#like it’s so simple and i KNOW i need to but it’s SO HARD??
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Filing taxes does not cost money. It never has.
Private software and their own e-file options have made it seem like it does, or that taxes are sooo hard.
Preparing your taxes - for most people - is not complicated. Is it fun? No, but it isn’t as bad as it is made out to be.
Many states offer free direct e-file for state taxes if you earn under a certain threshold (it is usually above the median income level). My state’s online portal even does the math for you — you just plug in the numbers in the right spaces.
States and the federal government cannot charge to file your taxes by paper. Yes, it is less convenient and takes longer but everybody did it until the computer age of the 90s. It’s only harder these days because finding free paper forms is difficult - local post offices and libraries used to carry them but I’ve seen fewer and fewer the last four years. Same with the instruction books.
The government already knows about what your tax amount is. You won’t go to jail if you mess up. Literally I’ve gotten a letter from my state when I made a rounding error that basically was like, ‘Your amount was wrong, this is what we have, so this is your refund. Write to appeal if you disagree.’ That’s it.
If you live in or near a city, there is often at least one non-profit that will do free tax preparation for most simple cases under a certain income threshold.
You do not need to pay an ‘expert’ at a private company that likely did just a few trainings for a seasonal job. You do not need to buy a software package that will continue to upsell you, paywall you from all features, or harass you with marketing emails all year round.
Don’t give the industry any more of your money.
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take a picture,
aaron hotchner x reader
summary: at least Hotch has a picture of you when he misses you. tags: smut. 18+ mdni, reader isn't actually here hotch is just having fun by himself. he's just jerking it idk what else to tag here sorry. not proofread word count: ~0.8k a/n: I keep saying I want to practice smut sooooo i attempted to practice. I hope you like it! you can also read it on ao3!
This was a normal reaction to missing you.
At least, that’s what Aaron tells himself, glaring down at the proof of his arousal. You’ve been gone for less than a week. But he was like this. He’d just gotten off the phone with you. Your voice was darker, raspier than last time. Your boss was really running you ragged on that work trip. It broke his heart.
He lets out a deep sigh, spitting into his palm with a grudge before slipping his hand into the elastic waist of his boxers. His cock was painfully hard from just a phone conversation. Just a few soft, “I love you’s” riling him up to an embarrassing point. He wraps a strong hand around himself, humming at the relief the simple touch gave him. There was no point sitting here, frustrated, missing you, when he could take care of himself now before bed.
He starts off slowly, lazy strokes just along his shaft. He doesn’t squeeze at the head just yet — you wouldn’t do that, not yet. You’d make him wait, bring him as close as possible to the edge before pushing him over it.
He could almost feel it, your perfect hands gripping his length as you pull him into a leaking mess. It was silly, really; How many times you beg to have him just like this. How everytime he erupts in your hands you thank him earnestly. Whispering praise and sweet words into his good ear, making sure he could hear every filthy, honeyed word that falls out of your mouth.
He pulls himself out of the confines of his boxers, reaching for the drawer of the nightstand with his opposite hand. His pace increases, the wet sound of him working himself filling the room as he rummages blindly in the dresser. His face prickles as his fingers land on the leather. He shouldn’t keep doing this. It was embarrassing, and frankly disrespectful for him to do.
But God did he miss you.
He flips open his wallet, slipping the small square photograph out of its pocket. His dick throbs as soon as his fingers touch the shiny surface.
It wasn’t his first time doing this, tending to himself while looking at this picture of you. The thumbprint permanently embedded into the laminated coating was enough proof of that. But it didn’t make him feel any less guilty about it — if only his cock had the same shame.
He knows the picture isn’t particularly sexy or intimate. It was just an extra headshot from work you slid his way. But you were always apart for so long. And he always wanted to see you. Until one day he realized he just … could.
He told himself it was just one time. By the third time he said it was the last time. But by the tenth time he realized he couldn’t finish without seeing you. It was wrong, defiling an otherwise innocent photo of yours like this. He knows he really needs to stop.
But right now? You were just so, so pretty.
He finally shifts his attention to the head of his cock, grunting at the sensitive shock that runs through him as he spreads the gathering precum down his shaft. His eyes trace your features as he pumps himself. Your face was so bright, a beaming smile and confident eyes shining back at him. You looked so cleaned up, professional; your hair slicked back and tamed precisely. He smiles. Pressure building inside of him. Only he knows the hell that went into the simple snapshot. You curse up a storm at every curl and tuft that just wouldn't cooperate the day of.
He really just loves everything about you.
LIke how your eyes always pierce into his as he’s pressing into you, just like right now.
Or how your brows are relaxed, face content; just like when you come down from your orgasms.
Especially your lips, how they stretch around him perfectly just like- Shit.
He pants as he grips himself at the base, screwing his eyes shut. Grunting out your name with a string of curses as he wills himself to last a bit longer. But he fucks up. Glancing at you far too soon. He makes eye contact with you, and he’s finished. His hips buck, fucking into his hand as his balls tighten almost painfully. His thighs tense as he cums, the thick spurts landing everywhere, warm drops decorating his hands and stomach. He continues to squeeze, moaning your name out into the empty walls around him.
The tension in his belly finally fades, relief and warmth washing over him. He still strokes his softening flesh, despite his body starting to shake with sensitivity — It’s what you would do if you were here anyways. He brings the picture of you up to his face, ready to look at it once more before tucking it away again when he chokes. His skin blazes as he realizes a bit of his spend landed its way onto the small cardstock of your face. His groin whirls with excitement, again. He catches himself laughing before he could stop himself.
At least he already has his materials out this time.
#criminal minds#hotch#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner smut#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner drabbles#mine#bye#i have an alternative version of this that i was working on and kinda dropped that could *technically* be another part to this ig#if i reread this in the morning and dont want to kms i might try to work on it if not that never happened and no one will ask me about it#bc why are you reading these tags so hard anyways hm#like i KNOW you had to click read more to see this go away#♥
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Protector
Boyfriend!Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader
Synopsis: You and Spencer have been together a few months and he’s beginning to notice how often you keep your guard up and he converses with you about his concerns and so you tell him why you act the way you do.
Category: Angst, Fluff
Warnings: established relationship, spencer being a concerned bf, mentions of past physical assault, reader has ✨trauma✨, crying, kissing, mention of past trauma, dark humor (?), spencer lowkey doesn’t get dark humor, it’s cutesy towards the end, lowkey projected here sorry y’all
Author’s Note: hey lovelies! so i wanted to write another personal one-shot, i wanted to share my own personal experience on here so please tread this lightly :) i hope y’all like this one because this one did truly come from the heart. <3
He noticed it after leaving Rossi’s mansion one night. Spencer’s team had invited you out to dinner. You’d only been dating just a few months but they’d heard all about you from your dear old, doting boyfriend and were eager to meet you.
His colleague, author David Rossi had told your boyfriend to invite you to dinner over in his big mansion. You’d almost said no, that maybe it was too soon but Spencer encouraged you and well, he was good at doing that.
He’d met you at your workplace, a bookstore no less. He’d been looking for a copy of Slaugherhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut Jr. when he’d spotted you in your natural habitat, putting more books on the shelves, dressed in an outfit you’d been comfortable in topped with converse and he was hooked.
He started coming up with excuses, just to see you and even had the courage to talk with you about where to find certain despite his excellent memory but you didn’t need to know about that, yet.
Eventually, you’d figured him out and decided to ask him out on a date to put an end to his misery.
And since then, you’d been going steady for just a few months. And it was an understatement to say that these had been the happiest few months of both of your lives.
However, there were still things you needed to figure out about each other.
Like, when it came to Spencer’s job, you knew to be supportive and realize that you weren’t the only person in the world that needed Spencer Reid. Or that you loved the winter season despite not being a big fan of Christmas.
But this was something new and something he wasn’t sure if he should be concerned about. When you left Rossi’s mansion that night with Spencer, arm in arm with him, you held your breath and kept looking around in the streetlights. He noticed it on the way into Rossi’s place as well. Spencer had parked a little far than intended but assured it wasn’t too far but you seemed to have another thing on your mind.
Eventually, Spencer brushed it off and chalked it up to you being anxious to meeting Spencer’s team.
But then it happened again. You’d both gone to the grocery store at eight o’clock, wanting to get snacks for the sleepover you’d wanted with him after a long hard week of work on both ends.
And the whole time you’d been shopping with Spencer, you’d been looking at the other customers and even tensed up on the way out at an older man sitting on a bench nearby with a grumpy look etched on his face. Spencer had also noticed how you clutched your taser in your hand until you both got to the car that night.
He’d asked you if you were okay but you gave him a small smile and assured to him — “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I’m just not used to going anywhere at night.”
And he’d had his answer. You didn’t like going anywhere at night. It was as simple as that.
But just to be sure it was nothing more, he began to secretly study you. And this was where he started to get concerned.
He began to notice how you often clutched his arm tightly while you two walked in the park and were by yourselves. He also noticed how you took your taser everywhere you went. And how you constantly looked over your shoulder, even if you were in a group of people. He also noticed how you never strayed far, keeping close to a big group and never went alone anywhere — unless it was work and even then, you took your taser with you.
Spencer even decided to ask Morgan to see if there was anything he could give him advice on and even Morgan didn’t know how to respond to that. “To be honest, I’ve never dealt with anything like that. The best thing you should do is just talk to her. See what’s up.”
So, Spencer waited. He waited until it happened again. And it did, you’d met up with him after work since you were going to his place tonight and you surprised him by going to the bureau — since Penelope had wanted to see you and who are you to deny the sweetest woman in the goddamn world?
He’d led you both back to the parking garage. And he noticed how even though the parking garage was empty, you still kept your guard up and kept looking over your shoulder.
So, as he drove back to his place in your car — he told you he was driving, no questions asked — he struggled with how to begin the conversation. You could tell something was up by the way he kept staring at you in the car. But he didn’t say a word.
And then, you both arrived back to his apartment and he still couldn’t say anything to you. I mean, he was talking to you but there was something behind his eyes that was holding something back.
It wasn’t until you both sat down on his couch, watching a movie and catching him stare at you every few minutes that you paused the movie and finally asked him what’s wrong.
Spencer crinkles his brows together, “What? Noth-Nothing’s wrong.” He tells.
“You’ve been staring at me since we left your workplace. And normally, I appreciate your gaze but right now, it’s freaking me out.” You explain and Spencer looks down, he never really did have a good poker face and he’d been known to slip up quite a few times. “Tell me what’s wrong?”
Spencer opens his mouth but you rake your fingers through his chocolate locks and all rational thought seems to go out the window. But he knows that you guys need to have this conversation since you’ve confronted him on it now.
“Are you… okay?” Spencer starts subtly, hoping on this being a way to start the conversation about your recent behavior he’s noticed.
“I am great, Spencer. Are you okay?” You ask with a small smile. A smile he loves seeing on your face. A smile he appreciates and wants to see everyday. A smile he envisions seeing every night before he goes to bed. He nods, “I’m okay. It’s just…”
Spencer sighs and maybe it’s just time to rip off the bandaid. It’s time that you two need to talk about this like adults. Because this has gone on for too long and he’s starting to become worried.
“You’ve been acting a little… squirrelly lately. And I can’t help but notice that… every time we go somewhere at night, you’re more…” Guarded? Nervous? “On edge,” He chooses. “And you hold onto me a lot when we’re both out and— not-not that I’m complaining about that, I love when you do that but… I’m just starting to grow a little concerned because— I like you a lot. And I just want you to feel like you can talk to me if something is bothering you.”
You look at Spencer and you can tell he’s genuinely concerned and really does care about you. You’re kind of flattered that he’s noticed a lot about your behavior, despite it being a little troubling. You know it can be to other people. You’d avoided having this conversation with him, not wanting to burden him with it like other people have claimed that you have in the past. The people that had you’re no longer friends with anymore.
You sigh and you know that maybe it is best to talk to him about it. Spencer had never been one to judge and you knew that he would never ever say anything negative about your fears — however, the fear that he’d think you were overreacting was scary to face. Especially when Spencer was such a logical person already. But he wanted to know and maybe it’s best to speak out your truth.
“Okay, okay, okay,” You sit up a bit and he does the same. “But please do not say I’m overreacting or being overdramatic because I’ve dealt with that too many times already and I can’t handle it from you either.” You find yourself telling him and he shakes his head assuringly, “I’d never think that.”
You take a deep breath and look at him and all you can see on his face is adoration and concern and hopefulness. “Okay, uh…” Where do you start? “When I was sixteen, I… went to this Halloween party. And… it was my first party so I was excited. I went with a few friends and… only one of us knew how to drive at the time, so they went to go drop another one of our friends off because of her curfew and was going to come back.”
“Well, while she was gone, the party got raided by cops and a lot of people left. It was just me and this one friend standing on the sidewalk waiting for our friend to come back. But while we were waiting…” You pause, the memories coming back like a floodgate and you close your eyes. It was not a happy time in your life and you blocked it out of your memory for good reason.
Spencer could see you getting worked up about it and he puts his hand on your thigh, grounding you in a way you can’t explain. “You don’t have to do this or explain it to me if you don’t want to.” You shake your head, “No, you should know.”
Spencer almost pulls his hand away but you hold him there and he lets you, knowing that maybe you need to physical touch right now.
“We were waiting and this car… stopped right in the middle of the road and three people came out of the car, a girl and a couple of guys and they were all wearing these clown masks and… they tried to take our stuff. I thought it was just some joke so I just told my friend to ignore them and walk away but…” You pause once more and Spencer waits patiently for your sentence.
“The girl punched me. Hit me right in the nose.” Spencer winces at this, hating to imagine your pain in that moment. And he almost doesn’t want to hear the rest of the story. “Luckily, I didn’t go down. I, uh, almost tried to hit her, actually. But I didn’t know what she had, a knife, a gun… so I told my friend to run. And we both ran. That was the fastest I probably ever ran in my life. And there were these people nearby that heard us yelling and they helped us. All I remember is… my devil costume and… my nose bleeding all over my outfit. I don’t think I ever wore that skirt again.” Spencer’s heart physically hurts from that sentence alone.
“For a minute there, I felt weak. And… scared. I didn’t go anywhere alone for a while and it was bad. That friend ended up telling everyone what happened when I wanted to keep it quiet.” Spencer knows that your fierce nature never goes unnoticed by him. You were so tough, so free-willed. When you had issues with customers, they were often dealt with by your attitude and to put it lightly, you were a badass. To hear that you were vulnerable at one point made him sad because that wasn’t who he knew you as and he hated that someone made you feel weak.
“Did anyone ever find those people that did that to you?” Spencer asks, his tone calm and steady. You shake your head, “I told my parents and we filed a police report but… no one ever caught ‘em. Not to my knowledge anyway.” You inform.
“But I’ve gotten better with it, but I still keep my guard up. I hate that I have to look over my shoulder every time I’m out of the house, I hate that I have to take my taser everywhere I go, I hate dealing with this. But it’s my everyday life.” You tell and Spencer looks from the ground to you. “Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”
“I just… didn’t want to be a burden on you,” You sigh. “And I felt like I didn’t need to say anything because most people don’t get it. Some actually laugh because of how I phrase it.”
“How you phrase it?” Spencer asks, clearly confused because what’s so funny about someone attempting a mugging on somebody? “I always say… I almost got mugged by a few clowns.” You find yourself sheepishly laughing but Spencer, however, doesn’t think it’s funny. “I just kinda started making a joke of it. I figure it’s the one thing I can do to deal with it. Dark humor, I guess.”
“I don’t think it’s funny,” Spencer said. “Something worse could’ve happened to you. It’s already bad enough you got punched in the face.” He explained.
