#lipstick shade is called in a mood | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theballadofharkness · 2 months ago

Text

Mine to Manage (2/2)

Pairing: Maya Mason x fem!reader

Summary: At Continental Studios, power is currency and chemistry is collateral damage. You’re the sharp-tongued horror exec with a red-lip reputation and no patience for games. Maya Mason is the dangerously charming head of marketing with a Rolodex full of directors and a closet full of designer chaos. You were supposed to be keeping your relationship quiet, but when flirtation becomes a business strategy and jealousy starts bleeding through the seams, secrecy stops feeling smart.

Word Count: 9.1K

Warnings: explicit smut so as always MDNI 💜🪻

A/N: as promised here is part 2 of mine to manage!!

AO3 link: Mine to Manage

The energy in the room is already chaotic.

Sal’s pacing near the whiteboard with a pen tucked behind his ear like he’s about to diagram a hostage situation. Quinn is typing furiously on her tablet, brow furrowed, muttering to herself about “visual comps” and “emotional architecture.” Matt has two coffees in front of him, one half-finished, the other untouched, and looks like he slept in his car.

And Patty? Patty is in the corner sipping something very not coffee out of a Continental-branded mug, watching it all go down like it’s a particularly slow-motion car crash.

No one notices the door open. Not until it swings fully inward and you and Maya step inside.

Together.

You’re dressed like someone’s cool, terrifying ex-wife in soft linen, black silk, the kind of chic horror executive look that makes grown men second-guess their pitches. Dark lipstick. Composed. Effortlessly haunting.

Maya, beside you, is in full “don’t fuck with me” mode, slouchy designer trousers, vintage bomber, perfect skin, smug mouth. One hand in her pocket. One glance from her would level the room.

The second the team clocks you both, it goes quiet.

“Oh thank God,” Matt says, standing like you’re the cavalry.

Sal doesn’t even look up from his notes. “Okay, Maya, we need maximum charm. Like, pull-out-all-the-stops charm. This woman’s in the mood to be courted and Warner’s dangling a bigger check.”

Quinn looks up from her screen. “And if she doesn’t feel like the center of a Cannes-ready thinkpiece by the end of the hour, she’ll walk.”

“Didn’t even wear the blazer,” Maya says coolly, sliding into her seat at the table. “Bold of me.”

You take your spot a seat away from her, pretending your knees didn’t touch in the elevator, pretending she didn’t push you up against her bathroom mirror just hours ago whispering “mine” into your mouth.

Patty glances between the two of you with a vaguely amused look. She doesn’t say anything. But she clocks something.

Maya pulls out her tablet and casually crosses her legs, one foot bouncing. She leans slightly back, eyes sliding across the table to where you sit, still composed, still silent.

Matt claps his hands. “Alright. Team Continental. One last pitch, one last chance. Let’s close this thing.”

Maya leans forward, propping her chin on her hand like she’s bored and powerful and has absolutely no intention of playing fair.

You glance at her out of the corner of your eye.

And she winks.

Like she didn’t make you come three times last night. Like she’s not about to flirt with someone else just to win. Like she’s daring you to keep it together.

And you? You square your shoulders. Fix your lip color. And dare her right back.

The energy is thick.

You’re seated at the long glass table, hands folded, your red lipstick sharp as a knife. You’ve been called terrifying by more than one junior executive and once by a producer who meant it as a compliment and never pitched to you again.

Across the table, Maya leans back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other, her gold jewelry catching the light, her smirk effortless.

And beside her, seated like a queen at the head of the table, is Olivia Hartley. Director. Visionary. Ridiculously talented. And currently eyeing Maya like she’s the main course at a tasting menu.

She’s dressed in an expensive sweater the exact shade of aged blood, hair twisted up in a way that says don’t fuck with me while she absolutely prepares to fuck with everyone.

Matt opens. “We’re thrilled to have you back, Olivia. Since our last conversation, we’ve done a lot of work on how this project would look at Continental. We believe in it. In your voice. In letting this story stay as uncompromising as it was when it landed in our inbox.”

Quinn jumps in. “This isn’t a pitch where we say all the right words and gut it later. We want to make your actual movie okay? Not the safe, marketing-friendly version. The weird, feral, uncomfortable thing you meant to write.”

You nod once, adding coolly, “We don’t buy scripts we plan to defang.”

Olivia smiles. She’s not here for the men.

Her eyes flick toward you, appreciative and curious, but then they slide right back to Maya.

“You brought your secret weapon,” she says smoothly.

Maya arches an eyebrow. “You wound me. I’m not that secret.”

Olivia leans back, draping an arm along the back of her chair. “I was talking about this,” she says, gesturing vaguely toward Maya’s whole body. “The quiet confidence. The good lighting. The fact that I already trust you to sell this better than anyone at Warner.”

Maya grins, not wide, but sharp. “I’m flattered.”

“Are you?” Olivia tilts her head. “You’re hard to read.”

“I’m very readable,” Maya replies, resting her chin on her hand, voice dropping. “You just need to know the language babe.”

You stare straight ahead, unmoving. Your nails dig slightly into your palm. You’re fine. You’re fine.

Quinn is furiously taking notes like this is a masterclass in queer chaos.

Matt gestures to you. “Y/N’s our head of unconventional horror development. She’s got a read on this genre like no one else in the industry.”

Olivia turns to you now, interested but still with that flirtatious gleam in her eye. Like she knows you’ve seen all the monsters and still thinks she could surprise you.

“And what’s your take?” she asks.

You meet her gaze evenly. “You’ve written a script about grief and power and gendered violence. I think it’s brilliant. And I think if anyone else gets their hands on it, they’ll sanitize it.”

Olivia hums, pleased. “And what would you do with it?”

You glance once at Maya. Then back. “Let it burn.”

Olivia smiles. “I like her.”

Maya smirks. “Yeah. Me too.”

You nearly flinch. It’s nothing. It’s harmless. It’s all part of the dance.

But your stomach coils tight.

Because Maya’s leaning closer now. Her voice is pitched lower, just for Olivia. She’s talking about rollout strategies, about festival positioning, about how to make this movie a moment. But she’s doing it the way she always does, with warmth and charm, and a gaze that lingers just a second too long.

And Olivia’s eating it up. Leaning in. Laughing. Touching Maya’s wrist when she makes a joke.

