#it’s made for the cool toned girlies MADE for us i say | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gothcsz · 2 months ago

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Summary: Life after quitting the porn industry.

Tags: halloween vibes, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v sex (protected), getting bent over in a parking garage, frankie heavy beginning (they had us in the first half not gonna lie), speaking of frankie he wears the ghostface mask while hitting it, connie has entered this little universe, masturbation with vibrator (f), clit stimulation, dirty talk, pussy slapping, JUST THE TIP!!!!, no use of y/n, other shit i’m probably forgetting.

A/N: surpriseeeee, i woke up a little too inspired to write and voila, out came this beautiful chapter that i was not expecting to get out so soon. again, this fic has def taken off in ways i never imagined but uhhh, we out here 🖤 thanks to everyone for the support, frankie girlies (gn) i hope i did your man justice 'cause i was feeling a little too feral for him. as for my just the tip stans... we did it joe 🤠 i hope you guys fucking love this the way i do and that you ruined your underwear... just as i did 🖤

The cool autumn breeze sweeps over you as you walk out of the movie theater with Frankie, the Halloween spirit in full swing. Scream 2 was as thrilling as ever, and your favorite of the trilogy.

The fall season always makes you feel nostalgic, and tonight has been no exception—dinner, a movie, and Frankie by your side for the past month has made things feel better than they have been for quite some time now.

“It’s not that hard to escape the bastard,” Frankie says confidently, as if he’d be the first to survive the whole ordeal. “He’s just some guy—or girl—wearing a mask with a knife. I’d have them handled in five minutes. Tops.”

You laugh, humoring him. “Oh, I’m sure you would.”

The parking garage is mostly empty, dimly lit as you make your way to his truck, parked at the top level. You’re talking casually about the film when he suddenly slows down, a mischievous smirk creeping across his face. He corners you slowly, backing you against the cool metal of the truck, his presence looming as you feel the tension rise.

“Or,” he says, voice dropping lower, “I could be a real kickass Ghostface.”

Your eyes flick to the mask in his hand, the complimentary one that came with the tickets, and then back to him. His dark brown eyes gleam with playful intent, and a thrill shoots through you. “Oh yeah?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow.

He grins, slipping his cap off and pulling the mask over his face. Oh, shit. You’ve never had a mask kink before, but something about Frankie wearing it like this, his body pressing closer, has your pulse racing.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” He asks, his voice lowering to mimic what’d you just seen, a smooth yet eerie tone. It’s almost too good, too convincing, and you suddenly understand why people fantasize about this kind of thing.

You bite your lip, your mind swirling with desire as his hand slides down to your hip, squeezing gently. “I don’t have one,” you say, teasing him. You can barely see his eyes through the mask’s slits, but the way his head tilts makes your stomach flip.

“Oh, c’mon, hermosa,” he purrs, “don’t lie to me.”

You giggle nervously, feeling the heat between you both intensify. Glancing around to make sure you’re still alone, you place a hand on his chest, letting it slide down slowly until it reaches his belt. He grunts in response, his free hand gripping the back of your head tightly. The pressure sends a shiver down your spine, and you whimper softly.

“You’re liking this, aren’t you?” He asks, voice muffled slightly by the mask but dripping with lust.

“More than I’d like to admit,” you breathe out, your body reacting instinctively to his touch. And before you can process it, your jeans and underwear are being pulled down to your mid-thigh. Frankie wastes no time, maneuvering you into the backseat of the truck. You’re bent over, ass out, hands pressed against the cool leather as you hear him undo his belt, the sound of his zipper punctuating the quiet.

He’s quick, efficient, rolling a condom over his thick cock before positioning himself behind you. His hand grips your hip as he thrusts into you, and you gasp as he fills you, the mask still firmly on his face.

It’s fucking amazing. Frankie fucks you like no one ever has—not like it’s for show or performance, but feverent and real. Each thrust hits the perfect spot inside you, sending your vision into a haze of stars. You’re more vocal than you’ve ever been, moaning his name, asking for more.

“Harder,” you whine, and he obliges, his nails digging into your hips as he pounds into you relentlessly. His grunts mix with your moans, the sound echoing in the empty parking garage.

When he’s close, he finally pulls the mask off, tossing it aside before leaning down, kissing and nipping at your neck. His fingers move below you, rubbing at your sensitive clit as you clench around him, your orgasm rushing through you.

His teeth graze your skin as you both reach your peak, your body trembling as he groans, his release following yours.

He stills inside you, breathing heavily against your neck, and for a moment, everything is still—just you, him, and the night. You smile, feeling content, and he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder before slowly pulling out, leaving you both breathless in the backseat of his truck.

“Well, fuck.” Frankie curses under his breath, tying the condom off with a quick motion. His hands, now gentler, reach for yours as he helps you up, both of you quickly fixing your clothes and appearances.

Once you’re situated, you spin around to face him, your fingers lightly brushing his jaw as you lean in to kiss him. It’s sweet, and the soft smack of your lips echoes through the empty parking garage.

“That was amazing,” you say, still a little breathless, your heart still racing in your chest.

A smirk plays on his lips as he puts his cap back on and tosses the used condom in a nearby trash bin. “Gonna have to hold onto this,” he says, nodding toward the Ghostface mask, now thrown carelessly into the backseat. There’s a playful gleam in his eyes, that flirty, teasing edge you’ve come to expect from him.

“It was definitely a heat-of-the-moment thing,” you say, trying to play it cool, though you can’t help the little grin tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“Mhm, sure it was.” He winks, sliding into the driver’s seat beside you as he starts the engine, the rumble of his truck echoing as he pulls out of the garage.

The streets are alive with the Halloweekend night crowd. People spill out of bars, laughter and chatter drifting through the air as Frankie navigates through the bustling costumed scene. You catch sight of a group of friends stumbling onto the sidewalk, and you’re grateful that your apartment’s entrance is around the back, away from all the noise and chaos.

Frankie pulls up across the street from your place, parking the truck and turning to you with a slightly furrowed brow. “Not really a fan of your current living arrangement,” he says, his tone casual but his eyes serious.

You shrug, reaching for your purse. “Beggars can’t be choosers,” though you can’t deny you’ve felt the same way. The cramped apartment above a rowdy bar wasn’t your dream setup, but it’s what you’ve got for now.

Leaning over the console, you peck his lips once, twice, then again. What starts as a series of playful kisses quickly turns into something more, your hands finding his stubbled jaw as his fingers graze your thigh. Before long, you’re fully making out again.

When you finally pull away, your lips tingling, you ask softly, “Wanna come up?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his eyes search yours for a moment, considering something. But then, with a slow nod, he says, “Yeah, okay.” His voice is steady, but there’s that familiar heat beneath it, the same one that had you wrapped up in the backseat earlier.

The following morning is spent with the both of you lazily lounging around your apartment, only leaving to pick up a late breakfast from your favorite spot around the corner before you’re back in bed, sleeping the day away.

You’re barely aware of the warm breath ghosting over your inner thighs as you shift in your sleep, legs lazily spread across the bed. A sleepy moan slips out when you feel soft lips pressing against your pussy, then a firmer kiss followed by a slow drag of a tongue.

You stir, half-dazed, your fingers instinctively moving to the unruly curls of hair between your legs as the sensation intensifies. Frankie’s lips latch onto your clit, sucking gently, and it sends a shock of pleasure through your body, waking you up fully.

“Oh,” his name slips from your lips like a breathless confession.

You can feel his grin against you, hear the low groan vibrating through your sensitive flesh as he takes his time, his tongue swirling around you in lazy circles, savoring your taste.

Just for a second, a flash of something—or someone—else crosses your mind. Javier. The thought of him, of the way he’d made you fall apart that day in the elevator, flickers in your mind like a flame.

Your eyes fly open in shock, and you gasp, but Frankie is none the wiser. He assumes your reaction is all because of him, and that only spurs him on. His lips press harder against you as he brings two fingers up, spreading you open gently before sinking them inside.

You shake your head, mentally shoving him back into the recesses where he belongs.

With a determined focus, you let yourself melt back into the pleasure, letting go of everything else. “Pussy tastes so good, hermosa,” he mumbles, as he works his mouth and fingers together, creating a messy, perfect rhythm that has your thighs clenching around his head.

It’s all too much, too good, and you can’t help the way your body writhes beneath him.

Your moans fill the room, louder and more desperate, hips lifting and chasing the pleasure as the tension in your spine coils tighter and tighter until it finally snaps, and you come undone all over his lips and fingers.

Frankie doesn’t stop right away—his lips stay on you, moving with less intensity now, just soft kisses as you come down from your high. He places a final, lingering kiss to your clit before he crawls up your body, kissing a path along your skin. You’re still wearing his t-shirt, your body half exposed, and he grins down at you, his dark eyes sparkling with satisfaction.

“Figured you needed something to help get you through your shift,” he says, his voice teasing yet full of affection.

You give him a lazy, fucked-out smile, still catching your breath. “It’s gonna help me with more than just my shift, mister. You just gave me something new to add to my spank bank.”

He shakes his head playfully. “Spank bank, huh? Glad to be of service,” he adds with a wink, leaning in for another kiss, slower this time. You can’t help but run your hands over his arms, admiring the small scars, the beauty marks that dot his tan skin.

“Are you coming back tonight?” You ask softly, your fingers tangling in the curls at the nape of his neck, pulling him down for a peck.

He sighs against your lips before shaking his head. “Can’t. I’ve got Elliana this weekend,” he says, his tone softening as he mentions his four-year-old daughter. You haven’t met her yet, the two of you keeping things casual and slow.

Neither of you wants anything serious, but hearing him mention his daughter always adds a layer of sweetness to him that makes you feel warm.

You nod in understanding, pulling him down for one final kiss before you force yourself to get up and start getting ready for work. He watches you, that same teasing, affectionate glint in his eyes, and you can’t help but smile back at him, grateful for whatever this is between you two.

“You just got fucked, didn’t you?” Connie’s voice hits you the second you step behind the bar, her eyebrows wiggling with mischief as she leans against the counter, arms crossed over her Princess Peach costume that’s not really a costume—just a pink tennis dress with the signature crown atop of her head.

“Hello to you too, Connie.” You give her a sarcastic smile, securing the half apron around your waist. It’s a routine now—her prying into your business like an investigative reporter for the gossip section.

Reminds you of another blond, and now you wonder if they’re all just like this.

Your firecracker of a coworker is an E.R. nurse who took on this bartending gig a few months after you did. The fact that she has to hustle for tips despite being in healthcare is one of those cruel ironies you both bitch about during slow shifts. You’d think a nurse would be raking in cash, but there are nights here at Lucky’s where she pulls more than at the hospital.

“I’m just saying,” Connie continues, mid-lemon slice, her eyes narrowing in exaggerated suspicion. “You’re wearing your cute jeans, your shirt’s actually clean, and—wait, is that makeup on your face? Please don’t tell me you’re in cat ears!” She pauses, blade in hand, smirking at you like she’s cracked some secret code.

Your face warms up as you adjust the stupid cat ears on your head. Yeah, she’s nailed it—hooking up with Frankie before your shift definitely put some extra pep in your step tonight. A little effort never hurt, especially when looking put-together meant better tips.

It’s Halloween, and people tend to tip better when you’re festive. So, why not milk it for all it’s worth?

“Just capitalizing off the holiday, Con. Is that a crime?” You say, bending down to grab the ice buckets for a quick refill before the evening rush hits.

“No, what is a crime,” she says, not missing a beat as she narrows her eyes at you, tossing the lemons aside, “is you skimping out on the juicy details of your love life.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that slips out as you hip-check her on your way to the ice machine. “I’m not skimping. It’s not like I’ve been hiding some wild love affair. We only started fucking, what, like two weeks ago?”

“And?” She leans forward, hands on her hips, waiting like she’s tuning in for the next episode of her favorite drama.

You bite your lip, lowering your voice conspiratorially, “It’s… fucking amazing.”

She whistles, then throws her hands up in celebration. You can’t help but laugh—loudly—your mood is too good to even pretend to be embarrassed.

Grabbing the freshly filled ice buckets, you lug them back behind the bar, your arms burning slightly from the weight, but you’re not complaining. Between lugging buckets and keeping the bar stocked, who needs a gym membership?

“I’m so jealous. I can’t even remember the last time I slept with a guy and actually enjoyed it,” She says with a dramatic sigh, leaning her elbows on the bar.

“Trust me, I was in the same boat for the longest time. Then Frankie just… showed up,” you say with a small, satisfied smile. It’s true, he kind of did swoop in out of nowhere, and it’s been surprisingly easy with him since.

But, of course, there’s that brief hiccup in your mind that involves Javier.

You push the thought of him away, like you’ve been doing for weeks. What happened earlier in bed with Frankie was just a slip-up, your subconscious messing with you.

“Well, I need a guy to just show up and fuck me so I can think straight again,” she half-jokes, and the two of you burst into laughter, the kind that shakes your shoulders and draws a few curious glances from nearby patrons.

As the night picks up, the bar gets busier, and the usual rhythm settles in. You and Connie move in sync, the crowd buzzing with energy.

Costumes, chatter, and the clinking of glasses surround you, but you’re in your zone. It’s not until about two hours later, as you’re pouring someone’s vodka soda, that you catch sight of a familiar face sliding into a barstool in front of you.

“Long time no see, stranger,” you greet Steve over the music, already reaching for his usual piss beer and uncapping it before sliding it across the counter.

“Work’s been fucking ass,” he replies, taking a long, much-needed gulp from the bottle. You can see the exhaustion in his eyes.

“Robbie still being an asshole, I presume?” You ask, shifting away to take another patron’s order while keeping half an ear out for whatever fresh hell your ex-boss has put Steve through now.

Steve’s attention, though, is fixed on something—or rather, someone—else. His gaze locks on Connie, who’s busy putting on a little show for a group of birthday girls. She’s expertly pouring a line of shots, lighting them on fire, and sliding them toward the group, who erupt into cheers.

“She seein’ anyone?” He asks, leaning in closer, like he’s trying to keep the question discreet. Between the thumping music and the lively chatter, Connie wouldn’t hear him even if he shouted.

You raise a brow. “Like I told you last time—and like she told you the time before—no.”

“Then why’s she always shuttin’ me down?” He frowns, frustration creasing his face.

You shrug, wiping down the perpetually sticky counter. “Probably because you only approach her here, when you’re halfway through a six-pack. Connie’s not looking for bullshit—she deals with enough of that here and at the hospital.”

Steve scoffs, taking another hefty swig of his beer. “Right. You bartenders are tough to crack.”

You smirk, knocking your knuckles on the wooden bar top. “Maybe, but we’re worth the effort.”

Steve chuckles at that. “Now, spill. I’ve barely seen you since I quit.” You’re curious, and maybe just a little petty.

He groans, tipping his head back as if the memory of work physically pains him. And a part of you—maybe the slightly vindictive part—waits eagerly to hear about how Robbie’s screwing up, still secretly wishing for your old boss’s downfall.

“Longer shoots for lesser pay. And the fucking guys he’s been hiring— Christ Almighty. S’been a fuckin’ shitshow since you walked out,” You feel pride swell up in your chest at the remembrance, how good it felt to stick up for yourself. “But especially since Javier kicked his ass to the curb. I’m the last one standing.”

You barely have time to absorb this before a rowdy group of frat boys descends on the bar, demanding drinks with the enthusiasm of toddlers in a candy store.

You want to wring their necks for interrupting your train of thought, especially since curiosity about what happened with Javier is gnawing at you.

Why do you care? That small voice in your head questions, but you put her on mute and focus on fulfilling the orders of these insufferable college students.

Noticing you’re tied up, Steve hops down a few barstools, positioning himself in front of Connie, trying to charm her again. You can’t help but catch snippets of his pickup lines as you whirl about behind the bar. To your surprise, Connie seems receptive this time, laughing and engaging with him instead of brushing him off like before.

Good for her—she deserves a bit of fun, especially after just saying she needed to get laid. You hope Steve has learned a thing or two from all those shoots.

Amid the chaos, you break through their flirting when Connie has to prepare another round of shots. “So, Javier quit?” you ask, the words spilling out before you can hold them back.

Steve, clearly happy as hell that his advances have finally worked, shoots you a smug grin. “Yup. Him and Robbie were arguing more and more then he pulled a you and stormed off set. It’s just him and his agent now. He isn’t signing on to just one production company anymore. Don’t be surprised if you see him sellin’ tricks on Figueroa.”

A frown tugs at your lips, the bittersweet news settling in your chest. You can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for Javier.

“Why are you askin’? You miss him or somethin’? Thought you were still bangin’ it out with that camera guy from Malibu.” His tone is teasing, reminiscent of a little brother trying to get under your skin.

You snort, rolling your eyes and collecting the empty glasses into a plastic bin. “ I’m just surprised. This is like, his whole thing.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Yeah, he hasn’t been working as much. I’ve never seen the guy be this… still. Told him maybe it’s a good thing—he can finally chill the fuck out and give his dick a break.”

You can’t help but laugh, handing him another beer. “I can’t even imagine what else he’d do. Can you seriously picture Javier Peña working a 9 to 5?”

Steve grins, scratching his chin as if pondering the idea. “I dunno, he could be a good car salesman. Maybe even insurance?”

You both chuckle, but as you excuse yourself to put away the dirty dishes, your mind lingers on Javier. It’s like a weird domino effect: your departure had shaken things up, and now a small part of you feels somewhat responsible for this mess.

No, you shouldn’t feel this way. He’ll figure it out. You really shouldn’t waste this much time ‘worrying’ about him. He means nothing to you. End of story.

The rest of your shift flows smoothly, and you end up pocketing more tips than you anticipated. Even the late hour—almost four in the morning—doesn’t faze you as you and Connie finish cleaning up and closing.

“You can stay the night if you want. I’m sure you don’t want to wait for the bus this late,” you suggest, watching her mop with a satisfied smile.

“Actually…” She pauses, wringing out the mop head. Your brows raise at her tone, and she bites her lip. “My ride is waiting for me out front.”

You piece it together in an instant, halting mid-count of the twenty-dollar bills. “No way, you finally gave in to Steve!”

Connie’s face lights up with a sheepish smile. “I thought he was cute since day one. I just couldn’t let him get to me so easily. Play hard to get, you know? See if he really wanted me as badly as he said he did.”

You hum, shaking your head with a grin as you resume counting. “Atta girl. Enjoy yourself, you deserve it.”

As you finish up, you hug Connie goodbye, watching as she excitedly jumps into Steve’s Jeep. You trudge up the creaky stairs to your place, feeling a bit lonely now.

The remnants of Frankie’s presence linger in your cramped apartment: his side of the bed still mussed, a crumpled T-shirt on the floor, and takeaway containers from earlier scattered on your small kitchen table.

With a sigh, you take off your cat ears and head straight for the shower, hoping to wash away the lingering thoughts of both Javier and Frankie before slipping into the quiet of your own bed.

Frankie stands in your living room, his expression serious but soft, while you sit on the couch, staring up at him.

You foolishly didn’t think this would happen—at least not this soon, only two months in. His words are steady, measured, like he’s practiced this. “Elliana’s mom and I… we’re trying to work things out.”

The lump in your throat rises, but you refuse to let it crack your voice. You won’t give in to the urge to cry. It’s not like you didn’t expect this on some level—dating a man with a child meant his ex would always be in the picture. And now, she’s front and center.

“I understand…”

He exhales deeply at seeing you like this. He sits next to you, close but not invasive, and his presence—still so familiar—only sharpens the ache. You don’t pull away, though everything inside you screams to. Even if this is the right way to end things, you have every right to feel a sting.

You weren’t serious-serious, but you’d gotten used to him. His easy warmth, the random dates that brightened your week, the small slice of domesticity you didn’t realize you’d grown to like. And the sex… God, you’re not ready to give that up, either.

“I didn’t mess around with her while we were together. You have to know that,” he adds, his voice low, calm, as if trying to make sure you’re not left with any doubts. He rests his hand on your knee, grounding you in the moment, though you wish he wouldn’t.

“I know you’re not that guy, Frankie. It just sucks being broken up with,” you say, forcing a smile, lightening your tone as if to keep the tears at bay.

He sighs again, his big brown eyes—those damn puppy eyes—locking onto yours. “I really enjoyed my time with you,” he says, sounding sincere. “It was great. You’re great.”

You nod, just wanting this to be over so you can sink yourself into your sheets and rot for the rest of the day.

“Likewise, Frankie. Now go make sure your daughter’s got a stable home to grow up in.” You try to smile again, but it’s weaker this time. He can see through it, you know, but he nods anyway.

You walk him to the door, making a quick detour to your bedroom to gather the few t-shirts he’s left behind. When you hand them to him, he grins, trying to lift the mood. “So that’s where these went.”

“Yeah, I’m a bit of a t-shirt hoarder,” you joke back, your voice hollow.

He pauses at the door, his eyes lingering on you longer than you’d like.

“Take care of yourself.”

“You too, hermosa,” he replies, the affection in the word making your heart squeeze.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, you let yourself collapse against it, sliding down until you’re sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to your chest. The tears come silently at first, just a slow trickle, but soon they’re streaking down your cheeks as you curl into yourself.

You hate dating. You’ve always hated it. It feels like a cycle of disappointments: either you’re stuck with some dud or, worse, you find someone worth a damn, and they leave anyway.

