and money you were already going to pay us.”

“You can’t be serious,” Steve blurts out, anger lancing his words. Bucky raises his hand, silencing his friend but the tension in the air is thicker now.

“Alright, Tommy, I hear you. You want a hall, you’ll get your hall. You run the games, manage the staff, keep the bookies in line—that’s all on you. But in my town, there are rules.”

He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table.

“Protection? You got it. Nobody touches your operation, not without going through me. But the loan sharking? That stays under my control. My guys’ll handle the credit, collections, all of it. Anyone borrows in my territory, they answer to me.”

His gaze locked on Tommy, sharp as a blade.

“We’ll keep it clean—your hall brings in the gamblers, my crew takes care of the debts. No stepping on toes, no mixed signals. You don’t touch the loans, and I don’t meddle with your bookies. Everyone eats. You good with that?”

He let the words hang, the challenge implicit in his tone. This was a deal, not a negotiation.

“That works for us.” Tommy says as he takes another drag. “But what about your girl? She isn’t part of this. What will you give me for her?”

Tommy’s eyes catch the subtle tick in Bucky’s jaw—he’s hit a nerve again. A smirk threatens to tug at his lips, but he reigns it in, keeping his composure.

“She’s not that special let’s not get crazy.” Bucky lies. It wasn’t a complete lie. You stole, his wallet, stole his car and he was pretty sure he had a concussion, but he needed you, in more was than he cared to admit to anyone even Steve. “She stole from me and ran off. I can’t have that.”

“Well if that is the case. We will hand her over once our dealings are done.” Tommy says. “Free of charge. I’m sure your reprisals can wait until our dealings are settled.”

👠

#dark bucky x reader #dark bucky x black reader #dark bucky x WOC reader #Need me fic

7 notes · View notes

sunnywaives · 10 months ago

Text

Chapter One: Setting The Scene

This is the first chapter of a fanfic im currently working on thats Alastor x Female Reader. You can find the whole thing on Wattpad, or I can continue to post here if yall want :)

Word Count 1,380

There is a general disclaimer for violence and mature themes that goes more in depth on Wattpad, might add it here later depending on if yall want me to keep posting chapters here too. And in case none of you have read a story like this (which I don’t think is many people) here is a guide on personal stuffs: - (Y/N): Your Name - (L/N): Your Last Name - (F/C): Favorite Color - (H/S): Hair Style; like Long Blonde, Short Red, Black Bobbed, etc. - (E/C): Eye Color - (S/C): Skin Color - (S/N): Stage Name. And with that, lets get on with it! Here is Chapter One: Setting The Scene

New Orleans, 1928 - Friday, 7:02pm

It's the Roaring Twenties all across the young America, glitz, glam, Jazz music, prohibition, sex, and good times were all around you. The smell of moisture in the air surrounding you as you walked to the Gentlemen's Club/Bar where you worked as an exotic dancer, going by (s/n). The sound of your heels clicking on the sidewalk, the glow of neon as you pass by stores, their glow illuminating your (s/c) skin. Your coat, long and to your ankles, is decorated with a fox pelt up top, keeping you both hidden and warm. As you approach the club you work at, the smell of liquor is present, and patrons who already had too much to drink were standing outside.

You sigh, getting ready to open the door to the backstage area to get ready for the night. It was Friday, so you were expecting lots of customers. After all, your club was one of the only ones with a rather steady supply of alcohol. As you step in, the smell of harsh perfumes and makeup overwhelm your nose, as you make your way to an empty mirror, you hear voices cheering from the main area, presumably from one of the other performers. as you sit down at the mirror, you dig through your bag to find your compact, outfits, perfume, and hair supplies. Not paying attention, a voice suddenly startles you.

"Hey (y/n)! I feel like I haven't seen you in ages!" One of your friends and fellow dancers almost ran up to you, almost tripping from excitement.

"Hey Maggie, I know, I had some business to take care of, wish I could've seen you more." You kept it short and low, nobody knew who you really were, they only knew you as top performer, and one that isn't seen very often.

"You always talk about this 'Business' of yours, what is it? Is is some secret society thing? You can tell me~" She leaned in close, looking at you side by side in the mirror.