Your jaw clenches so tight it clicks. You lean back in your seat, red lips pressed into a perfect line. Cold. Controlled. Deadly.

Quinn nudges you gently, whispering, “You okay?”

You nod once.

But your eyes stay on Maya who’s now sliding her iPad across the table, letting Olivia scroll through a mock-up teaser campaign.

“This is how we sell it,” she says softly. “With teeth. With seduction. With the kind of marketing that hurts a little.”

Olivia murmurs, “I do like pain.”

Sal mutters, “Christ.”

Matt says, “If we’re doing taglines, maybe not that one.”

You don’t speak. Because if you do, your voice might crack. Not because Maya’s doing her job. But because you love her. And this is the part of her job you hate the most.

The presentation has dissolved into something else now.

Matt’s still trying to keep it tethered to reality, timelines, packaging, and pre-sales but the air has shifted. Like the power’s been pulled out of the spreadsheet and into the space between Maya and Olivia.

Olivia leans forward again, her hand on Maya’s iPad, fingers brushing hers like it’s casual, like it isn’t the third time she’s done it in fifteen minutes.

“This is impressive,” she says, voice low. “You get the tone. The tension. The way this story lives under your skin.”

Maya gives her that slow, knowing smile. The one that says, I know I’ve already won you. “Well,” Maya says smoothly, “I know how to sell possession. I’ve done it before.”

Your heart thumps. Hard.

Olivia lifts her eyebrows. “I bet you have.”

Quinn’s stylus freezes mid-note. Matt glances up, about to speak, then clearly decides not to. Sal’s grinning like he’s watching a particularly good episode of a show he didn’t have to pay for.

You lean back in your chair, arms folded, trying not to look at Maya. But every breath, every little laugh, is a needle beneath your skin.

Then Olivia does it. She rests her hand lightly, delicately, on Maya’s knee. The room holds its breath. And Maya? She just smiles. Doesn’t move it. Doesn’t flinch. Just looks Olivia right in the eye and says, “We can talk about refining tone and rhythm. Maybe over lunch?”

Your spine stiffens.

Sal mutters under his breath, “Charm level: assassin.”

Matt looks mildly horrified but says nothing.

You keep your expression neutral, you’ve perfected the art of stillness. But your nails are digging into the armrest of your chair. Your jaw is locked.

And Maya knows.

She knows you’re watching. She knows what this is doing to you. And still, she lets Olivia lean in and say, “I’d like that. One-on-one’s always more illuminating, don’t you think?”

You nearly break the pen in your hand.

Maya finally, finally turns her head and glances at you. Just for a second. Just long enough for her eyes to ask something you don’t have an answer for.

But you meet her gaze. And you let her see just a flicker of the hurt behind the mask.

She blinks. Like maybe she wasn’t expecting that.

Olivia doesn’t notice, she’s still talking. “Your team is sharp,” she says. “But you? You know how to make people feel things.”

Maya doesn’t reply right away because now she’s looking at you and something in her has shifted. Her smile falters for just a fraction. And you know she’s finally realizing just how far this has gone. And how badly it’s hitting you.

The energy curdles.

The last of the actual meeting structure collapses into something looser, more dangerous.

Olivia’s still smiling. Still leaning toward Maya like a sunflower tracking the sun. Barely glancing at the rest of you anymore.

You sit there, arms folded across your chest, jaw locked so tight it aches. You’re not just mad, you’re humiliated.

Because you know you’re the scariest bitch in this room. You know you’re the one whose contacts made this project even possible. You know you’re the one whose name in horror means something real, not just a marketing tool, not just a pretty pitch face.

And yet here you are. Watching Olivia flirt with the woman you love like you’re furniture.

Matt tries, bless him, he tries. He clears his throat and shifts awkwardly. “I mean, Maya’s amazing obviously, but if we’re talking about horror credibility? Y/N’s the heavy hitter. She’s the one directors call when they want to push boundaries without getting studio notes killing the vibe.”

You lift your eyes slowly, fixing Olivia with a look like you could rip the skin off her bones if you cared enough to move.

Olivia, still smiling, tosses a polite but empty glance your way, and then she looks right back at Maya.

“Maybe Maya and I can workshop some ideas offline,” she says sweetly. “She seems to really get it.”

Your hands clench in your lap. You feel Quinn’s glance flick toward you. Even Sal looks a little uncomfortable now.

Matt, sensing the tension spike, plows ahead, desperate. “Y/N’s also the one who kept Harkness House from being turned into a Netflix slasher. She’s got pull at every major genre festival, if you want critical buzz, you want her on your team.”

You give Matt half a nod, quiet and controlled.

But Olivia barely registers it. She’s smiling at Maya again, only at Maya, as if Matt and Sal and Quinn and you aren’t even in the room.

“You’ll love working with us,” she says, voice steady. “Promise.”

Olivia smirks. “I already do.”

Olivia slides the signed agreement across the table, all smiles and gloss and knowing.

You sit there, straight-backed, spine made of steel, as Olivia reaches into her designer bag, pulls out a sleek, black business card and writes something on the back.

Then she slides it across the table, not to Matt, not to Quinn, not to Sal. To Maya. “In case you want to brainstorm… privately.”

Quinn, bless her, is the first to move, standing quickly. “Let me walk you out, Olivia. Reception’s a nightmare this time of day.”

Olivia beams. “Such service.”

Maya offers a polite, perfectly professional smile, the one she uses when she wants people to think they’ve gotten something from her.

You watch as Quinn escorts Olivia out of the room, her heels clicking down the hallway.

As soon as the door shuts a heavy silence falls over the boardroom.

You slump back into your chair, muscles unwinding in a kind of exhausted fury, hand dragging down your face. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, voice deadpan. “I fucking hate that woman.”

Sal barks out a laugh, clapping a hand on the table. “Right? What a piece of work.”

“Seriously,” Matt says, shuffling the papers Olivia left behind. “She’s brilliant, but Christ, she’s got the social subtlety of a brick.”

“I don’t know,” Quinn says, reappearing in the doorway with a wicked little smirk. “I thought she was very subtle. You know, when she practically mounted Maya in front of us.”

Sal snorts.

You roll your eyes and pick up a pen just to have something to do with your hands.

You know Maya’s watching you. You can feel the way her chair creaks as she shifts. The way the energy between you stretches so taut you think you might snap from it. You don’t look at her, you can’t, because if you do, you might break. And she knows it.