After crying it out for a few minutes, you force yourself to wipe away the tears. The ache in your chest lingers, but you’re determined to distract yourself, dragging your feet over to the entertainment center. Your hand glides over the familiar spines of DVDs and VHS tapes, searching for the right kind of escape, something to pair with the bottle of wine you’ll snag from downstairs.

You reach the end of the row and stop on Pretty Woman, about to pull it out, when your fingers brush against a few unmarked DVDs shoved haphazardly in the back. Curious, you pull them out, and your breath hitches.

They’re your old shoots—the first ones you ever did with Javier. The raunchy titles leap out at you, and suddenly, memories of being on set with him flood back. The chemistry, the heat, the way he looked at you when the cameras weren’t rolling.

Your pulse quickens. You should put them back. But you don’t. You weren’t prepared for this— especially not today, freshly dumped, on the verge of a sexual drought, and with your head all messed up.

Fuck it, you have nothing to lose, so you randomly pick one. Pretty Woman gets shoved aside as you clutch the DVD case, a weird thrill running through you.

As if possessed, you march to your bedside table in your bedroom, frantically rummaging for your long-neglected vibrator. It’s been gathering dust since Frankie showed up, but now… now you’re hoping, praying it still works. When you finally find it, you flip it on, and the gentle hum tells you it’s fully charged.

Thank you, past me. You have no idea how much present me needs this.

With a deep breath, you return to the living room and pop the DVD into the player. The screen flickers to life, and you settle onto the couch, heart pounding in your chest as the film begins.

The anticipation builds as the usual no-piracy warning flashes on the screen, followed by the production company’s intro. Finally, the familiar jazzy porn music kicks in, setting the mood for what’s to come.

You can already feel your pulse racing, knowing what’s next. This one, you remember—it was one of the first outdoor scenes you shot.

The setup was simple, classic: a woman stranded on the side of the road due to car trouble, waiting for a tow truck to save her. The main star, gorgeous as ever, is dressed provocatively in a tiny miniskirt, platform flip-flops, and a tube top that screams easy access. The camera lingers over her, capturing every curve of her body as she fakes helplessness, playing her role perfectly.

Then comes the rumble of the tow truck, and Javier steps out, looking rugged and sexy in dirty jeans and a rumpled denim shirt with a generic towing company patch stitched onto it. His presence alone is enough to make your skin prickle with heat.

“Pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be stuck out here like this,” his voice fills the room. God, you hate to admit it, but you’ve missed hearing him—his smooth tone, the way he used to make every line sound like a promise.

Maybe it’s the leftover emotion from Frankie’s breakup that’s doing this to you, making you feel too much.

“Thank goodness you’re here to help me out. I just... I don’t have any money on me right now to pay for it,” the woman pouts, lips glossy, eyes fluttering up at him like she’s the most innocent thing alive.

Javier cocks his head, eyes traveling over her like she’s a piece of candy. “Don’t worry,” he says, that signature smirk appearing on his face. “I think we can figure something out.”

And just like that, they’re fucking. Raw, desperate sex. He has her spread out on the hood of the car, and her tits bounce with every hard thrust. Javier holds her legs wide open, his rough hands gripping her thighs as he slams into her.

The scene is pure, animalistic lust, and it has your head spinning.

A whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it. Your moans mix with theirs from the TV, and the steady buzz of your vibrator pulses deep inside you. You match the rhythm of Javier’s thrusts, watching as he pistons his cock in and out of her, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling your living room.

You remember that day on set vividly. You’d been sick, your body still sore from the remnants of a cold, and you’d been eager to get it over with so you could go home and collapse into a warm bowl of pho.

But now, watching the scene play out in front of you, it’s like you’re seeing it for the first time—every detail heightened, every movement burned into your mind.

Javier’s fingers dig into her skin as he holds her in place, his hips grinding into her with force. Her face twists in bliss, and you can’t help but imagine what that must feel like, that deep, toe-curling sensation as he hits just the right spot. You let out another moan, the vibrator buzzing relentlessly as you try to keep up with the scene, your hips rocking in time with theirs.

When he leans down, wrapping his lips around her nipple, it’s like you can feel the phantom of his mouth on your own skin. You bring a hand up to your chest, pinching and twisting your nipple, slicking your fingers with spit to heighten the sensation. It’s almost too much, but you can’t stop yourself.

Your breathing quickens as you turn up the setting on the vibrator, the pleasure building, your back bending off the couch. You close your eyes and let your imagination take over, the image of Javier on top of you searing into your mind—his body, hot and heavy, pressing against yours, his teeth grazing your neck, his hands everywhere at once. You can feel him, hear the grunts and groans from the screen, but in your mind, it’s all for you.

“Nena, look at you,” Javier’s voice murmurs, low and rough in your mind, as he hitches your leg higher around his waist, his words melting into your skin like liquid heat. “Told you you’d look so beautiful spread out like this, taking my cock so well.”

A sharp gasp escapes you, your breath catching in your throat as your pussy clenches tightly around the vibrator, which suddenly feels less like a toy and more like him—big, thick, and filling you completely. You can almost feel the weight of him pressing against you, the way his cock would stretch you just right. Your lips part, another whimper escaping as the scene in your head becomes even more vivid.

“And those noises you’re making?” His voice, rich and dripping with desire, keeps echoing through your thoughts. “Baby, you drive me fucking,” his hips snap forward in your imagination, rough and unrelenting, “crazy,” another thrust sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. Your neck arches back, exposing your throat like you’re inviting him to claim you, his mouth finding the sensitive skin behind your ear, marking you, biting you. His lips would feel so good, so possessive, leaving trails of heat wherever they touch.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he whispers against your skin, his breath hot in your ear. “Even after not seeing your pretty face for two months, all I see when I close my eyes is you.”

His teeth graze your earlobe, and it sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. Your hand moves from your breast down to your clit, fingers rubbing the tender nub with an urgency you can’t hold back any longer. You’re so close, so fucking close.

“Oh, J-Javi,” you cry out, your voice breaking. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

The orgasm slams into you, cutting off your words, drowning your thoughts in white-hot pleasure. Your body spasms uncontrollably, juices dripping down as your vibrator hums between your legs. You’re shaking, utterly spent, your breath ragged, skin on fire.

“Good girl, nenita,” his voice purrs, the Spanish rolling off his tongue like honey. “Mira que belleza. It’s okay, I got you.”

It takes a moment for reality to snap back into place, the haze of pleasure lifting just enough for you to realize that he didn’t say it at all. It was the Javier on the screen, whispering sweet praise to the actress as he fucked her.

You lay there, boneless, too tired to care as the movie continues to play. But something feels off now, a strange sense of emptiness replacing the satisfaction you usually feel.

You pull the vibrator from between your legs, the wetness from your climax glistening on it as you flick the switch off and toss it carelessly onto the coffee table. You’ll clean it later.

Your body slumps against the cushions, head falling into your hands. “What the fuck did you just do?” You whisper to yourself.

Watching porn to get off? That’s normal, right? It’s what it’s made for. Lots of people do it. So why do you feel so… guilty? Is it because it was Javier? Of course it is. No matter how hard you try to push him out of your mind, he always finds a way back in—whether he’s there in front of you, or haunting you in the fantasies, you can’t seem to put him to rest.

And the timing? Not even an hour after being broken up with, and already you’ve let him worm his way back into your head, back into your body. It’s like he’s got you tangled up, literally and figuratively, even when he’s not here.

Unable to take any more of their exaggerated moans and whimpers, you reach for the remote and switch off the TV, the screen going dark as you eject the disc and shove it back into its case. You finally grab Pretty Woman, tossing it into the player without much thought, your head still spinning.

It’s only then that you remember the wine, the one thing that might actually help clear your head. You stand, sluggish and sore, pulling your clothes back on and heading downstairs to fetch that much-needed bottle, your thoughts still racing, still trying to untangle the mess that is Javier Peña lodged firmly in your mind.

“Just know, I didn’t plan this.”

Steve’s words make you squint in suspicion as he slides onto the barstool next to you, his usual spot. You’re about to ask what he means when your heart plummets—there he is. The familiar broad frame of the handsome man you’ve been trying—and failing—to scrub from your mind ever since your breakup two weeks ago. Hell, before then too.

“What’s he doing here?” you hiss, shooting Steve a glare so sharp it could cut glass.

“He caught me off guard, okay? Basically invited himself. Don’t make it weird,” he mutters, clearly trying to avoid your wrath.

You bite down hard on your tongue, trying to keep your frustration in check. But then your gaze collides with Javier’s, and it feels like the wind has been knocked out of you.

Those deep brown eyes, glinting beneath the dim lighting, pin you in place, stirring up everything you’ve been trying to bury. It’s infuriating how he seems even more attractive than the last time you saw him, like life just decided to up the ante on making him impossible to forget.

Clearing your throat, you force yourself to look away, frantically trying to busy your hands. Anything to keep from talking to him. But it’s hard to focus when every cell in your body is hyper-aware of his presence just a few feet away.

“I’m going on break!” Connie’s chirpy voice feels like nails on a chalkboard, and you don’t miss the way she winks at Steve before grabbing his arm and leading him to the back.

Ah, so that’s why he’s here earlier than usual.

“Thirty minutes!” You shout after her, but your heart’s not in it. You’re too preoccupied with the fact that you’re now alone at the bar with Javier and a few of the happy hour regulars.

He leans forward on his elbows, casual but impossibly magnetic in a jean jacket and a cream-colored shirt. His sunglasses hang from the unbuttoned portion near his collarbones, and you can smell that familiar scent of cigarette smoke and cologne that’s been seared into your memory. “So this is the illustrious Lucky’s,” he says, his deep voice wrapping around you like a slow burn.

“The one and only,” you manage to reply, keeping your tone clipped.

“Been doin’ okay?”

“I’ve been managing.” Your words come out a little too quick, a little too defensive, but you can’t help it.

He tilts his head, his gaze steady. “Still seeing that guy?”

There’s an unmistakable tinge of jealousy laced in his voice, and your heart skips a beat. You meet his eyes for a moment before going back to drying the cheap chalices your boss insisted on for an upcoming theme night.

“That guy has a name,” you correct him coolly. “But no. That ship sailed two weeks ago.”

A low hum escapes his throat, and he drums his fingers lightly against the countertop. “A shame.”

“Can I get you anything?” You ask, a little too forcefully. The question feels like a challenge, and from the way his eyes glint, you know he feels it too.

He lets the tension simmer between you for a moment before finally answering, “Just a Corona.”

“Lime?”

“Of course, nena.”

That fucking term of endearment hits you like a punch to the gut. It’s what he’s always called you, ever since the very first time you met. And damn it, it’s the same name he whispers in your ear when you imagine him thrusting balls deep inside you, filling you with every inch of his cock.

Your breath hitches before you can stop it, the heat rising in your cheeks as you fumble for a lime. You slice it, hands shaking ever so slightly as you wedge it into the bottle, sliding it across the bar to him.

He doesn’t say anything, just watches you, his gaze burning with the unspoken tension that always builds when you’re around each other.

You can feel it too—the weight of all the unsaid things hanging in the air. All the desire. All the frustration.

He thanks you softly. “So, Steve finally got himself a girl.” He tries to continue the mundane conversation, amused as he leans in, a small smirk playing on his lips.

You try not to notice the way his neck muscles work when he takes a sip of his beer, but it’s impossible not to. You hate the way your body responds, the small flutter in your stomach that you wish would just stop.

“Yeah, he’s been chasing her for months, and she finally gave in. Probably the best thing that could’ve happened for both of them.”

A patron calls for your attention, and you gladly take the opportunity to escape the moment, throwing yourself into mixing a drink with practiced ease. But even as you pour and stir, you feel his eyes on you.

“You look happier here.” His voice breaks the silence when you return, the words almost lazy as he takes another sip of his beer.

“Fake happiness. It’s what gets the tips.”

“Okay, yeah, sure,” he says, leaning in a little, eyes narrowing. “But the way you’re moving back there—you know what you’re doing. I don’t think I ever saw you crack a single smile while we were on set.”

“I did,” you shoot back, feeling your pulse quicken. “Just none of them were directed at you.” The animosity in your tone surprises even you, and you catch the way his brow furrows, a flash of hurt crossing his face.

You quickly smooth it over with a smirk. “Besides, not much to smile about when people are getting fucked stupid in front of a camera.”

“Back to the familiar song and dance, huh?” His voice is steady, but there’s a sharpness beneath the surface.

You scoff, shaking your head as you wipe your hands on your apron. “What are you doing here, Javier?” This time, the question comes out more straight to the point.

He looks at you for a beat, partially confused, “Drinking a beer…”

“At this specific bar, where I’ve worked for two years and you’ve never once showed up until today. Why?”

For a moment, the two of you stare at each other, locked in a silent standoff. He’s reading you just as you’re trying to read him, both of you too proud—or too scared—to make the next move. Finally, he breaks the silence.

“You want the truth?”

“That’s why I asked.”

“I’ve missed you, nena.”

Your stomach drops and you force yourself to keep your face neutral, but it’s hard. “I regret asking,” you mutter, glancing at your watch. Connie has fifteen minutes left on her break, then you’re done for the night. You’ll be free—at least from the bar, if not from the weight of this conversation.

“Ever since you left,” he continues, not giving you the out you desperately want, “I’ve been trying to figure out why you’re so standoffish. You say it’s because you don’t like me, but I just don’t think that’s true.”

“Well,” you bite out, “assuming has never gotten you anywhere worth being at, right?”

He rubs a hand over his mustache. He’s thinking, trying to find the right words.

“Right,” he finally agrees, tone softer now, more thoughtful. “Listen, I’ve never been good at the whole… talking thing. It’s been my downfall for as long as I can remember.”

Despite yourself, you give him a look that encourages him to keep going.

“And the shit between us? It’s weird. I’d like to move on, but I can’t. You’ve somehow managed to get into every fucking corner of my mind, and no matter what I do, I can’t shake you. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You suck in a sharp breath, your fingers gripping the wooden countertop. His words hit too close to home because they echo the feelings you’ve been wrestling with since you walked away from him.

Do you admit it? Do you tell him that he’s been haunting your thoughts just as much? Or do you keep it all locked up, close to your chest, where it’s safe and won’t blow up in your face later?

“What do you really want, Javier?” You don’t have time for games, and if he’s here to throw another curveball into your life, you’d rather snip it before it gets any worse.

He pauses, running a hand through his hair, then looks back at you with an expression you haven’t seen in a while—one that’s sincere. “I just want a moment to talk to you,” he says softly. “No bullshit this time. Just you and me.”

You wrestle with yourself, unsure if you want to give in. You’ve heard him talk like this before, but something feels different. He seems like he’s laying all his cards out, but you’ve been hurt enough to know better than to let your guard down too quickly.

Your eyes flick to the clock on the wall, counting the minutes until your shift ends. You chew on your lip, deliberating with yourself, feeling the weight of his gaze on you as you try to make a decision.

Finally, after a beat, you let out a long breath and nod. “I’m off in twenty minutes,” you say, voice steady. “We can talk at my place, but this is the last time we have this conversation, Javier. No more of this back and forth.”

His face lights up, unmistakably relieved, and for a second, you see that glimmer of hope in his eyes. He sits a little taller, less tense, and his smile is soft but genuine. “Thank you,” he says, almost under his breath, like he wasn’t sure you’d agree. “I parked a few blocks down. I can come get you—”

You cut him off, pointing upward. “I live upstairs.”

Javier blinks, then chuckles, the tension between you easing slightly with that simple realization. “Oh,” he says, a little sheepish. “Okay.” For some reason, that small exchange makes both of you laugh—genuine, real laughter, the kind you haven’t shared in a while. It’s a brief moment of lightness before the weight of everything settles back in.

But before either of you can say more, you’re pulled back to the present as the place picks up with a small rush. The door swings open, and a few regulars take their usual spots, dragging you back into your role behind the bar. Javier moves out of the way, leaning back against his stool, watching you as you work.

It doesn’t take long for Connie to return, looking slightly disheveled, her cheeks flushed from whatever she and Steve were up to in the back. You raise an eyebrow, giving her a teasing smirk as she approaches. “Thirty minutes, huh? You sure you didn’t need forty?” You quip, poking fun at her the same way she did to you on Halloween night.

She narrows her eyes at you, but there’s a playful glint in them. “Shut up,” she mutters, straightening her apron. “You know I could’ve dragged it out longer if I wanted.”

You shake your head, chuckling as you hand over the bar to the guy coming in to replace you. Your shift is finally over, and you can feel the tension easing from your shoulders. With one last glance at the clock, you turn toward Javier, who’s still waiting, watching you with that familiar intensity.

“Ready?” you ask, your voice more casual than you feel.

He nods, pushing off the counter to follow you out. Thankfully, Steve had left, but as you pass Connie, you don’t miss the way her eyes widen when she sees the sexy guy trailing behind you. She gives you a look—half amused, half impressed—and you can practically hear her thoughts.

You give her a small wave, shrugging off her knowing smirk as you push through the door, stepping out into the cool evening air.

He follows behind you silently as you climb the narrow staircase to your apartment, the low hum of the bar fading with each step. You can feel his presence like a warm current, that quiet intensity that always seems to wrap around you when he’s near. The proximity makes you hyper-aware of every sound—the creak of the steps beneath your feet, the soft rustle of his jacket as he moves, his shaky breaths from his lungs working overtime due to his constant smoking.

When you finally reach the top and push the door open, you step aside to let him in. He takes a slow look around, his eyes sweeping over the small but cozy space. Despite its shabby appearance—the chipped paint on the walls, the secondhand furniture—it’s undeniably yours.

The throw blankets on the couch, the mismatched mugs on the kitchen counter, the books scattered about. It’s lived-in and comfortable, and you catch the way Javier’s lips twitch in what might be a smile as he takes it all in.

“Okay,” you say, arms crossing as you stand by the kitchenette, keeping a reasonable distance between you. “What now? We’re here. It’s just me and you. What do you have to say to me?”

He hesitates for a moment, running a hand through his hair like he’s bracing himself. Then, he just… spills his guts. “I want you to give me one chance. Just one date,” he says, the words tumbling out faster than you expect. “I know I’ve screwed up before, and I know I’ve been cocky, but… I like you. Like, really like you. More than I’ve let on.”

You blink quickly. You weren’t expecting this—certainly not Javier Peña, of all people, to stand in your apartment and confess to having a legitimate crush on you. “No way,” you mutter, in time with your thoughts, a nervous giggle escaping before you can stop it.

It sounds ridiculous in your head, and even more absurd out loud. He likes you? He doesn’t even know you!

His frown deepens, his jaw tightening as if your reaction stings. “I’m serious,” he’s insistent, his dark eyes locking with yours.

You shake your head, still struggling to process this. “You just got tired of screwing around with all the pretty stars, so now you’re going after someone different. Trying a new flavor of the month by chasing after a girl on the crew.”

“Technically, you’re not on the crew anymore—” he starts, but cuts himself off when he sees the daggers you’re sending him.

He steps a little closer, his tone quieter but more earnest. “You told me earlier that assuming has never gotten me anywhere worth being at. So take your own advice, nena, and stop assuming I’m chasing after you for all the wrong reasons.”

There’s no trace of his usual bravado, no cocky grin or smooth line to disarm you. Just sincerity. And it’s that, more than anything, that makes you pause. For real this time.

“So I’m not just someone to scratch off your list?” You ask, daring him to lie.

“Wha— no.”

“You really mean it?”

“Do I need to get on my knees to convince you I’m serious?”

“That’d be the least serious thing you could do.”

His mouth twitches up into a half smirk. “So? Will you let me take you out?”

This feels like if you so much as blink, the moment will dissolve—nothing but smoke and mirrors.

“Okay,” you breathe. “But if it doesn’t work out… then that’s it. You don’t come around here again. You leave me alone. For good.”

His eyes narrow, but he nods, accepting the ultimatum.

“Fair enough.” His voice dips into something dark and velvety, a timbre that’s all too familiar. It’s the same voice you’ve heard behind the camera, in the tape that you got yourself off to—low, coaxing, a caress in itself. And damn him, it’s working on you again. “I promise, you won’t regret it.”

“When?” You ask him.

“You’re the one who works weekends. You tell me.”

“Next Saturday?” You offer, trying to sound casual.

“It’s a date.”

A flutter of nerves skitters through your chest and you almost laugh again, so giddy, but you clamp down on it.

“Alright... I’ll walk you out.” Your voice sounds awkward to your own ears, but your feet stay rooted to the spot. So does he.

His gaze sharpens. “You know,” he starts, rubbing his jaw in that infuriatingly familiar way, “Robbie kept saying you ‘broke’ me after that Malibu shoot with Mariella.” He air quotes broke and your expression turns confused.

“Well… he’s an idiot.”

“He’s not wrong, though,” Javi murmurs, stepping closer, the space between you vanishing.

Your breath hitches. “Javi…” you warn, but it sounds weak—like a plea dressed as a protest.

“You were right.” His voice dips again, softer now, but no less dangerous. “Sleeping with barely-legal girls felt... wrong. The whole scene was just fucked. It took me too long to realize it.” He leans in, his breath warm against your skin. “But that’s not what broke me.”