No matter how much you want to trust her, you just can't say anything. You muster up a half hearted smile, and continued putting on makeup as Maggie sat next to you, talking your ear off. You almost wanted to tell her to buzz off, but you had been alone these past few days, and the company was nice in a way. A loud voice was heard, calling Maggie's stage name for her to go out next.

"Well shoot, guess I gotta go, talk to ya later (y/n)!" She bounced away, like she always did, heading for the stage, leaving you in the soft hum of the lights around you.

"Okay, now I can finally tame this mess of hair, where is my brush." You start gathering all your hair care items, getting ready to tame your (h/s) hair.

After about an hour of getting ready, you get dressed into your first outfit of the night, and sat waiting for your name to be called. And just as you think about it, there is is, the announcer calling your stage name. As you walk out, the smell of sweat, alcohol, smoke, and perfume once again flood your senses. Once halfway out, you scan and read the type of crowd it is tonight. Lots of young men, some older gentlemen, and some performers mingling with the crowd. You think to yourself "seems like an easy crowd, I'll go easy, and turn it up at the end of my last dance.". As the jazz begins to start, your body becoming one with the dance, making time go by faster. Whoops and claps erupt from the crowd, as you slowly expose more of your body, tips gathering at your feet, sweat dripping from your neck as you finish your routine.

As you prepare to leave the stage, a familiar face catches your eye. A younger gentlemen, sitting in a booth alone, sipping what looked to be whiskey. In the bright lights, it's hard to make out features, you did notice one thing; his smile. You could have sworn you've seen that face before, you aren't quite sure where though. Just as you turn to leave, you make eye contact with a few patrons, making them want more. The night has just begun, and you were about to make it yours to win.

~Time Skip - 3.5 Hours~

As you slip into your last outfit of the day, you hear the performer before you finish their routine. Getting up, you suddenly felt something was wrong, as if someone was watching you. You looked around, made sure the doors were locked, and tried to ignore the feeling. Shaking off the feeling, you made your way out to the stage for the final routine of the night. Most of the older men have left by this point, leaving less than sober young men up front and at the bar. You could tell they were all piss drunk, as they could barely sit in the chairs, let alone keep their eyes open. It didn't matter to you, you were here to make money, and this night was no different than the others. One last scan of the room, whoops and cat calls, claps and whistles encouraging you to come out faster. They were thirsty, drunk, and it was Friday, all the making of either a good night or something horrible.

"One last show, then I can leave. I still have that bad feeling though..." Thoughts flooding your mind as you begin to dance, now just wanting to be done and go home. You can't help but lock eyes with the same gentleman in the back, still unable to make out many features. Is he the reason you have the feeling?

As you dance, your (h/c) hair is shining in the light, the glitter on your skin is dancing, and tips are once again forming at your feet. Preforming you final moves, your signature splits always get the crowd going, swinging your knees to the front, you stop in a 'Come get Me' type of pose and face. As lights go out, you gather the tips and leave for the back for the last time. All of the other girls had left at this point, leaving your bag at the same mirror you had earlier that night. Gathering your belongings, you make sure to double check everything, since people have taken things before. As you slip your coat back on, you can't help but get that feeling again, unsure of where it was coming from.

Opening the door to leave, the crisp midnight air almost slaps you in the face, waking you up a little bit. Just like before, the now silent street has an eerie yet peaceful vibe, as the only sound to be heard is the clicking of heels as you walk. "That feeling, what was it from? I didn't see anyone suspicious at the club, and nobody else is around. Maybe it's just from being away for so long." As you think about the night and how it went, you unlock the door to your apartment. Same beige walls, same flat bed, same loneliness. Nothing has changed. Locking the door behind you, your body succumbs to the soreness, making you plop onto your bed face first. You look over the the photos on your nightstand, your brother, mother, father and you all smiling for a picture. The only time everyone was truly happy.

"Just another day. Tomorrow will be the same, and the next day. When will all of this end." You start talking to yourself, trying to fill the silence of the room. Feeling the sweat now dried onto your skin, you decide to take a shower, wanting to wash away the sins and feelings you had that night. Stripping your clothing and tossing it into the hamper, you sigh as the cold tiles touch your feet. Getting into the water, you feel all your worries wash away, as you get lost in your mind, getting away from reality for a few seconds.

Clean, tired, and sore, you cuddle into your (f/c) blanket your mother once made you, giving you the comfort to close your eyes and fall asleep, waiting for the next day to come.

#hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #mature theme #hazbin hotel x y/n

6 notes · View notes

lazui-l · 2 years ago

Text

Prosekai x IDV crossover when

So far I have

Kanade as female dancer (cause the music box)

Mizuki as Perfumer

Mafuyu as doctor

Ena as painter

Rui as prisoner

Tsukasa as Acrobat

Nene as Mechanic (imagine her robot as Robo nene,,)

An as barmaid

Akito as Prospector

Toya as Gravekeeper

Honami as priestess

#project sekai #colorful stage #identity v #idv crossover

4 notes · View notes

mllepomme · 4 years ago

Text

they’re lesbians your honour

#identity v #idv #idv art #shan (f)arts #vera nair #idv perfumer #margaretha zelle #idv female dancer #margivera #female dancer x perfumer #LESBIANS...#this wss 110% fuelled by kit kat <3

67 notes · View notes

otakusparkle · 2 years ago

Text

Identity V New Collaboration Release

Identity V x ZEPETO

New information will be coming soon!

What is ZEPETO?

ZEPETO is real-time avatar social game where you can meet so many new friends, enter a lot of 'universe' and also join a lot of events!

#identity v #idv #idv x zepeto #zepeto #idv female dancer #idv perfumer #idv psychologist #idv patient #idv disciple #margaretha zelle #vera nair #ada mesmer #idv emil

34 notes · View notes

ask-missmargiezelle · 3 years ago

Note

I see how you look at Ms. Nair with that love in your eye's. Do you ever think about asking her on a little date hm? 👀

…

“Do you think so…?”

#dancer answers 💕#ask miss margie zelle #fragrant melody 💕#and on that note — any inquiries to vera shall certainly not be turned down!!!#lesbian s are real ur honor #:)#this was a Delight to make!!!#i still think i could improve but digital is taking some getting used to! i’ll keep trying :)#margaretha zelle lesbian canon caught in 4k havjng homosexual feelings for women #idv #female dancer #identity v #margaretha zelle #margaretha zelle idv #vera nair #chloe nair #perfumer idv #margivera #margaretha zelle x vera nair

57 notes · View notes

kittycatzelle · 3 years ago

Text

Pink and purple MargeVera moodboard <3

#identity v #idv #idv edits #moodboard #idv moodboard #idv female dancer #idv perfumer #margaretha zelle #vera nair #margie x vera #pink moodboard #purple moodboard #edits #my edits #edit blog #Doll House Non-Requests

16 notes · View notes

callmeminxx · 4 years ago

Text

IDV Survivors walking in on you changing. PT 3

Weee PART TH R E E- Helena, Fiona, Vera, Kevin, and Margaretha this time-

Edit: After studying more characters in the IDV universe, I see Kevin as a protective man. The thing I’ve written below goes slightly against what I headcanon Kevin as, so uh- sorry

Helena Adams;; ✤ ... ✤ She's blind. ✤ She just wandered in by mistake, asking if someone was in there. ✤ You felt the need to usher her out, but she instead sat down on your bed and started chatting with you. ✤ Oh, and yes, she knew you were changing. She could hear it.

Fiona Gilman;; ✤ Walked in, quickly opened a portal and left. ✤ You didn't even notice, but KEVIN mentioned it later. ✤ Fiona beat his ass.

Vera Nair;; ✤ The second she saw your outfit, she gasped and slammed the door shut behind her, still in your room. ✤ Quickly told you that didn't match your eyes or skin tone, and she would happily find you a new outfit ✤ Sure, you were SLIGHTLY embarrassed, but once she found a cute outfit, you felt AWESOME.

Kevin Ayuso;; ✤ He saw you, stared for a good 10 seconds, then catcalled. ✤ You screamed, startling the both of you. ✤ Emily, Melly, Martha, Patricia, and Demi quickly came to your rescue, chasing Kevin off and beating his ass. Again.

Margaretha Zelle;; ✤ Walked in and gasped quietly, slightly panicking. ✤ She slammed the door shut and sat outside of your room, quickly winding up a music box to play a song for you as an apology. ✤ You gave her a hug after, saying it was okay.