Maya stands slowly before crossing the space between you with that slow, deliberate Maya Mason energy, all gravity, all purpose, all you.

You glance up, finally.

And then she kisses you.

Hard.

Right there, in the middle of the goddamn boardroom.

No warning. No hesitation.

Her hands frame your face, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head back as her mouth claims yours in a kiss that’s messy, desperate, hungry.

Sal makes a strangled noise.

Matt blurts, “Oh my God.”

Quinn just mutters, “Finally.”

You gasp against her mouth, shocked and breathless, but she doesn’t let you pull away. She kisses you again, deeper, slower this time, like she’s trying to pour every fucking apology she can’t say into your mouth instead.

When she finally pulls back, you’re blinking up at her, stunned.

And Maya, cheeks flushed, breathing hard, just smirks and says “you’re mine. I don’t care who sees it anymore.”

The room is dead silent but you don’t care either. You just grab her by the jacket and kiss her right back.

You’re still wrapped around her, your hand fisted in the front of her jacket, your lips tingling, your breath short. Maya’s looking down at you like you’re the only thing in the room worth noticing.

Around you, chaos is setting in.

Sal’s half-standing, wide-eyed.

Matt’s blinking rapidly like he’s trying to reboot his brain.

Quinn’s just smirking into her coffee cup, clearly thrilled.

Matt clears his throat awkwardly. “Um. So. Like… HR’s probably gonna have questions about this.”

Your face is burning. You press your forehead into Maya’s shoulder, hiding, completely and utterly wrecked.

Maya just shrugs. “Don’t care anymore.”

She kisses the top of your head, casual and possessive. “They can send whatever passive-aggressive emails they want. She’s important.”

Her voice drops just for you. “You’re important.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, clinging tighter to her jacket like you can anchor yourself there.

Quinn pipes up, setting her tablet down with a loud thunk. “Well, they can’t fire either of you unless they want the horror division and marketing to implode overnight, so… power couple immunity?”

Sal’s laughing helplessly now. “Jesus. First Olivia trying to fuck her way onto the slate, now this.”

Matt, still recovering, mutters, “Okay, okay, okay. Let’s… maybe not shout that part.”

You finally peek up at Maya, blushing, lips parted, eyes wide, and she just grins at you, big and smug and wrecked herself in the best way. She’s still holding your face in her hands like she’s staking a claim. Still looking at you like you’re the only thing she’s ever been sure about.

“You’re mine,” she says again, softer this time. Fiercer. “And I’m not hiding it anymore.”

Your fingers tighten in her jacket, helplessly needy for her.

Sal raises an eyebrow. “Are you guys gonna bang it out on the conference table or should we clear the room?”

You bury your face back into Maya’s chest as she laughs, deep, warm, and happy. She presses a kiss to your hair again, then leans down to whisper in your ear, “let them talk.”

And you believe her.

The second the boardroom door swings shut behind you, Maya’s hand is on your wrist, tugging.

You barely stumble after her, your heart slamming against your ribs, your cheeks still flushed from the public kiss, the heat of everyone’s stares.

She doesn’t say a word.

Just drags you down the hallway like she owns you, her fingers tight around your wrist, her pace fast, hungry, unstoppable.

You pass two assistants. A junior creative. Tyler, who just raises an eyebrow and keeps walking. You’re breathless by the time she shoves the door to her office open and yanks you inside.

The door slams shut.

The lock clicks.

You don’t even have time to gasp before Maya crowds you against it, her hands braced on either side of your head, trapping you there.

“You’re mine,” she breathes, voice low and rough. “Say it.”

You look up at her, wide-eyed, lips parted. “Maya I-”

“No.” She leans in, her nose brushing yours. “Say it.”

You shiver. “I’m yours.”

Her hand tangles in your hair and pulls, just enough to tip your chin up, and she devours you, kissing you hard, teeth scraping your bottom lip until you gasp. She takes advantage, sliding her tongue into your mouth, owning you all over again.

You’re already trembling.

Her hand trails down, rough and deliberate, along your ribs, your waist, your hips. She hikes your skirt up without ceremony, sliding her fingers between your thighs, groaning when she finds you soaking.

“All this for me?” she murmurs, voice dark and fucking delighted.

You whimper.

She presses you harder against the door, two fingers teasing at your entrance, not inside yet, just hovering, driving you insane.

“You get so needy for me,” she whispers, kissing your throat, your jaw, your cheekbone. “So desperate.”

You nod frantically, grabbing at her jacket, pulling her closer. “Please,” you gasp.

“Please what?” she says, smug and deadly.

“Please touch me,” you beg, voice cracking.

She smirks. “That’s better.”

Finally, finally, she slides her fingers inside you, deep, slow, curling just right, and you nearly sob from the relief.

“Fuck, you feel good,” she growls, grinding her palm against your clit, building a rhythm that has your knees buckling in seconds.

You cling to her, nails digging into her shoulders, letting her fuck you against the door like you’re the only thing that matters.

Like she’s the only thing that matters.

“You’re mine,” she says again, punctuating it with a thrust that makes you cry out.

“Always.”

You nod, barely able to speak.

“Yours.”

Her mouth finds yours again, swallowing your broken moans, her body pinning you to the door like she can’t stand being even an inch away from you.

You come hard, gasping her name, shuddering against her as she rides you through it, kissing you softer now, sweeter, like a promise.

When you finally collapse against her, boneless and shaking, she just holds you there, strong, steady, hers.

You bury your face in her neck, breathing her in, feeling her heartbeat hammering against yours.

“You’re fucking dangerous,” you whisper.

She laughs against your hair. “And you love it.”

You smile, exhausted, blissed-out. “I love you.”

She kisses your forehead, soft and sure. “I know.”

You’re still trembling in her arms, clothes rumpled, breathing uneven.

Maya kisses the top of your head again, slower now, more reverent, her fingers smoothing down your spine like she’s trying to anchor you back to earth.

You cling to her for another minute, letting yourself just exist in the safety of her body.

Eventually, Maya pulls back just enough to look at you, her thumb brushing under your eye, catching the stray smudge of mascara, like it matters.

“You look so fucking pretty when you’re all wrecked,” she says, grinning.

You laugh, hoarse and exhausted. “You’re so cocky,” you murmur, nuzzling into her neck.