“It was a really long time ago, Spencer. I’m okay, now.” You remind him and he takes a sharp sigh, “I know. I just hate the fact that you went through that. That everyone makes a joke of it, that no one else seems to care about the fact that you got hurt when I care so much about that because you deserved better than how you got treated.”
You take a deep breath and a weight is off of your shoulders. Part of you is glad you shared that with Spencer finally but another part of you is scared to be transparent with him about your fears. But the way he’s reacting sets all of those fears aside. He was the person you needed when you were sixteen and suddenly, you want to turn back time and tell your teenage self that everything is gonna be just fine.
“You’re such a sweet and good person,” Spencer takes his hands to your face, holding you lovingly and close. “I don’t understand why someone would want to hurt someone as sweet as you.” He mutters to you.
Suddenly, you fall forward, holding him tightly in a hug and he accepts the hug rather quickly holding you. He feels as your dig your face deep and droplets on his neck. Are you crying?
He pulls back and looks at you face, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. “I’m—I’m sorry,” You shake your head. “I don’t know why I’m crying…” Spencer gives you a soft look. “Sharing a truth, especially a difficult one, can make you feel vulnerable and exposed, leading to tears. It’s perfectly normal.” Spencer reminds you and you sniffle at this.
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” Spencer tells. “I know that wasn’t easy.” You nod, “You deserved to know. I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with but—” He interrupts you with a chaste kiss on your lips. He’s gentle and loving, in every way, shape and form. “You are very easy to love. Don’t you dare think otherwise.”
Spencer holds you close that night. You continued watching your movie and had fallen asleep on his shoulder and he kept his arm around protectively. He watched you as you slept, vowing to never let anything like what happened to you at sixteen, never happen to you again so long as he could help it. He’d protect you until the day he died. He’d take a bullet for you, catch a grenade for you, he’d sacrifice never speaking again if it meant saving you. He’d never let anyone hurt you or even dare to touch you.
And he’d wished to take your fears, your guard and your trauma away just to see you feel happy and carefree. He hates that it’s all so normalized with you because of what you went through. And he swears to make you feel as safe as you need to be while you’re out. He’ll start going to stores at night by himself, he’ll keep on being your knight in shining armor, he’ll keep being the protector you need him to be.
“I love you, Y/n,” He whispers, saying the words he’d dare not say until he was ready to say them to you. “And I will always protect you.”
#spencer reid#criminal minds#mgg#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds x fem!reader#spencer reid criminal minds#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x fanfiction#criminal minds x you#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fluff#criminal minds one shot#spencer reid x you#spencer reid blurb#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid angst#g4rvez-r3id#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#matthew gray gubler#mgg x reader#matthew gray gubler fanfic#mgg fanfiction#mgg fluff
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Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to? I'm a therianthrope and a phytanthrope (aka greenkin, woodkin, or plantkin)!
What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any) Dingo, cougar, and resurrection fern are my highest kins, and some sort of avian (red hawk, I believe) as well as rodent (most likely an eastern gray squirrel) as well. Some of my headmasters have different ones.
Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)? I'm a contherian, so I always have a phantom tail, phantom legs, or phantom something else. I'm also often sensory shifted and sometimes on a weak mental shift. My weirdest cameo shift was either a snake or an airplane.
How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life? I am a kemonomimi (which is just a person who likes wearing animal ears and tails, and sometimes other similar accessories) and wear my gear in day to day life. I use my kemonomimi gear to express my nonhumanity and feel happier in my own skin. I do experience species dysphoria, especially around my phantom shifts, so this helps a lot.
What do you think of the community? Depends on the platform! Here, I love the amount of information and fun facts and the way that people really strive to be able to see themselves and be seen as how they identify. I also really love the TikTok therian community as a lot of it is just fun!
What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity? Wearing tails and ears and collars, quads are fun, laying in specific animalistic positions while doing something like eating or watching TV, etc. I also really like keeping my nails long. Specific kinds of movements are very affirming. I also love doing voice training for therian and transgender purposes. Makes vocals easier and more fun.
Are you experiencing species dysphoria? Yup. Pretty often. It doesn't often get super severe, but one of my headmastes recently shaved off every inch of hair on our entire body and it has not been fun being furless :/ It's also sad whenever somebody bumps into my tail and say sorry and I didn't feel it or notice it. Makes it feel disconnected.
What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened? Don't try and figure out anything right now! Take your time and let it come naturally. Nothing except a nonhuman identity is required to be alterhuman. You don't need gear, quads, or to be out. Finding community, though, is wonderful. Have fun with your identity, but also feel free to acknowledge the hard stuff. Just remember, it's not all bad. :)
Do you have/want to have gears? I do! I have multiple tails, all of which I've either made myself or (for the taxidermy tails) gotten at yard sales and I make ears on a regular basis. I love making collars as well. I have a buncha puppy stuffies that I consider my pups (in my past life as a dingo I was a mum) and I also have some jangly bracelets that bring me joy. I have a lot of animal themed knicknacks sitting about my room.
Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate) Trauma, neurodivergency, past lives, imprinting, and simple psychological differences. All of these are valid and (to me) fascinating theories about the origin of alterhumanity in general! For me personally, I think mine comes from trauma and past lives, as well as some neurodivergency.
Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions! @hyprfixed
If you are an alter/nonhuman, reblog and answer these questions!
(don't be afraid to write a lot, do what you want ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)
1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?
2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)
3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?
4/ How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?
5/ What do you think of the community?
6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?
7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?
8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?
9/ Do you have/want to have gears?
10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)
11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!ㅤᵕ̈
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Description! Pt.2 to Bully!Satoru
Warnings! 18+, AFAB, mentions of female genitalia, kind of creepy gojo (oops), smut, fingering, probably more but Idk
Authors Note! I hope you guys like this, I have other ideas too so stay tuned because i’ll prob post those within the next few days! 💙
Bully!Satoru who would knock whatever book you were reading out of your hands. The pages would mesh together and you’d lose your spot causing you to frown. “You’re such a jerk!” You’d say to him and all you’d get was a wink in response.
Bully!Satoru who enjoyed writing disgusting and downright horrible things about you on post it notes just to slip them in your bag so you’d find them at home. He knew you read the comments because when you’d come to school the next day it was always hard for you to keep eye contact with him like normal. Your agitated responses would be mere whispers instead of your usual brave demands.
Bully!Satoru who watched as rain started to pour viscously outside and spotted the pretty pink umbrella tucked neatly in the side of your backpack. He couldn’t help himself. He needed his sweet bunny to do without so he could swoop in and save the day! Taking the umbrella, he was forcing you to soak your clothes in order for him to offer his own umbrella. You should already know he would peak down to see the way your uniform clung to your body and how the bra you wore did a poor job at hiding how cold you were.
Bully!Satoru who was surrounded by girls at lunch and noticed one day how you seemed to be bothered by it. Later on when he pulled your beautifully crafted braid out of your head you simply…ignored him.
Bully!Satoru who internally was intrigued by your reaction. Seeing his sweet bunny get so bothered by him receiving attention from other females managed to turn him on more than he expected.
Bully!Satoru who notices when you’re out of school for a few days after your little fit and asks your friends why you’ve been gone. They inform him that you’re sick and would most likely be missing the worksheets you’d need. Satoru knew how dedicated you are to your studies and took it upon himself to bring those papers by your house. How he got your address? Don’t worry about it.
Bully!Satoru who showed up after school that day and knocked on your door. You answer in a simple hoodie and shorts that has Satoru salivating like a dog; his eyes raking up your legs with no shame. “Aren’t you gonna let me in? I have all your work which i’m sure you’ll need some help with.”
Shy!Reader who lets Satoru into their house and tells her mom she and a friend are going upstairs to study. Yet the moment your bedroom door closes Satoru pulls you against his chest and gropes you through the fabric. He coos in your ear and shushes you when you try to protest “Oh cmon sweet girl. Be nice and let me have my reward for doing a good deed yeah?”
His slender fingers cup your breasts over your shirt and he moves one large hand down to run a hand smooth over your ass. His lips brushed against your ear as he left featherlight kisses. “Is this what you think of when you’re all alone? My hands feeling your body up while I whisper nasty things in your ear? Hmm?”
Bully!Satoru who teased you unwavering for what seems forever about being jealous of some stupid girls. “They’re just jealous of you baby. You get all my attention while I leave those girls high and dry don’t you know?” He loves hearing you whimper while and slips his cold hands under your clothes and inspects you further.
Bully!Satoru who scanned your room quickly until something caught his eye. A small pile of neatly folded colorful post it notes tucked into a container on your desk. His tongue clicking down at you and chuckling lowly in your ear. “Oh come now. Y/n! I never would have taken you for such a dirty girl…but that’s what you want people to think right? That you’re a goody two shoes that would never dream of having sex before marriage. Yet here you are with a pile of my horny little notes that you’ve been collecting while you writhe and moan from my hands touching you.”
Bully!Satoru who wants to eat you alive. His teeth sink down into your neck leaving a blooming purple patch on a rather exposed piece of skin. “S-Satoru! That hurt!” Is all you can seem to cry out while he slips his hand lower into your shorts, rubbing his fingers over your panties.
He sits on your bed gently and pulls you into his lap, knocking your legs apart so each leg stretches over his. He already slipped your shorts off and has you tightly against his chest where you swear you can feel his heart racing. “Be a good girl for me and stay quiet. We can’t have your parents knowing how wet their daughter gets by having her bully knuckle deep in her little pussy.”
Shy!Reader that swears she’s going crazy as her head spins. Small pants and groans escape from your lips while he fucks his fingers in and out of you harshly. Obscene squelching noises fill your ears as you listen to him bury his fingers in your sopping pussy. “Please! Toru’ m-more.” The words shock both you and the boy behind you when they come out. Satoru stops his movements inside you and forces your head up so you look him in the eyes.
“That feel good baby?” You nod the best you can with his hand holding your jaw. “Tsk tsk, I didn’t expect this from you sweet girl. You’ve already made such a mess on my lap i’m not sure I can continue without your parents asking question when I go downstairs.” His words cause you to whine out loudly and he pulls his fingers out of you completely.
Your eyes widen at the sudden loss of his touch. “N-no please! Satoru I want…I want you to touch me!” Frantically you whisper up to him while frustrated tears fall from your eyes at being neglected.
Satoru smiles at you for a second before licking his fingers clean of your slick. The sight making you squirm and try to close your legs.
“Mm, such a needy thing. I hate to leave you like this but it’s getting so late.” He snickers behind you and you know he’s doing this to prove a point and nothing more. He pulls your legs closer together and lifts you so you’re lying against your pillows. He presses a small kiss against your lips before standing again.
Bully!Satoru who bends down and pockets the panties he ripped off of you previously. “Call me if you have any questions about the work yeah? I’m sure we could set up a study session soon.”
With that he left your room and you heard him say bye to your parents downstairs before the front door closes.
The next day with Bully!Satoru at school who barely looks at you throughout the day and keeps the teasing to a minimum causing you to get frustrated and feel the heat in your panties grow. The purple hickey Satoru had gifted you was covered with makeup the best you could do and occasionally you’d swipe your fingers over the spot.
Bully!Satoru who pulled you aside during lunch and wrangled you into an empty broom closet so he could attack your lips. “Look so pretty today baby. You really should stop staring at me so much or else someone might get the wrong idea. Someone might think you actually enjoy my teasing.”
#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x you#saturo gojo x reader#bully gojo satoru#gojo x y/n#gojo satoru#jujutsu gojo#jjk gojo#gojo smut#gojou satoru x reader#gojo saturo#school boy gojo
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mustang baby.
please don't read if you are uncomfortable with the slight topic of disobeying religion.
after school, matt and you texted a bit, just telling him where you live at and the subtle flirting, more so coming from him. matt had texted you about 10 minutes ago that he was 15 min away, so that gives you about 5 more minutes to recollect yourself.
you wore a simple pink dress, that was a little short, but it wasn't like he was taking you to a restaurant, he was probably just going to drive around, smoke a bit, and then go to his house.
to say you were nervous was a understatement. matt had this energy that made you more shy than you actually were. while you were trying to collect your thoughts, your phone rang.
you looked over, it was matt. you picked it up.
"hey pretty. 'm outside."
"okay, im coming."
you heard him hum in response, so you hungup and got into your shoes. you walked out of your house and was met with a 1965 ford mustang. you smiled at the car, admiring it as he got out of the driver's seat, walking to the other side and opening the door for you.
"hey, baby. go ahead." he smirked at you, kissing your head as you smiled and muttered a small, "hi" back to him. you got into the warm car and was overcome quickly by the lingering smell of weed.
he closed the door, being mindful of your knees before, walking back to his side. he slid back in, sighing, and starting the car. the heater turned on, and the soft music of deftones filled the car.
"y'comfy?" he asked as he turned his head to you, while starting to drive the car out of your neighborhood. "yeah, very." you smiled softly at him, before he nodded, paying his attention back to the road.
"y'look really good. i like this dress." he said softly, reaching his hand over, tugging the edge of the dress softly, causing a chill to run through you. "really? thank you. i didn't know if it was too immodest or anything." you admit, your voice getting a bit louder than your whispers before.
you heard matt laugh softly and scoff. "immodest? baby, i'ont care about that. look at me, im the definition of that shit. you religious or sum?" you laugh softly at his response. "kinda. i don't really know. my parents are, but i'm not too interested in it." he nodded, understanding.
"mmm, alright. i get that. so like you a virgin or somethin'?" he asks, more calm than before, but now looking at you for your response. "um, yeah. i haven't done anything before, actually. i haven't even had my first kiss or held hands with anyone. except like my mom, i guess."
his eyebrows raise in a bit of shock at your admission. "really? that's kinda crazy. not to you, but it's like now kinda hard to find someone who hasn't done a single thing. it's not bad though, baby. y'just saving yourself for someone special, huh?"
you nod in response to his question. you would never admit this to him, but you would be more than glad to allow him to do everything to you. even if you didn't know what "everything" was, you would allow him to do it.
he nods back to you, redirecting his attention back to the road, letting his right hand fall on your thigh, starting to rub your thigh softly. "this okay?" "y-yeah."
he smirks as he feels goosebumps rise on your skin, as he leans his hand farther down into your thigh, now rubbing your inner thigh so close to the point you needed him, but he didn't know that yet.
he pulled up to a well known park in downtown boston and parked underneath some trees. he turned off the engine, but making no move to get out. "are we gonna go outside?" you say softly, looking over to him. he shook his head, rubbing your thigh still.
"nah, i jus' wanted to come and smoke a bit. i jus' wanna talk. we gonna head back to my house though and we can chill if you want." he says softly as he pulls a joint and lighter out of his pocket. he pulls his hand away from your thigh to help him light it.
smoke filled the car as he rolled down his window a bit to not suffocate the both of you. you both remained in silence as his hand falls back down to your thigh. "y'good?" he says, smoke flowing out of his mouth. you nod and hum back in response. you eye the blunt in his mouth, which catches his attention. "here. open your mouth. y'know what shotgunning is? not the beer kind." you shake your head no, and he grabs your jaw softly, pulling you closer to him.