#idv #idv imagines #idv minds eye #idv priestess #idv perfumer #idv cowboy #idv female dancer #identity v #identity v x reader #identity v imagines #imagines

142 notes · View notes

dollywony · 2 years ago

Note

hi girly!! I absolutely loved your yandere miles fairchild fic and I was wondering if you could write another one?

maybe where the reader (female) is a dancer and has been getting letters in her dance bag from a mysterious secret admirer (being miles) who only signs his letters using M.F. or something like that. maybe the reader then gets freaked out because he starts threatening her saying that he knows where she lives and gets really specific on things that only she would know. then maybe when she is asleep in her apartment one night he finally goes to take action and takes her with him. maybe reader wakes up because miles is caressing her face (like he did with kate in the movie) and she wakes up and he confesses who he is and then takes her?

I know this is very specific, and if you can get to this great but if not then don't worry about it.

meant to be - m.f

pairing(s): miles x reader

summary: your secret admirer took the first step in confessing, but you wanted nothing to do with him.

a/n: hey babe ty for requesting!! 💕💕💐 + sorry 4 making you wait!! ☹️☹️

wc: 1.4k+

It's now eight at night and you're beyond tired. Dancing constantly nonstop exhausts your body, but you need something to take your mind off what was going on. The whole situation was creeping you out. The letters you would find after packing was the cherry on top in making you hurl. The one from yesterday was the worst so far.

To the angel of my dreams,

Y/n, you don’t know how much I wanted to fucking kill that man for even talking to you. To make matters worse, you basically threw yourself onto him even after he hurt you. Do you know how much that hurts? Seeing you being unloyal to me. Y/n i'm on my last straw. I know everything about you, yet you seem unfazed. Why is that? Is it because you don't believe me? Is It because you don't believe I'll do anything to you? Believe me doll, i dont want to but youre making it so fucking hard.

You live in apartment complex #127. The pin number is 6250. Don't even bother changing it love, it takes four days for your complaint to actually be dealt with. You know, I still have the paperclip you gave to me that day. It's my best possession.

You drive me crazy darling. Spritzing your miss dior perfume that you received from your sister on christmas daily. It's almost empty though, maybe I'll get you another one.

Your laugh, your emotions, fuck your everything is so worth every penny i hold to my name. You’ll be mine one way or another.

Yours devotedly and lovingly,

M.F

You didn’t even reread that letter, discarding it the moment you were done reading it. Who even was M.F? What did he want? More importantly how the did he know any fucking thing he shouldnt know about you?

It was hard to even try and pinpoint who M.F was. You were in school during the day and as soon as it finished, you would go to the studio. In the studio you would dance and dance until you felt as if your legs were going to break. By the time you would get home, you would instantly pass out. Sometimes it would range through ten to twelve.

Looking through your bag, you discovered the letter he left today. As you tore open the envelope you unfolded the paper.

You were confused. Why did the letter just say today? It was written horribly too, as if he was in a rush. Instead of his usual neat calligraphy, the word was contorted and out of line.

Did he mean he's going to do something today or did he mean today as if he was stopping all letters to you from today? You hoped it was the latter. Crumpling up the letter in your hand, you were wary that he would pop up anywhere. Who knows maybe he was following you right now. Maybe he was in the dance studio with you.

You felt uncomfortable. There was this weird, cold feeling that shot down your body. Your eyes looked at every crevice but you couldn’t find a hint of anyone hiding.

Sighing you finished packing your bag and got up to finally go home. You were tired. Tired of whoever M.F was. Tired of his sick, scary letters.

Getting out of the taxi, you were finally home. Walking up the stairs, you greeted mrs. Abbott next door. She was awfully sweet, always making the best cookies.

“Hi dearie!” She cheered, grinning widely at you. “Hi Mrs. Abbott, how are you?” You replied, sending the grin back. “Oh I'm doing quite well! How about you?” she questioned. “Oh I'm about to go to bed soon, have a goodnight!” you finished with a chuckle. “Alright sweetie! Have a good sleep!” you hear her say as you fumble to get your keys out.

Opening your door, you threw your bag down near your desk. Stumbling towards your bathroom, you couldn’t help but think why M.F had such an infatuation with you. It made your head hurt.

Stepping in your shower, you were quick to clean up. Wanting the day to finally be over, you were more than eager to help. Getting the covers over your body, you swiftly fell asleep unaware of the pair of eyes that emerged from underneath your bed.