“I have reason to be,” she teases, kissing your forehead again.

You let her fuss with your clothes, smoothing your skirt back down, fixing your hair a little, licking her thumb and wiping your smudged lipstick (terribly, messily, so you’re sure you still look like you’ve been thoroughly ruined).

But you can’t let her go. Not completely. Not yet. You press your hand to her chest, feel her heartbeat thudding under your palm and look up at her.

And you ask softly, “what made you change your mind?”

She stills for a second. You see it, the flash of nerves, the memory of earlier, the look she gave you when Olivia slid her number across the table.

Maya exhales “I saw you,” she says finally, voice low.

You blink.

“I saw your face,” she says again. “When she touched me. When she handed me her number. When you just… sat there, trying to pretend it didn’t bother you.”

Your throat tightens.

Maya cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheekbone gently. “And I realized,” she says, “that you were sitting there, trying to be professional, trying to protect me even while I was letting her flirt with me for a deal.”

You shake your head and try to protest but she leans in, kisses you softly to stop you.

“I realized,” she says again, voice thick, “that hiding you wasn’t protecting us anymore.”

You feel your eyes sting.

Maya leans her forehead against yours. “I don’t want you to ever sit there like that again,” she whispers. “Like you’re not the most important thing in the room.”

You close your eyes, breathing her in, letting the words settle into all the broken places inside you.

“And I don’t care what anyone says,” she murmurs. “I don’t care if Sal makes filthy jokes, if Quinn writes fanfiction about us, if HR sends us passive-aggressive policy updates.”

You laugh, a watery, broken thing.

She tilts your face up. “I love you,” she says again, like she’s daring the world to take it from her. “I love you and I’m not hiding it.”

You nod, tears slipping free. “I love you too.”

She kisses you slow, careful, devastatingly tender. It’s not rushed, it’s home.

The fairy lights overhead glow soft gold against the purple dusk. It’s warm but not sticky, the kind of rare, perfect LA night that feels almost cinematic.

The table is small, intimate, tucked into a corner of the patio like it was made just for you and Maya. You’re holding her hand across the table, your thumb brushing lazy circles over her knuckles. Every now and then, she lifts your hand to her mouth and kisses your fingers, casual, almost absent-minded, like she can’t help herself.

You’re grinning so hard your cheeks hurt.

“This feels illegal,” you tease, voice soft, a little breathless.

Maya smirks that lazy, devastating smirk that undid you the first time you ever sat across a table from her. “It is. HR’s already plotting. Probably a whole color-coded dossier.”

You laugh and nudge her foot under the table, playful and giddy.

She leans in slightly, voice dropping to that dangerous low that makes your stomach flip. “Let them.”

You’re about to say something when a shout slices through the soft night air.

“NO FUCKING WAY!”

You both whip your heads around just in time to see Sal barreling across the street, dodging traffic like a lunatic. Matt is following behind, trying and failing to look cool while carrying a six-pack of beer. And then there’s Quinn striding purposefully like she owns the sidewalk, phone tucked under her arm.

Maya groans immediately, dropping her forehead to the table. “No. No. No. No.”

You’re laughing already, helpless, delighted, hiding behind your menu as Sal practically sprints onto the patio.

“You two are on a DATE?!” he bellows, loud enough for half the restaurant to hear.

Maya lifts her head just enough to glare at him. “Indoor voice, jackass.”

Sal drags a chair over and Matt and Quinn aren’t far behind, grabbing chairs from neighboring tables like they own the place.

You glance at Maya, wide-eyed.

She looks murderous.

You look back at your friends, your weird, dysfunctional little work family, and sigh. “Apparently, yes. This was supposed to be a date.”

Matt plops the six-pack down between you all like an offering. “It can still be a date,” he says, overly cheerful. “With, you know, a live studio audience.”

Maya makes a strangled noise.

Quinn’s already flagging down a server. “We’re celebrating,” she says brightly. “Olivia signed. You two kissed in a boardroom. It’s a banner fucking day.”

You bury your face in your hands.

Sal leans across the table, grinning like a wolf. “Okay. How long has this been happening?”

Maya raises an eyebrow, wrapping her arm casually around the back of your chair, pulling you in without even thinking about it.

“A while,” she says smoothly.

“How long’s ‘a while’?” Sal pushes, waggling his eyebrows.

You glance at Maya.

She shrugs.

“A few months,” you admit.

“MONTHS?!” Sal yelps.

Matt chokes on his beer. Quinn just laughs.

“Explains so much,” Quinn says, stealing a breadstick. “Like why Y/N always looked ready to commit a felony when Maya flirted with anyone under 35.”

Maya smirks.

You glare at Quinn, cheeks flaming.

Sal, clearly having the time of his life, leans in again. “Okay, okay, but WHO made the first move?”

Maya’s grin is predatory. “She did.”

You elbow her in the ribs, scandalized. “You kissed ME first!”

Matt leans forward eagerly, completely enthralled.

“What about the ‘I love you’? Who dropped the bomb first?”

Maya snickers. “She did. Sobbed it, actually.”

You gasp, mortified. “I did NOT sob-”

“There were tears,” Maya says serenely, sipping her wine.

Quinn raises her hand like she’s in class. “Follow-up: what’s the over-under on how long until you two get banned from making out at work?”

You groan into your hands again.

Maya just smirks and tugs you closer under her arm, kissing your temple unapologetically. “Let ‘em try,” she murmurs, and the confidence in her voice makes your whole body warm.

The server comes back, setting down more wine, a couple plates of food you didn’t even remember ordering.

The table settles into that easy, buzzing chaos you always secretly loved, Quinn telling some terrible story about her early days in indie film making, Sal making increasingly filthy jokes at your expense, Matt trying to referee and failing miserably.

You and Maya keep sneaking touches, your hand on her thigh, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on the back of your neck. Every so often, she leans down to kiss your hair, or your cheek, or your jaw.

Halfway through a shared plate of pasta, Matt raises his glass. “To the best fucking team in the business,” he says.

Everyone clinks.

Maya clinks her glass against yours last, leaning in so only you can hear, “to you.”

You flush so hard you have to hide in your wine glass. But you can’t stop smiling.

The patio is loud now, your little table tucked away, half-devoured plates and abandoned menus spread out between clinking glasses and crumpled napkins.