Your pulse stutters. “Then what?”

“You,” he whispers, moving closer, until the heat of his body presses against yours. “Your voice. Your eyes.” His gaze dips to your mouth, and your knees threaten to give out. “Those soft lips you won’t let me kiss absolutely fucking broke me.”

Your lower back presses hard against the counter, pinned by the sheer gravity of him closing in. His scent is dizzying.

Your nipples harden, tightening with each shallow breath you take, the heat between you wrapping around your body like a fever. Now that you’ve stopped fighting it, the tide of lust pulls you under, dragging you into the undertow.

He can’t just say these things to you and expect you to remain sane. Especially not after all your wet dreams he’s been the star of.

“The others don’t do it for me anymore and I’m not popping a pill to get fuckin’ hard.” He cages you in, planting both hands on the counter at your sides. His arms flex, his body crowding yours, then he leans in, his nose brushing the tip of yours in the kind of touch that feels both too soft and too intimate.

“Just standing here with you…” His hips roll forward, pressing against you. The solid ridge of his cock rubs against your stomach through his jeans, and the friction sends a jolt of electricity straight to your core.

You gasp, lips parting as you go weak.

“Oh…” you breathe, shakily, your voice barely more than a whimper. You bite down on your bottom lip, trying to keep some semblance of control, but his gaze locks onto the movement.

“I want to take care of you, nena. Por favor.” His voice drips with need, every word laced with intent. “Let me make you feel good again. I need to make you feel good.”

Memories flash like lightning—the way his mouth felt between your thighs and how it left such an impression that you quit your fucking job (okay maybe not because of that necessarily but it was a butterfly effect)

“Javi…” Your voice is a strained warning, as you press your hand to his shoulder, ready to push him back if you needed to throw some metaphorical ice on this heated moment to chill both of you the fuck out. “I’m not going to fuck you right now.”

“I’m not asking you to…” His hand comes up to take yours at his shoulder into his, bringing it up to his lips to give it a gentle kiss.

God, you just about come right then and there.

“You want to go down on me again?”

He groans, his mouth grazing your knuckles as if tasting you again. “I’ll always want that. Always.” His voice is strained. “But tonight, pretty girl, I just—fuck—I need to feel you.”

“But you just said—”

“I know baby,” he cradles your face and you let him, horny out of your mind and absolutely under his spell. “Just let me put the tip in.”

“What?” You ask, moving back from him to stare up into his eyes.

“The head of my cock. Let me put it in and feel how wet and warm you are.”

Your thighs clench instinctively, the ache between them growing unbearable. Images of his cock flood your mind—thick, veined, and heavy, flashing like a montage you can’t shake.

The thought of him, so close, pressing inside just enough to tease, makes your breath catch in your throat.

“I-I’ve never done that before... isn’t that—” You shake your head, struggling to wrap your mind around the idea.

“It’ll feel so good, I promise. If you don’t like it I’ll pull out and leave.”

His eyes still hold that sincerity from before, and it tugs at your heart, which has moved its pulse downstairs at the thought of feeling just a little bit of him.

It’s intoxicating, giving you the power to decide just how much of him you’ll take. How deep he’ll bury himself. How much you’ll let him fuck into you.

A moan slips from your lips, unbidden, and his eyes darken, his jaw tightening at the sound. He’s holding back, but barely—waiting, craving, needing your consent like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality.

“Fuck,” you whisper, already lost. “Whatever, just do it. Do it before I change my mind.”

You squeal as he spins you around, your hands coming up to steady yourself against the counter.

You went out and bought a mini denim skirt after seeing it on the pornstar he fucked in the tow truck scene because you thought it was cute, and now you’re sort of living out that fantasy here with him as he pushes it up high on your hips, exposing your very lackluster underwear.

“Damn…” His hands are all over you, kneading your ass, the rough squeeze of his palms making you whine, back arching instinctively for more. “These are hot as fuck.”

Your cheeks heat up, because no way he thinks your mauve colored hipsters are hot.

He hooks his fingers under the waistband and drags them down your legs, letting them pool at your ankles. You step out of them, still in your sneakers, feeling utterly exposed. But the way he looks at you makes you feel desired.

With a firm hand, he presses against the small of your back, coaxing you into a deeper arch. His hands glide down your thighs, strong fingers gripping where your knee bends, lifting your leg and placing it on the counter. The shift spreads you open for him, your slick, swollen folds glistening in the dim light.

“Fuck...” His voice is pure gravel, rough with need, as he drinks in the sight of you. And then he drops to his knees, right behind you, and buries his face between your legs.

“Oh my—fuck!” you cry, jerking forward against the counter, totally unprepared for the onslaught of his tongue.

He doesn’t hold back—doesn’t ease you into it—just dives in like a man possessed, his mouth working you over with fervor. The obscene sounds of his tongue dragging through your wetness and the desperate groans vibrating from his throat make your head spin. You’re shaking, trying to catch your breath, but it’s useless with the way he devours you.

He licks every inch of your pussy, his tongue flat and broad one second, sharp and focused the next, flicking across your clit with precision. When he sucks the sensitive bud into his mouth, the wet suction sends sparks shooting through your body.

Your forehead thuds against the cabinet in front of you as you babble out his name in breathless, broken curses, pleasure building in tight, pulsing waves. Your legs tremble under his relentless attention, and it feels like he’s not just eating you out—he’s worshiping you, savoring every moment like a man starved.

“Javi—oh my—fuck!” You can barely string two words together, the intensity of it dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he buries his face deeper, groaning like he can’t get enough of you. And god dammit, you love it. You love the way he’s lost in you, the way his tongue moves like he knows exactly how to pull you apart. It’s filthy, messy, perfect.

He pulls back after a few minutes, reluctantly breaking away from the warmth of you, even though every fiber in his body begs him to stay—tongue, nose, and fingers lost in your sweetness for hours, watching you unravel again and again. He forces himself to move, savoring the way your breath stutters in frustration at the loss.

The soft metallic clink of his belt buckle being undone makes your heart race, and your pussy clenches reflexively, aching to be filled.

“Mmm, she’s ready for me, isn’t she?” He’s so smug, watching the way your cunt flutters at the mere thought of his cock sliding inside you. Even just the tip.

You don’t answer—you can’t answer. The anticipation has stolen every word, every coherent thought from your brain. All you hear is the pounding rush of blood in your ears.

Javier steps in closer, the heat of his body pressing against your back. His hand snakes around you, rough fingers brushing your chin before hovering just beneath your lips.

“Spit,” he commands, his tone low and firm.

Like the desperate thing you are, you part your lips without hesitation, letting a hot thread of saliva drip into his waiting palm.

A deep, approving grunt rumbles from his chest. “Good girl.”

Your cheeks burn at the praise, and you clench again as he takes your offering, wrapping his wet palm around the thick length of his cock. He strokes himself slowly, hissing through his teeth, the slick sound of his fist dragging over his shaft making your breath hitch.

Then, without warning, you feel the velvety head of his cock glide through the slick folds of your cunt.

Both of you shudder—your soft whimper mingling with his guttural groan.

He drags the swollen tip along your slit, gathering your arousal, and when he nudges it against your throbbing clit, your hips jerk instinctively.

“Relax, bella,” he warns, his hand tightening on your waist to steady you. “Unless you want me to bust my load all over this pretty clit right now.”

That filthy mouth of his makes you want to slap him—and kiss him—until you both can’t breathe.

He keeps teasing you both, swirling the sensitive head over your clit again, tapping it lightly against the swollen bundle of nerves. Your thighs tremble with need, and your pussy clenches again, desperate to take him inside.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice gravelly with restraint as he lines himself up with your entrance. “So fucking wet…”

He tilts his hips just enough to press the head of his cock against your dripping hole, and you gasp, your body instinctively arching toward him.

“¿Lista?” he whispers, his voice softer now, more intimate. He leans in, pressing his lips to the crook of your neck, trailing gentle kisses over your skin between ragged breaths.

You nod frantically, not trusting your voice to form words.

Then, slowly—achingly slow—he pushes the tip inside.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

A sharp, breathless moan escapes you as he stretches you open, your cunt greedily sucking him in. The sensation is electric, overwhelming—just enough to tease, just enough to leave you craving more.

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream. Why the fuck does this feel so good?

Javier groans, forehead pressed to your shoulder, his cock twitching inside you as he fights to keep from plunging deeper. “Puta madre nenita, this pussy esta tan rica.”

He stills, savoring the way your tight heat wraps around just the tip of him. His blunt fingernails dig into the skin of your hips as he struggles to keep his hips from moving.

But you can’t help it. Your hips move on their own, rolling back just enough to take more of him inside, the smooth slide of his length sending sparks through your body. A whimper slips from your lips as your walls clench around what little of him you have, the stretch so good it has your eyes fluttering shut, your head tipping forward.

“Don’t. Fucking. Move,” he growls, low and dangerous, and the sound of it shoots straight to your cunt.

You whine softly, biting your lip, as he drags the inches you stole back out, leaving just the swollen head nestled at your entrance. The tease is unbearable, like dangling water in front of someone dying of thirst.

“Javi, I can’t help it,” you moan, the frustration bubbling over into a pout. Your hand drifts down between your thighs, fingers brushing your slick, needy clit. You need something—anything—to relieve the pressure.

His hand is lightning fast, grabbing your wrist and yanking it back to the counter. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He sounds almost offended.

“I need to feel something,” you whimper, shifting your hips desperately against him.

He clicks his tongue, as if scolding you, his lips brushing your ear. “You’re already feeling the head of this cock, aren’t you? And you’re still being greedy, trying to touch this pretty little pussy after I told you I’d take care of you.”

His hand slides from your waist, gliding lower, fingers hovering just above where you need him most. The promise of his touch makes your thighs quiver, and you let out a desperate little whine, arching your back in a silent plea.

“Tell me what you want,” he demands, his voice low and rough, thick with control barely held in check.

You know exactly what he looks like—jaw tight, eyes burning with hunger, teeth gritted as he holds back from sinking all the way into you. And it makes you ache even more.

“Touch me, Javi, please,” you beg, your voice a breathy, needy little mewl. You throw your head back against his shoulder, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, batting your lashes shamelessly.

A low, satisfied hum vibrates from his chest, and his fingers finally press against your slick, swollen folds. He groans softly as he feels how you’re stretching around the head of his cock, his fingertips tracing the puffy lips before circling lazily over your throbbing clit.

“Ohhh, just like that,” you moan, the sound slipping from you naturally, raw and unfiltered—nothing like the exaggerated performances he’s used to. This is real, and it only makes him harder.

“Fuck me,” he mutters, his breath hot against your neck, “I can’t wait to ruin this pussy, nenita. Gonna make you feel better than any malparido before me.”

His fingers keep working your clit, slow and steady, each stroke dragging you closer to madness. Your hips start to grind against his hand and the blunt head of his cock, desperate for more, for everything.

And the way he’s talking—like you’re his to wreck, his to please—makes you feel like you’ll lose your mind.

You suck in a sharp breath, feeling the jealousy dancing on his fingertips as he works your clit faster, his movements switching between precision and wild hunger.

He rolls the sensitive bud between his thumb and forefinger, pinching it just hard enough to make you gasp. Then, his touch softens—soothing circles, spreading your slick everywhere—before he tugs at your swollen nub, sending shocks of pleasure deep into your core, like fireworks are exploding down there.

“Tell me,” he growls, voice rough with possessiveness. “Did he fuck you good?”

The blunt tip of his cock stays snug at your entrance, and every pinch, every flick of his fingers makes your walls clench greedily around it, desperate for more.

“W-Who?” you whimper, genuinely lost in the haze of his touch. Your mind has melted, everything but the sensations he’s feeding you slipping away like vapor.

That answer pleases him—makes something wicked curl in his chest. His grin presses against your neck, and the wet heat of his tongue drags a slow, deliberate stripe along your skin. Then, he bites down, sucking hard, marking you in that one spot you’ve only ever dreamt of him nipping at.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he murmurs, voice dripping with satisfaction.

Your hand finds his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands, tugging hard enough to make him groan against your neck. The heat swirling in your belly tightens to a near-breaking point, your orgasm creeping up on you with every flick of his relentless fingers.

“Javi—fuck—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, voice breaking, sounding needy and pitiful.

“I know, baby,” he rasps. “I can feel her gettin’ all tight and messy for me. C’mon, nena, let it happen. I’ve got you.”

He keeps his pace steady—no sudden changes, no wild moves—just the same focused rhythm he’s built up, making your nerves sing, each flick and stroke a perfectly calibrated promise of release.

Your body responds like it always does for him: beautifully. His name falls from your lips like a sweet song. Your hips grind instinctively, chasing the steady friction of his slick fingers.

“More, Javi—oh, please—more,” you gasp, knowing exactly what you need, what only he can give you. You’re ready for him to shove deep inside, to fill you, stretch you, ruin you with the thick cock still teasing your entrance.

If you had said this maybe five minutes ago, he would have obliged, but he’s got a point to prove now. And that point is restraint—his self control.

“Not tonight, pretty girl,” he murmurs darkly, laden with lust and dominance. “You’re gonna come just like this.”

Then, without warning, his hand shifts, and he slaps your pussy—once, twice, three times. The sound is wet and obscene, and the sharp sting sends a shockwave straight to your core.

That’s what breaks you. Your orgasm crashes over you like a violent, unstoppable wave, ripping through your body with terrifying force.

“Fuck—Javi!” you scream, your walls fluttering and pulsing wildly around the head of his cock, soaking his hand in your release as your legs threaten to give out beneath you.

He groans, watching you unravel for him, every twitch and spasm feeding his ego. His fingers don’t stop—stroking you through the aftershocks, coaxing every last drop of pleasure from your trembling body.

Your vision swims, your breath coming in ragged gasps as the euphoria leaves you floating, weightless. And even though he hasn’t buried himself inside you like you wanted, somehow, this feels even more intimate—like he’s branded himself into you without needing to fuck you at all.

The way your pussy grips him sends a shudder down his spine, and with a strangled curse, his balls tighten, his climax hot on the heels of yours.

“Fuck—” he groans, yanking his cock out just in time, the thick spurts of his cum painting your slick, swollen pussy, making a filthy mess.

Both of you pant, trying to catch your breath, the room heavy with the scent of sex. A sharp hiss escapes your lips as his fingers slide lazily through your soaked folds, mixing the remnants of both your pleasure. When he gathers the sticky blend on his fingers and brings them to your mouth, the hunger in his gaze makes your heart race.

“Have a taste, baby.”

Without hesitation, you part your lips, taking his fingers into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them with obscene enthusiasm. You moan at the heady, salty taste—like liquid sin on your tongue. It’s addictive, and you suck greedily until his fingers are spotless, releasing them with a wet pop that makes his eyes darken further.

You glance up at him over your shoulder, lips slightly swollen from your efforts.

“You okay?” he asks, his tone soft.

You nod, still dazed, your pulse thrumming beneath your skin. “Better than okay. That was... wow.”

His soft grin blooms into a cocky smirk, and he helps clean you up before gently moving your leg off the counter. As he tucks himself back into his jeans, you adjust your skirt, smoothing it down with shaky hands.

“Where are my panties?” you ask, glancing around, still floating in the afterglow.

He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling them out with a sly grin. “Oh, these?”

You reach for them, but he swiftly lifts them out of reach.

“I think I’ll hold onto them.”

Heat rises to your cheeks as you narrow your eyes at him, but the lazy, satisfied smile on your lips betrays your mock indignation. “Why? Perv.”

His grin widens, unabashed. “A little memento… to remind me of this. I’ll give them back next Saturday.” He slips them back into his pocket.

You roll your eyes, too blissed out to care. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

He steps closer, wrapping his arms around you, the warmth of his embrace catching you off guard. After all the resistance you’ve given him, letting him hold you like this feels foreign.

“Told you it’d feel good,” he murmurs smugly, his lips brushing your temple. “Didn’t think you’d be the one to cave first and beg for the whole thing, though.”

You scoff, giving his hip a playful pinch. “I got caught up in the heat of the moment, okay? You might’ve scored a date and... a semi-fuck, but I’m still sticking to those boundaries. For now.”

“Does that mean I still can’t kiss you?”

Oh, hell. He’s already been inside you—well, kind of. What’s one little kiss? But no. You’re trying to make a point here.

“Nope,” you reply, stopping him with a finger pressed lightly against his lips just as he leans in. “Not until you buy me dinner first.”

His smirk deepens, and instead of protesting, he kisses the tip of your finger.

“Deal.”

started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️ : @almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @magneticecstasy . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories

@greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiyart . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @persephone-girl .

🏷️ : @pasc4lfuzz . @sjc7542 . @almostfoxglove . @shy-taylorsversion . @theredvelvetbitch

@xxbadchoicexx . @lumpatto . @haylee-e . @yxtkiwiyxt . @guelyury . @itwasntimethatdidit40 . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @thundermartini . @correapunk .

#pedro pascal #javier peña smut #javier pena smut #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fanfic #javier peña fic #javier peña fanfic #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #javier peña narcos #javier pena narcos #javier pena x you #javier peña x you

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kykyonthemoon · 9 months ago

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How to function your very tall boyfriend

Having troubles reaching things that are too high for you? Don't fret. That's what having a really tall boyfriend for.

A request by Sora.

🌻 Character x F!Reader Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel and Caleb (first time writing for Caleb <3)

Tags: soft, sweet, lovers, established relationship. This fic is for short girlies like me out there <3

Masterlist

Request a fic

𝑿𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓

You stood on tiptoe, reaching the full length of your arm towards the row of shelves in front of you. A finger touched the box but you still couldn't get it. You looked around the archives, looking for the help of a ladder, chair, or anything. Then, the door opened, and you saw Xavier's face peeking inside.

Without waiting for him to speak, you waved to your savior. You looked at him, then pointed to the box located at the highest position on the shelf.

"You want me to get it down for you?"

You gave him a nod. And, with a gust of wind, he appeared right next to you.

Your hair was still hanging over your face from the breeze that had just passed. When you recovered consciousness, you noticed that the box you required was in Xavier's hands.

“Wooooooooow!”

That was all you could say. Your eyes widened and looked at him, mixed with admiration and gratitude.

Xavier maintained a somewhat tired expression on his face. He handed you the package and said in a calm tone:

“Do you need anything else?”

Your gaze was still locked on Xavier. As usual, he was already quite attractive, but when he rushed to your side and grabbed stuff for you in the blink of an eye, his coolness grew tremendously in proportion to your heartbeat.

"I need… that one!"

You pointed your finger at another row of shelves. In truth, you already had everything you needed for the mission, but watching more of Xavier using his skills in bringing everything from a higher place down for you wouldn't hurt.

"Okay."

As soon as he finished speaking, Xavier dashed to the shelf before returning to your side. All in a blink of an eye!

"That one too!" You pointed your finger in another way. "This one! That one! Two up there!…”

In only a few minutes, all the boxes stacked on high shelves were brought down and placed around you to form a wall made of cardboard.

"Woooooooow! "Xavier, you're so cool!"

You couldn't help but blurt out, causing the skin on his face below his blue eyes to grow scarlet. He came closer, put the last box in your hand and said:

“I've taken down all the things from higher shelves for you. Isn't it time I received my reward?”

Caught off guard when he suddenly leaned closer, you blushed a little in reply:

“Y-You… What do you want then…?…”

Xavier smiled mysteriously. He turned sideways and pointed at his cheek.

“You already know.”

Embarrassed, you placed a quick kiss on it. Xavier seemed unsatisfied.

“You really don't need all of these boxes, right? I heard that Jena will cut off the bonuses if she catches anyone tampering with the team's records. I can assist you clean up, but the prize must be more than this."

You chuckled. You'd become accustomed to his solicitation tactics.

"Please help me then. I assure you'll be pleased with the latter prize." After that, you lifted up his chin and gave Xavier an even deeper kiss on the opposite cheek.

𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆

You were used to visiting Zayne's house every weekend or on days off. Even when he was not home, you still liked to be there waiting for his return. You had a habit of eating snacks, especially sweets. So you brought a lot of things to his house to eat together. And always, he kept them nicely organized in the refrigerator or cupboards over the stove.

But sometimes, he put them out of your reach. At moments like that, you called out his name from the kitchen.

“Doctor Zayne. Doctor Zayne. Doctor Zayneeeee.”

He appeared soon after. On the bridge of his nose was still a pair of reading glasses. He carefully adjusted it and sighed.

“What do you need this time?”

“That jar of fruit gummies.” You pointed at it.

“I'm not your ladder.” Despite his grumbling, Zayne still took it down for you. With his height, it did not appear to be a problem at all.

"Thank you." You said. “I don't want to bother you. Why did you have to put my snacks so high up there?”

“I put it away so some sweet-loving worm doesn't eat too much.”

“I'm not a worm.” You replied, pouting. Zayne patted your head.

"Alright. Would you like anything else?"

Zayne kept telling you not to eat too many snacks, but he still took them all down. He separated them into parts and placed them on a large plate. The rest was put away to make sure you did not consume too much.

Knowing he was concerned about your health, you didn't ask for anything else but ate all of the treats he brought out. However, it was only when Zayne was away that you could properly appreciate his caring nature. Outside your snack cupboard was a letter with Zayne's handwritten words, which you took forever to read. It turned out he had moved your food to another place within your reach. Inside that cabinet was a candy tray with a lid. Zayne had prepared everything for you, with one additional note: Don't eat too much.