"y'okay with me kissing you?" he asks softly, making sure. your eyes widen a bit as the thought rings through your mind, before nodding. he smirks, taking a hit and leaning his mouth to you, your lips touching as smoke fills your mouth. you're caught off guard as he mutters a soft, "inhale f'me." against your mouth before pulling away.
you do so, and blow the smoke out. he smirks as he rubs your jaw softly, pulling you to him again, but his blunt dangling from his left hand. he kisses you softly, and you do the same, following his movements. he notices you becoming more into it, so he lets his tongue run against your lip, which you open your mouth to, letting his tongue into your mouth.
his grip on your jaw becomes a bit tighter, as he kisses you with more passion. you continue to follow his movements, creating a perfect sync between the two of you. he pulled away from you, both of you desperate for air. he smirks at you, once he realizes he was your first kiss.
he leans back in his seat, letting his hand come off your jaw, falling back to your thigh. he pulls the blunt back to his lips, the smoke filling the car once again. you sit back in your seat, your face flushed. you just had your first kiss with matt sturniolo.
some time passes as you calm into the slight high you were experiencing. "so why'd you transfer to shs?" you say without a thought before.
he sighed before speaking. "i got expelled out of full circle. some dumb shit. so me and my brothers switched to shs." you nodded. "your brothers are chris and nick, right?" he nods, looking at you. "y'know them?" "yeah, me and nick have art together and me and chris have a couple classes together. im friends with both of them."
"a'ight. yeah, i figured they would like you. i also heard people refer to you as 'angel.' that what you go by?" you shrug softly. "yeah. no one really calls me my actual name besides teachers and my parents sometimes. you can call me it too." he laughs softly.
"oh, trust me i will. it's a hot name for you." you roll your eyes, smiling at his teasing. his blunt died out, so he started his engine again. "m' good at driving, trust me. we'll be good."
he started driving home, and his house wasn't that far from the park. he pulled into his driveway, shutting off his engine. his hand patted your thigh before getting out of the car, walking over to your side and opening your door.
you got out of the car, stretching. he put his hand on your back, following next to you as the both of you walked up to his door. "my parents aren't home, but my brothers are." you smiled at the thought of your friends being there, and nodded. he opened the door, allowing you to go first.
chris was on the couch and looked up to the door and his eyes lit up. "angel? what are you doing here?" he got up and walked over, giving you a friendly hug. "we're hanging out." matt replied for you. you didn't see, but chris gave him a confused look. "angel, nick is in his room, lemme talk to matt real quick. his room is down the hall over there." chris said to you softly, pointing to the hall. you nodded, walking over and making your way to nick's room, talking to him.
once chris noticed you closed nick's door, he looked back at matt. "what the fuck? you aren't getting with her." matt scoffed as he leaned against the wall next to him. "yeah, right. like i listen to you. it's not like i'm gonna hurt her. at least not that i plan to anytime soon." chris rolls his eyes at this, knowing matt's reputation.
"angel's gonna fall for you. y'know that. you're gonna fuck her and leave. i know how you are, matt. you can't do that to her." matt quickly defended himself. "you don't know shit about me, chris. we might be brothers, but you don't know how my mind works. i might be a piece of shit, but i'm not gonna hurt her."
"whatever." chris rolls his eyes and walks away from matt. matt makes his way to nick's room. "c'mon angel, let's go to my room." you nodded, getting up off of nick's bed, and walking out. matt showed you to his room, closing the door.
he fell onto his bed, dragging you with him. you got comfortable next to him, getting under his blanket. he kissed your lips softly, which you reciprocated. his hand rubbed your covered hip softly. he pulled his lips away from you, rubbing your cheek. "m' not gonna do anything else with you, tonight. i wanna keep your innocence a bit longer."
you nodded at this, kissing his lips once again. after a bit, he pulled away again. "y'sleeping over?" you hummed, nodding. "yeah, my parents are out of town. i don't have any extra clothes though." he shook his head, standing up and walking to his dresser. "here. wear some of my clothes." he handed you a clean shirt and some of his boxers. he turned around as you begin changing.
"im done." he turned back around, smirking at the sight of you in his clothes. he grabbed your dress, throwing it into his hamper, making a silent reminder to wash it and give it back.
he leaned back down next to you, and you rested your head against his shoulder. he let his hand fall onto your back, rubbing it softly. he noticed your breathing get slower over time as you fell asleep, and he allowed himself to sleep too.
sure he was a dirtbag, but he didn't want to hurt you.
@muwapsturniolo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @m4ttg1rl @lypsiiii @tyummyz @sturniqlo @emely9274 @shadowthesim @mattsobvimyfav @sturnl0ve @wastelandzella @fallininlust @chrisslut04 @angeliijay12-blog @sophand4n4 @vainilladollie @slutforchrissturniolo2 @ncm9696 @snoopychris @sofieeeeex @chr0mehrts @cockettechris @iloveduckssm @stvrnioloslvt @sturn777 @priscillaog @allylovescody @sturniolo101 @mattybsgroupie comment to be added or removed.
#alexis talks#matt sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo#sturniolo fanfic#=innocent!reader#=teenagedirtbag!matt#matt sturniolo x reader#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo fluff#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo fanfic#Spotify
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"The limit"
Mammon X Reader
Summary: You haven't seen your beloved in a long, long time. After months of parting, you finally went on a date with him. Unfortunately, all this waiting has gotten to Mammon.
Warnings: SUGGESTIVE (slight NSFW but does not show the shaboinkadoink scene), NEEDY ASF MAMMON, Pronouns used: "you" and "your", Nonbinary reader
Word Count: 1.5k
Extra: This is my first time posting on tumblr EVER. This is also my first time writing X reader/MC fanfiction ever, so please be patient with me. I did NOT put any thought to this (freestyle and not proofread), so it's a little rough.
It was cold, very much so. Devildom nights were surprisingly harsh. The streets were damp, and the air was frigid. It was as if you could pluck out ice crystals from the air if you tried hard enough. Yet here you are, running as fast as your legs could carry you, past the closed shops at the local market, your shoes made a satisfying click with every step, you didn't want to miss it.
How could you? This was a once in a lifetime chance. You were up in the human world for so long that you grew impatient. Solomon had something to do in the Devildom, something about his research you did not care enough to listen to. You picked up speed. You were almost there. You couldn't stop grinning. Despite the exhaustion you felt, you just kept smiling. Finally, you're home. You weren't referring to the house of lamentation. You don't even live there due to Solomon's request to have you near him as an essential observer for his research, that sneaky bastard. No, this time “home” was– is a person, a demon.
The fountain was in your sight, you're almost there. And yet, he isn't there. You keep running, maybe he's behind the fountain? Suddenly, an arm wraps around your waist before you could register its existence and stop. It was tan, toned, and familiar. You hear his voice.
“Woah, damn. You tryna hunt me down for sport or sumn? No need for that kinda speed, I ain't going anywhere.”
Pair of blue eyes stared right at you, a smug smile on his lips, you smiled even brighter.
“Mammon!”
You pulled his arm, the one that stopped you from running past him, with just enough force for him to bend down so you could reach his face. A gentle touch to his cheek, a simple caress behind the ear, a loving glance at the skin you adorned with your petal-soft touch was enough to warm him in the coldest of nights. His eyes sparkled as he looked at you. You weren't looking at the way he looked at you, the way the background fuzzed and blurred as they pale in comparison to your loving beauty, they way his eyes only found the way you were looking at him. Sure, he’s a greedy bastard, but oh, does he love like a gentleman.
A soft chuckle vibrates from his throat. He takes the hand that caressed the side of his face and brings it closer to his skin.
“Yeah, yeah, I missed ya too.”
You chuckled, finally looking into his eyes.
“I haven’t even said anything.”
“You didn’t have too.”
He stands up straight, trying not to strain his back from bending down too much. He keeps your hand in his, still looking into your eyes.
“I can see it in the way you looked at me.”
His voice was soft, delicate, the voice he’d use for you and only you.
“Cheesy bastard.”
“Your cheesy bastard.”
He lets go of your hand and stretches both of his arms.
“I’m yours, deal with it.”
You smiled. You used to roll your eyes at his antics, but you missed this. You missed him.
“Hell yeah you are.”
He glares at you, as if he’s about to tease you for saying something so possessive. Instead, he holds you by the waist and leads you onward.
“Cmon. I know how fragile humans are. You’ll freeze to death out here.”
He planned this. He planned to stay at a hotel with you, away from his brothers and other distractions. Of course, you approved this. You two needed that time away.
You two arrived at the hotel. It was a little over his paycheck, but he’s the type of guy to buy you the world if he could. Spoiled by a broke man, you never thought you’d see the day. As he sits on the bed, you feel a little uneasy. Usually, he’d jump into your arms. When you ran to him, he’d run to you faster. He’d cling on to you and never let go until his brothers would pry him off of you. So why? Why was he being so gentle? Did you meet up with the wrong demon?
“Hey, Mams?”
You call out to him as you put your coat on the coat rack, your back facing his form lying on the bed with his feet on the ground.
“Yeah?”
“Nothing, I just thought you fell asleep.”
“Pfft, as if.”
Just that? “As if”? No “I waited this long, ain't no way I'm wastin’ our time together!” or “I spent wayyy too much on this to waste it all on sleep.”? Now that you think about it, his date plan only consisted of meeting up by the fountain and going to the hotel. No extra activities, no nothing. This was weird. You feel the nervousness in your body grow from the pit of your stomach to your heart. You walk to the bed and lay down beside him, he doesnt turn to face you. You don't turn to face him. You two just stare at the ceiling. He finally speaks.
“So… how was your week? You know, without me.”
“Are you jealous that I’ve been around Solomon more than I’ve been around you?”
“Not really. That’s Levi's thing. I know you know you're mine.”
“Sure.”
You thought about it, how you would answer.
“Well… Solomon kept dragging me from place to place, getting equipment for his research here in the Devildom…”
You heard the sheets ruffle, he turned to face you, lying on his sides.
“...then I’d text you about our date occasionally, and that's about it.”
“Sounds boring.”
“Well, I was too busy looking forward to this date.”
You turn to look at him, your back flat on the bed. There was this bitter sarcasm in your voice. You don’t know why you feel this way, perhaps you were feeling a little bored? Shouldn't every moment be exciting when you’re with the one you love? So why do you feel this way? Maybe, you were feeling a little greedy. After being clouded in your thoughts for so long, you finally noticed the way he looked. His pupils traveled to every corner of your expression, he looked dissatisfied.
“Mammon?”
“You’re so fucking pretty and I’m sorry.”
Your heart sinks, what did he mean by that?
“....What?”
He gets up and sits on the edge of the bed, not wanting to face you.
“I can’t do this. I can’t be gentle. There ain’t nothin’ about me that’s gentle.”
You sit up, looking at his back, a worried expression painted your face. Is this going to be a breakup?
“Mammon, what's wrong?”
“Do you like me?”
“Of course, I wouldn't date you if I didn't!”
He moves his head, looking leftward, avoiding you who was sitting on the right.
“I’m not human, MC.”
“I know that.”
“I’m a demon.”
“I know.”
“I can be rough and harsh sometimes.”
“That’s a little hard to believe.”
He looks over his shoulder, looking at you.
“Huh.”
That look in his eyes, it sent chills down your spine. You tuck your legs in, as if creating distance between you two, but he grabs you by the ankle before you could push yourself even further away from him.
“Where are you going?”
He then turns around and changes his grip on your ankle, crawling closer towards you.
“No where, I was just-”
“What kinda demon am I?”
He stops, just right in between your legs. The room felt warm, even warmer than before. The lights weren’t that bright, they were orange in color, it felt like someone decided to light candles instead. Your breath hitches, surprised by his sudden change in attitude.
“What do you mean..?”
“What am I known for?”
You think about it. Should you joke about the fact he’s a little bit of a scumbag? Maybe reserve that for another time. The answer finally clears up in your mind.
“...Greed.”
“Good. Now say it. What’s my title?”
You lower your chin, eyes stuck to his dark gaze.
“....The Avatar of Greed.”
He smiles. It's soft, loving. He crawls even closer but not too close for comfort.
“Y’know, yer kinda stupid, MC.”
You were taken aback. Your brows furrowed as he teases you, you feel your cheeks burn. Just as you were about to open your mouth to argue, his hand moved from your ankle to your thigh.
“Don’t ya think it’s kind of suspicious that I wanted us to go out on a date at night? In a hotel away from the others?”
You did think about it, just a little too late. He chuckles as he looks at your startled expression.
“I’ve gone way too long without ya.”
He crawls closer, his chin ghosting above your shoulder, he whispers.
“I need my fix.”
He had the perfect opportunity to kiss your neck, take what's his, but he didn't. He rests his head, snuggling against the curve of your neck, he breathes in your scent and whines. He releases his grip on your thigh as he softens, hands resting on the bed insead.
“Please give it to me.”
You tense up, your whole body feels warm now. You slowly wrap your arms around him.
“Go ahead.”
You smile, he couldn’t see it, but you smile so softly. He’s surprisingly cute like this.
“I’m yours, aren't I?”
He snaps, releasing his head from your shoulder and his body from your embrace as he pushes forward, planting a kiss on your lips with such feverish tremor.
“Mc…” He speaks in-between kisses. “I’m the Avatar of Greed for a reason.”
He kisses your cheek,
“This isn’t enough f’me.”
He kisses your neck,
“I'm gonna need more.”
He pulls the collar of your shirt, exposing your shoulder.
“So much more.”
He plants a few kisses onto your bare shoulder,
“Please tell me I can have it. I need it. I need you.”
He bites down onto your skin. It wasn’t painful, not in the very least, but it still tickled.
“I can’t have enough of you. I’m fucking insatiable when I’m with you.”
You didn't know how to respond to that, how could you respond to that? It wasn’t until his second “please” did you respond with.
“Okay…”
You run your hands on his head, feeling the softness of his white hair, you smile.
“You can have me.”
You heard him curse under his breath as he starts to bite down on your skin even harder, sucking it, and licking the pain away. You sat there, flustered. Your hands gripping the sheets beneath you. His breathing became harsh, frantic, he looks at you, one hand cupping your cheek.
“I love you, MC, but I’m sorry…”
He leans forward, and you close your eyes.
“...I’m at my limit.”
#obey me#obey me mammon#obey me fanfic#obey me fandom#mammon x reader#mammon x mc#obey me mammon x reader#obey me mammon x mc#obey me mammon x you#obey me smut#obey me mammon smut#om mammon#om mammon x reader#om smut
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HEART TO HEART
Rafe Cameron x Reader
Summary: bf!Rafe and gf!Reader moved in together, bf!Rafe helps gf!Reader when it’s her first time using a laptop..
Content: Close proximity, use of the word ‘baby’, moving in together, reader and Rafe are in a live-in relationship
Words: 1.19k words
Authors Note: heyyy so this is a small Drabble I made after I saw a cute reel of a couple. I feel like most my ideas come from reels or TikTok’s of couples😭 but it’s alright cause they always end up being so cute.. HOPE YALL LIKE IT💗💗
(PS I finally figured out how to get gradient text>_<)
Rafe and you had been together for a while now—long enough that the idea of moving in together didn’t feel like a leap but more like a natural progression of your love. You’d both talked about it endlessly, debating everything from rent to how much space you’d need for your things. It wasn’t practical, it wasn’t sensible, but neither of you cared. What mattered was that you couldn’t imagine life without the other. It was stupid, really, but you were both too in love to think about anything else.
It had been a whirlwind of decisions, and in the middle of it all, you had found yourself staring at the laptop you’d been saving for months to buy. It was your first real splurge. Every dollar you’d worked for, every late-night shift, had been towards this moment. You were excited, but you had been hesitant too. It was an investment, an expensive investment at that.
When you finally went to purchase the laptop, Rafe had insisted on helping you out. You tried to resist, explaining that you had saved up for this moment and that you wanted to do it on your own. But Rafe had insisted on paying for half, knowing you’d have to save for more important things soon. Though you were reluctant, you finally gave in, realizing he was right.
Unpacking the boxes in your new condo took longer than expected. Your place was still a bit empty, yet there was an excitement in the air that you couldn’t shake. It wasn’t much yet—just you sitting at the kitchen island, surrounded by scattered boxes. It was cozy in its own way, the space slowly starting to feel like home. You’d claimed the spot on the island chairs by the window overlooking the sea as your own because of the view. The large windows gave you a perfect view of the sea, making it a peaceful place to unwind and relax.