Sal’s halfway through a story about his failed attempt to get cast in a Lifetime movie in his twenties, complete with terrible reenactments.

“I’m telling you,” he says, raising a breadstick like a mic, “the casting director told me I had ‘too much chaotic energy’ for a Christmas movie. Me! Chaotic!”

Matt’s crying laughing, slumped over his chair, while Quinn actually wipes a tear from her eye.

“You are chaotic,” Quinn says, shaking her head.

“You’re the reason we needed two lawyers at the ‘Flesh and Bone’ premiere,” Matt adds, snorting.

Sal shrugs. “You’re welcome for the stories.”

Maya leans back, her arm slung lazily around your shoulders, smirking into her wine like she’s been waiting for this all night. You’re tucked under her side, warm and loose and happy, letting yourself laugh, letting yourself have this.

“Okay, okay,” Matt says, sitting up, cheeks flushed from wine and laughter. “Serious question now. Was it, like, obvious to everyone that you two were hooking up? Or are we just idiots?”

You start to speak, to say something deflective, something smart, but Quinn cuts in immediately. “Oh, it was obvious.”

Sal nods sagely. “Painfully obvious.”

Matt throws his hands up. “WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME?!”

“It was more fun this way,” Quinn says, grinning.

Maya just smirks, tugging you closer by the waist.

“You’re all just mad that we’re hotter than you,” she teases.

“You’re not wrong,” Quinn deadpans.

Everyone laughs again, real belly laughter that bubbles up and fills the whole patio like champagne. You’re so full of warmth you feel like you might float away.

“I’m just saying,” Sal says, raising his hands, “I think we deserve a full timeline of the relationship for context.”

You glance at Maya.

She raises an eyebrow, smirking. “First date was the Harkness House premiere party,” she says casually.

Quinn gasps. “No. Way.”

“Way,” you say, grinning despite yourself.

“You mean when Y/N disappeared for like an hour and came back looking like she’d seen God?” Sal demands.

You choke on your wine.

Maya just laughs, rich and smug, and kisses your temple again like it’s her trophy.

“Good memory,” she says to Sal.

You’re about to shove her or kiss her senseless, maybe both, when Matt glances at your wine glass.

“Hey, you’re almost empty. You want me to… ?”

You shake your head, already standing, tugging your skirt down. “I’ll get it.”

Maya’s hand slides down your back as you pull away.

You weave through the tables toward the little outdoor bar, heart pounding a little faster now from the wine and the heat of her touch. When you reach the bar, you wave for the bartender, just as someone leans in close behind you. You don’t have to turn. You know it’s her.

Maya presses in at your back, crowding your space, her mouth brushing your ear. “You’re so fucking pretty when you’re laughing,” she murmurs, voice low and dangerous. “I’m gonna mess you up when we get home.”

You shiver.

She trails a finger down the inside of your wrist, slow and deliberate. “Gonna make you beg for it,” she whispers. “Gonna take my time. Make sure you remember exactly who made you feel this good.”

Your whole body tightens, heat pooling low in your belly, your knees actually wobbling a little.

The bartender appears and you barely manage to stammer out your drink order, blushing so hard you’re sure you’re glowing.

Maya’s still pressed against you, her hand casually sliding down your hip, fingertips teasing along the hem of your skirt, invisible to everyone else but undeniable to you.

She nips at your ear once, playfully. “Can’t wait to have you, baby.”

You turn just enough to glare at her, breathless and wrecked and so in love it hurts.

She grins, all teeth and wicked promises, and pulls back just in time for the bartender to set your drink down.

You grab it, trying to look normal, trying to breathe normally. You fail miserably.

You glance back over your shoulder at her as you walk away and Maya is just standing there, arms crossed, leaning casually against the bar, watching you like a fucking meal.

You want to run to her.

You want to crawl into her lap.

You want to skip dinner and let her wreck you the way she just promised.

But instead you walk back to your chaotic, beautiful little family with your heart racing, thighs pressed together, a smile tugging at your mouth, and sit back down like you aren’t dying for her.

Maya follows a second later, dropping lazily into her seat, sliding her foot up the inside of your calf under the table. And you can’t stop smiling.

The Uber pulls up, a sleek black SUV, and you barely finish saying your goodbyes to Sal, Matt, and Quinn when Maya’s already tugging your hand, pulling you toward the car like she’s seconds away from losing her mind.

You climb into the backseat first, scooting across.

Maya slides in after you way too fast, way too eager, and slams the door behind her.

The driver asks your address, barely glancing back.

You rattle Maya’s address off automatically, heart hammering.

The second the car pulls into traffic, Maya’s hand is on your thigh, very high up on your thigh, her fingers slipping under the hem of your dress like she can’t wait another second.

You inhale sharply, glancing at the driver. But Maya doesn’t care. She leans in slowly, deliberately, her breath hot against your ear.

“I can’t fucking wait,” she whispers.

Before you can respond, her mouth crashes into yours, messy, hungry, and desperate. You moan into her kiss, grabbing at her jacket, pulling her closer, needing her like oxygen.

FHer hand slides higher, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thigh, dangerously close to where you’re already aching for her.

The kiss is filthy, all teeth and tongue and panting breath, and it’s taking everything you have not to climb into her lap right there.

Maya groans against your mouth, like she’s barely holding herself back. Her other hand cups the back of your neck, keeping you close, tilting your head just right so she can kiss you deeper, wetter, harder.

You break away for half a second, gasping. “Maya,” you whisper, glancing at the oblivious driver.

She grins wickedly and kisses along your jaw, your throat, her teeth scraping just enough to make your stomach drop.

“He’s not looking,” she murmurs against your skin.

“Let him hear how pretty you sound when you come apart for me.”

You whimper, actually whimper, and she smirks against your pulse. Her fingers slip higher, brushing the edge of your panties, making your whole body jolt.

You grab her wrist, half to stop her, half to keep her there. “You’re evil,” you hiss, breathless.

“You love it,” she breathes back, pressing her forehead against yours, her hand moving slow and torturous.

You’re panting now, clutching at her, eyes fluttering shut as she teases you, light strokes over the thin fabric, just enough pressure to make you squirm.

Maya kisses you again, slower this time, more purposeful, dragging it out, savoring the way you melt under her.