Fast asleep, Miles crawled out from under your bed sighing. Seeing you sleep was even prettier up close. He thought, approaching your unconscious figure. Slowly sitting down on your bed trying not to wake you, he let his hand stroke your hair. Your hair was so pretty just like you.

Miles’s grin grew as he envisioned you in his bed as he protected you just like this. Well maybe he didn’t help you, but he felt like he was protecting you. Grabbing your hand, he interlocked it with his. Miles couldn't think of anything that made him happier than this.

Leaning in, he let loose of your hair going to caress your face. As his hand came in contact with your face, he felt euphoric. The feeling of your soft, delicate skin with his hand was so much and more for him. Miles closed his eyes and continued to caress. Being this close with you, even touching your skin made him ecstatic.

Waking up, you feel this sensation on your right cheek. Widening your eyes, you realized someone other than you was here. You see a boy with furious curls sitting next to you. He was rather good looking but that thought left your soul the moment you realized he was touching you.

“Fuck! Get off me!” You shrieked as you shoved the mysterious man off your bed. He grunts as he hits the floor. “Who are you?” You screeched, getting up to get your phone but he had grabbed your ankle making you fall face plant onto the floor.

“Not so fast Angel.” His voice, jagged and raspy, came out. “I need to tell you something.”

“What do you mean tell me something! You freak leave!” You wailed out, distressed from who this man was.

Ignoring your words, he stood up, grabbing you by your wrist and forcefully laid you down on your bed once again. Terrified, thoughts ran through your head trying to piece who this man was. Was he just your typical robber? Or was he here to kill you? Or worse. Was he M.F? Fuck what if he was? What would you even do?

Feeling the presence of the man above you snapped you out of your thoughts. “I know you’re worried. I know you’re scared. In fact, I know everything about you Y/n. You're so pretty and nice and kind.. Fuck. I love you. I love you Y/n.” he blabbered, holding eye contact with you.

“Who are you?” you questioned again, needing an answer right away. You were on edge. What if he was actually M.F? “Darling, i knew you were a bit stupid but this is rather severe.” he chuckled, dragging his finger along your cheek affectionately.

Just as you were going to ask him the question again, he cut you off. “Y/n have you ever wondered what M.F stood for?” he said, getting off you slowly walking around your room. Before you could even answer, he continued on. “M.F, it's rather peculiar you know? Why would he even know that much about you? It's creepy and weird.” Shaking your head in slight agreement, the man had a growing smile.

“Well Y/n, I am M.F. I am Miles Fairchild. I am the man who sends you creepy little letters. The very letters you throw out daily but it doesn’t matter. I know you’ll love me back. Reading my letters instead of instantly throwing them out was a sign that I knew. I knew you were the one. Y/n I love you so much.” The admiration was oozing from his mouth.

Not responding, Miles took this as a cue to step closer to you. “I’m really really sorry Y/n.” He said, shuffling around to take something out of his pocket. “You’re sorry for wh-“ you questioned but got cut off as miles hit the back of your neck, knocking you out.

“So sorry Angel, really.” Miles muttered as he dragged your body out to his car. Shutting his car door, he turned the radio on. Humming along with the tune of the song, he turned to your unconscious figure and smiled.

He was happy for once. He was sure he’d make you happy too.

#dollywony #iris blog #iri writes!!#miles fairchild #miles fairchild x reader #yandere #yandere miles fairchild x reader #the turning #finn wolfhard #finn wolfhard x reader

427 notes · View notes

upon-a-starry-night · 2 years ago

Text

A Perfect Christmas Pt1

Pairing: WandaNat x Female! Reader

Summary: You're used to doing Christmas activities alone- but there's a certain couple who plan on changing that this year, and maybe you'll all get the Christmas gift you're really hoping for this year!

Masterlist

You danced around the compound kitchen to the sound of Jingle Bell Rock, nodding your head as you absentmindedly went through the motions that were all too familiar to you.

Your spatula became victim to your antics as the song faded and All I want for Christmas is You began blasting on the speakers. You contemplated telling Friday to turn it up even louder.

All of the kitchen utensils were your audience as you performed your solo of Mariah Carey’s greatest hit.

You were in the middle of pointing to each individual tool with every “youuu” you sang when you turned and jumped, flinging the spatula somewhere over your shoulder.