You sat on the chair, legs crossed, finally opening your new laptop. The smooth surface of the keyboard and the glow of the screen felt like a reward for all the hard work that had led to this moment. You clicked a few things, feeling the thrill of something new and shiny. Everything was good. But then, you hit a snag.
The cursor wouldn’t move in the way you wanted it to, and no matter how many times you tried, the issue remained.
You frowned at the screen, clicking at random, but the problem persisted. You leaned back slightly, pushing a hand through your hair as you stared at the screen.
You were determined not to ask for help, convinced that if you tried hard enough, you could figure this out. But the minutes dragged on, and you began to feel the frustration creeping in. It was one of those little things that seemed simple but just wouldn’t budge.
Rafe was across the room, setting up the TV in the living area. Your eyes briefly lingered on him—how focused he looked, how comfortable in his element. You let out a quiet sigh and glanced back at your laptop, trying to work out the problem on your own for a few more minutes. But your fingers hovered over the trackpad, unsure of what to do next.
You shifted in your stool, your patience wearing thin. You couldn’t let yourself keep wasting time on something that was so simple to solve, but you couldn’t quite figure it out. You sighed, calling out, “Rafe? Can you come over for a second?”
He turned from his spot in the living room and immediately walked over. He paused when he reached you, his voice gentle, a slight concern on his face. “What’s wrong, baby?”
You didn’t look up, just pointed at the screen and said, “The cursor’s glitching. I’ve tried everything, but it won’t move right.”
Rafe leaned down slightly, standing beside you. His hand came to rest lightly on your back, rubbing gently. His attention flicked between you and the laptop, but his gaze lingered on you more than anything. He took in your expression—slightly exasperated, but with that familiar determination you always had when you got frustrated. He reached over to the laptop, clicking and adjusting, but his focus was still on you, his chest lightly brushing against your back.
He didn’t immediately lean over, instead standing beside you, his presence both comforting and distracting. You didn’t mind. You loved the warmth of his closeness. He was so gentle, so careful in how he made sure you felt supported.
He glanced at you, then back at the laptop. He hummed thoughtfully, then gently rubbed your back again. “Alright, let’s see…” he said softly, his tone light but assuring.
You didn’t bother turning the laptop toward him, neither did he. Rafe stepped closer, positioning himself behind you, and you could feel his presence envelop you completely. His hands, big and strong, slightly engulfed you, hovered over the laptop keyboard as he adjusted a few things.
You could barely focus on the screen anymore. The closeness of his body, the subtle warmth radiating off him, made it hard to concentrate. The way he moved, the way his breath brushed the skin on your neck—it was enough to make your heart skip a beat and make you smile.
Rafe, unaware of the effect he had on you, continued explaining, his voice low and steady. His hands worked expertly at the laptop, moving the cursor to where it needed to be. But your attention was elsewhere.
You didn’t realize it at first, but when Rafe paused and glanced at you, his brow furrowing slightly, he realized that you weren’t listening to him. You weren’t even looking at the screen anymore. You were lost in the feeling of him being so close.
Rafe tilted his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips when he saw yours. “You’re not even listening to me, are you?” he said softly, his voice teasing but warm.
You opened your eyes, the small smile grew on your lips when you look up at him. “Sorry..” you muttered, but the smile on your face told him you weren’t sorry at all.
Rafe chuckled softly and pressed a light kiss to your temple. His hand rubbed gently over your right upper arm, making your smile widen.
his hands shifted, his right hand moving over your chest to rest lightly on your left upper arm, his left hand still on the keyboard. His gentle touch was a reminder of how much he cared, and you couldn’t help but feel giddy having him so close.
You leaned back into him even more, your head tilting back to rest against his shoulder. Making him lean his head towards yours.
His left hand remained steady at the laptop, but the closeness between you made everything else seem distant. All you cared about was this moment.
Rafe was explaining the issue with the cursor in more detail once again, you focused on the words this time. You kept your hands in your lap, cross-legged on the stool, as you simply allowed yourself to bask in his presence.
#drew starkey#drew starkey x reader#obx fanfiction#outer banks#outer banks fanfiction#rafe cameron#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron imagines#drew starkey x y/n#obx#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron x reader#rafe x you#rafe obx#drew starkey x female reader#drew starkey fluff#rafe cameron fluff#rafe cameron drabble#drew starkey drabble
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─── ̩̩͙✩ sweet like honey, part ii ; steve harrington
summary ─ all it took was a smile from you to bring steve harrington to his knees. now he’s on the mission of a lifetime to find your name.
pairing ─ fem!reader x steve harrington
warning(s) ─ use of she/her pronouns, lovestruck steve, they’re so sweet i want to vomit
word count ─ 2,712
author’s note : so… it took an embarrassingly long time to get this out but here it finally is! i realized a big issue was trying to fit too much in one part so i’ve decided to break it up. there will be a part three, hopefully released way sooner than this one lol. thanks again to those who enjoyed part one, i hope you like this one, too!
─ ♡ amy
read part one here ❤️
The night you left him in the lobby of Scoops, that smitten smile stitched to his face, sleep eluded him. The kind of exhilaration only felt in adolescence coursed through him; the impatient excitement over going back to work the next morning because it’d mean seeing you, hearing that voice laced with saccharine so silky it was as if you were serenading him with every word. Steve replayed your conversation on a loop, focusing on the minute details of it— the slight dimple in your right cheek that appeared each time you smiled at him, the genuine interest that shone in your eyes when he talked, the way his skin tingled under the briefest of touches.
It was a complete enigma as to exactly why a whole body reaction was induced every time he so much as thought of you, never mind the floodgates of nerves that opened when you actually interacted. The mystery did not lie within who you were, but the fact that Steve was having these feelings in the first place.
He was always the one in control, never reduced to a puddle by a simple look or made to stumble over his words. He didn’t spend hours after talking to a girl poring over every word, nerves as every bit on fire as they were in the moment.
The thing was, though, Steve didn’t much care about the why. The one thing he did know was he wanted to hold onto this feeling as long as you allowed it.
For once, the blaring of his morning alarm was not only anticipated, but a welcome relief. Steve took extra care in getting ready that day, making sure his hair did “the thing”, picking out just the right cologne he thought you’d like best based on your own fragrance choices. If only he wasn’t condemned to that asinine navy costume.
In truth, he hadn’t thought it would be very difficult at all to obtain your identity— this was Hawkins, everyone knew everyone.
Steve’s first course of action was a simple one: take a quick walk to the theater on his break and try to catch a glimpse of your name tag, or ask one of your coworkers if you weren’t there.
How hard could it be?
His eyes are a magnet to you at this point, easily catching you kneeling before the candy display located within the velvet ropes of the designated line to the concessions counter, restocking the assortment of sweets. For a second, the purpose of his visit evades him, bewitched once again by the sight of you.
Feeling eyes on you, you turn, and upon seeing him, give a smile that infected his entire being. An almost involuntary one of his own pulls at his lips, unknowingly releasing a flurry of butterflies into your stomach; god, he is so beautiful. The butterflies in your stomach flutter frantically when he walks up to you and offers his hand to assist you in standing. Your fingers slot into his instinctively, fitting together so perfectly a warmth blooms from the touch. Even as you rise and no longer need the support, you both find it difficult to let go.
You try to ignore the disappointment when his hand slips from yours— luckily, the dizziness of being close enough to smell his amber cologne, to see the golden brown embers of his eyes, drowns everything else in an instant.
The sound of your own voice slips out before you realize what you’re saying. “One conversation and suddenly the stalker is comfortable enough to approach me at work.”
“I’m just here for the popcorn, running into you is a complete coincidence.” Steve shrugs casually, hoping he’s successful in concealing just how much he's been not so patiently anticipating this meeting.
“Right.” You cross your arms across your chest, raising a brow as you fix him with a look of sarcastic disbelief matching your tone. “So, your being here has absolutely nothing to do with you hoping you could just walk over here and get my name, just like that?”
“Of course not,” he scoffed, trying (and miserably failing) to appear nonchalant; you find it insanely cute, your gaze filling with more adoration by the second. This act is made even less convincing when he tries to lean on the velvet rope, which obviously was not strong enough to support someone of his build, and begins to fold beneath the weight. You can’t stop the quiet giggle you attempt to stifle with your hand as you watch him hurriedly fumble to straighten back up, face flushing fiercely, and go on as if nothing had happened— you choose to show mercy and let him. “‘Cause that would just be too easy… right?”
You donned an expression of fake sympathy and nodded. “Unfortunately for you, Steve, you would be correct. Everyone here is under the express orders to keep their mouths shut.”
“I think you mean ‘unfortunately for us both’, sweetness.” The pet name slips out without thought, a slight panic building within Steve as he assesses your reaction to it. Meanwhile, it’s as if someone has set off fireworks in your chest, your grin widening and the blush dusting your luminous face deepening just so. Your apparent approval noted and his confidence boosted, he continues. “See, as long as it takes me to do this, you also have to wait for me.”
You clutch your chest dramatically. “And what a tragedy that is, Harrington.”
His brows arch at that, the smile that seems to be permanent in your presence taking an air of teasing. “Oh, so you get to know my full name and I can’t even get a hint of yours?”
The rose in your cheeks intensifies with the realization of what you’d let slip, hoping he doesn't notice as you continue— he totally does, by the way, and finds it absolutely adorable. “In my defense, you do have a bit of a reputation, ‘King Steve’. There are benefits to being anonymous, I guess.”
Steve can only imagine what you meant by the “reputation” associated with that moniker, and none of it was good. The partying, the level of (for the lack of a better word) douchiness, he’d put on to maintain his relationships with people like Tommy and Carol, and the popularity that came with it. Not to mention his dating history. A seed of worry begins to plant itself in the back of his mind, watered by his insecurity— was this why you didn’t tell him your name? Did you think he was still that guy?
As much as the boy tries to conceal it by keeping the aloof grin up, you see the panic flash in the hazel of his eyes, thinking quickly to stop it from heightening any further. “Besides, I kinda like that name you gave me. I’m almost tempted to call this whole thing off just so you’ll keep calling me that.”
Your attempt works, evident by the bashful brightness creeping back into his features. “Does that mean I win this little stalker competition you’ve got going on?”
Your heart flutters pleasantly as he subtly leans closer, the sandalwood of his cologne threatening to overtake your senses. Thankfully, you manage to gather enough brain cells to string the right words together and form a cognitive response. “I’ll have to confer with the other judges and get back to you on that. At the very least, we might be able to award you some bonus points.”
”And who exactly are these other judges?”
“You know I can’t tell you that, in the interest of keeping things fair.”
Steve groans dramatically and shakes his head, that charming smile putting you on the verge of swooning. “You’re killing me, you know that?”
There it is again— your laugh, so genuine and light. He’s made women laugh plenty of times before, but most often it was obviously that thing people do where they fake laugh at all of one's jokes while flirting to appeal to their ego. Yours, on the other hand, makes Steve feel like he’s sitting in front of the fireplace with the softest blanket wrapped around him on a snow fallen day each time he hears it. He adores the way your nose scrunches slightly.
“Yo, Jamie Lee!” A voice breaks the spell, forcing your surroundings to be brought back into focus.
You look in the direction of the sound to find Oliver, one of your closest friends, leaning out the door of Theater One behind Steve, that trademark glint of mischief in his eyes as a smirk plays on his lips. Of course, he knew exactly who Steve was and the context of the challenge you’d given him regarding your identity— and you knew him, he definitely would at least be tempted to mess with you. You shoot your best death glare of warning in his direction, which Oliver pointedly ignores, unphased.
Distracted, you don’t notice Steve’s self doubt trickle back into his mind. He recognizes Oliver from your late night ice cream run to the supermarket the week before, and, similar to that night, reminds himself he has absolutely no reason to be jealous of the apparent closeness you share with him. It’s not a malicious or possessive jealousy, more so a kind of sadness over the time he’s had with you while Steve didn’t even know you existed until a few weeks ago.
“Tell your stalker he'll have to come back later. There’s been a popcorn explosion in row C and some major slushy spillage in the back, and since you lost—”
“Yeah, yeah, save the gloating, Oliver.” You flip him off playfully with one hand and make a shooing motion with the other. “I’ll be right there.”
“Don’t take too long,” Oliver winks suggestively, making you roll your eyes. “The next showing is in 20 minutes.”
Steve quirks a brow, prodding you to explain further as you squat to finish the last few bags of candy. You flush with a pleasant surprise when he drops down to help without a word. “It’s a silly story involving boredom while closing together Friday, and a bet to see who could finish their jobs first. I lost, so I have to clean the big messes for a week. So thanks to Oliver, it seems you get to live to stalk me another day.” Display restocked, Steve rises and extends a hand, and fleeting as it may be, the gentle squeeze he gives yours sends a shiver down each of your bodies. The effects of it linger as you even as you start toward the theater and let go. “Thanks. I guess, I’ll, uh, see you around, Harrington.”
“Until next time, sweetness.” The name falls out before he can stop himself for the second time, worry pricking at the hairs on the back of his neck.
But then you beam at him, the pink in your cheeks warming in the sweetest way, and the churning of anxiety is swiftly replaced with butterflies. “Looking forward to it.”
Needless to say, Robin was sufficiently creeped out by his significantly boosted mood which lasted the rest of the day.
Steve’s next brilliant idea was to look in his yearbook. He now had each divine detail of your perfect face etched into his memory, it would obviously take no time at all to find it amongst the quite small graduating class of Hawkins High. All that would be left is to read the name conveniently printed below the picture. Easy, right? Again, could not be more wrong.
To start, he had no idea where the damn thing even was. Keeping track of things was not exactly a mastered skill of Steve’s. Maybe that had something to do with this “be more responsible” kick his parents had been forcing onto him as of late.
It took him almost two whole days to find it, and for Steve, those two days felt like agonizing weeks.
As fate would have it, the Harrington boy had those two days off from work. Usually, he preferred not to be anywhere near that place on his days of freedom, and yet he still returned to Starcourt each afternoon under the guise of watching over the kids in hopes of talking to you again, but he came to the disappointing conclusion that you had a similar schedule. He even attempted salvaging these trips by trying to persuade your coworkers into revealing that small, yet seemingly impossible bit of information without you around. Much to Steve’s disappointment, you'd already accounted for this and sworn them all to secrecy in the vein of “not making it so easy”, so he came up empty.
Back on the yearbook track, Steve had torn apart every last inch of his room searching for it— multiple times, by the way— and still, nothing. Several other innocuous items were uncovered throughout this thorough hunt, such as forgotten homework and some of his dad’s old Playboys he’d stolen and hidden in his closet all the way back in middle school, but the one thing he actually needed to locate continued to evade him.
The next place to incur his desperate rummaging was his beemer, the only other logical option he could think of. No seat or corner of his trunk was left untouched, and still, no such luck. Just as the sky begins to shift into the blended watercolor of warm pinks and purples of the setting sun, Steve finally slams the trunk shut and turns to dejectedly lean back against it, racking his brain for anything he could try short of begging you for pity the next time he saw you. It felt as if there were some greater force somewhere actively willing him to fail.
Never in his life had he had to put this much effort into asking someone out, let alone getting her name. With each failed attempt so quickly followed by another, his disappointment grows, and for the briefest of moments, he allows the doubt to creep in. Maybe the universe was trying to tell him it just wasn’t meant to be— not because anything was wrong with you, but because he was the undeserving one.