You’re dizzy with it. Dizzy with her. You can barely think, barely breathe, your whole body tuned to her touch.

“When we get home,” she whispers against your mouth, her fingers pressing just a little harder, “I’m gonna make you scream so loud the neighbors complain.”

You whimper, thighs clenching around her hand.

She chuckles, dark and pleased. “You’re already so fucking wet for me, baby,” she murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Such a good girl.”

You can’t take it anymore.

You kiss her hard and messy, your fingers fisting in her jacket, hips rolling up into her hand without thinking.

The car slows. The driver clears his throat.

You both freeze. Maya pulls back, barely, her grin pure sin.

You glance out the window, her place. You’re home. You scramble out of the car, faces flushed, hearts racing. Maya tosses a deservedly large tip onto the front seat and practically drags you toward the door. You don’t even make it to the elevator before she’s kissing you again, wild, hungry, already desperate to finish what she started.

You’re both laughing, breathless and unhinged, as you stumble up the steps to her home, clutching at each other like you might fall over.

Maya’s got her keys out, but she’s moving slow, teasing, bumping her hip into yours, sneaking kisses against your jaw between giggles.

“Your Uber rating is about to tank,” you gasp, grinning wide.

Maya snorts, grabbing your wrist and spinning you into her chest. “Worth it,” she says, mouth hovering over yours, teasing.

“You’re gonna be banned from the app,” you whisper against her lips, giggling.

She kisses you, quick and hard, and finally manages to jam the key into the door, dragging you inside.

The second the door shuts behind you, it’s on.

Maya crowds you up against the wall, kissing you messy, desperate, hands already tugging at your clothes like she can’t stand the layers between you anymore. “Need you,” she mutters against your mouth, frantic. “Need you right now.”

You whimper, nodding, letting her pull your jacket off, letting her hike your dress up with greedy, rough hands.

Her mouth is everywhere, your neck, your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder, teeth scraping just enough to leave marks you’ll see tomorrow and smile at.

You grab at her jacket, shoving it off her shoulders, needing to touch her, needing to feel her, skin on skin.

She growls low in her throat when your nails rake down her back.

“Bed,” you gasp against her mouth, dizzy from the speed of it, the need of it.

Maya shakes her head, wicked and grinning. “Can’t wait.”

She slides to her knees right there in the hallway, yanking your panties down, gripping your thighs and looking up at you with pure, feral hunger.

“Hold onto the wall, baby,” she says, voice low and ragged. “Gonna make you scream my name like I promised you would.”

You barely get your hand against the wall before she’s on you, her mouth hot and wet against you, her tongue sliding through your folds, finding your clit instantly, sucking hard.

You wail, no chance of being quiet, your head thunking back against the wall, your legs shaking.

Maya moans against you like she’s starving, hands gripping your thighs so tight you know you’ll bruise, loving it, dragging her tongue over you again and again.

You’re babbling, gasping her name, begging without even meaning to. “Maya, oh my God, please- please!”

She pulls back just enough to murmur against your soaking core, “such a good girl.”

Then she dives back in, licking you through it, coaxing it out of you until you’re shaking against the wall, coming hard on her mouth, sobbing her name just like she said you would.

Your knees give out and Maya catches you, strong arms lifting you easily, carrying you down the hall toward the bedroom.

You’re still gasping, blinking through the haze, clinging to her.

She drops you onto the bed, rough but careful, and climbs over you, tearing her shirt off in one smooth motion.

You stare, wrecked and wanting and so in love you could die.

Maya leans down, kissing you slow and deep, letting you taste yourself on her tongue. “Not done with you yet,” she whispers against your lips.

You whimper, spreading your legs for her instinctively, needing more, all of her.

She smiles, dark, dangerous, so fucking in love. “Good,” she says. “Because I’m gonna ruin you, baby.”

You’re panting, wrecked already, but Maya’s not even close to finished with you.

She kneels over you on the bed, straddling your hips, her hair wild and messy around her face, her body flushed from exertion and need.

You can’t stop staring at her, her strong thighs bracketing your hips, toned arms flexing as she pins you down, that smirk on her face that says she knows exactly what she’s doing to you.

You’re so far gone for her it hurts.

She kisses you, slow and filthy, licking into your mouth like she’s tasting her favorite thing.

You whimper against her lips, hips bucking up against her, desperate for more.

Maya chuckles low in her throat, reaching down to trap your wrists above your head with one hand.

“Stay,” she murmurs.

You nod, wide-eyed, pliant under her.

She kisses down your body, your throat, your collarbone, your chest, nipping and sucking little bruises into your skin that you’ll wear like trophies tomorrow.

Her mouth finds your breast, sucking one nipple into her mouth, biting just enough to make you gasp.

You arch into her, desperate, and she growls, sliding her free hand between your legs again, slipping two fingers inside you with no resistance at all.

You moan, high pitched and broken, your body twisting under her.

She pumps her fingers slow and deep, dragging pleasure out of you with ruthless precision. “Such a good girl,” she murmurs against your skin. “Take it. Come for me again.”

You’re sobbing now, thighs shaking, barely able to hold still as she works you open until you’re coming again, gasping her name like a prayer. She kisses you through it, letting you ride it out, never letting you drift too far. And when you slump, boneless and wrecked, she finally pulls back.

You blink up at her and reach for her without thinking, needing to touch her, needing to give her back even a fraction of what she’s given you. You push yourself up onto trembling elbows and kiss along her jaw, her throat, her chest, tasting her skin, feeling her shudder under your mouth.

Maya lets you for a moment. Then her hand fists in your hair, tilting your head up to look at her. Her pupils are blown wide. Her voice is wrecked. “You want to make me feel good, baby?”

You nod frantically.

“Use your mouth,” she says, voice thick with hunger. “Worship me.”

You scramble eagerly, kissing your way down her body, hands worshipful, greedy even, over her ribs, her stomach, her hips. You settle between her thighs, looking up at her once, asking permission without speaking.

Maya cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek. “Good girl,” she breathes. “Make me come on that pretty mouth.”

You moan at the praise and dive in, licking a slow, wet stripe up her center, savoring the way she gasps, the way her hips twitch. You flatten your tongue against her clit, circling slow and steady, letting her grind against you, riding your mouth with low, broken moans.

She keeps one hand tangled in your hair, not pushing, just guiding, while the other fists the sheets.