You burst out laughing. In response to his concern, you decided to rearrange his working space. Because he had left in a hurry to go to the hospital that day, his books were still not put away. That night, you caught him walking back and forth in front of his bookshelf, his expression rather serious.

“Did you rearrange the bookshelf?”

"Yes."

You replied. He placed his both hands on the bookshelf in front of him, skimming through the book titles printed on the spine. The book he had been reading in the morning was nowhere to be seen. Rather, you slithered right into the gap between his arms, making him turn to face you.

The sudden close distance made him a bit surprised. However, he maintained his composure and gazed down at you. The book he was looking for was in your hand. He smiled:

"What's wrong? You couldn't put it back since you found its place to be too high?"

You said with a pout, "If that's the case, then I won't give it to you."

You hid the book behind your back. WWho would have imagined that Dr. Zayne would boldly lean down, one arm around your waist to draw you in, while the other hand taking the book away from you.

You could hear his heartbeat matching yours as he pressed his body against you to return that book to its proper place on the shelf. He looked down at you, who was extremely confused. You asked:

“Aren't you going to read it?”

"No. I'm preoccupied with something else.”

He leaned down again, and kissed you.

𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍

Your favorite store had just been redecorated, and the items you needed had been moved elsewhere. Most of them were within your reach, but some decorations with lights were located high up. You turned around to look for help, but the store staff was already busy with another customer. So you looked in the other direction, where you found Rafayel staring at some little decorative fish bowls.

“Rafayel. Please help me get this thing.”

Rafayel turned to face whichever way your finger was pointing. He would waste no effort to reach the lamp you needed. He placed his hand on a spherical night lamp.

"Is this the one?"

"Not that one. The one in purple.”

His hand went to another. "This?"

“Nooooo. I said the purple one…”

"This one has purple in it." Rafayel put his hand on a purple lamp, but it wasn't what you wanted.

“Rafayel. The purple one. In the shape of a jellyfish."

“Hmm…” Rafayel pretended not to see what you described, even though it was right in front of him. "All I see is a seahorse and a whale."

He's definitely teasing you. You scowled:

“I'm not joking with you, Rafayel. Get the jellyfish lamp!”

“Are you sure?” He reposed the question with great seriousness. “This jellyfish is so ugly and painful to look at that my eyes automatically ignore it.”

You puffed your cheeks and said each word clearly: “Take. That. Jellyfish. Lamp!"

"Okay." Rafayel gave a shrug. At last, his hand found the precise object you wanted. He lifted it. But instead of placing it in your eagerly outstretched palms, he put it on a higher shelf.

“Rafayel!” YYou yelled out of rage. He grinned from ear to ear.

“Here, you told me to take it, so I took it. You didn't mention that I had to give it to you"

“You!… Argghhh!…”

You were so furious that you failed to speak. You stood on your tiptoes and jumped up, trying to grab the item, but Rafayel raised the object entirely.

“Give it to me! Give it to me!” You danced in a circle around Rafayel, who was clutching the jellyfish lamp like a trophy. All eyes in the store turned to both of you. You stopped. Your face was red, both from anger and embarrassment.

You looked at Rafayel, who was teasing you with that handsome but punchable face. Then, like a light bulb had just turned on in your head, you thought of a way to "repress" him.

Your hands stretched out. Rafayel thought you were aiming for the lamp so he raised it even higher. But it was his collar you were after. He wasn't on guard so you pulled him down so easily, so close. Until your lips touch his delicate ones.

Rafayel rolled his eyes. He was so surprised. Taking advantage of the situation when his arm was gradually falling, you immediately grabbed the jellyfish lamp and stepped back, holding it triumphantly in your arms.

“Ha! I snatched it from you!”

Rafayel was in disbelief. He had earlobes the color of ripe tomatoes. With one hand softly brushing his lips, he turned to face you.

“You… cheated.” He said, "In that case, you can snatch me too!"

𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒃

It had been a long time since both Caleb and you had a chance to go home to visit Grandma. A family meal was inevitable. He took you to the supermarket near your house to shop and prepare dinner.

Caleb knew too much about your taste. You simply followed him and let him select nearly everything. But when you were walking by the snack shelves, your gaze unintentionally paused at the top row, where there was a particular kind of cookie that you and Caleb used to enjoy together as children.

After noticing your halt, Caleb turned to face you.

“Oh, they still sell this?” He spoke up.

“I want to buy it!” You told him. One hand reached up but you couldn't get the snacks. You heard Caleb laughing hysterically next to you. You folded your arms and pouted: "What are you laughing at?" Why don't you get it for me?"

"I assumed you could handle anything on your own since you're already an adult." Caleb made a joke. “Remember when we were kids? Every time you couldn't reach something, you ran to me and tugged my arm?”

You reminisced about your childhood days. Whenever you needed to get something from a high place, the first person you called was Caleb. He would bend down so you could climb on his shoulders and then carry you like that until you got what you wanted.

“Yeah. I remember." You replied. “But why— Ouch!”

Caleb suddenly bent down, wrapped his muscular arms around your thighs and lifted you up.

“Caleb?! What are you doing?!" Your arms wrapped around Caleb's neck, holding on tight as if your life depended on this. You looked down at Caleb's grinning face. He responded:

“I'm helping you get your cookies.”

“N-Not like this!…” You blushed. You had grown up and no longer the innocent little girl you used to be. Being lifted up by him like this made you extremely timid. “People… People are looking at us…”

“Ignore them.” Caleb paid no attention to his surroundings. “Just look at me.”

You felt the heat radiating from your cheeks. Caleb didn't stop there, he asked you:

"Ready?"

"Huh?"

Without waiting for your response, he spun around so fast in that posture, which made you scream suddenly. You leaned entirely on Caleb, counting on him to keep you both balanced. He continued to rotate a few more times, before becoming lightheaded himself. Then he came to a complete halt and rested his back against the shelf.

You both burst into laughter. Laughing until your stomach muscles start to hurt. But Caleb still didn't let you go. He breathed heavily and said:

“I just remembered. Besides helping you get things from high places, I also helped you climb that wall when you snuck out without Gran knowing!"

“It was completely your idea!” You pinched his nose. “After that, both of us got grounded by Grandma.”

"Sorry." Caleb chuckled. “Shall I make it up to you with cookies?”

“Then help me up a little higher.” You uttered it out with joy. “Let's buy all the cookies here!”

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luveline · 1 year ago

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I don’t really have a request I just love anything you write💗 maybe something with girly!reader?

thanks lovely💗

Spencer wrings his hands behind his back, shifting from one foot to the other unhappily. He hasn't felt this nervous since he was young —his PhDs have acted as a shield for years now. Even if he doesn't know what to do, he physically cannot be stupid.

He feels pretty stupid. Less when you look up, smile blinding and sticky with gloss. He's thought about how it would feel to kiss you before and he tries desperately to push the thought away now, his hands shaking where they're hidden.

"Hey, Spencer Reid," you say, lightly teasing as you wave him toward you. "How are you?"

"I'm good."

"Yeah?" You gesture at the empty seat in front of you. "Are you having lunch?"

The bureau cafeteria is less of a cafeteria in the kitchen sense and more of a staff room, though hot food is served at the very back. There are couches toward the patio of an outdoor area to the left. You sit at one of the tables near the doors. The air is cold around his ankles as he sits with you.

"No, I– I came down for coffee, but the jug is empty." It's a bad lie. Luckily you have no idea that there's a kitchen in the BAU offices. "You're not?"

You turn your laptop screen to him. "I ate my lunch at my desk. I'm just catching up with my show." Your laptop has stickers around the screen, silver shiny stars and tiny pink hearts that look like they're made of jelly. There's a closed bottle of nail polish resting near the keyboard. "And I'm gonna touch up my nails, too. They're always chipping."

"They look perfect to me," Spencer says.

You beam at him, beatific, so, so pretty, he could die. He might. "Thanks, honey. You'd look cute with painted nails, have you ever thought about it?"

Spencer honestly forgets about his nails. He should take better care of them. He thinks about hiding them under the desk. "I don't think I could do it."

"No one's good at it, at first. I'd paint them for you, if you wanted. I have a couple of things in my bag."

Spencer's relieved to present freshly trimmed nails to you for painting. Your polish is a light blue colour, milky, and he assumes it'll be the one you use on him, but you decide to ruin his life, taking his hand into one of yours. You hold his fingers in a way that presents the nail as you brush cuticle oil around the edges of his nails with a small pen brush. You chatter as you do in your way, all sweet and gentle in mirror of your touch.

He's proud of himself for keeping his cool. To have you touching him for so long, so kindly, to have your attention, it has him squirming with a mixture of pleasure and horror. He wants to be seen by you but he doesn't know if he likes what you're looking at.

"You have really lovely hands," you say, using the tip of one of your nails to scrape stray wet polish off of his skin, "do you play piano?"

"You can tell?" he asks.

"Pianist's fingers," you say. "That's a thing, isn't it?"

"I haven't played much since I was younger. I got distracted by other stuff."

"Maths," you surmise. "And criminology?"

Everything. He pushed away a want for human connection with books and education until it got too much. Even the wisest of honeybees will brave heavy rain for a beautiful flower, and that's sort of how he feels about you. He knows it's stupid, knows it's doomed, but he couldn't not try to speak to you. You're the prettiest girl he's ever seen, all your lip colours and shimmery eyeshadows, the chirpy way you talk, the earnestness of your please and thank yous.

Your hands. The silver ring on your index finger dotted with tiny pink stones. Your bracelets. The smell of your perfume and your soft sweaters.

"Done," you announce, an uncharacteristic hesitance to your tone. "Are they okay?"

You've done a perfect job. "They're so neat. Thank you. I– I love it."

Your eyes linger on his hands. "I love when guys wear nail polish. You're even handsomer now, it's crazy. I didn't know it was possible."

Spencer should have more style for sure, but he asks you to dinner right then and there.

You smile until the lashes kiss in the corners of your eyes and say yes. This new place opened just around the corner from your apartment, and you've been trying to drum up the courage to ask him all week. When Spencer hears that he almost passes out.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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blingblong55 · 3 months ago

Text

Crossing the line -141& König

Picture credit: @ave661 (middle)

Based on a request: I have recently crossed over and I think I may becoming a Konig girlie! I don’t know if you write for him, and I’m sorry if I sent this and you don’t, but what do we think about Konig dating someone who’s in the 141. They don’t see each other very often with work but 141 and Kortac get paired up to do a mission against Makarov and reader introduces Konig to the team?again sorry if you don’t write to him! But I just wanted to say I love your writing and I’m obsessed with your blog!!! Have a great day! ---- F!Reader (don't know what else to write here...so...yeah) ----

-This is written before the death(s) of any character(s) in the franchise-

A/N: welcome to this side love and don't worry, he is on my list of who I write for and apologise for barley doing this for you

A relationship that can only be described as unconventional and riddled with unanswered questions is precisely what exists between you and König. You're part of Task Force 141, while your boyfriend works for KorTac, a Private Military Company, and a rival to your team. Naturally, you've kept this under wraps; no one in 141 knew about him or where he's employed. But today, of all days, was the day you had to bring him into the fold, thanks to Price asking you to introduce your partner so there could be a record on hand should he ever need to be placed under protection.

As members of Task Force 141, there's always a record – whether they're enemies, allies or even partners of either side. So, when the day finally arrived and you intordiced him, you made it clear that if they respected you, they wouldn't pry into his life. Out of respect for you, they didn't dig into his background, but you knew that trouble was brewing, especially when both Task Force 141 and KorTac had to join forces against a common enemy: Makarov. He'd betrayed KorTac months ago and was now squarely in the crosshairs of Task Force 141.

"König?" Gaz blurted out the moment he laid eyes on him. It's hard to miss a man his size and Gaz, with his sharp memory, had clocked him straight away, nudging Soap and Price. Before you knew it, Price had pulled you aside, and a wave of dread washed over you. "Your boyfriend... where does he work?" Price asked, his tone demanding the truth. You could only stare back, silently pleading with him not to push it. "Price, don't do this—" you began, but he cut you off. "Where. Does. He. Work?" he pressed, and with a sigh, you gave him a look that said, 'Don't be mad." "He's in the military... KorTac, to be precise,": you admitted, bracing yourself for the fallout.

Before Price could respond, Ghost was on you, his voice dripping with fury. "You're dating the fucking enemy? You know what they did to us, who they are, and why they do what they do," he snarled, his teeth practically clenched. You turned to face him properly, "Lt, please... don't make a scene out of this," you implored, but he just shook his head in disbelief. "Make a scene? A fucking scene?! What have you told him, kid?" he barked, shoving your shoulder. "Nothing," you insisted, trying to keep your cool. "You're a fuckin' idiot." His tone was filled with anger and disappointment. "You know why we don't pair with them, why this thing is just a one-off, so don't give me this bullshit, don't fucking––" Ghost raged.

"That's enough," Price interjected stepping in.

"I love him. I know he'd never betray me. I took an oath when I joined this team, I made a promise to be a good partner to him, but I take my oath seriously, the same one I took when I was brought into this team. I'd never betray the team that's like family to me, but I also can't help loving him," you explained, your voice wavering slightly as you looked between Ghost and Price.

"You're... in love?" Soap said, sounding almost incredulous. You sighed, wishing this nightmare would end. "Yes, I am," you confirmed. "With that KorTac bloke, yeah?" Gaz added, and you nodded, meeting their questioning gazes. "I'm sorry, alright? I know it's not ideal, but i swear he'd never betray or harm any of you. He knows how much I care about you all. He loves me, and we promised each other we wouldn't do that," you told them earnestly, hoping they'd understand. They exchanged glances, clearly conflicted. "If he hurts you—" Price started.

"I won't," König said firmly as he walked into the room, and you couldn't help but let out a relieved sigh.

Someone ought to lock the door before anyone barges in, you thought wryly.

"I'll be looking into your personal life," Price warned, his gaze fixed on König. "You're welcome to. Investigate all you want, I've got nothing to hide," König replied, meeting Price's stare without flinching.

As the tension in the room thickened, you could feel the weight of every gaze on you and König. The air was heavy with unspoken doubts, but also a glimmer of something else—perhaps understanding, or at least the hope of it.

Price took a step back, his expression unreadable. "We'll see about that," he said, his tone softer but still laced with authority. "But understand this: if he steps out of line, if he puts any of us in jeopardy, I won't hesitate to act. Love or not, you're still a part of this team, and this team comes first." You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. "I understand, and I wouldn't expect anything less," you replied, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside you.

Ghost was still fuming, but he kept his distance, his eyes narrowing as he looked between you and König. "Don't make me regret this," he muttered, his voice low and dangerous.

König, to his credit, didn't flinch. "You have my word," he said simply, his voice calm and assured.

Soap and Gaz exchanged a look, and Soap finally broke the silence with a half-hearted grin. "Well, this is going tomake for an interesting debrief, eh?"

The tension in the room eased slightly, the corners of Gaz's mouth twitching in what might have been the beginning of a smile. "You always did know how to keep things lively," he said, his tone teasing but not unkind.

You allowed yourself a small smile, feeling the tightness in your chest begin to loosen. "What can I say? Never a dull moment." Price nodded, his eyes still on König. "Alright then. We'll take it one step at a time. But remember, we're watching."

With that, the meeting seemed to unofficially adjourn, the mean dispersing with lingering glances at you and König. As the door closed behind the last of them, you let out a breath you hadn't realised you were holding. König turned to you, his eyes softening as he took your hand. "Are you alright?"

You nodded, squeezing his hand in return. "Yeah. It could've gone worse." He gave you a small, reassuring smile. "They'll come around."

"Maybe," you said, leaning into him slightly. "But even if they don't, we'll figure it out. Together." He nodded, pulling you close. "Together," he echoed. And as you stood there, the two of you alone in the room that had just moments ago been filled with so much tension, you felt a sense of calm wash over you.

A/N: fixed my writing style so...I hope you enjoyed?

Tags: @liyanahelena @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @rvivienner @frazie99 @katybaby00 @spicypicklesoh @viomast @juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @enarien @ikohniik @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @sae1kie @Llelannie @Macnches2 @skelletonwitch @honestlyhiswife @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @the_royal_bee @beansproutmafia @luvecarson @soapybutt17 @asianbutnotjapanese @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @born4biriyani @mychemichalimalance @marshiely @tuihiatus @iruzias @sleepyycatt @noodlezz-bedo @trinthealternate @vampsquerade @azkza @VampyTheGoth

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irisintheafterglow · 1 year ago

Text

Parley? (opla!zoro x you)

summary: a stranger arrives to disturb your peace and you have no choice but to negotiate with him.

wc: 2.57k

cw/tags: first meeting, swearing, mentions of canon-typical violence including blood and swords, zoro doesn't know how to express his feelings

note: i'm so nervous posting this ngl because i really like zoro as a character but i'm scared that i'm not gonna do him justice since i don't know him as well as gojo or geto or bakugo etc etc etc. hopefully all yall zoro girlies like this because i've been itching to write for him since my explore page became nothing but mackenyu. enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

You hear the chimes first. The melody is soft, nearly imperceptible to the untrained ear, but you sense it. After all, you were the one who tied the string under the walkway floorboards in such a way that the bells above your window would clink if something pressed down on the wood. Over time, you learned to identify where outside was being pushed based on more strings and bells. It made it easier to find the Lady, on the rare occasion she stepped into open air and you weren’t with her. However, whoever was now setting off your makeshift alarm system had footsteps unlike the usual occupants of the house. The quietness of the notes was unsettling, in a way, because it meant they were creeping around the house. Someone didn’t want to be heard.

It was the flowers next, the roses with uniquely reflective petals that were especially good at bouncing moonlight precisely through your window. The Lady commented one day in the market that she’d taken a liking to that particular flower, and you bought the vendor’s entire stock to plant around the house once you realized how it could be used. Not before you built a crow’s nest-like window, first. The glass structure jut out of the house in just the right way that you received colors from the left, right, and front of the house. Had an intruder approached from the back, your only blindspot, you would hear the more insistent clicks of the typewriter keys attached to the outside deck panels. The nearly noiseless bells and the ominous shadow sneaking across your wall were enough to snap you wide awake.

The soles of your feet meet cool stone as you slide from under the covers, wrapping the sheath of your saber around your waist and slipping out of your bedroom. Despite the darkness of the hallway, your legs move by memory to the Lady’s chambers only to find the door already ajar.

Shit. Were you too late?

Slinking into the room in one graceful stride, words leave your mouth without thinking when you see him standing over your Lady, holding two deadly-looking swords.

“Taking a life halfway gone is immoral no matter the bounty, pirate hunter.” His head snaps in your direction and you have your blade on him before he can blink, resting the point lightly but threateningly against his throat. His eyes narrow on you challengingly and you put ever so slightly more pressure into your hilt, forcing him to surrender and sheath both swords. The third, you note, remains undrawn on his hip. “No better targets to pursue than a retiree? I expected better from the demon of the East Blue.” His gaze remains unchanging while you step forward, inching him backward until his head hits the wall with a soft thud. You were thankful, for once, that the Lady was starting to lose her hearing and was always a deep sleeper.

“She’s wanted,” he says in a low tone.

“She’s withered,” you retort. “Killing her advances justice no more than leaving her alive.” His face is still unreadable, void of any emotions just as the rumors conveyed. Many tales circulated of the infamous pirate hunter, but you chose to believe the Lady to be far too irrelevant to pose any real threat to the Marines. As one of the last known powerhouses of the Gold Roger era, it was more likely her wanted poster would be drowned out amongst younger hotshot pirates than for her to become an actual target. And yet, here was the most feared bounty hunter in the seas, hunting down a myth that many assumed was already six feet under. And for what, fun?

“It doesn’t matter. Honor is a courtesy denied to killers.” He speaks in a way like you wouldn’t understand his ideas, and it sends a white-hot flash of anger racing through your veins.

“Ooh, yes. You’re being so honorable by julienning a defenseless old woman while she sleeps.” To your surprise, he flinches, unwillingly bringing your eyes to corded muscle and flexed biceps. It’s a bit of a struggle to refocus on the task at hand. “Enlighten me on how this makes you feel vindicated.”

“I kill pirates for a living,” he states simply, nodding over to the slumbering mass under the thick comforter. The tip of your sword follows every movement he makes, careful not to give him an opening to strike. Unexpectedly, he seems almost relaxed, like the weapon at his throat was the least of his worries. “That woman is a pirate.”

“That woman was a pirate. She is no longer the ‘Captain Indigo’ you seek.”

“Who is she now, then?”

“Lady Lavender, adored by her constituents and far removed from a life of piracy. If I weren’t on the verge of spilling your organs on the carpet, I’d say visit the farmer’s market on Tuesdays. You’ll see just how different her life is now.” His chin tilts in disagreement.

“The Marines say otherwise.”

“What do you say?” A minute tilt of your wrist angles your saber so that the point now resides under his sharply defined jawline. “Hmm, hunter? Any opinions in that thick skull of yours or are you just another mindless government weapon?”

“You understand nothing,” he mutters like an indignant teenager, looking off to the side woefully. It makes your blood boil.