He thought he’d found “the one” with Nancy last year, and it’s no secret how that ended, with her finally going to the person she was actually supposed to be with the whole time. Though admittedly, while he did love her, a lot of that stemmed from this romanticization of the high school sweethearts who live happily ever after passed onto him from a young age. He now knew it was never going to work out that way for them in the long run, neither of their hearts were fully in it. But still, theirs had been Steve’s first meaningful relationship, the only one to last more than a couple of casual weeks before he’d end it with them, and the loss of it cut deeply into his self confidence.
What would he even do if he did uncover your name in time? Surely, even if you did say yes to giving him a chance at the end of all this, he’d just end up doing something to screw it up. Maybe you’d be better off if he gave up now, before he had the chance to complicate everything.
But then, that alluring smile of yours, the goosebumps that pricked at his entire body whenever you touched him, the infectious brightness in your eyes each time you looked at him infiltrated his brain. As selfish of him as it may be, he knew he needed to try. Even if whatever you and he ended up building is temporary, you were worth it. That much he was confident about.
His morale refreshed, Steve is hit with a realization: he couldn’t find the damn yearbook because he didn’t have it.
Knowing he wasn’t that great at being organized, Dustin had taken it after graduation for “safekeeping and research purposes”. There was just one problem— Dustin was away at some nerdy science camp for three more weeks. No way was Steve waiting nearly a month for that kid to come back. Luckily, he knew of someone else who’d have a copy of the Hawkins High yearbook.
Nancy.
─── ̩̩͙✩
tags: @johnricharddeacy
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#stranger things#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington drabble
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IYCRTTBFO - Joel Miller x reader
Summary/ warmings: dbf! Joel is also a cam model, a lot of masturbation, a lot of dirty talk, nudes, light(ish) daddy kink, sex toy mentions, and use, cunnilingus, filming, creampies, at least two references to Wheeler Walker Jr. songs, big fat age gap, Sara delegated to Joel's niece, author loves dilfs, especially this one, author entered a fugue state and this emerged
You couldn't sleep. It started at college, when you were working part-time while doing your masters thesis. Your night shift ended at 2.30 in the morning. Then, by the time you went to bed, you were struggling to shake off the buzzing energy. Your body was tired, and your mind was elsewhere. So you turned to the only true, tried and tested method of getting yourself to sleep. Masturbation. Low effort, porn video you've already watched, finger rubbing your clit, masturbation. It worked for about a week. Then your "sessions" got longer. And longer. You had to spend an hour now, chasing your orgasm. Begging yourself to cum. Getting more frustrated and then practically passing out like a log. You got good sleep out of it. But also it was getting painful. Your clit would hurt, a short stabbing pain taking your mind off of your thesis critique. Not that you were too keen on hearing about the feedback on your research model. So you were going to quit, cold turkey style. On the one hand, your insomnia persisted. Now you had replaced porn with your self assigned reading. But that did not help you sleep, just made you more cranky. Your cycadian rhythm was fucked beyond belief. So you moved through life half- asleep, always spending your days off napping. Morning meetings were rough and when you slept through an internship interview at 1, you knew enough was enough.
Back to flicking the bean to not be mean. You just figured you needed a change of scenery, so to speak. You considered OnlyFans, ready to be shelling out your hard earned cash for tasteful nudes (perhaps those of Markiplier or something like that). But that wouldn't be personal enough. You tried audio stuff, but the JOIs weren't really catered to you. Yes, they had your kinks. Or the pet names you liked. But never together, never quite enough. And call it conditioning, but you wanted something familiar. A certain Austin draw, a slice of the Texas you were far away from. But alas, your cowboy was not on Quinn or soundgasm. So you went old-school.
Girls like you weren't even supposed to know about camming sites. It was such a retro thing, more of your father's and Joel's generation. But it was thanks to the former's inability to delete a browser history that you were here. The landing page of the website was fine. You had to make the choice of looking at women, men, couples, or the trans category. Craving to see a solo cumshot, you click on "male". You should've expected that even here, it would be geared towards other guys, like most porn was. The tags of the rooms said it all. Anal. Fuckmachine. Party. But as you refreshed the home page again, someone caught your eye. It was a guy in a cowboy hat over his face. His tip goal was simple, promising a glimpse of him shirtless. It was the amount of tokens needed that amazed you, it was so high. Seriously, from your little time on the website, you could see this was a bit too self assured. But he was getting there. You clicked the video, morbid curiosity taking over. This and his username of thicktexanbeercan. A man after your own heart.
People flood in, apparently the red color of their usernames means they're part of a fan club? You wanna learn more, so you click through the whole thing. The "cam boy" or "cam man" or whatever you were supposed to call him was just welcoming people. There were other newbies like you because you were half-listening to him explaining about his mic.
"You can hear me so clearly cause I have it clipped to my neck on a fucking chocker. Which you guys should've let die in the 90s btw." You're looking at his tags of #monster cock, #daddy, #master and #orgasmguide. And when someone voices your thought of "some of us weren't even born in the 90s." you found out why. He reads it out and snorts.
"Look at you, so young and already a pathetic little pervert watching older men. What, daddy didn't love you enough, babydoll? So now you gotta come here at night and tune into me stroking my cock for you. Wishing you were on your knees, trying to take it in your bratty little mouth?". The donations explode. The sound effects of coins reverberate through your headphones. The goal is met and the stream has been on for only 15 minutes. You can't see him smile, but you can feel it, by the way his shoulders relax.
"You're such a good girl tonight, spoiling your old man. So needy, already wanting me to take off my clothes. I will, little slut, just let daddy take care of something first." He rolls his chair to the desk and takes his keyboard. You chuckle at the faded and yellowed stickers on it, they vaguely reminded you of something. The man can touch type and you've never wanted to be a pair of keys more in your life. The goal's adjusted, promising whipped cream on his chest. As he fiddles with the camera angles and wonders aloud how to best give you a show, you hover to his bio tab. The man intrigues you. Under real name, he put “Can't tell you, but my screen name is a pun”, so you guess it's Bud or even Sam Addams. His age is listed as late 40s, and when you see a glimpse of his salt and pepper chest hair, it makes sense.
This guy intrigues you. Instead of rubbing one out, you're scrolling further. There's pictures and videos. While there's one of him wearing assless chaps for free (which quickly gets saved to your phone gallery), the rest is behind a paywall. Videos of him cumming or even simple things like doing push-ups. Your palms are itching and you know your payday is coming soon. But before you end up buying a filthy mp4, you go back to the stream.
Somehow, he had made taking off a flannel sexy. Rubbing his fingers against his chest. Touching his happy trail. Then someone in the chat asked, "How much to see the good stuff?" He reads it out, chuckles, and presses a few keys, making a tip menu appear in the chat. It has the usual stuff, promises of flashing his cock or flexing his biceps. C2C and PMs (which you had learned stood for cam to cam and private messages). Then, was the more personal stuff. Nudes rating (5 photos), praise, degradation, ddlg. He clearly knew what people wanted. Was it what he craved as well, you wondered? Then came "the goods" the other person was probably talking about. Jerking off, cumming, even using a vibrator or a fleshlight on himself.
You wondered how long it would take to see the self-described "thicktexanbeercan.". But thanks to someone just as horny as you, if not more, it would be almost immediately. When the tip for "jerking off" came through, he said the person's username and then asked, "How do I thank you, using my southern charm or Austin dirtbag style?"
When the person replied with "dirtbag style," also my pronouns are she/they."he presumably glanced at the message. Probably keeping eye contact with the camera, he reaches for his belt.
"Thank you for being horny, I guess. Desperate little thing, that doesn't like to wait. Impatient darling, needing to see daddy pump his cock for you. Gonna show you exactly what you wanna see, baby.". The belt is on the ground and his jeans are around his ankles. Never did you think that a guy simply taking off his pants would be so hot. Your gaze trails from his delicious thighs to his boxers. Holy shit, even by his outline you can tell that his username isn't an exaggeration.
He pulls it out and it's the prettiest and biggest cock you've ever seen. His hand wraps around it, one slow pump he thrust into, back arching. Then he folds one arm behind his head and turns straight into the camera. You like the mystery, but wish he would show his face. His voice is breathy, he obviously likes what he's doing. And his thrusts are speeding up.
His chat is going crazy, tokens pouring in.
"You like what you see, huh? Bet you're aching to touch yourself, too. Go on, spread your pretty legs for me, and give me a show, too.". Before you know it, you're following his instructions. Pajama pants quickly pulled down, you touch yourself. And God damn, are you wet. You're fucking dripping, for this stranger on the internet. You don't have time to be embarrassed. You trail a finger against your opening, gathering the slick. Then you touch your clit, rubbing it slow and then gradually speeding up. But it's so much more intense, it's fucking electric. You glance at the clock on your phone. Look back at the man on the stream, his chest, his cock. And in a minute you're cumming. Eyes closed, pussy getting tighter and clenching around nothing orgasm. You close the stream, mortified. You go to bed and have the best sleep of your life.
By the next stream, you have an account, and you follow him. He acknowledges that, and you're tempted to already start touching yourself. But it's a Friday night, you've promised yourself that weekends are for yourself. Seeing that you pushed for Saturdays off, one would think you'd need to be up, bright and early, and going somewhere. But not this time. You had planned a slow day, where you catch up on laundry and read. But before the weekend was this. You caught on to today's stream a bit too late. Your cowboy (a middle-aged man that probably didn't know you existed) was already shirtless. He had a loofah and a mug filled with water next to him.
"One of y'all suggested I try temporary tattoos. Now, I had to go to the grocery store and get weird looks as I pumped quarters in a machine. So you better enjoy them. Or actually, if I find good ones online, I'm adding them to the wishlist.". He moves off camera and holds up two sheets of temporary tattoos, very tribal and barbed wire inspired. The other is surprisingly butterflies and unicorns.
He unbuttons his pants and lowers his boxers. You can see just the tip, straight as a ram rod. You can't help but wonder if he gets off on being watched. Your head gets filled with fantasies of him and you. Embarrassingly you're picturing him pulling out his pecker in a mundane place like Walmart and fucking you in the aisles. Maybe you just need to do better groceries, you think looking at the takeout bag from the restaurant you just spent 8 hours in. There were enough chicken nuggets in there to feed a family. You get your mind back in the gutter when the performer moans. You stare at the screen. His torso is covered in the temporary tattoo, and he's strategically placed the barbed wire around his nipples. As he drags the wet loofah against his pelvis, he groans.
"God, this is cold. Wish you were here, to warm up my cock. With your mouth or cunt or ass. Filling you so well."
This time, you come before he's even pulled out his dick. Yet you keep watching. A second orgasm gets squeezed out of you later, with the help of your dildo. When "beercan" reaches a crazy tip goal, he fucks his fleshlight. He's merciless, using the pocket pussy like a cocksleeve, whispering the most obscene stuff.
"You like that? You like it when daddy fucks you like this. Of course you do. You're so tight for me, yet you take my big cock so well. Trained you well, didn't I? Made my own little whore, that needs my cum. Beg for it.". And you do, miles away from this stranger. You orgasm with him, sex toy deep inside of you. He cums and makes the stream watch as he cleans the fleshlight with the same loofah he used earlier.
That stream basically breaks you. For some reason two intense orgasm equal a very productive day then. You're a new person. You study and work better and no longer need to fuck yourself to sleep. That you stranger whose name is Bud or Sam Addams or Miller. Not that you drink the latter anyway, so it never crosses your mind. After all, Joel is older, in his mid 50s. But what he's not above is lying on the internet. Using the world wide web to show his nasty bits to the world. And what he'd soon realize is that his best friend's daughter isn't too.
After finishing your masters thesis, you come to the harrowing reality that there's no jobs for you here. And then comes your dad's constant pestering to come home. You reject him at first. There's nothing left for you in Texas anymore, besides the family house. But then, a former high school mentor posts a job opening on their Instagram story. And it's perfect for you, aside from the fact it's in Austin. You off handedly mention it to your parents, after immediately applying. You don't expect to get it. But with interviews and all, you do. They even allow you to start a bit later, making sure you work off your part-time job shifts.
So you take the plunge and buy plane tickets. There's only one problem. The flight is so early that you'd practically have to leave your empty apartment at 4 in the morning. So you decide to pull an allnighter. You're not sure how you end up back on the chat room site. You don't even know if "thicktexanbeercan" still cams. But as you click on the page, you get a notification that he's in a live show. Feeling bold tonight, you know you wanna be a bit more adventurous. Call it what you will, but you need a shake-up. After so much uncertainty, you need to do something so out of character.
You feel the money in your pocket burns a hole in it. Yes, packing your stuff and sending it back wasn't cheap. Nor was the last-minute plane ticket (even with Spirit airlines). But you had sold a lot of your things, gotten your rental deposit back, and got your days off comped as overtime. So you were, technically, on the flipside. Now, responsible people would put that into savings. You were spending it on tokens. You wanted to be seen. So you tipped for "nudes review." Truth is, ever since your last partner in freshman year of college, it was a string of bad hookups and boring first dates. No one had seen you naked in a while. But that didn't mean you didn't have nudes. Nope, you liked taking shots of yourself in compromising positions. After all, your pretty lingerie deserved to be shown off.
So you mindlessly sent over 4 shots via the opened pm option. He moves a large IPad in front of his face to obscure it. His ever-present cowboy hat is moved to his head as he stares at your pictures. He strokes his cock, at his usual fast pace.
"Jesus fuck, darling, aren't you a treasure. Look at that ass, so perky. It would look good in red, after I'm done with you. Let's see the next one, oh, you're doing the hand bra thing. Need someone to fondle your tits, huh. Don't worry, I'd grope them for you. Put my mouth on them, tease your sensitive nipples. Fuck, let's see the third. Damn, you're stark fucking naked. What a little whore you are, showing me everything. Don't know if I wanna think about your boobs again or your hips or your pussy. Might just stick around and look at it. Only one more, okay. Fuck, that's my favorite one, doll. Even though you should've been more careful. You forgot to crop out your face. I can see your needy expression as you're rubbing your clit. Hand in your lacy black panties, must have been a special night. Who in their right mind would have let you go instead of fucking you right against the mirror you're using as a prop. Don't worry, I'll make it right. I'll give you a tribute, right here. How's that sound, darling? You want this old man to cover your photo with his cum in front of thousands of people?".
Any fear or shame you've had is long gone. You don't only want that, you need it. You type a "please, daddy" in the chat. His groan fills your headphones. He fumbles, balancing his hat on his nose. For the first time, you see a glimpse of his face. His tongue wets his lips as he zooms on the iPad, making sure that others only see from your chest down. He jerks his cock over it, painting his screen with spurts of his cum.
"That was intense, think I'll put you on hold for a bit. It's been a while since a first orgasm drained me like that. Daddy will be back soon." He says and pauses the broadcast. Truth is, his cock would be hard again in a minute. It was the fact that he came to you that was haunting him. His best friend's daughter. A girl who was younger than his niece. A woman who was coming back to Texas after leaving as a 19 year old. Then you were still awkward and Joel would never look at you twice. You were a child, for God's sake. But now, some years later you had shed your baby face. You were a fucking bombshell. And he was about to implode.
After a whirlwind rest of the stream, you go to the airport and catch your flight. Despite being a full-grown adult, your parents insist on picking you up. You're back in your childhood bedroom, surrounded by boxes of your new life. You notice that some stuff from before is missing.
"Hey dad, where's the old blueetoth keyboard we bought when the laptop was on the fritz? Might need it for work." You ask. You're sure you can easily write down notes on your phone or on paper. But there was something satisfying about hooking up your old iPad to a keyboard and typing. Maybe it's the fact that it got you through college twice that has you feeling sentimental. Maybe it's the truth that your parents didn't know you bought it, and now you had to use it daily to justify spending money on it. Either way, your dad replied with
"Oh, I gave that to Joel. He said he was starting some new call center job and needed it. Working on European projects, so he's always busy at night. Must pay a pretty penny, he's always got packages on his doorstep. You should see his new pickup truck too, she's a beauty." Your father said.