Somewhere amongst your song and dance, Natasha had decided to enter the room. You weren’t sure how much she heard or saw but the smirk present on her face told you all you needed to know. Your cheeks grew brighter than Rudolph's nose at being caught serenading the cutlery.

“I wish I had been recording that” She confessed as she walked over to you

“I’m so glad you weren’t” you groaned as you went to go retrieve your poor spatula. Nat’s eyes followed the movement

“Wanda would've loved to see that”

You playfully rolled your eyes as you took your spatula to the sink to wash it.

“No really,” She started “ She’s got a thing for dancers, I would know”

You let the sound of rushing water fill your ears as your brain took time to process what Wanda’s girlfriend had just told you. You looked over at her wide-eyed just as she dipped a finger in your frosting and stuck it in her mouth. It was entirely too nonchalant of an act for someone who just told you you were her girlfriend's type.

Your brain was on the fritz and you’re pretty sure your heart stopped beating three minutes ago when she first walked in.

Just as you were about to address her comment the elevator dinged and you turned to see the other object of your affection walk in. You could quite literally feel Nat’s smirk widen behind you.

“Oh! There you two are” the brunette sauntered over to the two of you “watcha doing in here Y/n?”

Before you could answer Nat butt-in, leaning against the counter with a mischievous smile

“I interrupted her concert, you should’ve seen it. It was great, the audience was going wild”

You smacked her on the shoulder as you tried to hide your embarrassment. You turned around to focus on your frosting when you saw Wanda leaning into Nat for a kiss. They were cute of course, the entire tower thought they were the perfect couple you just… sometimes you couldn’t stand the way your heart would burn with jealousy every time you saw how affectionate they were with each other.

It wasn’t just the fact that you were single that made you so upset- it was the fact that you were pretty sure you were in love with the couple.

But you couldn’t ever tell them that. So you buried yourself in mixing the frosting and organizing the sprinkles so you didn’t have to face them and their beautiful green eyes.

You were snapped from your thoughts when the oven beeped, telling you your baked goods were done.

“That smells amazing! What are you baking Y/n?” You turned to see Wanda a lot closer than before, despite the smell of cookies in the air, you could still smell her perfume and shampoo which was a perfect combination that only worked with her. You glanced over at her girlfriend who you figured would be mad at the proximity of you two but she was preoccupied with taking your gingerbread out of the oven for you. Your heart melted at her thoughtfulness, and at the sight of her wearing your reindeer oven mitts.

“I was just baking some gingerbread houses-”

Wanda’s eyes lit up as she spotted the walls you’d just baked, she’d been at the tower for a good few years now but some Christmas traditions still felt new to her. You thought her excitement was endearing.

“Is there enough for us to join you?” Your heart leaped at her suggestion, they could be going out together and spending some quality couple time together but they wanted to hang out with you? You wiped your powdery hands on your apron as an anxious habit. Could you handle spending so much time around a happy couple- let alone a happy couple you wished you were a part of? You contemplated making up some excuse to try and save yourself but the look in their eyes was a look you know you could never say no to.

“It’s a good thing I accidentally doubled the recipe” you chuckled as you turned to grab the extra dough you’d put in the freezer. You heard Wanda squeal in excitement behind you.

“Are we going to make a big one together or?” the question hung in the air as you unwrapped the dough and sprinkled some powdered sugar on it, placing it on the counter, you turned to see Natasha smirking once again- god she was going to be the death of you. Next year they’re going to sing “Y/n got ran over by a reindeer and Natasha was driving the sleigh”

“You’ve got that look in your eyes Romanoff” you teased

She rolled her eyes “What do you say we make it a competition?”

You looked down at the dough on the counter and then over at your pan that was cooling

“I’ve only got enough for two houses”

Nat just shrugged “You make one and Wands and I make one”

It made sense, you thought, of course, they would build their home together.

You shook your head, it’s just gingerbread houses Y/n, stop overthinking it!

You plastered a smile on your face as you walked over to them

“So it’s going to take two of you to beat one of me?” You challenged

“I guess we’ll see” Nat grinned and Wanda giggled next to her

“Game on” You stuck your hand out and Nat and Wanda both shook it.

Game on Indeed.

Pt2

As always please comment what you thought!- Happy Holidays <3

99 notes · View notes