“Try me,” you snarl at the green-haired stranger. In another life, you’d have thought him pretty handsome, if you weren’t so infuriated by his indifferent sense of justice. He knew nothing about you, or the Lady, or what either of you had to endure to create a sense of safety. Safety, you would add, that you weren’t going to give up easily.

“This woman you serve, what are you to her? A caretaker? A child?”

“A friend,” you answer cautiously. “Something your line of work would know nothing about.”

“The Marines know that your friend murdered the former governor and seized the island in an act of desperation,” he informs you with a note of condescension. “They’ve wanted her gone for ten years, and I am here to collect her head. It’s not personal; it’s business.” The incorrectness of his information is laughable, but what concerns you more is the ease with which he talks of taking lives.

“You don’t feel any sort of remorse for the targets you kill?” The anger in your stomach starts to rub against a different, unwanted influx of sorrow. After witnessing the change in a ruthless pirate empress, you refused to believe a human could be this heartless.

“I don’t dwell on them long enough to care. Most of the time, they do something stupid that makes it a little easier to dispose of them.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong about her,” you recover, pressing the blade against his skin on the brink of drawing blood. He winces, squirming against the wallpaper for some sort of relief. You don’t budge. “The former mayor was a half-brother whom she reconnected with after Gold Roger’s execution. His death was caused by a misdosage of medicine used to treat hemorrhoids he’d suffered with since he was twenty. On his deathbed, he made her promise to take care of this city...” You inhale, focusing on the man in front of you. His expression is soft, nothing like you would have expected from a feared killer-for-hire. He was actually listening to you.

“Go on.”

“And to take care of me. I have the great pirate hunter at the end of my blade, so she must not have done that bad of a job at either request.” He’s silent for a moment and you watch the cogs turn in his brain, hoping he’d find some humanity and realize that killing the Lady isn’t just pointless, it’s fundamentally wrong.

“It doesn’t change the fact that I need money.” Nevermind, then. Backup plan it is.

“I understand that,” you concede, and you remove your weapon from his neck. His hands are on the hilts of his swords instantly, but he doesn’t draw them. He could kill both you and the Lady in a single swing, but he doesn’t. Maybe you did reach a different side of him. “That's why I’m willing to cut you a deal.”

“I don’t make deals with pirat–” he starts, but abruptly cuts himself off when you raise your eyebrows in expectation. Did you not learn anything from what I just told you? His face contorts in confusion, as if his mind was at odds with what his body was telling him to do. After carefully schooling his expression into blankness, he stands to his full height, rolling a broad shoulder. “What’s the deal?”

“You’re aware of the Blue Ringed crew, yes?”

“Famous for their poisons, I’ve heard,” he confirms and you nod. “They cover every inch of their ship in toxins and wear special clothing to prevent contact with their skin. Makes it hard to sneak up on them.”

“Exactly. See, you’re not as uneducated as you look,” you tease and you feel your face heat when he sticks his tongue out at you. It’s so boyish and immature, in stark contrast to the handsome, god-bodied man that faces you. “I happen to have a counteragent, enough for you to get on their ship and collect three times the amount if you killed us tonight.”

“And what would you get in return?”

“The sound of your boots walking off the property and never returning,” you whisper a little desperately, pleading with him to leave your perfect peace intact and forget this altercation ever happened. The quiet in the room as he ponders your offer is suffocating save for the gentle snores of Lady Lavender. Eventually, he takes your deal, inspecting the powder-filled vial when you bring it to him on the front porch.

“How do I use it if it’s powder?”

“Mix it with lotion to help soak it faster into your skin. When your skin is dry, you’ll have roughly an hour to navigate the boat completely immune to the poison. It’s sweat resistant but will wash off with seawater, so take care not to get thrown overboard,” you instruct him, crossing your arms across your chest against the chilly ocean air blowing in from the south. It was breezier than normal and you regret not grabbing a sweater. Unless you wanted to freeze your ass off, you needed to finish this debacle quickly. “Kill the pirates, get your bounty, and leave us the hell alone. Deal?”

“Fine by me.” He carefully places the vial in the pocket of his pants and begins his descent down the front walkway. Before you can turn back into the house, however, his voice reaches your ears so lightly you think you’d hallucinated it. “Stay warm.”

He doesn’t end up keeping his side of the deal. A few days after your initial altercation, he approaches the house again in broad daylight holding a box about the size of your hand. You stare at him in disbelief, reading in the nook of your window and he has the audacity to smirk at you when he spots you looking.

“I thought we had a deal, pirate hunter,” you remind him when you open the front door of the house. It was infuriating how good he looked for having just returned from a pursuit, dressed up in fine fabrics with his hair combed back nicely. The irony was palpable, the situation not unlike the stories the Lady told you about the numerous men who attempted to court her. They appeared at the same front door with flowers, rubies, and promises of devotion, but none of them actually wanted her heart. In contrast, you wanted to stab the heart of the idiot in front of you.

“Stop calling me that,” he frowns and you can’t help the laugh that leaves your mouth. “My name is Roronoa Zoro–”

“Oh, sorry,” you interject and his eyebrows furrow at your lack of manners. “Am I just supposed to act like you’re my friend now? After you tried to kill my boss?”

“I thought we were past that,” he states bluntly.

“That was four days ago.”

“It’s enough time to move on.”

“You’re impossible.” You shake your head in disbelief, slightly puzzled at the giddy feeling in your chest when the faintest smile appears on his face. “What’s that?” You gesture to the rosewood box in his fingers.

“Consider it an apology,” he says, holding out the box for you to take, “for bothering you the other night.”

“How chivalrous.” You eye the box warily, still unsure about the enigmatic bounty hunter before you. “But we don’t need nor want your money.”

“It’s not money. Just open the damn box,” he grunts impatiently and you begrudgingly oblige, sliding back the top panel to reveal a bracelet. It wasn’t like any other bracelet you’d seen before, a gold chain garnished with a single deep green emerald barely the size of your pinky fingernail. It was delicate and elegant, subtle enough not to draw attention but luxurious enough to make you feel spoiled. “Do you like it?”

“I do, actually. The color is pretty,” you reply slowly, still slightly in shock. “Why green?”

“Take a wild guess.” He smirks again and your gaze flicks up to his hair. It was just as vibrant as the gemstone and he watched you carefully as the pieces clicked into place. With the bracelet, you’d be forced to think of him every time you looked at it or anything the color green. What kind of guy buys a momento for almost killing you, you had no idea.

“You didn’t need to bring me this. I thought the deal was–”

“I remember what the deal was, but I felt bad making you stand outside shivering while you explained how the counteragent functioned.” Your eyes widen slightly at his admission. He noticed you reacting to the wind, so how intensely was he watching you that night? If he sees your surprise, he doesn’t comment on it and continues to explain why he brought you the gift in the first place. “The powder worked, by the way. I snagged this from the captain’s chambers on my way out.”

“You stole this because you saw me get cold?” He merely shrugs, clearly unbothered.

“I mean, yeah. You looked miserable.”

“I was miserable.” He smiles slightly again, the corner of his mouth quirking in amusement. It makes your heart stutter against your wishes. “Does this mean we’re even now, pirate hunter?”

“Call me Zoro and maybe I’ll consider it.”

“You’ll consider it?”

“Holding a sword to someone’s throat is a major transgression that can’t be forgiven so easily,” he taunts and you roll your eyes. “Let me start over, meet you properly without the involvement of weapons.”

“You really want to see me again?” He scoffs at your question as if the answer wasn't crystal clear.

“What, bringing you a bracelet wasn’t obvious enough? I’ll have to bring the entire ship next time. Might take a little longer to get back to you.”

“Get off my porch, Roronoa Zoro,” you laugh, reaching out to push his shoulder away and feeling every inch of his skin against your fingers in the brief moment your bodies touch. “Don’t come back unless you have something important to say.”

“I think you’ll soon find out what I prioritize as important.”

#zoro x you #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #opla x reader #opla x you #opla x y/n #opla!zoro x you #opla!zoro x reader

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ninii-winchester · 1 month ago

Text

Behind Closed Doors (Part 8)

Pairing : Boss!Dean Winchester X Assistant!Reader

Word count : 1.5k

Warnings : angst.

A/n : I don’t even know where this is going atp.

"I'm sorry Dean." Y/n pushed him away slightly, creating a distance between the two. "I can't do this." She said before leaving him alone in his office. Dean let out a breath that was half a growl, half a sob, and slammed his fist into the wall continuously. The pain flared through his hand, but it felt insignificant compared to the agony twisting inside him.

"Dammit, Y/n," he whispered, leaning his forehead against the cool surface. His knuckles ached, bruised from the relentless impact against the wall, and he stared at them, flexing his fingers slowly. The burn felt better than the storm in his chest, better than the helplessness swirling inside.

Outside the room, Y/n pressed her back against the wall, barely holding it together. Her breath hitched as she listened to the dull thud of Dean's fist hitting the wall, the muffled growl of his frustration carrying through the thin barrier between them. She squeezed her eyes shut, biting down on her lip to stop the sob that threatened to escape, but it was useless. It felt like her chest was caving in, like the weight of everything she'd been holding in finally shattered her.

Her hands trembled as she covered her mouth, trying to silence the gasping sobs that broke free, tears spilling down her cheeks. She slid down to the floor, knees pulling to her chest, head resting against the wall that separated them. She wanted to scream, to burst into the room and take all his pain away. But all she could do was cry.

Y/n took a deep breath, steeling herself against the waves of sorrow that threatened to drown her. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and moved to her desk. She has to hold her ground, if Dean saw her break down he'd convince her to run away with him. And she'd be damned if she let him destroy his whole life just for her. With her head held high she turned back to her work although her soul was ripping apart inside.

The next few days were quite. Dean had been avoiding Y/n, although it hurt her to see him act so aloof but she knew it was necessary for them to maintain a distance. She saw the pain in his eyes every time he walked by or how avoided looking at her whenever they discussed work. She saw his hand wrapped in bandages and refrained from reprimanding him for hurting himself. She reminded herself that it wasn't her place anymore to say anything to him. Besides she was partly the reason he was hurt.

Y/n was engrossed in a mountain of reports at her desk when Rachel stepped out of the elevator with an air of confidence that made Y/n's skin crawl. She could practically feel the tension crackling in the air. Rachel was wearing that smug smile again, the one that said she was about to stir the pot.

"Y/n!" Rachel chimed, her tone almost too sweet. She placed a stack of glossy wedding magazines on Y/n's desk with a flourish. "I'm so excited to share my plans with you! I know you and Dean are close, and I could really use your insights." Y/n forced a smile, the familiar pang clawing at her chest.

"About what?"

"Oh, just some ideas for the wedding!" Rachel said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Dean and I have been talking a lot about our future, I'm glad he's finally accepting this relationship. I thought it would be nice to get your take on some things. Another girly input you know." She faked her enthusiasm clearing trying to hurt Y/n on purpose. Rachel leaned in, her expression feigning sincerity. "I just want to make sure it's perfect for him. He's had such a complicated life, and he deserves someone who can give him stability." There was a pause as she watched Y/n's reaction, clearly enjoying the effect her words had.

"Right," Y/n said, her jaw tightening. "You're definitely the one to provide that."

Rachel tilted her head, the smile never leaving her lips. "Oh, yes I am! I know you two had a... unique connection. But let's be honest, he needs someone like me who can really support him in his career. I wouldn't want him to get distracted."

Y/n felt her stomach twist at the thought, but she forced herself to smile. "Sounds... about right, Rachel." As Rachel continued to chat on about floral arrangements and guest lists, Y/n's mind raced. She felt trapped in a web of tension, with Rachel deliberately playing mind games and tugging at the threads of her heart. Her heart was pounding in her ears and she felt the need to throw up but she held it in.

"Just let me know if you think of any other ideas," Rachel said, her tone dripping with faux sincerity as she got up to leave. "I really value your input. After all, it's not every day you get to help plan a wedding, right?"

As Rachel walked away, Y/n felt the weight of her words settle heavily in the room. She turned back to her desk, the bright magazine covers staring back at her like a mockery. She buried her face in her hands for a moment, battling the swirling emotions, frustration and hurt colliding within her.

Dean walked out of his office to head to his meeting, his gaze landed onto Y/n clenching and unclenching her hands on the table top, her eyes fixed onto the magazines that littered on her desk. He could see hear breathing harshly and the tears pooling her waterline. He wanted to reach forward and kiss her tears away. He wanted to hold her and throw those stupid magazines out of the window. His jaw clenched as he held back. It should've been them, it should've been their wedding, their plans. He cleared his throat gaining her attention. She looked up at him with an emotionless expression on her face.

"Mr. Winchester." She cleared her throat, ignoring the lump that had formed. The tremble in her voice was obvious to them both.

"May I ask Miss. L/n, why is your desk littered with magazines instead of the reports you're supposed to be working on?" Dean asked, his tone was professional but gentle at the same time.

"I'm sorry, sir." She paused when Dean made a sound at her calling him 'sir'. He hated it with a passion and she knew it too. "Miss Rachel wanted me to help her plan the wedding." She replied looking at him. She wished she didn't know him well enough to read his face, but she did. He was crumbling on the inside, but at the same time anger surged through him, a dark haze clouded his vision.

"This is a real estate company Miss L/n, not a wedding planning service. Next time Rachel asks you do something like that, you inform me!" He said sternly. "Nevermind. I'll let her know myself." He spoke through gritted teeth. She nodded biting her lip, the lip that Dean wanted to pull between his own. He dismissed those thoughts and went on his way to his meeting.

"Fuck my life." Y/n whispered dropping onto her chair. "You made this decision for the both of you, you don't have anyone else to blame, Y/n." She mumbled to herself.

"I knew you were crazy but talking to yourself takes the cake, darling." She heard a voice say and she looked up to see Castiel standing in-front of her. She said his name in a soft whisper. He gave her a once over and his face morphed into a sympathetic expression.

"De-" she cleared her throat. "Mr.Winchester is in a meeting."

"I'm not here to see him." He said leaning over and placing both his palms on her desk. “I’m here to see you. C’mon, let’s go somewhere to talk.” He offered, he could see her debating so he added. “If it’s about not leaving work, you know I can deal with it.” She nodded her head gently and wrapped her work while he went to Dean’s office and wrote something on a sticky note and stuck it to Dean’s monitor. Castiel offered his arm to Y/n and she took it gladly, finding some sort of comfort in the presence of her friend.

Dean came back from his meeting and his brows furrowed at the absence of Y/n at her desk. Her bag was gone and the usual clutter on her desk was clean as if she was done for the day. He made his way inside his office and dropped on his desk chair, his gaze landed on the note stuck to the screen.

Took your girl out. Will try to convince her to change her mind! -Cas

Tags:

@spnfamily-j2 @galway-girlatwork @deangirl96 @queensilber

@s0urw00lf @monkey-d-hoshizora98 @deans-baby-momma @fullbelieverheart

@riah1606 @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @hobby27

@starkleila @suckitands33 @m3ntally-unstable @kanekilovelove-blog @candy-coated-misery0731

@blackcherrywhiskey @ladysparkles78 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself-blog @graywrites5567

@thelittlelightinthedarkess @enamoredwithbella @winchesterwild78 @myuhh8

@10ava01 @n-o-p-e-never

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megamindsecretlair · 1 year ago

Note

I just want to start off by saying that you’re keeping all of us Tyrone girlies well fed!! You’re hands down one of my favorite writers on Tumblr ❣️

Not sure if you’re taking requests , but I would kill to see Tyrone be the jealous/pining one. He just always seems so cool and collected. Maybe it’s like a friends to lovers thing (or maybe they’re FWB and he hasn’t made it official) and someone asks the reader out before he does. Might be slightly toxic, but I feel like it’s on brand for him

Break Me

Pairing: Tyrone x Mean!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Toxic FILTH. PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (fem receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, Toxic Tyrone, all consensual. Multiple uses of n-word. Referring to female anatomy as "she".

Summary: See ask. While you get ready for your date, Tyrone invites himself over to make you address where you stand with each other.

Word Count: 5,102k

A/N: I have no excuses for myself. None. Head empty. I'm SO sorry this took forever to get out, I feel so bad. I hope this was worth the wait! Thank you for calling me one of your fave writers! ILY! Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt! Not everyone got tagged, simply because the list is so long and some of them have been inactive, no hard feelings!

Taglist: @planetblaque @notapradagurl7 @honeyoriginalz @soft-persephone @henneseyhoe @dayjlovesromance @browngirldominion @melaninpov @sevikasblackgf @tranquilfandomer @empressdede @mybonafidefeelings @westside-rot @blackerthings @slippinninque @nicolexnight @honeytoffee @l-auteuse @jarfulloftears @thadelightfulone @kindofaintrovert @softscorpio17 @lovedlover @montysstuffs @blowmymbackout @miyuhpapayuh @soapjay @theyscreamsannii @eggnox @sunkissedebony97

You sang along to Megan the Stallion’s song, “Girls in the Hood”, at full blast while you readied yourself for a date. Your shoulders bumped to the familiar beat, sliding on lip gloss. You felt good. Lighter than air. Dare you say…excited for the date?

You snickered and shook your head. No, you were not excited for no funky ass date. It was just nice to get dressed for once and leave your apartment for a Saturday night. You had been working hard the past few weeks, trying to get a little recognition at work.

You were approaching that time. The time where they either started showing some love or you were going to use their computers to find a new one. You hated starting over at a new place. You hated trying to suss out if the new people were going to be cool or full of microaggressions.

You sighed as you looked over your makeup in the mirror. You liked the soft complementary tones to your skin tone. Tonight was about you and that was all there was to it. Your phone buzzed on your nightstand.

You looked down, swiping to open it, and read the text from Tyrone.

Tyrone With That Monster: Need this dick?

Heat pulsed through you from the text alone. You stared at the screen as you willed your body to recover from the brief flashback to the last time Tyrone texted you. The way he had your legs in the air and was knocking your headboard into your wall so hard, there were still grooves there.

Nope, nope, nope. You were not going back there. It had been about a month since you last spoke to him. Both of you were too involved in your worlds to manage more than a scheduled back breaking. You did not need that toxic ass nigga in your life. No matter how good the dick was.

You texted back: naw, busy tonight.

Tyrone With That Monster: busy doin what? Watchin them corny ass shows?

You giggled and shook your head. You enjoyed cooking shows, there was nothing wrong with that. You knew it was fake as hell, but the food looked so good after. And dammit, you cared about some of the contestants whose lifelong dream it was to cook for their favorite chefs.

You: naw, a date

Tyrone With That Monster: what you mean a date?

You: I said what I said

You flipped your phone over. You did not have time to go back and forth with Tyrone. He wasn’t usually a fast texter and you still needed to slip on your dress. Your playlist flipped to “Body” by Megan the Stallion and you shimmied your way to your closet. You pulled out dress after dress, wondering which one screamed that you were classy but liked to be fucked into oblivion.

Your phone buzzed and buzzed but you ignored it. It was a text tone and you sincerely hoped that Vaughn was not the type of nigga to text that he was here. His ass better come to the door like a gentleman. He was too early anyway.

Going through your options, you decided to go with a burnished orange mini dress. You’d have to spend the night making sure you weren’t flashing your ass for the wrong crowd but it was short enough for Vaughn to get the message. You opened your closet door to reveal the mirror hanging from it.

You slipped the dress on, carefully yanking it down to fit over your wide hips and ass. You turned in the mirror to look at how the dress hung. Damn, you could see the bottom of your ass. There was no way to keep it down. Shit. Not appropriate for dinner. It was appropriate for the club, so you grabbed your phone from the vanity, ready to text your friend about a potential club date.

You had several missed messages from Tyrone asking where you were going, who you were going with, what you were wearing, why you stopped answering, etc. You giggled running through the messages. You didn’t know what was going on with him, acting like ya’ll went together real bad.

You were in the middle of typing a reply when you heard a thumping noise. You turned down Megan, a cardinal sin you know, and listened. Someone was banging on your door like they were the police. You tossed your phone onto your bed and headed towards the front door.

If it was your date, it was off. You had no time for a disrespectful ass mu’fucka. You looked through your peephole and gasped. Tyrone stood with his back towards you, scanning your neighborhood.

You opened the wooden door, staring at him through the metal door. “Tyrone?” You asked.

“Open up,” he said.

You crossed your arms. “Why are you here bangin’ on my door like that? You know my neighbor–”

“Is deaf as hell. Open this damn door,” he said and sucked his teeth.

Your pussy fluttered and you squeezed your thighs to make the ol’ girl calm down. So it had been a month since you seen him. So you still woke up in the morning sometimes from dreams where he folded you in half. Tyrone was a fuck boy, through and through, and you had no time for that.

“Who the hell do you think you talkin’ to like that? Take that bass out ya voice,” you said.

“Open this damn door,” Tyrone said, lowering his voice and injecting more bass. Asshole. That only turned you on more.

You sighed and twisted the lock, opening the door for him. You didn’t want to cause a scene. The sweet old lady you lived next door to was kind and treated you like a granddaughter. She wouldn’t understand why you’d put up with someone like Tyrone.

You didn’t really understand it either. You just knew that you hated a weak ass man. There was nothing wrong with men who listened to their ladies and were sweet in everything that they did. But it turned you off when you told someone to shut up and they just went, “yes, ma’am”.