You suck her clit into your mouth, flicking your tongue against it, and her thighs clamp around your head as she curses under her breath.

“Fuck, baby… just like that, don’t you dare stop-”

You moan into her, desperate to make her fall apart, desperate to give her everything, and the vibration makes her shudder above you.

She’s close.

You can feel it in the way her muscles tighten, the way her moans get sharper, the way her fingers tighten in your hair.

“Gonna come all over your fucking face,” she pants, voice breaking. “Take it, baby. Be good for me.”

You flick your tongue faster, swirling around her clit, sucking harder, and she breaks, hips grinding against your mouth, a deep, guttural moan tearing out of her as she comes.

You ride it out, tongue gentle now, soothing her through it until she’s gasping, yanking you up by your hair and crashing her mouth against yours.

The kiss is filthy, wet and desperate, her taste all over both of you, and you can’t stop whimpering into her mouth.

She pushes you down into the mattress again, kissing you like she’s trying to devour you, still trembling a little from how hard you made her come. You’re clinging to her, hands greedy on her back, her hips, anywhere you can reach.

She finally breaks the kiss, resting her forehead against yours, both of you panting, wrecked. “Fuck,” she whispers, voice shaking. “You’re mine.”

You nod, dizzy, drunk on her. “Yours.”

She kisses you again, slower now, more tender, like sealing a promise. “Always.”

You’re both a mess.

The sheets are tangled around your legs, your skin sticky with sweat, your mouth swollen from kissing for what feels like hours. You’re still trying to catch your breath, chest heaving, whole body humming from everything she did to you and everything you gave back.

Maya’s draped over you, half her weight pressing you into the mattress, her arm slung lazily across your waist, her face buried in the curve of your neck.

You run your fingers through her messy hair, slow and soothing. Neither of you speaks for a long moment. Just breathing. Just being.

Finally, Maya groans low against your throat. “We’re disgusting,” she mutters, voice rough with sleep and satisfaction.

You laugh, soft, wrecked, and nuzzle into her hair.

“We’re perfect,” you mumble.

Maya huffs out a breath, kisses your collarbone. Then she pushes herself up, stretching like a cat, muscles rippling under flushed, golden skin.

You whimper at the loss of her warmth, already reaching for her again without thinking.

She grins down at you, smug, fond, completely in love, and taps your nose. “Nope. Stay there. You’re on clean-up duty after I get you washed up.”

You blink up at her, dazed and confused. “Washed up?”

She smirks and leans down, kissing you slow and sweet. “Baby, you’re all messy. Can’t have my girl falling asleep all sticky and ruined.”

You blush, squirming under her teasing tone, but you don’t argue when she scoops you up into her arms like you weigh nothing.

You squeak, wrapping your arms around her neck. “Maya! Put me down!”

She just laughs, deep and wicked, and carries you toward the bathroom.

“Not a chance, baby. You’re all mine to take care of now.”

The light is low, warm. The air smells like her shampoo and skin and safety.

Maya sets you down on the counter, grabbing a fluffy white towel from the rack.

She wets it under the tap and then turns back to you, standing between your legs, nothing but adoration in her eyes.

She’s so gentle. Wiping your skin clean, slow and careful, whispering little nonsense under her breath.

“So good for me.”

“So fucking beautiful.”

“My best girl.”

You bite your lip, heart aching at the tenderness of it.

She presses soft kisses to your knees, your thighs, the inside of your wrists as she works, like she can’t not touch you, not love you even in the smallest ways.

“There,” she says, kissing your forehead. “All clean. All mine.”

You’re blinking back tears now, overwhelmed, exhausted, and feeling so loved.

She notices immediately, cradling your face in her hands. “Hey,” she whispers. “Are you okay?”

You try to speak, to say nothing, I’m fine, it’s stupid,but the words knot in your throat.

And then?

You break.

The first tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it.

Followed by another.

And another.

You squeeze your eyes shut, mortified, turning your head like you can hide from her.

But Maya’s already pulling you into her chest, arms wrapping tight around you, one hand cradling the back of your head.

“Oh, my baby,” she whispers, rocking you gently. “My sweet, sweet girl.”

You look up at her, sniffling. “Just love you,” you croak.

Maya’s smile is devastating.

She scoops you back into her arms, carrying you bridal style back to the bed.

“Love you too baby,” she murmurs.

You’re curled up together under the fresh sheets now, your body tucked against hers, her hand stroking lazy patterns across your back. You’re so sleepy you’re slurring your words, every blink getting heavier.

Maya kisses your forehead, your nose, your temple, like she can’t stop loving you, even in sleep. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” she whispers into your hair.

You mumble something incoherent but happy against her chest.

She smiles, huge and soft and wrecked, and holds you tighter. “Night baby,” she murmurs again, like a lullaby.

And you fall asleep like that. Safe, loved, hers.

The studio was humming in that particular way it did before big meetings, an electric buzz threaded with coffee and tension. In the boardroom, the team had already gathered, scattering papers, coffee cups, and open laptops across the table like the aftermath of a tiny storm.

Matt paced back and forth along the window, running a hand through his hair every few minutes, mumbling through final points under his breath. Every third step he juggled his phone and a stress ball, managing to forget he was holding one half the time.

Sal was sprawled in one of the chairs, tipping precariously backward on two legs, popping gummy bears into his mouth with the air of a man watching a slow-motion car crash he had no plans to stop. His oxfords squeaked every time he adjusted, but no one commented anymore.

Quinn perched on the edge of the table, scrolling through her iPad with quick, efficient flicks of her fingers, occasionally plucking binder clips from the clutter and stacking them into a tiny, precarious tower.

And then there was Maya.

Maya Mason in all her casually disheveled, absurdly expensive glory. She lounged in a chair, stretched out with one boot propped on the table’s edge, slouching like a woman who owned the building but hadn’t decided if she was bored with it yet.

Today’s look was pure Maya: streetwear chaos dressed up with a fortune’s worth of quiet branding. She wore an oversized Balenciaga denim jacket, the kind that slouched just so off one shoulder to reveal a threadbare Amiri tee underneath, black and loose and soft against her skin. Her cargo pants were black, loose, low on her hips like an afterthought, and scuffed Rick Owens boots were laced halfway, heavy and lived-in.