"Didn't need the whole prologue, dad. Can you just get it back?" You ask.
"Now come on honey, you're a grown woman. You can go over and ask him yourself. He's not gonna eat you." Your dad insists, and you have to agree. With a resigned "At least text him and tell him I'm on the way.", you go. There's no use arguing. You can not explain to your dad that when you were 19, you wanted nothing more than Joel taking your virginity. That now, years after, you still wouldn't mind a sip of that can of Miller.
One of the reasons your dad and Joel were friends was the fact that you could get to the latter's house in about 15 minutes. You're there in less, ringing the doorbell and waiting. Joel emerges in a moss green bathrobe and grey sweatpants. His hair is tousled, and it's obvious that he was sleeping. You'd feel bad if he didn't greet you with a
"What the fuck do you want, I ain't buying anything. Oh. It's you. Hey, kiddo.". Your eyes go to the mat on his front porch, but not before taking in his cock. Was he hard? Had you interrupted an intimate moment? You mumble something about "wireless keyboard" and "borrowing it back, please" when he leads you in. If he had a lady friend, she was as quiet as a church mouse.
"It's in the guest room. Had to convert into a sort of home office, after getting a desk job, so many years as a contractor. Got hard on my back. Wanted to enjoy doing nothing, then Sara got knocked up again. Just like Tommy, both of them can't stop having kids. So now I have to be rich gruncle Joel. And I don't know why I'm telling you this instead of just getting the keyboard." He says. Joel pops in, but he doesn't close the door all the way. Peeking in through the hole, it seems familiar. Like you've seen it before, but recently. You shrug off the deja vu and take the keyboard from him. But as he hands it to you, familiar stickers facing you, you piece it together.
"Thicktexanbeercan" had the same one. And you recognized it because you "decorated" it as a sticker obsessed teen. There was no way. Mr. Miller was not camming. You had not orgasmed to him dirty talking to you. And most importantly, he had not come all over a photo of your tits. It was just a huge, cosmic coincidence. But there was only one way to find out.
The wait until your first paycheck was too long, yet you had to endure. There is no way you were taking money out of your savings to fulfill possibly Joel's wishlist. So when that sum hit your bank account, you expertly navigated to thicktexanbeercan's page. Clicking on the shop icon, you choose to ignore that the man is selling his nudes, his underwear, and his socks. Though tempted by the Polaroids of his cock, you move on. You buy the custom temporary tattoos, a callback to a previous stream. Your pussy twitches at the memory and you're quick to suppress your urges. You send your "requirements" to the Amazon seller and hope they get them ready soon. You also secretly order some for yourself, shipping them to a friend's house. You start tuning into the streams regularly, watching them all the way through. Your coworkers have the grace to not comment. Especially since the nightly nsfw is always in the background of something else. So you're doing research on one screen, while listening to maybe Joel call you a nasty whore for watching him.
TGIF was never your thing, until this one. Your cowboy walked in with a package, his address dutifully scribbled out. He opens it and out comes the sheet of temporary tattoos.
"Oh, someone's been watching me for some time, huh. Can't get enough of me inked. Well, I aim to please, so let's get this show on the road.". Beercan undresses to his boxers and starts examining the tattoos.
"Whoever picked these out is one creative motherfucker. I like them.". He starts showing them off to the camera, chuckling about the "save a horse, ride a cowboy" and subsequently the "don't ride a horse, but I'm hung like one". But one in particular makes him tick.
"Your throat goes here? Really, sweetheart? You expect me to walk around with that, to make you all see it as I stroke my cock for you? Fuck it, it's my job to give you a good show." He peels off two of those and places them on the space between his thumb and pointer finger. Was he? He was. Thicktexanbeercan was gonna live up to his name, by using both hands to jerk off.
He's fast, wanting this to end. His Friday shows weren't that popular, so no use milking it. Now, on Saturdays, that's when most people tune in. It's better to save his stamina for then. But you and the chat had other plans. You had mobilized them as he was busy answering questions earlier. Now, he would get enough tokens for a cumshot. Maybe Joel really aims to please. So he goes for it, double orgasm, sure. Then, as soon as that one's over, another. He barks at the chat that he doesn't like being bossed around like that. But you have him cumming until he's shooting blanks. After he just shuts off the stream and goes to bed after running a wet towel on his stomach, to wipe off the cum.
Less than 8 hours later, there's a constant ring of his doorbell. He opens and you're standing there, looking so fuckable his cock stands to attention. You're wearing a skimpy outfit and your lips are shiny with a pinkish gloss. But that doesn't stop him from wondering why you're gracing his doorstep like an angel sent straight from hell.
“I need help picking out a present for my dad.” You say.
“Sweetpea, I know you've been away for a while, but that doesn't change the fact that your dad's birthday isn't for months.” he replies.
"I know. It's not for that. I fucked up and broke something of his. Can you help me?" You ask.
"Sure, what do you need from me?" He counters.
"I think I wanna be stereotypical and get him something stereotypically dad-like. Like a craft beer, something he can crack open with the boys. And since you're "the boys," I'm here. Need a recommendation for a thick Texan beercan." You watch him react. He twitches like a rabbit spooked by a stick snapping.
"So you know. But I'm sure your parents wouldn't be thrilled by the fact that you're watching porn. Have you ever donated, I wonder. Bought something with their hard earned money. Straight from your father's wallet to your daddy." Joel counters, not missing the way your eyes glaze over when he calls yourself your daddy. But you are not won over so easily.
"You're a liar. Late 40s, my ass. Late 40s when you last had to change your ID or what? I could expose you. I'm sure the girlies and the rest watching you would love to know they were scammed. Tinder swindler, but worse."
"What do you want?" He tries.
"As Lana del Rey said, put me in the movie. Let me be in a video." You demand.
"Come back at night, around 9. Get something to cover your face too. Don't need someone recognizing you." He says.
You follow his instructions like an obedient puppy. You make up excuses to your parents. Your cunt's shaved, your outfit is complete and you're not wearing underwear. Joel drags you in, literally. He looks at the pink cowboy hat you have in hand and chuckles.
"No saying my name, preferably not saying much. Just follow my lead, and I'll make you feel good. If you wanna stop, what do you say?" He lists clinically.
"Light beer," you say, acknowledging the pun behind his moniker. You should've figured this out way earlier.
He half laughs, half looks disappointed at your bad pun. You know he's gonna get you back for this , sooner or later. You just desperately hope it's with his dick.
Joel starts the stream. He makes you sit in his chair as he gets a bit closer to the camera. You can see him, mic clipped to chocker and all. He speaks to his chat, introducing you as a "special cowgirl guest.".
"Bet you all wanna take her place. I'm sure she can tell you all about it. If she can speak after I'm done with her anyway." He continues. You wanna protest, to bite back with a comment. But he crawls between your legs, placing kisses up to your pussy. And you are speechless. The fact that you can see him, dark brown eyes and gorgeous roman nose is too much. He's even revealing the top of his greying hair. You grip it and bring him closer to your center. He chooses to lick and suck your clit instead and you moan so loud, even the felt of your hat doesn't muffle it.
"Gonna make you extra wet so you can take my cock, doll. Would you like that?" He asks and you reply with "yes, daddy". You can hear him extra crisp, the audio bouncing around the room. It's all too much, every fantasy of yours coming to life. You come against him, riding it out.
"You ready for more, my little fuckdoll? Can I?" He asks. You plead, you tell him you need him.
Joel makes sure to zoom the camera to your sopping cunt, showing you off to the chat. He fiddles with it, making sure it captures your greed. He sits on the chair, swatting your ass to get you up. Legs trembling, you do. He unzips his jeans, the sound as familiar to you as a notification on your phone. He puts it against you, just to give his viewers a preview on how deep he was gonna be in you.
"You think I'll fuck her up. Make this pussy memorize the shape of my cock. Let's give this pretty doll her first cervix bruising, shall I?" He says. He slides his cock in you in one swoop motion, not caring about the stretch.
"Just like that." You moan, dangerously close to saying his name. Joel spreads your legs and fucks into you. He's all grunts and swears, gone is his dirty talk. His hands are grabby, squeezing your thighs. He's so pussy whipped that he says
"Let me come inside you. Please. Need to.". The "yes, yes, daddy" is enough for him to do so and continue thrusting in you until he's soft. Joel rolls the chair forward, "manually zooming" his camera. His audience gets a pretty shot of his cum dripping out of you before the broadcast cuts out. He helps you up and draws a bath. If the camming paid for the clawfoot tub you saw, hell you'd join in more.
"You know, what we did was wrong. But it sure as hell felt right. I'm not saying we should do this daily. But maybe instead of both of us getting off on each other from afar, we can do it together." He asks, almost a schoolboy confession.
“Yes Joel, I wanna fuck you again too. Now shut and let me enjoy my life after taking your thick Texan beercan.”
#dbf!joel#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller smut#joel miller imagine#the last of us smut#dbf!joel x reader#dbf!joel smut
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A Hard Day's Night
Sam Carpenter x Reader
One-Shot
Summary: After a hard day's night, only you know what to do to make Sam feel okay.
Warning(s): References to past trauma, brief mentions to workplace harassment, no pronouns, and they kiss and bathe together but it's not explicit.
Notes: More one-shot angst coming your way. Here's a soft blow in the mean time!
You hear Sam before you see her - the jangle of keys, the tired thud of her bag hitting the floor, and an exhausted sigh that seems to come from somewhere deep in her soul. Working at a coffee shop might not be as intense as some of her past experiences, but you know how draining customer service can be, especially for someone carrying as much weight on their shoulders as Sam does.
"I'm home," she calls out, her voice carrying a slight rasp of fatigue. You peek around the corner from the kitchen, where you've been preparing a surprise dinner, and catch sight of her slumped against the doorframe. Her dark hair is coming loose from its ponytail, and there's a coffee stain on the sleeve of her work shirt.
"Rough day?" you ask softly, already knowing the answer from the way she's holding herself - shoulders tight, jaw clenched just a bit too hard. Some habits die hard, even now that things have settled down.
Sam lets out a hollow laugh, running a hand through her hair. "You could say that. Some guy spent fifteen minutes arguing with me about the difference between a macchiato and a latte. Then had the nerve to tell me I should 'smile more.'" She rolls her eyes, but you can see the tension radiating through her frame.
"Come here," you say, opening your arms. She hesitates for just a moment - another old habit, that instinct to stay guarded - before crossing the room and melting into your embrace. You can feel some of the rigidity leave her body as she presses her face into your shoulder.
"You smell like garlic bread," she mumbles against your shirt, and you can feel her smile.
"That's because I'm making your favorite - my grandmother's lasagna recipe." You press a kiss to her temple. "I had a feeling you might need some comfort food tonight."
She pulls back slightly, looking up at you with those expressive eyes that first drew you in. "You didn't have to do that."
"I wanted to," you say simply, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Besides, you've been working so hard lately. You deserve to be taken care of sometimes."
The vulnerability that flashes across her face makes your heart ache. Sometimes you forget how new this still is for her - having someone who wants to take care of her, no strings attached, no hidden agendas. Just love, pure and simple.
"The lasagna needs another twenty minutes," you continue, letting your hands slide down to her shoulders, feeling the knots of tension there. "How about you go change into something comfortable, and I'll run you a bath?"
"With the lavender bath salts?" she asks, a hint of playfulness creeping into her voice.
"Of course. Only the best for my overworked barista."
She laughs - a real laugh this time, not the hollow sound from before - and stretches up to press a soft kiss to your lips. "What did I do to deserve you?"
"Existed," you reply simply, earning another kiss.
While Sam changes out fo her cloths, you busy yourself running the bath, adding her favorite lavender bath salts and lighting a few candles. The bathroom fills with soft, warm light and soothing scents. You can hear her humming quietly in the bedroom - a habit she's picked up from you, though she'd never admit it.
When she emerges in her favorite towel, her face freshly washed and hair loose around her shoulders, your breath catches a little. Even after all this time, moments like these still get to you - seeing her soft and unguarded, trusting you with these vulnerable moments.
"Bath's ready whenever you are," you say, pulling her close again. "Want me to wash your hair?"
She practically purrs at the suggestion. "Yes, please." Then, after a pause: "Join me?"
You raise an eyebrow. "What about the lasagna?"
"We can reheat it," she says, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. "Right now, I just want to be close to you."
How can you resist when she looks at you like that? You set a timer on your phone for the lasagna, then follow her into the bathroom. The steam has made everything slightly hazy, the candlelight creating dancing shadows on the walls. Sam strips off her clothes without ceremony - she's never been shy around you - and sinks into the hot water with a contented sigh.
You take your time undressing, watching as she tilts her head back against the edge of the tub, eyes closed, tension visibly melting from her frame. When you slide in behind her, she immediately leans back against your chest, fitting perfectly in the space between your legs.
"Better?" you murmur, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.
"Mmm," she hums in agreement. "Much better."
You reach for the shampoo, working it through her dark strands with gentle fingers. Sam practically melts under your touch as you massage her scalp, working out the tension from the day. It's these quiet moments you treasure most - when all the walls come down, when she lets herself be completely vulnerable with you.
"Want to talk about it?" you ask softly, knowing sometimes she needs to process things out loud.
She's quiet for a moment, letting you work the conditioner through her hair. "It's not just the annoying customers," she finally says. "It's… everything. Sometimes I still catch myself looking over my shoulder, expecting… you know." She doesn't have to finish the thought. You know all too well what ghosts she's carrying.
"That's normal," you remind her gently, running your fingers through her hair to work out any tangles. "After everything you've been through? It would be weird if you didn't have those moments."
She turns slightly in your arms, water lapping at the edges of the tub. "How do you always know exactly what to say?"
"Because I know you," you reply simply. "And I love you. All of you - even the parts that are still healing."
The vulnerability in her eyes takes your breath away. She leans in, kissing you slow and deep, her wet hands coming up to cup your face. You can taste the trust on her lips, the gratitude, the love that sometimes still overwhelms her with its intensity.
When you break apart, she rests her forehead against yours. "I love you too," she whispers. "So much it scares me sometimes."
"Good thing you're the bravest person I know then," you say with a soft smile, earning a quiet laugh.
You stay in the bath until the water starts to cool and your timer goes off, reminding you about dinner. Sam protests when you insist on getting out, but the promise of food - and more cuddles - eventually convinces her. You wrap her in your fluffiest towel, pressing kisses to her shoulders as you help her dry off.
The lasagna is perfect when you pull it out of the oven, the cheese golden and bubbling. Sam inhales deeply, closing her eyes in appreciation. "God, that smells amazing."
You serve up generous portions, adding garlic bread on the side, and settle onto the couch rather than at the table. Sam curls into your side immediately, balancing her plate on her lap. The first bite draws a moan of appreciation that makes you grin.
"Good?" you ask, already knowing the answer.
"Perfect," she sighs contentedly. "You're perfect."
You kiss her temple. "Far from it. But I try my best for you."
The evening settles into a comfortable rhythm after that. You put on one of her favorite movies - something light and funny, nothing with too much violence or suspense - and she gradually relaxes completely against you, her head in your lap as you run your fingers through her damp hair.
"Thank you," she says softly during a quiet moment in the film. "For taking care of me tonight. For always taking care of me."
"Always," you promise, meaning it with every fiber of your being. "You've carried enough weight on your own. Let me help shoulder some of it."
She turns her face into your stomach, hiding the emotion you know is written across it. You don't push, just keep stroking her hair, letting her process in her own time. When she looks back up at you, her eyes are slightly wet but there's a smile on her face.