Where was the fight? Where was the passion? Words never swayed you. You were always about the action.

Tyrone swept into your apartment, closing and locking the door behind him. He closed the wooden door and then finally faced you. Letting him in was a mistake you genuinely regretted at that moment.

He looked so cozy standing there in a hooded jacket, jacket over it, thick black jeans, and some Jordans. You wanted to bundle up with him. In your room. Under the covers.

“The hell you going dressed like that?” He asked.

“Hello to you too, nigga,” you rolled your eyes and traipsed back to your room. Tyrone’s thunderous steps followed.

“Shoes off!” You snapped.

Tyrone sighed dramatically, never understanding the thing about taking off his shoes. You didn’t know which ho’s house he was coming from or which backwoods ass alley he was selling out of, but you did not want it tracked all over your soft brown carpet.

Tyrone followed you to your room where you slipped the dress back over your head. You were braless and Tyrone openly stared at your tits but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before. He was barely a friend and he would be nothing more so there was no harm.

Even though you felt his gaze like a physical thing. As if he were already pulling you close and running his hands across your breasts, squishing, kneading…okay, stop it.

You looked through your other dresses, trying to find something before your date showed up. You roughly had an hour, so you hoped you could find something quickly. If finding your dress was hard, finding a matching pair of heels was harder.

“So you just gon’ flash them shits and ignore me?”

“What do you want, Tyrone? I said I was busy,” you told him. Your back was to him. You didn’t want to look at him too long or give him any hint that he could approach you. You weren’t sure you had the willpower to resist him.

Did you love him? No. You barely tolerated him. You weren’t even sure how you fell into “fuck buddy” territory. It had been a wild couple of months, where you had more fun having sex than you could remember.

But, the more you hopped in with him, the less you wanted to hop in with anyone else. And that simply wouldn’t do.

You were growing uncomfortably wet. Your brain and heart didn’t want him, but your pussy did. Every swish of your thighs and dip of your hip reminded you of how wet you grew around him. If he were to enter you right now, he wouldn’t need to work himself in. You were your very own slip n’ slide.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, you didn’t want to have to explain yourself.

“You said you didn’t do dates,” he said.

“I don’t.” You couldn’t concentrate on finding a dress while he stood there, across the way from you. It felt like he was crowding your space. Or maybe that was just his presence.

“What the fuck? Why you actin’ like this?” He asked.

“I’m not acting like anything. You the one that showed up unannounced,” you said. You risked a glance at him. He had his hands in his hoodie pocket, head tilted a bit to the side, and eyes furrowed.

Fuck, he was gorgeous. With his big, sexy ass lips. Wide nose. Fierce eyebrows. Your pussy would never let you forget what his tongue could do. Could you clean yourself up real quick? You didn’t want to go out on a date with soaked panties.

You pulled the next dress you could find out of the closet and held it up to yourself. It was a black, sleeveless midi dress that would more than cover your ass but still short enough to not hinder you from getting some tonight.

You had been depriving yourself of dick, mostly because you were bored with the current rotation. They weren’t doing anything new, weren't trying to do anything new, and you didn’t have time to break it down for them.

You were ready to hop on and get yours. So you quietly ghosted the current roster and set to work building up some potentials. Vaughn was the only one with some sense so far. He used proper grammar, he had hobbies outside of playing ball on the weekends or surfing the internet trolling, and he was on his grown man grind.

“If you wanted a date, why didn’t you ask me?” Tyrone asked.

You laughed. The sound erupted from you, loudly and rudely, and you held your hand to your mouth to rein it back in.

“You? Taking me on a date? Be fuckin’ forreal.” You couldn’t hide the laughter in your tone.

“You actin’ like a nigga can’t take you somewhere nice. After we fuck, you kickin’ me out the bed.”

Laughter still shook your shoulders as you glanced at him. But he wasn’t laughing. His lips were pressed together and you had to really look at him. Was he serious?

“I thought that was what we agreed to?” Did you miss something?

“Yeah, I thought we agreed to fuck with each other.”

“And do?”

“So why you switching shit up, going on dates? When we got started, I asked you out a few times.”

You bit the corner of your mouth. You hated messy shit like this. “Not that I have to explain myself, but I felt like a date today. Felt like doing something new. Fuck buddies starting to get played if I can’t hang out after,” you said. You shrugged your shoulders.

You weren’t in the market for a relationship. Didn’t have the time. But you supposed that you wanted a friend with benefits. Hang out to do dumb shit like go to the movies, go see a gallery opening, go out to dinner and then come home to get off. You weren’t down for the cuddling shit but maybe? You didn’t know what you were after, but this wasn’t it anymore.

You couldn’t picture Tyrone doing any of those things. He was too busy, too rough around the edges, to fit the ideal friend you were looking for.

“Then why can’t we hang after?” Tyrone asked.

You fought a smile. “And do what, Tyrone? Watch my corny ass shows that you complain about? Talk about work? Go out to the same five fast food restaurants and eat in the car, parked somewhere?”

“Damn, you think that about me?” His voice got soft. Shit. No, no. This was going all wrong. Tyrone was good for being a stone wall. You could say whatever and do whatever. He didn’t care. You liked that he didn’t care.

“I’m saying that this isn’t an exclusive thing. We both knew that. How many women you don’ fucked on your way over to me? How many girls you got waiting for a call back from you?”

“Ion know, I ain’t messed with none of them bitches for a good while. You’d know that if you texted me for something other than dick,” he said.

“Need I remind you who texted who tonight?”

“You’re so fuckin’ irritating!” Tyrone exploded.

“I don’t know what you want!” You screamed back.

“You! Dumb ass!”

Your mouth was already open, ready to rip apart anything he said in response. But when his words sunk in, when the pounding of your heart in your ears lessened, it dawned on you that he said he wanted you.

“Oh,” you said. You stood there awkwardly. You had the dress in your hands, hanging limply from the hangar. You lifted it, covering yourself, not sure what to say to that.

“You don’t even think about me, do you?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” you said. You faced away from him.

“Then tell me what’s going on in your head, ‘cause I never do. I don’t fuckin’ get you half the time. But I know I want you,” he said.

“You just want what’s between my legs. This my fuckin’ pussy,” you snapped. Anger bubbled in your gut. Who the fuck did he think he was, pulling this shit? Forcing you to confront these…these…fuck ass feelings? You were about your money. You were about your grind. This was precisely why you didn’t want relationships and cut niggas off before it got this far.

This was ultimately your fault, for letting him linger for so long. But how could you deny your insane chemistry with him? You never got the grooves fixed in your wall because you liked remembering how he handled your body. You liked remembering that he worshiped every inch of you and never made a snide comment about your looks or weight.

You pretty for a big girl…it’s nice to be out with someone who eat like me, not like a damn bird…

“Don’t put words in my mouth. Ain’t that what you said?” Tyrone fired back.

You sighed and pushed past him, heading for the bathroom. “I need to get ready for my date,” you mumbled.

Tyrone blocked your exit from your bedroom, using his size to crowd in even more. “How could you still think about that nigga when I’m right in front of you? Telling you I want you? We can stop the sex right now, if you’ll give me a chance,” he said, his tone soft. His eyes were pleading with you, silently begging you to make that leap.

“There’s only sex between us, Tyrone. Move,” you said. You looked away from him, digging your hands into your flesh, clutching the dress to yourself.

“Fine. Tell me your pussy ain’t wet and I’ll leave,” he said.

“That’s not fair, Tyrone,” you said.

“I don’t care. Tell me it isn’t. Tell me them little ass panties ain’t fuckin’ soaked.”

“Sex was never our problem,” you told him.

“You ain’t trynna be with me and I know you ain’t trynna be with whatever fuck nigga you got comin’ to swoop you up. You don’t even know if his dick as good as mine. Let me send you out proper then,” he said.

He closed the minimal distance between you, pressing his lips to your temple. “Show me you truly don’t fuck with me no more and I’ll leave,” he said.

“You just confessed that you want me. How fair is it to let you hit after that? Or let you hit and then go out with someone else?” He could not fuck you into being with him. There was no way that he was going to fuck some feelings into you.

Stupidly, a small part of you still didn’t want to give him up. You wanted him to take back what he said. To unring that bell. You wanted him to take those words from your brain so that he could stay on the roster. Stay unbothered. You didn’t want to change your arrangement.

“I’m just some fuck boy right? I got other women waiting on this dick, so what does it matter?”

“Because you already ruined it!”

Tyrone only smirked. He tugged on the dress. You held on but you didn’t want to tear the dress either. You let it go and he tossed the dress onto your ottoman. He spread your arms out and he looked down at your titties. It was just cold. That was the only reason your nipples were beaded up like that.

“I can’t ruin what never was. I’m a grown ass man. I can handle rejection,” he said. His thumbs rubbed against your nipples and you fought off a shiver.

“Tyrone…” You knew this was a bad idea. “We shouldn’t.”

Dammit, you were dick whipped. And you knew that you had to hold out. Had to remain strong. You couldn’t fuck someone who had feelings for you. You were an asshole but you had to be an asshole with some rules. There was a line somewhere.

Tyrone took off his jacket and then took off his hoodie, revealing a white t-shirt. His lips returned to your forehead, then your cheek, bypassing your mouth and headed towards your neck. You melted into his kisses, leaning your head back for more. Wait, no.

You pushed him away and put your hands up. “We can’t.”

“We shouldn’t. We can’t. Tell me no. Tell me no since you ain’t want me,” he said.

“I told you that sex was never our problem,” you said. You’d definitely have to change your panties now. You couldn’t go on a date like this. All hot and bothered. “I hate you.”

Tyrone smirked, removing his shirt. Your mouth dropped open. It had been far too long since you seen him naked. Since you seen that one eyed-monster he got hiding in his pants.

His hands deftly unbuttoned his jeans, the zipper moving slowly down. You followed the action. You were throbbing right now, needing a really good dick down. Wasn’t that what the whole Vaughn thing was for anyway? You had been texting him for a few weeks and you appreciated that he wasn’t begging for pussy. But Tyrone was right. You didn’t know if Vaughn was good in bed yet.

“What was it that you said? It’s your pussy right? Don’t you want to take care of her before your date? Just so you’re in it thinking with your head,” he said.

Tyrone waited. He waited for you to tell him no. To tell him to get dressed, walk out, and leave you free for your date. You just stared at his hands on his jeans, ready to pull them down.

“I hate you,” you sighed. You weren’t strong. You were not every woman. It was not all in you. He was right. He was a grown man and he could handle rejection. One last roll around the sheets wouldn’t kill him. Maybe he needed that final nut to get you out of his system.

Tyrone’s smug smile split his face as he dropped the jeans. His dick was already pressing against his black boxer briefs. He rubbed himself over the top. “Get that pretty ass on the bed,” he said.

He had you, so he was back to familiar territory. You followed his directions, walking backwards until your legs hit the bed. You sat down. He approached, still rubbing that wonderful, beautiful dick of his.

You licked your lips. You reached out to grab the band of the boxers, but he slapped your hand away. You gave him a funny look but he only knelt down slowly. He hauled your legs to his shoulders and scooted in, until you were angled perfectly.

He took a deep breath. “Missed this fuckin’ pussy,” he said. He moved your panties to the side and started eating you out. No teasing, no games, just big lips attached to your pussy and eating like it was his God given right.

“Oue, shit,” you moaned. You tried to scoot back a bit. You weren’t used to such intensity from him.

Tyrone pulled you forward, pressing his shoulders under your thighs and forcing your legs wider. Music still played in the background, a sensual R&B tune called “Flames” that only highlighted this naughty moment.

His tongue flicked against your clit. He attacked it with precision, flicking it back and forth since he knew it was the quickest way to get you off. As he did that, his left hand held your pussy lips open. His right hand trailed down in your slickness and pushing inside you.

“Ohhhhh,” you moaned to the ceiling. He fucked you with his thick digits, going in and out at a fast pace. Your thighs shook on his shoulders.

“Mhm, this yo pussy right?” He whispered against your clit.

“Yess,” you moaned. And it was. You were the proud owner of something that drove men insane. Thinkin’ they owned you or some shit. You were the mu’fucka that had to deal with it day in and day out. So why should it belong to a mu’fucka who couldn’t find your clit even if you drew them a map?

Tyrone suckled on your clit, driving his fingers deeper inside of you. Tyrone didn’t need a map. He knew exactly what to do. He flipped his hand over, curling his fingers in a come hither motion. You clutched his braids as you came on his face. Shaking. Quaking. Was there an earthquake or were you just shaking that damn badly from this momentous orgasm?

“Fuuhh,” you cried out. It had been entirely too long. Damn, my bad sis, you mentally thought about your vagina. You would never deprive her for so long again.

You twitched as Tyrone continued to lap up your orgasm, groaning at your taste. He was mumbling something but you couldn’t hear. He leaned back, lifting his soaked fingers to his mouth and suckled up your juices.

He stood up and peeled off your panties. “Knew you were wet as fuck,” he said, self satisfaction written all over his face.

“Whatever, nigga,” you groaned. He chuckled and picked you up. He tossed you further on the bed. You were ready to admonish him for it, but he finally freed that big ass monster. His dick bobbed when he was finally free.

He stood there a moment, letting you look your fill. “Hurry up and come fuck me,” you said. You didn’t have time to play. You weren’t sure what the time was. Oh yeah, you tossed your phone onto the bed.

Tyrone chuckled. He grabbed your waist and flipped you over. The bed dipped as he climbed on.. Where did he get the fuckin’ audacity to toss you around like this? Was this the same Tyrone? Did he have a twin or clone somewhere who was a little sex freak?

He slapped your ass. “Goddamn,” he said. “That fuckin’ recoil is dangerous.”

“Who do-”

He entered you and you gasped from his size. Did he get bigger? Was that possible? This couldn’t be the same dick you were hopping on a few weeks ago. “Oh fuck,” you gasped.

Your hands clutched the red sheets, trying to pull yourself away from him. You weren’t prepared for this!

Tyrone slammed your hips back down on his girth and you cried out. A mix of pain and pleasure had your hand frantically reaching back. Tyrone grabbed it and pushed it into the bed next to your head. His large hand covering yours was sexy all by itself. Your pussy fluttered and Tyrone groaned.

“This yo pussy right?” He asked.

“Yeesssuh,” you moaned.

You started throwing it back on him, slapping your ass against his thighs. The wet smacking got louder than the music playing in the background. “Fuck me,” he moaned and went harder.

A dance of dominance began. Your hips rolled as you tried to gain some type of control. You liked getting fucked as much as the next person, but he was an entirely different animal tonight. A dangerous one. He was pulling out all kinds of moves you didn’t know he had. And you were unprepared for it. Blindsided that this mu’fucka still had some tricks up his sleeve.

But every inch you tried to gain, he’d switch it up. He took his hand off of yours and replaced it on your hip. He lifted up his right leg to steady himself. Then he really went to town. Each meeting of your skin on his was like a shotgun blast. Lethal. Loud. His thrusts were hard. His strokes deep.

He moved his hand again, snaking it under your bodies until he found your clit. “Oh, shit, wait,” you mumbled.

“Uh-uh, this yo pussy. Treat her right,” he grunted. His harsh breaths fanned over your overheated skin.

His fingers were too much. You reared up as another orgasm tore through you. Like a mini tornado. You shook, your eyes crossed, and pleasure whipped you into a chaotic frenzy. As you were still cumming, Tyrone pulled out long enough to flip you onto your back.

Your hands flew to his chest, but he ignored you. The nigga had a demon inside of him. He licked his lips as he rammed back inside of you. Your back bowed off of the bed.

“What the fu–”

“Ima need one more, pretty girl,” he said. He pressed his chest into yours. His sweat mixed with yours. You slid easily against him, both panting and grunting and rutting like two mu’fuckas in heat.

“I can’t–”

“Sure you can. It’s your pussy, you can do what you want,” he murmured into your neck. He lifted his head and kissed you.

You were stunned, gasping, and he took advantage licking the lip gloss from your lips. His tongue played with yours.

On the heels of your last orgasm, he pulled another one from you. Like a little thief. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Surely, you saw stars. The universe. You knew every answer known to man in that moment. You touched another reality as your body flooded his dick.

He slipped out and he frantically shoved back in. “That’s right. You treat that pussy well,” he said. He continued to kiss you and fuck you through it. You couldn’t comprehend anything beyond his dick ramming inside of you as if he were truly trying to steal your guts.

Distantly, you heard your ringtone. “Ignore it,” you said against his lips.

“Answer it,” he said.

“What?”

“Answer. That. Shit.” Every word was a deeper stroke. How was he not as deep as possible already?!

You turned your head, your hand frantically reaching through your red sheets for your phone. Vaughn’s name flashed on the screen. Fuuuuuck.

Pressure built in your lower belly. You clenched around Tyrone’s thick dick. “On speaker,” Tyrone said with a smirk.

Your hand shakily swiped to answer and then you put him on speaker. You laid the phone on your chest. Tyrone seemed to like that because he grinned and then turned his attention to your abandoned nipples.

He suckled one into his mouth. “H-Hello?” You answered, trying to sound like you weren’t getting your guts rearranged.

“Hey, just wanted to let you know that I was five minutes out.” Vaughn had a deep voice too. Not quite as deep as Tyrone’s. But it still lovingly caressed your ears.

“I’m so sorry. I uh-” You bit your lip to keep from moaning. He was so damn big. His thrusts turned shallow, giving you a little room to breathe. His tongue laved around your nipple, sending sharp tugs to your pussy.

“I should’ve texted,” you said. Your voice sounded strained to your own ears. If Vaughn wasn’t dumb, he’d know that you were doing something nasty. With someone that wasn’t him.

“Everything okay? You sound out of breath?” Vaughn asked.

“I feel so sick.” You bit your lip again as Tyrone nibbled. He threw you a wink and then slammed into you once. You heaved and hoped it didn’t sound like a moan.

“Do you want me to bring something over? I just passed a store,” Vaughn said.

Take the fuckin’ hint, damn! “That’s–sweet. No, I’ll call, okay?” You asked.

“Alright. I’ll check on you. I hope you feel better.” He was so sweet. Dumbass.

“Okay, byee!” You hung up the phone just as Tyrone increased his strokes. His balls slapped against your wet pussy, your sheets drenched from your orgasms.

“This yo pussy?” Tyrone asked as he threw his head back and finally came, flooding you with his cum.

“Shiiii–” You came with him, both of you mutually lost to it. To the heat and pleasure chasing around and around inside your body.

Tyrone grabbed your wrists as his dick pulsed inside of you. You felt the spurts leaking out of him. He pressed your wrists close to your head. He grunted as he felt you clenching and unclenching around him, greedily sucking it all in.

“Sorry about your date,” Tyrone panted and grinned.

“I hate you so goddamn much,” you said and chuckled.

“Let’s throw on one of them corny ass shows and I’ll eat you out again.” He kissed along your jaw, wiggling his hips a bit so you knew he was still thoroughly lodged there, burying his cum deep inside you.

Well, who were you to complain? You ain’t want to go out that badly anyway.

Whew! You feelin' alright? There's more! The Secret Tyrone Files

#Megaminds Secret Files #The Secret Tyrone Files #Tyrone x Black!reader #Tyrone x Black reader #x Black reader #Tyrone x Fem!reader #Tyrone x Fem reader #Tyrone x Mean!reader #Tyrone x Mean reader #Toxic Tyrone #Tyrone smut #They Cloned Tyrone smut #They Cloned Tyrone fanfic #They Cloned Tyrone fan fic #They Cloned Tyrone fanfiction #They Cloned Tyrone fan fiction #Black writers #Tyrone x you #Tyrone x reader

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ibetonlosinghuskies · 4 months ago

Note

hey I was wondering if you could do a fic about either p or a and reader. I’ve been thinking about this for a while but idk how to write. It could be like reader is dating p or a and is also good friends w the team and they all go out to the lake or in a boat. reader is having a good time and they are all in the water in swim suits having fun. one of the girls on the team suggests that they take a photo and everyone is down including reader but then someone says that they want to post the photo on socials and then readers mood changes and offers to take the photo instead of being in it. reader is mid sized and has body image issues and is insecure especially being in swimsuits with all athletes and thinks she looks bad and doesn’t want people to see her on socials because she has had people bully her before for how she looked. and then p or a notices and like comforts here. sorry this was really long

i absolutely adore this prompt, thank you for suggesting!! i’m not saying i waited till charm came out to release this but…yk i had to throw a clairo song in regardless (ty for being patient w/me)

as a tall girlie, who grew up mid-sized myself, this hit so close to home.

second nature (azzi x fem!reader)

summary: just the prompt :)

dislcaimer: as always, everything i write is fictional!

word count: 3k +

trigger warnings: body image issues, bullying, mild anxiety.

cw: just fluff

author's note: please know all of you are SO SO beautiful and loved, just the way you are. i love you, enjoy <3

azzi was an amazing girlfriend.

patient, sensitive, and effortlessly supportive, she had a way of making everything okay. you'd only been dating for a few months, but she made it feel like you'd known each other for years.

you told her everything. azzi had a presence that made all your feelings spill out of you. sometimes, you'd talk for hours about whatever crossed your mind. and she'd listen, nod, eyes soft like every word out of your mouth was sugar.

with azzi, you felt truly heard.

not to mention, she's drop-dead gorgeous. you sat on the dock, book in hand, admiring the way the afternoon sun kissed her skin. azzi wrestled with her teammates in the water, splashing water into each other's faces.

god, they looked like a hollister ad.

shadows catching the perfect angles, their bodies long and slender. the subtle flex of their abs as they laughed, a gap between their thighs—all things you noticed, all things that made your insecurities flare up. you couldn't help but compare yourself, a familiar feeling of inadequacy building in your gut.

why can't i look like that?

every once in a while, azzi would dip her head under the water, arms outstretched in an effortless butterfly stroke. she'd emerge to the surface, soft brown curls dripping beads of water like pearls.

she must've felt your stare because she turned quickly, water falling off her shoulders. "hey, babe! come join us!" she calls out, treading water confidently.

you hesitated, fingers tightening around your book. the thought of being in a swimsuit around all these athletes made your stomach churn. you imagined how you'd look standing next to their toned bodies, the comparison making you want to disappear.

you thought about hiding between the pages of your book, slipping between the cracks. but her invitation was clear, she wanted you there, with her.

azzi examines your expression, giving you a slight nod. the softness of her gesturing giving you enough confidence to set your book aside.

you took off your swimsuit cover slowly and modestly. trying to stall, you folded the cover into a perfect square, your hands shaking slightly. you took a quick breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

please don't let them stare. please don't let them judge.

eventually, you made your way to the water's edge, dipping your toes in. the water had a sharp coolness, making you acutely aware of how warm your skin had been. you felt exposed, vulnerable, but comforted under azzi's gaze.

"there you are!" ice grinned, splashing water in your direction. "was worried you were gonna stay on that dock all day, girl."

you laughed weakly, trying to shake off your insecurities. these were your friends. azzi's teammates had been welcoming to you from day one. but still, you couldn't help but feel like the odd one out, even if it wasn't apparent to them.

“hey, don’t splash her!” azzi pouts, splashing water back at ice dramatically. she wades through the water over to you, then reaches to cup your face. her thumb strokes your face, wiping off whatever drops of water had splashed you, which was maybe like a drop or two. however, you appreciated the gesture, savoring a moment of her touch.

she's so gentle with me.

"are you good?" she searches your eyes. "i know the water is a bit cold," her voice apologetic, eyelids fluttering awaiting your response.

she always knows when something's wrong.

you nod, giving her a small smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. azzi's hand slides down your arm, your hands interlocking. she tugs at your hand pulling you further into the water, her touch insistent but patient.

she always seems to know exactly what you need—a gentle push but never a shove.

you allow her to guide you into the water slowly, grateful for the calmness she carries in her touch. you focus on the warmth of her hand, an anchor against the tide of your insecurities.

"there you go," she murmurs, smiling at you. "you're doing great."

maybe this won't be as bad as i thought.

the water lapped around your waist, a gentle hug causing your swimsuit to cling even closer to your body. but the feeling was minuscule in contrast to the loving waves of azzi's smile.

as you looked around, you noticed a volleyball net stretching across a small section of the lake. the net swayed gently with the ripples of the tide, a makeshift court across the sparkling water.

"hey, you two," kk called out, splashing in your direction, holding a volleyball at her waist. "come play with us!"

the same way they do every time, azzi's eyes lit up with a competitive flare. "wanna show these losers how it's done, babe?" she smiled, squeezing your hand.

before you could answer, ice waded over, "alright, let's pick teams. i call dibs on first pick!" she pointed directly at you, her smile wide and welcoming. "i want our newest member on my team!"

a warmth spread through your chest at being chosen first, a feeling of belonging you've longed for all your childhood. but before you could take a step towards ice, azzi interlocks your arms, pulling you closer.

"no way," azzi protested, her voice playful but firm. "this one's mine," she smiled at you, glancing down at your lips for a moment. "you can't split us up."

ice raised an eyebrow, tilting her head to the side. "oh? and who made that rule?"

"i did, just now," azzi declared, sticking out her tongue. her playful and clingy gesture gave you butterflies. it was something small, but it felt good to be picked first. to be chosen.

especially by her.

paige, treading water nearby, let out a laugh. "dude, trust me," she said, shooting ice a knowing look. "you don't wanna argue with her."

"we'll take aubrey too," azzi smiles confidently, waving her over.

before you knew it, you were caught up in the game. the rules seemed to change every few minutes, with paige declaring random new scoring systems that had everyone laughing and arguing.

their competitiveness was contagious, fueling your focus. you felt proud to be keeping tempo with these pro athletes. each play felt like shedding a layer of doubt, your movements becoming more natural, more assured.

as the game wore on, the sun slowly dipped in the sky, casting a warm glow across the water. finally, both teams were tied, and the next score would win the game.

ice served the ball, sending it arcing high over the net. the ball sailed towards you, and out of the corner of your eye, you could see azzi positioning herself near the net.

"azzi!" you called out, setting the ball in her direction.

azzi moved with fluid grace, jumping to meet the ball. her hand connects with the ball, spiking it straight down over the net. the ball hit the water with a satisfying splash.

for a moment, silence.

then azzi face lights up with excitement. she runs over to aubrey, who was the closest to her, raising her hand for a high five.

almost immediately, azzi's eyes found yours, and her smile grew even wider. she ran towards you, her pace quickening with each step.

before you could process what was happening, azzi reached you. she wrapped her arms around your waist and lifted you up, spinning you both in a half-circle. water droplets flew off your bodies like tiny jewels, catching the late afternoon sun.

"that's my girl!" azzi beamed, her face close to yours, eyes shining with pride.

she pulled you in closer by the waist, her lips finally meeting yours. her lips soft and sweet, tasting like lake water and honey. her kiss like a tidal wave, washing away your uncertainty. for just a moment, in her arms, the world seemed to fade away—and with it all your insecurities.

a wave of gratitude flooded your body. standing there, you realized you were part of the team, no different from any of the polished athletes all around you.

i belong here. with them. with her.

the brief moment was interrupted by a splash of water from the other side of the net. "girl boo, this isn't a cutest couple contest," kk teased.

"be glad, 'cause we'd win every time," azzi shoots kk a look, before pulling back to look at you from arm's length, "i mean, look at my girl."

maybe i've belonged all along.

azzi looked at you like you were the only girl in the world. her gaze was a gentle blanket, wrapping you in her soothing presence. her eyes, soft brown cotton, coating every self-detrimental thought that raced through your mind.

how did i get so lucky?

"race y'all to the boat!" paige shouted, already sprinting towards the dock.

a chorus of laughter and protest erupted as everyone splashed through the water to follow. azzi grabbed your hand, her touch still feeling electric after all this time.

"come on," she giggled, tugging you along gently. for once, you weren't thinking about how you looked or what they were thinking about. you were just in this moment, hand in hand with azzi, surrounded by your friends.

the sun glinted off the lake's surface, laughter echoing across the water. azzi helped you into the boat, offering her hand, still breathless and laughing. once everyone reached the boat, ice pulled out her phone. "alright we need a group picture," she smiled. "the lighting is perfect."

suddenly, the carefree feeling evaporated. the group gathers together, posing effortlessly, you felt your body stiffen. as the camera snaps, suddenly you're not on the boat anymore.

you're eleven, at a sleepover. a group of your friends gathered around you, a tangle of skinny limbs and bright smiles. holding each other on their backs, posing for a group photo. you just stand awkwardly to the side.

your heart begins to race, pounding against your ribcage, like it's pleading for some sort of escape. your smile feels like you're lying through your teeth. gritting them together, attempting to hide your self-doubt.

you're fifteen, you just posted a photo on instagram. a wave of cruel comments flooding your socials. each pointing out a different insecurity. some you didn't even know you should be insecure about until then.

your throat tightens, constricting every word you wish you could say. the world around you seems to shrink, the walls of the landscape closing in on you. the sun suddenly feeling like a spotlight on your body.

last summer, your mother's hand on your shoulder, heavy with judgment. she suggests trying a new diet, a different hairstyle, a new workout routine. like you were a project to be fixed.

a wave of nausea rushes through you. you're hyper-fixed on your body—the way your thighs touch, how your swimsuit clings to your curves, the urge to cross your arms over your stomach.

the world around you blurs, spinning with each click of the camera. you blink rapidly, trying to regain your focus, to hide the tears threatening to well up in your eyes.

"y'all mind if i post this?" ice's voice cuts through the fog of your thoughts. she turns the phone around to the group.

you take a step closer, your knees buckling underneath you. as you peer at the screen, your breath catches in your throat. there you are, surrounded by toned, athletic bodies. the contrast feels stark, and painful, like a slap to the face. your eyes search your body, focused on every perceived flaw. you didn't just see them—you saw everything you felt you'd never be.

is this really how others see me?

"actually," you speak up, your voice soft and hesitant, "why don't i take another one? that way you can all be in it together."

you force a smile, hoping they don't see through it. "i'm not really photogenic anyway," you add, laughing weakly.

as you reach for the phone, your eyes meet azzi's. there's a flicker of concern in her gaze, a silent worry. you look away quickly, afraid that she'll break down years of carefully constructed walls with just the flutter of her eyelashes.

you snap a few photos, trying to steady your heart rate. behind the camera, you could hide, disappear between the clicks of the shutter.

"you guys look great," your voice feels distant and uneasy. you hand the phone back, turning away from the group. a few moments later, you feel azzi's hand on your shoulder.

"hey," she calls to you softly, "is everything okay?" her eyes, warm and concerned. you can feel her empathy through her fingertips, slowly stroking your shoulder.

she knows.

you force a smile, but your eyes remain cold. "yeah, of course," you lie. "just thought you all would want a pic together."

azzi's brow twitches, she looks unconvinced. you can almost see the gears turning in her mind, trying to read your expression. "alright, if you say so," she says, nodding slowly.

"i'm gonna change back into my clothes," you say, your words slurring together quickly. her concerned gaze never leaving your eyes, she gives your hand a quick squeeze before letting you go.

you make your way to the small bathroom on the boat, locking the door behind you. the confined space feels both like a sanctuary and a prison. the walls concealing you from everyone but trapping you with your thoughts.

you turn to the mirror, and immediately wish you hadn't. your eyes traced every flaw, magnifying them in your mind. the way your swimsuit digs into your skin, the fullness of your body, the curves of your shoulders. each detail feels like a mistake, begging for attention.

why can't i look like them?

with shaky hands, you reach for your bag, pulling out your clothes. as you change, you try not to look at your reflection. the thought of your own reflection sending waves of nausea through your body.

you let your hair down, letting it fall around your face and shoulders. it's a small comfort, a curtain to hide behind. from your bag, you grab a bit of makeup—a little concealer, some mascara. anything to feel less vulnerable, less exposed.

maybe if i just tried harder...

but no matter what you do, the girl in the mirror still doesn't look like the athletes outside. and even if she did, you probably still wouldn't see her as such.

instead, you saw a vulnerable little girl staring back at you, burdened by the weight of her own inadequacies. your eyes clouded with judgement and self-hatred, you've never truly been able to see yourself clearly.

you close your eyes, taking a deep breath. when you open them again, you force yourself to turn away from the mirror.

as you step outside the bathroom, you nearly bump into azzi. she steadies you with a hand on your arm, her touch sweet but firm.

"hey you," she says softly, her eyes searching yours. before you can respond, she leans in and kisses your cheek. she moves her hands around your waist, slipping something into your back pocket.

"for later," she whispers with a soft smile, before rejoining the group.

with a mix of curiosity and anticipation, you reach into your pocket, feeling the edges of a folded piece of paper. the top reads, "to the most beautiful girl in the world." your heart skips a beat as you read it:

"things i love about you:

the way your eyes crinkle when you smile

the kindness you show to everyone you meet

how your eyes light up when you laugh

the way your hair frames your face

your passion for everything in your life

the softness of your skin

the way you always make me feel loved..."

the list goes on, each point listing a different aspect of you. your heart swells at her words. all this time, you felt like she had to tolerate all your flaws, but the truth was evident.

she saw you, all of you, and loved you effortlessly.

by the time you finish reading it, tears have welled up in your eyes—happy ones this time.

you fold the note in your pocket, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. azzi's words settle over you, each one a gentle reminder of how she sees you.

as you help the group pack up, azzi approaches you again, phone in hand. "before we go," she says softly, "can i get a picture of just us?"

before you can respond, she tosses her phone to one of her teammates and scoops you into her arms. your thighs wrap around her waist, feeling weightless under her touch. you let out a surprised giggle as she carried you over to the ledge, wrapping your arms around her neck.

"smile, beautiful," she whispers, leaning in to kiss your cheek. you can't help but beam at the camera, the soft pressure of her kiss sending chills down your spine.

this time when you see the photo, everything looks perfect. your smile is genuine, the sunset glistens in the background, azzi's supportive hold of your body envelops your body.

azzi sets you down, her fingers tapping her phone a few times before turning to show you. she's already set the photo as her lockscreen.

"perfect," she says, looking at you rather than the phone. "just like you."

as you walk hand in hand towards the car, the knot of anxiety in your chest begins to unravel itself. azzi's note sits in your pocket, her feelings tangible against your skin. and for the first time, you start to see yourself as she always has—beautiful, worthy, loved.

as azzi starts driving again, her hand finds yours, her thumb stroking your hand.

she brings your hand to her lips, kissing your knuckles. the gesture is so tender, so simple, that it catches your breath. it feels like the first few drops of rain after a drought.

the burden of your appearance was never a burden to begin with.

her focused gaze on the road, the sunlight fading but still flickering through the windows. she hums to herself, like the quiet after a storm, clearly happy to just be in your presence.

the constant comparison, all of your perceived flaws, every way you find yourself lacking—it doesn't define you.

under her touch, you are defined by the way you love, the character of your heart, the beauty of who you really are.

#azzi fudd #azzi fudd x reader #azzi x reader #azzi fudd fluff #i bet on losing huskies

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shirefantasies · 6 months ago

Note

Idk if/what you’re open to writing right now, but can you possibly write something focused on pippin? Maybe fluff or headcannons or oneshots, whatever you want. I’ll put my trust in a fellow pippin girlie 😉❤️

Ahhh I definitely was not when this very first rolled in but barring any more grievous wounds I am always down to write about my beloved 😌

Pie in the Sky- Pippin x F!Hobbit!Reader

(Gif by @lotrcolors! Didn’t see rules about not using them but will take down if they prefer!)

Perfect dough never fails to put a smile on your face. Sticky as it is, even the feeling of it beneath your hands as you knead it is pleasing. Flames to your left tell you the oven is more than ready to receive its eventual bounty. A few rolls beneath your pin and there you have it, a beautiful drape on the tin before the real treasure is stowed away. Twirling in your flighty joy, you turn for the stove, taking up your pot of wonderful sparkling scarlet raspberry filling. Pouring it in, you see you’ve made a bit extra- muffins might just be in your future, too! Last step is cutting the lattice and then your oven is finally presented its trophy.

You already pulled out the right size hourglass when you got your start, so all there is to it is giving it a flip and you’ve got a little time for inventory.

The fishers had a wonderful haul: bright, shiny salmon you had filleted earlier in the afternoon, leaving only the need to coat them in lemon juice and seasoning. Potatoes as well, potatoes fresh as the salmon, though they are to be fried into chips, not grilled. A plate of roasted zucchini and carrot to say you’re getting your vegetables in. Not to mention the pie.

Every voice in your head had told you to just make enough for yourself, but having a visitor is likely enough, is it not? May as well make a bit extra, you think as you reach for a tin of dill weed.

Foolhardy, they say. Foolish indeed to leave a pie cooling upon the sill of your hole’s window lest some rapscallion make short work of it. But what is life without a little chance, you ponder as you check up on your treat, glancing out to the passing road…

“Well, that is about as fine a pie as I’ve ever seen! What’s the occasion?”

Peregrin Took. Pippin, just about the whole Shire calls him. Sprightly, smiling, and green-eyed, the young hobbit comes from quite the family. He is the only one you know of so well, though. Oft is he seen alongside his cousin Merry, particularly for goers of the Green Dragon. You are not quite in that guild, though it has been tempting enough of late.

“No occasion, really,” you reply with a smile, glancing up at Pippin through your lashes, “to be honest, I just felt like it.”

“I can see why," he muses, tone dreamy.

"I made extra. Care to join me for supper?" Leaning further upon your sill, you rest your chin upon your hand.

"If you insist," he answers quickly, "then who am I to say no?"

He slips around the remaining perimeter of your yard, disappearing from your view until you hear a knock at your door. At once you abandon your pie, crossing through your kitchen and hall to open it.

"Well, hello there," Pippin jokes with a wide smile, arms outstretched and heels rocking, "fancy meeting you here!"

"Master Took," you play along, waving him in, "what a pleasant surprise! Please, come in."

Hands running over his shoulders faintly, you help him out of his coat, taking notice of how eager he is to strip himself of the extra layers, unwinding the scarf in record speed and glancing around the entry of your home.

"The kitchen is this way," you wave a hand, "Shall we?"

You take the way he practically trips over his feet on the freshly polished floorboards going forward as a yes, holding out a quick hand to steady him, thinking better of it, withdrawing shyly. Leading him to the dining table, you sit him down at the head of it and make for the kitchen to procure all your supper fixings. One by one you set down steaming platters, Pippin's eyes tracking your every movement before landing on the offerings themselves. You hear his stomach rumble as the smell of the first platter of chips fills the room, say nothing but smile and simply compound the feast until his eyes are wide as saucers.

Master Peregrin Took had caught your eye some time ago, from what day you cannot even say, but at that moment and beyond his wide, wonderful smile and lovely singing voice permeate the back of your mind far too often. Often enough, in fact, that you've taken up the peculiar little habit that finally serves you so well, making far more of anything than you need lest you ever are gifted the luck of the Shire's jolliest soul at your door. And as he sits before you, so close your arms brush as they reach for cups and utensils, engrossed in sharing a story his cousin's gardener told him about the Proudfeet's pumpkins, all you can feel is a glow of warmth and satisfaction.

"Mmm," Pippin hums in pleasure between forkfuls, "how did I never know what a good cook you are?"

You shrug, suddenly feeling a little shy. "I suppose I never labelled my creations all too well at any festivals."

"Well, if you keep this up," he teases, "I may just have to keep coming to call."

"Be my guest," you wave a hand and smile widely, eyes remaining upon his, "it isn't often I get company."

You barely trust your ears at his next words. "I can hardly believe that! But I'm more than happy to take up the task."

Wit utterly fails you at that, words lost in the fluttering of butterflies filling your entire being and a smile you cannot have hidden for all the gold in the Shire.

Pippin greets you by name this time, leaning into your window with eager familiarity. “You wouldn’t happen to be baking, would you?”

“Why, yes,” you smile back even wider, bending down for a moment to collect proof in the form of a steaming yellow cake before you tease, "if you don't mind waiting for it to cool and get frosted I'd be happy to share. Unless you were just hoping I was busy."

Pippin practically runs around to your gate, bringing yet another smile to your lips as you turn from your cake to the strawberries you'd been slicing.

“Excellent party, no?”

Glancing up from your tankard, you see Pippin has slid up to your side, leaning an arm casually upon the edge of the table and giving you that easy smile that makes everything within you flutter. His sandy hair is sprinkled with tossed flower petals and falls about his face, which flickers beneath the lanterns set all about. He’d undone his ever-present scarf, this time letting it hang loosely about either side of his neck and down onto a green velvet waistcoat that brings out those eyes of his.

Nothing else but a smile could have broken across your face at such a sight, joy alongside warmth you can luckily blame upon lanterns and the fires on which spits had been roasting and sheer proximity to all the dancing couples whirling by and other hobbits stopping at the table and idly chatting.

“Just grand,” you reply, only aware in post the surefire dreaminess of your expression, “the music's wonderful, everyone is in such cheer, and the spread is great, too! And now I've got fine company as well!"

"As have I," Pippin replies, glancing away from your gaze, then back to it, "and you are so right about it all. I can't wait to dance the night away! And I've just had about the best cookies of my life!"

You giggle at that, fingers tightening around the wooden mug you held. "Oh yes? And what kind were they?"

"Lavender sugar."

"Ah," your eyes light up, "those would be mine! See what I mean about the labeling? Oh, I'm so glad you liked them!"

Seeing as how it's the sole reason you made anything at all for the birthday of someone's aunt you didn't even know too well.

"Liked them?" He leans closer. "I loved them! But enough of that: how would you care for a dance or five?"

Nothing would have gotten your hands off your tankard with greater haste, its base hitting the red tablecloth at your back faster than he could say "South Farthing".

"I would love that," you tell him, and without a moment's hesitation you are swept up into his arms.

Pippin's hold about your waist is tighter than you'd have expected, but you don't complain a mite at the feeling of his hands on your hips, even the twitch of a finger you'd almost suspect to be the beginnings of roaming if you were any more full of yourself. He goes fast with you, something you hadn't doubted for a moment, and you get a thrill from the way he pulls you in so quickly from a twirl, sending you flying into his chest and caught with his other arm each time. Perhaps you aren't so graceful as some of the other, older or more leisurely pairs out on the open grass, but you know as your bare feet struck the soft ground again and again that you would have it no other way.

“Oh, now it’s shortbread?”