"Move in with me," she says suddenly, pushing herself up to look at you properly.
You blink, caught off guard. "What?"
"Move in with me," she repeats, more confident now. "You're here most nights anyway. And… I sleep better when you're here. Everything's better when you're here."
Your heart feels like it might burst. "Are you sure? I know how important having your own space is to you…"
"You are my safe space," she says simply, and oh, how those words make your chest ache with love for her. "Please? Say yes?"
As if there was ever any doubt. "Yes," you breathe, pulling her into a kiss that says everything words can't quite capture. She laughs against your lips, bright and happy, and you can feel her smile.
"We can start moving your stuff this weekend," she says excitedly, already making plans. "The closet in the spare room can be your office space - I know you need somewhere quiet to write. And-"
You cut her off with another kiss, amused and charmed by her enthusiasm. "Slow down, love. We've got all the time in the world to figure it out."
She settles back against you, practically glowing with happiness. "All the time in the world," she repeats softly, like she's testing out how the words feel. "I like the sound of that."
Later, when you're both in bed, Sam curled around you like she's afraid you might disappear, you think about how far she's come. How far you both have come. From those first tentative conversations over coffee, to helping her work through her trauma, to building this life together - every step has been worth it.
"I can hear you thinking," she mumbles sleepily against your neck.
You smile into the darkness. "Just thinking about how lucky I am."
She makes a noise of disagreement. "I'm the lucky one."
"How about we're both lucky?" you compromise, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"Mm, deal," she agrees, already drifting off. "Love you."
"Love you too," you whisper, holding her close as her breathing evens out into sleep. "Sweet dreams, my brave girl."
And as you follow her into sleep, you think about tomorrow, and all the tomorrows after that. About building a life together, one day at a time, helping each other heal and grow and love. It won't always be easy - you both know that better than most - but nights like this remind you that it will always, always be worth it.
Because at the end of a hard day's work, this is what matters: coming home to each other, finding peace in each other's arms, and knowing that whatever comes next, you'll face it together.
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A/N: "He can talk, then, can he?" - "Of course, he can talk. He's a human being, isn't he?" - "Well if he's your grandfather, who knows? Ha ha ha ha!"
#sam carpenter x you#sam carpenter x reader#sam carpenter x gn!reader#sam carpenter x y/n#sam carpenter x female reader#sam carpenter#melissa barrera x you#melissa barrera x reader#melissa barrera
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Imagine your f/o showing you more nontraditional and quieter forms of affection:
Imagine them cutting fruit for you to snack on and leaving it by you without a word. making you little things—such as origami or doodles and giving them to you. Bringing you things they know you like and things they find interesting, like pretty rocks and hand picked wild flowers. Taking photos of you while you aren’t looking and admiring them in private. They take notice of the simple things you enjoy and sneak you gifts while you aren’t looking, getting you bookmarks and keychains and other things around your interests. They may not be able to say they love you, be it from shyness, nerves, a sense of shame/”this is too corny”, or some other reason, but they will show you in so many little ways.
Imagine them placing a hand on your shoulder. Pointing out a mistake with your hair and fixing it before you can do it. Sitting next to you with your skin barely touching or perhaps not even touching at all. focusing solely on you and you alone—because you are the only thing of importance to them. always hovering around and unable, or perhaps not daring, to touch you for longer than a moment. They may not be able to hug and kiss you, be it from shyness, nerves, a sense of shame/insecurity, but they will still find other, quieter ways, to show you affection.
Imagine them alone thinking about your laughs, the things you find amusing and delightful, the brightness of your smile, how badly they wanted to kiss and hold and tell you how much they love you and feeling so overwhelmed with unspoken love and barely shown affection for you that builds up with nowhere to go.
Imagine them hiding doodles they made of you in a sketchbook/diary/notes app. Seeing things in stores they know you’ll like and wanting to buy it for you. Looking in the mirror disheveled and gripping the sink wondering how they fell so hard for you.
Imagine them listening to you rambling and “I love you” forms in the back of their throat but nothing comes out. Imagine them needing you to know, needing to show you, just how much they care and finding little ways to do so that is comfortable for them.
They may not be loud and open about their feelings, but your f/o loves you all the same.
proship/darkship/neutral DNI
#f/o imagines#f/o imagine#imagine your f/o#imagine your fictional other#self shipping#self shipping community#self ship community#selfship community#safeshipping#safeship#self ship imagine#self ship blog#imagine your self ship#f/o scenarios#safeship community#long post#long post cw#Pikes don't look
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pls do Kiramman x femme reader I am BEGGING
Title: The Archivist
Ship: Female!Reader x Caitlyn Kiramman
Wordcount:2783
Summary: After becoming the Sheriff of Piltover Caitlyn simply has too many messes to clean up. The Archivist in the basement that Marcus hired is the furthest down on her list. She certainly didn't expect you.
Dt: The amazing @ittynyte ❤️
Warnings: Canon typical violence, mentions of ownership, contracts, enforcers being enforcers, alcohol, vomit ,an unhealthy amount of italics, horrible grammar because I don't beta,(let me know if I missed anything pls)
[A/n: This got away from me. Full disclaimer it was supposed to be absolutely filthy and it turned into Caitlyn being kind of soft but uh, anyone one up for some buddy-enforcer-fucked-nasty stuff later? I can provide that! Seemed wrong for the tone. Depends on the response!]
Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests
Caitlyn Kiramman expected the dead stored away in the archives to remain tight lipped. She certainly didn’t anticipate the soft crooning of a jazz singer over a shrill trumpet, screaming over a muted piano. Nor did she expect the sullen scent of dust when she knew very well that she pressed the golden nib of a fountain pen to a check to prevent just that sort of decay.
Very rarely, if ever, did Caitlyn find herself in the vast archives of the station. She was much too interested in solving the constant rotation of files that seemed to pedal across her desk, the instances that were deemed much too important for those that wore their badges on their hip and not around their throats, not close enough to limit their air.
What use was a sheriff down here? All the files in these boxes were solved. They had been stamped to satisfaction and were intended to be kept clean and guarded just like the rest of the station. Though the pungent mildew scent that any basement had was sure to be unavoidable, she supposed.
It was dark and damp and endless. The only sound that cut through the copy boxes was a fluttering of music that Caitlyn followed like a dog sniffing out the vaguest hint of a bone. She did so with poise, eyes running across the names listed on the boxes as she did so: Fortune, Crownguard, Du Couteau, Vayne.
Most of the boxes were simply legend to Caitlyn, far beyond her time. She vaguely recalls mention of a few surnames during boisterous dinners with her parents, Sheriff Grayson in attendance. But the warmth of the fire and the flow of alcohol often dims her memory.
A flicker of golden light at the end of the tunnel calls to her. She slows her step, suddenly wary of startling the keeper of a wealth of knowledge. A courtesy she does not afford many, certainly not strangers.
You were simply a perk of the station, a deal that was in a bi-clause of a bi-clause. Caitlyn highlighted it when she first became the official sheriff of Piltover and thrust it into Mel’s face in the lamplight. She had just chuckled, leaned close and taken a sip of her bourbon.
“Her? No. Come on Cait, leave it be. Marcus won the poor kid off Madam Margot in a poker game.”
“A Chem Baron? The mere statement had been incredulous enough that Caitlyn had choked on her own drink, nearly tainting the contract she’d worked so hard to scour over the past month before even accepting the position. “Give me one reason not to send her back to the lanes, then?”
Mel had taken another tentative sip from her drink and let Caitlyn’s question simmer. There were a million reasons not to trust you, but the simple fact remained. You’d been taken from one cage and shoved into another. If you were going to pull something, you would have by now.
In truth, Caitlyn had put a question mark in red ink next to your name and swore to come back to the annotation later but never had. She’d moved to the enforcers that she needed to retrain. The ones she needed to rip from their families for placing the metal of a rifle up against the temples of those who were nothing but innocent. The ones who had accepted bribes openly from Marcus himself. She needed to heal the station, and you were below all of that, miles underground.
So, admittedly, Caitlyn forgot about you and signed your checks and scrunched her nose up at your name, but you had stayed quiet and strangely loyal in your cave of darkness. She’d never seen you. Never met you. Figured you were on a different schedule. Money was withdrawn and files were organized, and your name was uttered simply as The Archivist, and it had stayed blissfully that for years.
A cage of sorts was at the end of Caitlyn’s journey. Something that divided you from the rest of the archives, though it was nothing more than what one would find in a gymnasium to store away sensitive equipment.
More shelves that lined the perimeter of the space with boxes that were decidedly not stamped with a completion date and a small desk that was shoved into the corner, a kerosene lamp that was the source of the low lamplight pulsing at its edge.
There was a bed, more like a cot, covered in an enforcer issued blanket and a pillow that was much too flat. Two books that looked to be busted at the seams. They were worn to hell and back. A record player that was the culprit of the hazy jazz music.
And there you sat: Back pressed to the edge of the bed with your legs crossed and arms dangling lazy over them. Strands of hair fell into your concentrated gaze. They were hidden brilliantly behind a pair of glasses but still squinting as if the prescription hadn’t been updated in decades. A wooden pencil was between your lips, but the yellow paint had been chewed off, exposing the soft underbelly.
You hadn’t seemed to notice the Sheriff, but by God, had she noticed you. The curve of your arms and the ink that was etched into them. The slope of your jaw and the easy way your button down hugged your frame. You were impeccably well kept for someone who seemed to be living down here.
She studied you for moments more, chest tugging impossibly at a marking that stood out to her above them all. An intricate ‘H’ that was inked just behind the earlobe. Her breath caught silently. Not as if she had doubted Mel’s words. But her chest ached quietly for you, for Margot’s claim.
Your delicate fingers came up to brush against the blackened symbol as if sensing Caitlyn’s eyes on you and in the same stippled breath you had noticed her presence. All the warmth you’d created in your sanctuary was sucked out at the intrusion.
“Fuck!”
You clearly didn’t register who the intruder was, just that there was one. Papers had been scattered in front of you neatly from a copy box and now your socked feet were pushing them this way and that as she scrambled to right yourself. It was a comical scene-really. Caitlyn lifted a sculpted brow.
You slid once more, nearly into a quick split before finally planting both of your feet onto solid ground and blinking dazedly at Caitlyn. Your eyes, they were quite different. Clearly you were Zaun. The thought startled Caitlyn, but only for a moment. The slightest rim of pink echoed around your iris, but it was barely noticeable. Hardly even there.
“Hi,”
Caitlyn lifted her chin. Odd. That was no way to address her. You were slouched and unkempt and there was a scent of old paper to you. She supposed she’d fallen into her ways of demanding respect but, it was quite possible that you didn’t know how to give it to her.
“Um” You cleared your throat awkwardly. “Who are you? Did… If Marcus sent you to fetch me then please just, give me one moment.” Suddenly there was insurmountable fear in your eyes as you glanced back at the record player. “There’s this song, it’s Dean Martin, it’s coming on in a few clicks and I know you don’t owe me anything but if I could just hear Volare one more time.”
Caitlyn’s mouth propped itself open, her lips making a dry popping sound. When she was a child and they’d visited Northan Ionia, her parents had rented a cabin that had a lake within stones throw. She’d fallen through after the sickening, reverb of the ice cracking. That feeling of being dunked under water that was below freezing filled her now.
“You’ve never heard Dean Martin, then?” You were trying a different tactic now, a nervous attempt to fill the near silence, hands shoved in the pockets of your pants. “Gods, well, you’re missing out. Stay and listen. Just for a bit? Then you can take me to him. I’ll go without a fight. Swear to it.”
“No!”
You flinched and Caitlyn raised her hands up. Fuck. She wasn’t a rookie. She knew how to talk a man off a ledge and now suddenly she was feeling just how cold the archives were. How dank and musty and her stomach was roiling. She had to focus on this here and now.
Caitlyn tried a softer, warmer, tone “No, I mean, I’m not taking you anywhere.”
That was the wrong thing to say too, but it was enough for now. Your shoulders visibly relaxed and the coil in your spine seemed to unwind, if not minutely. Again, your fingers brushed absently against the marking that she knew was there.
She swallowed the dryness in her throat. You were peering at her like a lost puppy, glazed eyes that threatened to spill over as if she were the one who came to finish you off herself. It dawned on Caitlyn that she might be the only other enforcer that you’d ever seen, and she wore the regulated revolver all the same. She’d been through this before.
The basics, she’d start with the basics, just like she’d done with Vi. “I’m Sheriff Kiramman.”
“The secretary?”
“Pardon me?”
She must have sounded incredulous because you smiled dazzlingly and let the rest of the tension drop from your shoulders. You’d completely ignored the title in front of her name. She felt the heat bloom on her cheeks and her nose scrunch up. “I just figured, you know? Hadn’t seen Marcus in awhile and then the checks that I was getting were signed by you.”
You moved as if you were about to collect the scattered papers across the floor but plopped down on the creaky bed instead, suddenly exhausted from the scare of Caitlyn’s presence. She was rigid at the entrance of your space, watching you carefully. Harmless. She decided. Scared.
“Sheriff,” Caitlyn reiterated, taking the plunge and stepping over the threshold of your room. You stiffened for just a moment before relaxing.
You remained silent for a long moment. Caitlyn let you process the word, mull it over in your head. It was just two syllables, but they were heavy ones. She scanned the boxes with names she didn’t’ recognize. They were anything but dusty, and they piqued her interest but not as much as you.
“There’s only one of those, unless the bylaws have changed.”
Caitlyn turned and watched you. There was a thickness to the way you swallowed. Your knuckles had tightened around the thin mattress and your legs had locked as if you were about to spring up. She recognized the green pigment to your skin in an instant, the sudden paleness of your complexion.
The sheriff grabbed the wastebasket from under the pitiful desk and shoved it into your hands, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you. The heat that rolled from your clammy skin was worrisome at best and alarming at worst. You retched into the trashcan, and she didn’t hesitate to touch you this time, rubbing her hand down your spine.
You coughed, something that sounded painful and wet. Caitlyn carefully slid your glasses from the tip of your nose before they fell into the bin and hooked them on the collar of her shirt. This was normal, or at least she told herself as much.
“Easy, easy” She dragged cool fingers across damp skin at the nave of your neck. “Deep breaths.”
Nodding frantically, you swallowed back the sour taste in your mouth, finally satisfied that you’d emptied the nauseous feeling in your stomach, setting the trashcan as far away as you could. Your hands were shaking, your leg pressed next to the Sheriffs. She saw the sudden urge to bolt reflected in your almost magenta stare.
“I suppose you own me, then.”
The words made her eye twitch involuntarily. She stiffened. Caitlyn preferred not to be dunked under cold water twice in one day, much less at all. You were slumped and tired and smelling of bile. Though the thought appealed to her in consensual settings this was much too anger inducing to consider.
She wanted to pull Marcus’s mangled body from the grave just to mangle it further with her own teeth. As unladylike as it seemed the fact that he hadn’t been maimed by her own hands to begin with made them itch unbearably. If she were to lean into mutilation when her Kiramman blood flared with lust, it may as well be used for good.
“That’s how the contract works, Sheriff Kiramman.” You fought to save the silence once more. “Marcus won me in a poker game, which I’m certain he cheated in, the bastard. My father drafted the contract himself with Madame Margot in front of me. Assuming Marcus signed me over then, I’m all yours.”
“And if Marcus died?”
Your brows furrowed; breath caught in your throat. The jazz record that you had put on had reached its natural end and given way to a constant static, the needle tracing the edge as if it were the skilled skater that Caitlyn was not. Someone who knew how to test the density of ice.
“Well, then I suppose I don’t have to stay in this basement working on unsolved cases.”
“Unsolved?”