You put the hand that isn't holding the basket on your hip, fixing the younger hobbit with a look. “Do you want some or not, Marigold dear?”

"Oh, yes," she replies, golden head bobbing and petite hand reaching to loosen the cloth you've wrapped over the bars, "and I will take one for the old Gaffer, too.”

“Oh, he should enjoy them. It’s my grandmother’s recipe, after all.”

“And who else shall?” Marigold muses, fixing you with a positively catlike smile. “How is my advice about a man’s heart going, then, with Mister Peregrin Took?”

Your easy smile melts into something dreamier, grip on your basket relaxing slightly. “Well, all my baking certainly is bringing us together more.”

“And showing him what a good wife you’ll make him, too. He looked very happy there dancing with you at old Violet’s birthday!”

Before you can stop yourself looking a fool, your smile is widening tenfold. “You think so?”

“Oh,” Marigold waves a hand, “you’re incorrigible! Next time you two dance, just lean in for the kiss!”

“Easy for you to say,” you shoot back, crossing your arms and nearly, but not quite, upsetting your shortbread basket, “I could tell you the same about Tolman Cotton.”

Paling then reddening, Marigold gapes at you and sputters. "Now that is quite different! Tolman is a family friend, after all! If I were to- Why, that friendship might-”

“Uh-huh,” you nod in mock sympathy, a sardonic smile upon your lips, “well, then, perhaps you ought to bake him something. After all, a good friend told me the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

Marigold grins. “Yours, maybe! Tolman cares much more about a good spot of fishing than all that.”

“Then you come over to sit in my kitchen and make him a new lure while I muse over what Pippin’s favorites might be. I’ve some dyed feathers I could spare.”

“From what?” Marigold asks, tilted head and smile incredulous as you make your way down the lane.

That is all Pippin catches of the conversation, but it is more than enough, he reflects with a brief proud smirk that quickly melts into a wide, dreamy grin as he glances down at the pair of chocolate-covered shortbread bars in his hands. Your grandma had some good ideas, but she’d never get his heart beating like you did.

It is not the most common occurrence in the world to hear your bell ring, so to say you shot up from your sewing is an understatement. All but tossing the shirt whose sleeve you’re repairing down, you pad across your planks to the door, mouth widening into an ‘o’ at the sight of Pippin at your door, a bunch of daisies in one hand and a basket slung upon the opposite arm. Today he is wearing a lavender vest; you don't think you've ever seen him wear lavender before, but of course it suits him.

“Hi there,” he said your name, voice lowering, “I thought I could maybe…take you on a picnic.”

“Oh!” You exclaim, habitually glancing down at your dress and feeling a hand shoot up to your hair. “Well, I don’t know if I’m picnic ready, but-”

“You’re as beautiful as ever,” he remarks with a shrug and the most casual smile, as if he’d commented upon the balmy state of the weather.

“Well,” you glance down toward your feet and fiddle with the end of your sleeve, one arm shyly across your chest, “how can I say no to that? Of course I will go, then. Do you need anything for your basket, though? I admit I haven’t made much fresh today, but I can always-”

At that, Pippin shakes his head, curls flying about his smiling face. “This one is my mother’s treat. It’s about time I pay you back, after all.”

“Oh, alright. Because I do have a leftover pie in the-”

“Yes, bring that.”

You giggle as Pippin continues. “Don’t you worry, though- my mother’s cooking is almost as good as yours! Just don’t tell her I said that.” Punctuating his joke with a wink, he extends his arm and beaming, you take it.

Pippin leads you down to the bank of a stream and spreads out a blanket you hadn’t noticed him carrying before, probably due to being too occupied looking into those sweet green eyes and fluttering your lashes at any affection that potentially swims within them. The ground is soft already beneath the blanket, making it quite easy to settle upon your little spot across from Pippin and his basket. Water babbles tranquilly at your side by your feet, glistening in the spring sunshine.

Your companion offers quite the spread, for on top of your pie there is cold chicken and hard boiled eggs, sandwiches with salted meat and cress, cheese alongside the end of the sandwich loaf, fresh red raspberries, and turnovers.

“I hope this is enough.”

“Are you joking?” Your eyes light up, glancing from Pippin to the array of food to the sunlight filtering through the greenery at the stream’s edge. “This is perfect. All of it.”

"It had to be," he says, "I wanted our courtship to start off right."

Falling suddenly deaf to the chirping of birds and babbling of stream, you looked up from your sandwich with wide eyes, again seeing Pippin smiling at you like he'd made the most natural conclusion in the world, this time before tilting a fistful of raspberries into his mouth. Blinking, you search for words, failing momentarily in favor of just grinning over the way Peregrin Took never fails in his unwitting quest to always surprise you. Heat creeps to your face, heat beyond even the beating of the sun down to your head.

Pippin, it seems, takes your silence as a form of denial. All but dropping the plated slice of pie in his hand, he wipes one set of fingers off on the edge of a napkin before waving both hands hastily back and forth.

"Unless I heard your conversation with Marigold wrong. I just got so excited thinking that we could be everything I'd dreamed of and that what you were doing was working. Not that you needed to do it because I already thought you were the prettiest thing I've ever seen and why am I saying all this?"

"Because you're cute," you gush, heart still flip-flopping at his words, at the way the sunlight dances off the curves of his sheepishly smiling cheeks, "and you're always managing to find new ways to steal my heart."

"Me?" His voice is so quiet it's all but a whisper of joy. "You think I'm... Well, I think you're just sweet as this pie here. No, sweeter. Besides finding new ways to steal your heart, might I find new ways to kiss you?"

"Smooth," you tease, shaking your head playfully, gleefully, "you might indeed."

If Pippin is thinking anything you made was sweet, not a single delight you could have whipped up in your kitchen stands a chance against the feeling of his lips on yours, dancing lightly against them in the springtime breeze.

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin @letmelickyoureyeballs @mossyskinn @wordbunch @tiny-and-witchy @th3-st4r-gur1 @fleurdemiel-145 @mistresskayla-blog1 | Reply/Message/Ask to join 💕

#lotr #lotr imagines #lotr x reader #pippin took #pippin #pippin x reader #pippin x female reader #female reader #ask #anon #requested

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honeysunai · 6 months ago

Text

𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

Lucien x Oc

You are Lucien's mate and neither of you are happy about it. So during one night you finally decide to see eye to eye. author’s note: This is pure filth for my book girlies who adores ACOTAR and Lucien. (It's me. I'm girly) Let me know if you'd like me to write about more book boyfriends. wordcount: 3k

You were Lucien’s mate, though neither of you found much joy in it. The Cauldron's pairing felt like a cruel joke, as you and Lucien had never truly seen eye to eye. Tonight was Starfall, a celebration you usually cherished, but now watched with distaste as Lucien danced with another Fae.

A low growl nearly escaped your lips as you observed them, your heart aching with frustration. You quickly grabbed a glass of wine and made your way to the balcony, seeking solace in the cool night air.

Standing on the balcony, you sipped your wine and gazed out at the breathtaking view of Velaris. The city was bathed in the ethereal glow of Starfall, with icy mountains standing majestically on the horizon. The fresh air helped calm your turbulent emotions, offering a brief respite from the painful sight of Lucien with someone else.

You took a deep breath and leaned against the railing, watching the party continue below. The laughter and music seemed distant, almost surreal in contrast to your turbulent thoughts.

Sensing a presence behind you, you turned around and saw Lucien stepping onto the balcony. "Having fun?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Lucien approached, and you could feel his presence even without looking. He crossed his arms, his golden mechanical eye glinting in the light from the festivities.

"Having a great time," he replied, his tone as snarky as ever.

“Glad you are,” you replied shortly, your tone cold.

Lucien narrowed his eyes at you and took a step closer. "You didn't look like you were enjoying yourself."

His voice was cold and blunt, a stark contrast to the usual flirtatious tone he used with you.

“Don’t pretend to care, Lucien,” you said, taking a sip of your wine.

Lucien smirked at your response. "I'm not," he said nonchalantly, though his body language suggested otherwise.

“Then go dance with other females and forget about me, your mate.” You spat.

"Oh, trust me, I'd love to forget about you," Lucien's voice grew sharper as he took a few more steps toward you, stopping mere inches away. He smirked, his proximity making the tension between you palpable.

You scoffed. “It’s not that hard.”

"I'd argue it is," he retorted, his smirk never wavering and his golden mechanical eye twinkling. "What's not easy is forgetting that I'm bound to you until one of us dies. That means that no matter how much I want to forget about you, I can't. Which is extremely frustrating."

Lucien looked at you expectantly, as if waiting for a response.

“If you want to kill me, you shouldn’t say your plans out loud. I like surprises,” you teased, trying to mask your emotions.

"Oh, trust me," Lucien moved even closer, until you could see the freckles on his cheeks and the fiery intensity in his eyes. His bright red hair looked almost crimson in the night. "I've been thinking of all the possible ways I could accidentally kill you. You don't know how many times I've accidentally almost snapped your neck." It was hard to tell if Lucien was serious or just teasing, his voice a blend of both.

You placed a gentle hand on his cheek. "As have I."

Lucien looked genuinely surprised at your touch. Normally, you avoided physical contact, given how much you both claimed to despise each other. "You have?" he asked, a small, incredulous smile forming on his face.

"Of course not," you laughed. "I'm not a monster."

"Not a monster, but definitely a pain in the ass," Lucien replied, though his smile showed he didn't really mind. "I swear you go out of your way just to piss me off."

"And you're just so easy to piss off," you retorted, the playful tension between you softening the edges of your usual animosity.

Lucien rolled his eyes at you. “Well, at least you’re not denying it.” He went quiet for a few seconds before speaking again. “Look, we can stand here and argue all night but… you know…” Lucien glanced down at your hand that was still on his cheek before continuing. “We could just forget the arguing. For one night.”

“Are you suggesting?” you trailed off, uncertain.

“I’m suggesting we forget we’re both pissed at each other and just… enjoy each other’s company. I assume we both know what that entails… for one night.” His tone was softer, almost tentative, as if testing the waters of this fragile truce. Lucien spoke slowly, carefully choosing his words. “We are mates, after all.”

“Look at you finally admitting it,” you smirked.

“Oh, shush.” Lucien stifle a laugh. “Don’t act like you aren’t thinking about it too. You’d be missing out if we didn’t take advantage of the one night we’re not trying to kill each other.”

It is true. You were pissed at him, but not enough to kill him as you imagine so many nights before the bond snapped. That day, you started imagining him less dead and more between your sheets. You took a moment to ponder the advantages and disadvantages. You'd be leaving this party pissed and alone, back to square one or you could have fun with your mate for one night. You finally smile, taking his hand in yours. “Come on,” you said, leading him back inside toward your room, the promise of a temporary truce hanging between you like a fragile but hopeful thread.

Lucien followed you inside without hesitation, a small grin tugging at the corners of his lips. Once in your room, he quickly shut the door and crossed the space, placing a firm hand against the wall next to you.

“You’re really pretty when you’re not a pain in my ass,” you said, smiling up at him.

Lucien smirked, his golden mechanical eye twinkling. “Oh, trust me.” He moved his hand on the wall, trailing a finger up along your arm. “I can be a pain in your ass and still be pretty at the same time.” You giggled involuntary at his stupid comment. “You’re far too amused by me.” Lucien’s hand continued traveling up your arm. “I can be worse if you’d like.”

“Do your worst, Vanserra,” you breathed, rising on your tiptoes to place a kiss on his lips. Lucien brought his body closer, one hand on your waist, meeting you halfway for the kiss. It felt right, like the stars had aligned. Was this what it felt like to give in to the mating bond?

Lucien could feel the pull to continue exploring your body. He tried to ignore it, but it was difficult when you were so close. Every part of him ached to touch and explore every inch of you. The mating bond seemed to urge him on, amplifying his desires, and he found it hard to resist.

Your hands found their way to his clothes, and his hands did the same. You quickly began unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his toned chest. Lucien smirked as his shirt came off, his bare skin exposed to you for the first time. Your hand gently touches his warm chest, feeling his heart pounding.

“You have no idea how often I’ve dreamt of you touching me like this,” he murmured.

“As have I,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I could’ve sworn we’d be arguing right now rather than… this.” Lucien chuckled, his hands tracing your body. “This is definitely not what I had in mind when I stepped out on the balcony.”

“Want to go back out there?” you teased, kissing his neck.

Lucien let out a low growl at your words. “You know well that’s not what I mean.” He ran a finger down your neck, tracing a scar you received a while ago. “But… maybe we can go to the balcony in your room after….”

“I don’t think Rhysand’s guests would appreciate our display of affection.”

“I don’t care about the guests…” he murmured, trailing a finger down your sternum until it reached your waist. The intensity in his eyes mirrored the fire you felt between you, the playful banter giving. He smirked as he teased, “I only care that I’ve got my mate all to myself for one night.” He pushed you so that he could press your back up against the wall. “That look on your face…”

“What about it?” You breathe.

"The way you look at me." You despised him so, but in this moment you craved him like the very air you breathe. No matter how much you tried to hate him, your body was telling you something else. Your lips were parted; your breath coming in small rasps. He knew that he was taking his time, making you want more. He knew that he was being cruel, doing it slowly like this. But he couldn’t help himself—he wanted to torture you a little bit before letting you get what you wanted.

You pushed him on the bed and straddled him.

“Who said you were the one in charge?” A grin appeared on his face and his hands quickly grasped your thighs to keep you straddled over him.

“You’re taking too much time to savour me. I want it now.” You smile as you kiss down his chest and abdomen.

A small smirk on his face he began to take a bit more control over the situation. He rolled both of you over so that you were back on the bed with him on top.

Bringing his mouth back up to your ear, another kiss to your neck, another gentle and yet insistent nibble on your earlobe. His other hand slides down over your hip and over your thigh, gently sliding your legs apart. His hand dips between your legs, his fingers finding your slick heat effortlessly. He lets out a dark chuckle, shifting you underneath him slightly so he can reach better, his thumb finding that sensitive bundle of nerves beginning to rub slow, steady circles as his other hand trails up over your thighs and side, over your stomach, and up to gently cup your breast.

He growls again, that dark possessive sound escaping him as a response to your shiver, the sound so close to your ear that you can feel the warmth of his breath as he speaks, a slight vibration as that low sound rumbles in his chest, the sound a sultry and seductive purr that’s all dominance, danger and power.

“That’s it… open up for me…” He kisses your earlobe again, another kiss to your neck, his mouth moving lower, trailing down to your clavicle, that possessive hum again, as he kisses and bites his way lower, his mouth moving over your chest.

“Gods…” You moan as you look away. Seeing Lucien, the man you despise with your heart with his head between your thighs looking at you like a starved man.

He chuckles as he looks up at you, his eyes meeting yours, that look full of dark possession and satisfaction, taking a brief moment to marvel at the sight of you sprawled out on the bed, on display for him, at his mercy, at the mercy of that skillful tongue.

“Don’t look away. Do not look anywhere but at me…” He nips at your skin again, pressing a kiss to your stomach. You turn back to look at him, your cheeks flushed.

He chuckles again, his eyes locking on yours as you make that breathy little moan, that possessive gleam in his gaze as he bites gently at that soft sensitive inside of your thigh, closer to where you want him, but not quite there yet. His hands gently grabbing your thighs and slowly opening them, parting your legs wider as he moves down between them.

He can’t help but hum and growl in satisfaction as he makes his way between your legs, that hum and that growl full of dark desire and satisfaction as he presses his mouth against your core, that first gentle and yet insistent kiss to the sensitive spot.

He hums as he feels your hand gently touch his hair, and then again as he feels you thread your hand into the strands, your fingers running through his soft locks.

A dark chuckle, that possessive rumble from deep in his chest, and then a dark groan of satisfaction from him as your hand presses his head to your core.

“That’s a good girl…” He hums another growl against your skin, the sound vibrating through your body as he begins to explore your core with his tongue, his mouth exploring and tasting you with no hesitation.

He presses his mouth closer, lapping at your sensitive flesh in long and languid strokes, relishing in the taste of your skin on his tongue, the feeling of your body moving against him, your hand holding his head in place. And he responds to your sounds, to your moans and whines, doing his best to coax more of them from you, enjoying those adorable needy sounds you make.

“Lucien I’m going—“

He hums against your sensitive flesh, his tongue flicking and exploring, taking its time, still lapping at your skin.

“Mmmm… you taste so good… that’s it… don’t hold back for me.”

And as he speaks his tongue never stops, continuing to lap at you, his mouth relentless, his movements against you insistent, bringing you closer and closer to cumming. Your grasp on his hair tightens as you come undone with breathy and delicious whines only for him to hear. He drinks your release as he moans that little noise of pure satisfaction, continuing to lap at you, not wanting to waste a drop.

He pulls his mouth away and gently kisses your thigh as you come down, his eyes looking up at you with that possessive gleam, his lips glistening and still so close to that sensitive spot between your legs

He hums again, as he moves his way up your body, crawling over you until his face is hovering just above yours, his chin and mouth still glistening as he leans in for a kiss.

“You’re all mine,” Lucien hummed as he aligned himself at your entrance.

“My mate.” You moaned as he glided the tip of his cock against your fold. He groaned at your words, feeling he could come by just your words. Lucien’s breathing shortened as his cock entered you. Your mouth opened with a sigh escaping your lips as if life finally made sense, all this tension being released as he held you so intimately as his thrusts slow and cautious. His eyes remained locked on yours, desire mingling with a softer, more vulnerable emotion. Could it be love? You leaned in to kiss him letting the bond thrumming in your chest guide you.

You moaned quietly, and Lucien’s hand ventured to your folds and drew sweet and slow circles as his pace quickened and you clung to him, your nails scratching his shoulders, presenting him with stinging pleasure. “Give it to me, my mate. All of it.” Lucien hummed as he watched your eyes roll back once more, your back arching with need. He gave a long, deep thrust, and your legs wrapped around his waist as you came undone. Lucien soon followed, filling you up, as your name slipped his lips in a groan of pleasure.

He pecked your lips a few times, between each emphasizing his words. "You are perfect."

"Aren't you the charmer?" You grin with your hand caressing his jaw.

"Get used to it." He too had a shit eating grin glued to his handsome face. He rolled over to lay beside you and brought his hand up to brush his fingers through your hair.

“It was good.” You admit.

Lucien chuckled at your words. “Good is an understatement…” He smirked as he pulled you into him, pulling you closer to his chest; you could feel his heart beating against yours.

What was it you were feeling? Love? It couldn’t be, you hated each other. “Lucien?” You ask

“Hm?” He hummed, sounding so calm as he looked down at you.

“Don’t tell me you want round two…?” He asked in a teasing manner.

“We’re more at round three.” You chuckled.

Lucien laughed. “You have a point.” He smiled down at you. “So you do want round three?”

“No!” You laugh. “Yes. I mean it wasn’t what I wanted to ask.” He leaned his head closer to yours, running his fingers through your hair once more.

“Why did we start to hate each other?” You ask.

Lucien seemed to look a little caught off guard by the question.

“I think we both know… And we were just young and stupid for the most part. Too arrogant by half.” That much was true. “We’ve both changed since then…why keep the animosity, huh?”

“You were devilishly handsome younger, but a terrible pain.” You smile.

"And you were the same." He teased and raised an eyebrow. "You were so pretty yet just as equally irritating." He paused for a moment and smirked. "But don't you think we're a bit different now? It's been a century since we've acted this way toward each other--don't you think it's a bit unnecessary still?"

“We… we could try.” You say.

Lucien tilted his head. "Try as in… Try and be friends? Try and get to know each other? Or try..." His playful voice turned almost flirtatiously. "Try and see if we're still as compatible as we were moments ago?"

“A child. You are a child.” You laugh.

Lucien rolled his eyes and grinned. "Oh you're one to talk about being a child." When he spoke again his voice came out in a teasing manner… "Who said I only wanted to see if we were compatible for a night? It'd be a shame not to try out our compatibility for the next centuries to come, don't you think?" He smirked as he shifted his position. "I could be persuaded to see how compatible we are for multiple centuries..." His tone was still teasing as a smile stayed on his face.

“Let’s try not to kill each other for a day and then we will see for multiple centuries.” Lucien raised an eyebrow at your words.

“A day without killing each other? Now that’s asking for a lot…” He smirked and rolled his eyes at the suggestion. “But you’re right…” His tone became teasing as he spoke again. “I do think that I can go at least a day without killing you…”

Lucien laughed with you as he let his words fade out. As you kept giggling, he continued to kiss you across your face. His lips left butterfly kisses on your forehead and cheeks…all the while he continued to chuckle and laugh as he did so. “I’d never thought I’d see the day where we would laugh together like this, naked in my bed.” Lucien smirked. Naked in your bed, laughing as if we were friends instead of two people who hated one another…

“Gods…I never thought it would come either…never thought we’d still be in contact let alone…like this…” He sighed. “It really is a shame that it took us a century to finally stop the fighting and the hatred and start trying…”

“Yeah.” You smile

“At least we got there in the end…eventually…” You nodded before kissing him.

“So about that balcony…” Lucien mumbled against your lips. You smiled ever so brightly before nodding.

#lucien acotar #lucien vanserra #autumn court #acotar #acotar series #sjm #x reader #one shot #enemies to lovers #enemies to lover #mates #acotar mates #romance #romantic

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