Again, you gave her that soft confused look that she was coming to know as a buffer. One you used when you didn’t want to upset the dust in the room. As if one wrong move would have you collared with another mark inked into your skin. “Well, yeah. I have to occupy myself when I’m not sneaking food from the breakroom upstairs.”
“We don’t have Unsolved cases, I would know about them.”
There was a glint in your stare now, one of genuine interest as you got up, still a little shaky. You needed something proper to eat and drink. Caitlyn knew that. She was determined to pull you from here and take you to a full meal at the greasiest establishment that Piltover had to offer, which wasn’t anything much.
“At least a dozen, alphabetized. I haven’t seen any in over a year and it’s pretty hard to crack any of them just based on the reports in the boxes. Marcus would dump them down here and tell me not to touch them. He stopped coming after awhile and I just stopped listening. I wouldn’t be shocked if he never had them listed.”
It would be entirely plausible. Caitlyn could feel the annoyance building in her lungs, suffocating her. Of course, the man hadn’t only hidden an entire person, but the chance of closure for families that were longing desperately for it.
Caitlyn picked up one of the papers on the floor, running her fingers over the faded ink. A John Doe that was fished from the waters under the Bridge of Progress. Certainly not very progressive of them. It would have been horrible for the city’s image.
You were watching her carefully. Caitlyn glanced down, pulling your glasses from the clipped spot on her shirt and passing them to you as a peace offering. She nearly jolted when your warm fingers brushed hers. Extremely soft and delicate despite the circumstances. Guilt gnawed impossibly at her.
She’d forgotten you along with the red annotations at the bottom of a legal document. A John doe that could have been at the bottom of the river if he had been weighted down properly enough. A woman that was behind the bars of Stillwater to this day of Caitlyn had turned a blind eye. It was all about instinct, she supposed. Guilt. Obligation.
“Where will you go?”
You scoffed. “A firing and an eviction. Sure you don’t want to redraft that contract, Sheriff Kiramman? I’m quite useful.”
When Caitlyn stood toe to toe with you she was taller. If she stretched her arm she could touch the top of the chain link and lift herself up into a standard pull-up. Of course, she wouldn’t. Instead, she stared down at you, tilting her head to the side, entirely too smitten with a near-stranger.
“I have no doubt. We’re going to solve these. You are not going to live in a basement like some type of vermin. When was the last time you saw sunlight Miss y/l/n?”
The slight hesitation was enough for her.
“Exactly.” She used her cool finger to lift your eyes to hers, steely and impossibly blue, leaving no room for objection. “Time to reintroduce you to society, little archivist.”
#Caitlyn Kiramman#Caitlyn Kiramman x reader#Caitlyn Kiramman x y/n#Caitlyn Kiramman x femme Reader#Arcane#arcane league of lesbians#arcane league of legends
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Hannibal x Reader
(you're the only one who knows who the copy cat killer is)
You sat in a cold basement, but you didn't mind it. You kind of enjoyed the cold, even if you were locked in a serial killers basement.
The door opened and you looked up to see Hannibal entering with some food.
"I've prepared a lovely meal for you, my dear. You can eat the entire plate if you cooperate and tell me what I need to know." He said as you glared up at him.
"You're wasting your time, I don't know who the copy cat killer is." You said with a simple shrug. Hannibal's face remained the same as he set the plate and knelt in front of you.
"I wonder why you're protecting them. Maybe they're someone close to you?" He said reaching forward to brush a hand through your hair.
"I did my research. You've had a hard life, haven't you, my dear? Hasn't been very easy for you and your brother." He said as you narrowed your eyes.
"You don't know anything about me or my family." You replied. Hannibal cracked a smile.
"This person is killing innocent people, even children and tarnishing the Chesapeake Ripper. Are you okay to sit back while this person kills and ruins lives? I didn't take you for a monster, Y/N." He taunted as you glared at him.
"Says the serial killer." You growled making him chuckle softly.
Hannibal slowly leant in closer and held your face in his hand.
"You've been abused, haven't you?" He asked as your eyes widened.
"No... No, I haven't." You growled making him smile, his thumb rubbing against your cheek.
"My dear girl. You underestimate my ability to read you. I can tell you've been abused most of your life, so vulnerable and fragile. You don't need to worry, my fear. I'm not going to hurt you like they do. But, it makes me wonder if the person you're protecting is the one who hurts you." He said in a low voice as you looked into his eyes, trying to keep up your facade.
He smiled and tucked your hair behind your ear.
"You haven't had affection, have you? No one to keep you safe. You don't have anyone but your brother...which made me come to the conclusion that he's the one you're protecting." He said as you looked into his eyes, your jaw clenching.
He suddenly gripped your hair tightly, tilting your head back.
He looked at the bruising on your neck.
"So, are you protecting him because you love him or because you're scared of him?" He asked letting your hair go as you felt tears in your eyes.
"I told you...I don't know." You growled as he sighed. He stood up and took the food.
"Perhaps you'll be more compliant when you haven't eaten." He said as you watched him leave, bowing your head and crying softly.
--
Hannibal returned the morning of the next day, knowing you would be thirsty and hungry.
He entered the basement and saw you laying on the ground.
"You were right..." You whispered as he tilted his head.
"I'm right about a lot of things, my dear. Which one are you referring to?" He asked as you looked up at him with tired eyes.
"The killer is my brother." You whispered as he placed the food down once more.
He knelt and began to release your restraints.
"Good girl. You don't have to worry about anything else now." He said before gently picking your body up in his arms.
"Are you going to kill me?" You asked as he carried you out of the basement.
"I have to admit I've grown quite attached to having you around. No, I won't be killing you, but you will be remaining under my supervision." He said as you rested your head against his chest.
He brought you up to one of the guest room and laid you down.
You hadn't eaten for three days and your body was feeling it. You yelped when you felt a sharp sting in your arm.
"Shh, my dear. This is going to help you." He said before helping you to sit up.
"Stay put, my dear. I'll get you some food." He said, even though he knew you couldn't walk by yourself.
After a few minutes he returned with a bowl of thick looking soup.
"This will be enough for the moment until your body is stronger." He said before helping you sit up and lean against him.
He brought the soup up to your lips and began to feed you, you didn't care to protest, you were too hungry.
Once you finished the bowl of soup you leant against Hannibal, he enjoyed the warmth of your body against his. He gently placed his hand on your hip and pushed you to relax against him even more.
"Good girl. You've done very well, my dear. Now, you just need to rest and let me nurse you back to health." He whispered taking in your scent and sighing.
He couldn't let you go now.
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Meeting By Chance - Part Three
Leah Williamson x Reader - Part One Two
The days following your dinner with Leah were a whirlwind of work and restlessness. You threw yourself into your job, tackling your cases with the focus of someone who wanted to block out a distraction. But no matter how hard you tried, Leah remained an ever-present thought in the back of your mind.
You couldn’t stop picturing her—her mesmerizing blue eyes, the way her blonde hair framed her face, and that unmistakable warmth in her voice when she spoke. Every detail from that evening stuck with you: the subtle grace in how she carried herself, her laugh, her genuine interest in your stories.
You scolded yourself for being ridiculous. One dinner. It wasn’t a date. It was an apology, plain and simple. Leah didn’t owe you anything beyond that, and yet here you were, hopelessly fixated on her.
Sitting in your favorite coffee shop, the one where you’d first collided with Leah, you stared at your untouched drink. It was supposed to be a moment of solace during your lunch break, but instead, you found yourself spiraling into thoughts of her again.
You had even looked up Arsenal’s next match, debating whether to attend. But the idea felt absurd, almost invasive. What would you even say if you saw her? That you couldn’t stop thinking about her? That seemed desperate, and you didn’t want to come across that way.
No, you decided. For Leah, that dinner was closure. You needed to move on and focus on your work.
---
Meanwhile, Leah was finishing her training session at Arsenal. Despite the intensity of the drills and the focus required to prepare for upcoming matches, she couldn’t stop thinking about you.
The way your smile lit up the restaurant when you tried the meal she recommended, the soft blush that colored your cheeks whenever she complimented you—it was etched in her memory. She’d replayed the dinner in her mind a hundred times, thinking of all the things she wished she had said.
Leah wasn’t one to hesitate. She was confident on the pitch and off it. But something about you had left her second-guessing herself. She’d picked up her phone countless times over the past few days, staring at your contact info and typing out a text, only to delete it.
What if you weren’t interested? What if that dinner was just a polite way of ending things? Leah shook her head, frustrated. She needed to focus on football. Distractions had no place in her life.
---
You were gathering your things, coffee in hand, when you moved toward the door of the café. Balancing your bag and drink, you pushed the door open, only to collide with someone rushing in.
The jolt was so sudden that you stumbled, the cup in your hand tipping precariously. Your first thought was, Not again. But just before disaster struck, a hand shot out, steadying you.
“Oh, no, not again,” the familiar voice said, her tone equal parts amused and horrified.
You looked up, heart stopping as you met Leah’s wide eyes.
“Leah?” you breathed, barely believing what you were seeing.
She stepped back, her face a mix of surprise and sheepishness. “Wow. I’m so sorry… again. Are you okay?”
You blinked at her, then broke into a smirk. “You really need to start watching where you’re going. This can’t become a regular thing.”
Leah’s lips curved into a grin, her embarrassment giving way to humor. “Maybe it’s our thing,” she teased, her voice light.
You chuckled, shaking your head. “Maybe it is.”
The moment hung between you, charged with something unspoken. Finally, summoning your courage, you asked, “Can I buy you a coffee? You know, as a thank-you for saving me from another wardrobe disaster. And maybe we could sit and talk if you’ve got time?”
Leah tilted her head, her smile softening. “I’d like that,” she said, her voice warm.
The two of you found a quiet corner in the café, drinks in hand. Conversation flowed easily, just as it had during dinner. Leah talked about her latest training sessions, sharing funny anecdotes about her teammates that had you laughing so hard, tears pricked the corners of your eyes.
In turn, you shared some lighter stories from your work. Despite the stark difference in your professions, Leah listened intently, her eyes never leaving yours. It was disarming, how present she was in the moment, how effortlessly she made you feel heard.
At one point, you caught yourself staring at her, captivated by the way her features lit up when she laughed. You quickly looked away, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.
---
About an hour later, your phone buzzed on the table. You glanced at the screen and groaned inwardly. It was your boss.
“I’m sorry,” you said, standing. “I have to take this.”
Leah nodded, though you noticed a flicker of disappointment in her expression. “Of course. Don’t let me keep you.”
You stepped aside, handling the call quickly before returning to the table. “I’m so sorry, but I have to leave,” you said, feeling genuinely regretful.
Leah stood as well, smiling softly. “It’s okay. Work comes first.”
As you slung your bag over your shoulder, you hesitated. This was it—your chance.
“Leah?” you asked, heart pounding.
“Yeah?”
“Would you like to meet again? Maybe… without coffee disasters this time?”
Her brows lifted slightly, surprise flickering across her face before it softened into a smile. “I’d love that.”
Relief flooded through you. Pulling out your phone, you handed it to her, and she quickly typed in her number, calling her own phone to ensure you had hers.
“No excuses now,” she teased, handing your phone back.
You grinned. “None. I’ll call you soon. Promise.”
As you walked away from the café, you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. The thought of seeing Leah again sent a thrill through you.
Inside, Leah watched you leave, her heart lighter than it had been in days. She’d thought she might never see you again, but fate—or perhaps coffee—seemed determined to throw you back together.
She shook her head, chuckling softly to herself. Maybe this was your thing. Maybe this was just the beginning.
#woso#leah williamson x you#leah williamson x reader#woso fics#woso x reader#woso community#leah williamson imagine#leah williamson#woso fanfics
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nothing like your tattoos | b.eilish
billie eilish x fem!reader
context. when you spend the night together, billie never fails to leave in a hurry.
warnings. angst, kind of suggestive, little bit of fluff (this is SO dramatic i’m sorry 🤧) not proof read
masterlist
her skin was sweaty as you traced her tattoos, baby hairs sticking to her forehead, and her chest beating up and down, to the softening rhythm of her breath, reminding you of previous events.
“okay, i gotta go baby, that alright?” even though she spoke as if it was, it wasn’t a question. but regardless, she made no attempt to move, no effort to escape your grasp.
“what do you think about me?” she raised her eyebrows, clearly confused.
“what do you mean?” riddled with your words, she awaited clarification. but when you didn’t speak, she grew worried.
“baby? what’s wrong?” her genuine concern never failed to fool you, trick you into believing her words of comfort. but the result was always the same. her absence.
“what am i to you?” she clearly didn’t like the sound of that question. unsure of its proper answer and naturally, of a response that would satisfy you.
“why would you ask me that?” disappointment spread across your features, unmistakably.
“you’re nothing like your tattoos.” she seemed amused now, puzzled by your misleading words.
“what do you mean?” she turned to look at you, careful not to move her hand as you traced the fairies that littered it.
“there’s nothing permanent about you.” her expression faded, a sense of sadness taking place instead.
“hey,” she caressed your face before speaking, demanding your attention, “i’ll stay, if you want me to.” and you knew it was honest. she would, she’d do it for you, but never of her own accord.
“that’s not what i want.” you sat up, and out of her grasp as she followed.
“then what do you want?” the question was too complicated for a simple response.
“i want you to want me.” her breath hitched slightly, almost faint enough to miss.
“i do want you.” she brought her hand to your face in attempt to comfort you. but her words were empty, meaningless. because she was never clear about her true feelings behind them.
“no you don’t, not really. i’m just a good fuck to you.” you said it like you were disgusted, disappointed in yourself for letting it get this far.
“good? don’t underestimate yourself babe, you’re a whole lot more than good.” a hint of humour could be found in her tone but it wasn’t amusing. not to you, not under the circumstances.
“billie, that’s not the point.” your saddened expression gave her the hint that the humour was misplaced.
“sorry, i just- i guess i just don’t know what you want from me.” she was lying through her teeth, fully aware of what you desired.
“oh please! you know exactly what i’m talking about.” she looked away for a second, taking a moment to think.
“i’m just not one for relationships. it’s too much for me.” she rubbed your cheek with her thumb, sending a river of mixed signals and emotions.
“well this,” you gestured between the two of you, “it’s too little for me. i can’t do this with you anymore.” you made a move to get up, shifting away from her, but she pulled you back by the arm.
“wait, no. i can’t lose you.” she seemed surprised by her own words, as if it was more of a reflex rather than a conscious expression of her feelings.
“that’s tough then, billie. because you’re not even willing to try.” when she didn’t say anything, nothing to confirm nor deny, you grew frustrated.
“whatever bils, I’m sorry i can’t keep this up. but it just hurts too much.” her eyes were teary when you turned away from her, your own tears now spilling down your face.
“i can’t promise permanence but i can promise you i’ll try.” she said it all at once, a desperate plea. you almost didn’t catch her words.
“what?” you turned around to look at her. her eyes were big, her lips plump. it was so hard not to fall in love with her.
“i just want to be with you. i don’t care how, i just need you in my life.” she chewed on her lip, a physical expression of her stomach churning out of anticipation.
“really?” your emotions neared disbelief. not quite sure if anything was real.
“yeah. please let me stay. i want to stay.” you nodded and she kissed you like you were hers. she kissed you like she wanted the feeling tattooed on to her lips forever.
taglist @adinda-eilish @ijustlovemaths @sweetcherriexs @jaxon-nathaniel-drake @mybluebossanova @diceroll65 @tothediner @st0nerlesb0 @bilssturns
#Spotify#billie eilish#billie eilish fic#billie eilish fanfiction#billie eilish gf#billie eilish imagine#billie eilish x fem!reader#billie eilish x reader#billie eilish x you#billie eyelash#billie eilish fluff#billie eilish x y/n#billie eilish angst
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