A jumble of delicate gold chains swung lazily around her neck as she leaned back, gum snapping quietly between her teeth. On her wrist, the slim glint of a Cartier bracelet caught the light when she toyed with the Montblanc pen in her hand, rolling it between her fingers like she had all the time in the world.

She looked every bit the reason Olivia Hartley had signed with Continental instead of Warner Brothers.

Quinn flicked her gaze up and smirked. “Think you can behave today?” she asked.

Maya quirked an eyebrow without lifting her head. “Define behave.”

Matt shook his head, shooting a look toward the door. “Let’s not add another clause to the HR manual, okay?”

“Not my fault,” she said with a lazy shrug. “Some of us have natural talents.”

Matt checked his watch. “Where’s Y/N?”

Maya’s hand went into the pocket of her jacket without thinking, pulling out her phone, checking it like she hadn’t already ten times. She tried to look casual about it.

“Tied up with Ari Aster,” she said, tossing the phone back down with a clatter. “Probably gutting some poor bastard’s dreams.”

Quinn grinned. “Our horror queen.”

“Fashionably late,” Sal murmured.

The door swung open.

Everyone turned to watch Olivia Hartley stroll in like she owned the place.

Leather jacket slung over one shoulder, black boots clicking against the floor, sunglasses still on despite the dying afternoon light. She was smiling, lazy, confident, like the cat who had eaten the canary and demanded dessert.

Her gaze swept the room, brushing over you, Sal, Matt and Quinn, landing squarely on Maya.

She smiled wider. “Good to see you again, Mason,” she purred, tugging her sunglasses off and tossing them onto the table.

Maya sat up a little straighter, boots dropping to the floor with a quiet thud. She offered a polite smile, the professional kind with no teeth, and inclined her head.

“Olivia,” she said. “Congrats again on signing.”

“Wouldn’t have happened without you,” Olivia said, breezing closer, her voice low and flirtatious, like it was just the two of them in the room. She perched in the chair at the head of the table, angling her body toward Maya like gravity itself demanded it.

Maya stayed still, composed.

“You know,” Olivia said, reaching out to flick a nonexistent piece of lint from Maya’s sleeve, “I always believe in rewarding good partners.”

Matt looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. Sal was smirking openly now, elbowing Quinn, who just shook her head.

Maya smiled again and leaned back just out of reach. “I’m just here to make good movies,” she said smoothly.

Olivia tilted her head, studying her. “And have a little fun along the way?”

The tension twisted tighter.

Everyone could feel it, the line being pulled taut, the way Olivia was pushing, assuming that same flirtatious dynamic still existed now that the ink was dry. She had no idea. Not yet.

The door swung open again but this time you walked in. And the air in the room shifted once more. Black heels clicking against the floor, black silk hugging every perfect, devastating line of your body, red lipstick sharp as a blade, hair smooth and tucked behind one ear.

You didn’t look at Olivia, didn’t even see her. You peeled off your sunglasses slowly, lazily, like you had all the time in the world, and slid them into your clutch.

“Sorry I’m late,” you said, voice warm and unbothered, like you hadn’t just made the entire room your stage. “Had a client meeting with Ari.”

You slid into the seat beside Maya, the one Olivia had been half-reaching for without realizing it, and leaned in casually, brushing a kiss against Maya’s cheek.

“Hey, baby,” you murmured, soft and low, like you were the only two people in the world. “How’d your meeting with Pedro go?”

Maya practically melted, her smile wrecked and radiant, her hand finding your knee under the table instinctively.

“Good,” she replied fondly.

You settled back in your seat, crossing your legs, nails tapping lazily against the polished wood. Only then did you glance at Olivia.

Olivia’s face had gone tight, polite.

Because in that moment she understood that Maya wasn’t hers to charm, Maya had never been hers to win. She had been yours the whole time.

And now?

You weren’t hiding it anymore.

#maya mason x reader #maya mason smut #maya mason #agatha harkness x reader #kathryn hahn #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha x reader #kathryn hahn x reader #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader smut

385 notes · View notes

cami040405 · 3 months ago

Note

Okokok, can I request Bo Sinclair, Thomas Hewitt, and Michael Myers with a s/o that’s just super stereotypically feminine? Like, she hates bugs and getting messy, loves pink and makeup, says words like ‘totes’ ‘adorbs’ and ‘obvi’, loves shopping, etc.? Sorry if it’s super vague ;-; but I’d love to see it in your writing style ♡

Bo Sinclair, Thomas Hewitt & Michael Myers with a Super Stereotypically Feminine S/O (SEPARATE)

Summary: Imagine Bo Sinclair, Thomas Hewitt and Michael Myers with a stereotypically overly feminine S/O who only wears pink, cute things, hates bugs and dirt and speaks in a city girl language.

A/N: I really loved writing this request, it was great to see the dynamics of these slashers with a super feminine S/O, I wrote it listening to Sabrina Carpenter and Fifty Fifty to get more into the mood. I hope you like it as much as I did.

Bo Sinclair

“If it’s pink and sparkly, it’s probably already in her purse.”

Bo Sinclair never expected a girl like you to waltz into Ambrose. Hell, he wouldn’t have believed someone like you existed, much less would stay.

You were all fluttery lashes, bubblegum lip gloss, and sparkly earrings shaped like hearts. When you first stumbled into the wax museum, looking absolutely horrified by the “rustic aesthetic,” he expected you to start screaming bloody murder. Instead, you blinked at him, tilted your head like a curious little kitten, and said:

“You’d be super hot if you smiled more. Like, dangerous bad boy vibes. I dig it.”

Bo had no idea what to say. It might’ve been the first time he’d ever been stunned silent.

You hated dirt, bugs, blood—literally everything Ambrose was soaked in. You gasped when your heel broke on the cracked sidewalk and clutched him dramatically like they were in a soap opera. “Bo, I’m limping. You’re gonna have to carry me. This is a whole crisis!”

At first, he rolled his eyes. A lot. Teased you constantly. Called you "Barbie" and "Princess" with a smug little grin.

But over time, something changed.

He started noticing how you lit up talking about stuff he’d never cared about before—nail polish shades, the drama of lipstick undertones, reality TV betrayals. You’d sit cross-legged on his dusty bed, wearing fuzzy socks and ranting about your favorite fashion influencers while applying glitter highlighter in a cracked mirror. Bo would sit there, arms crossed, pretending not to listen... even though he always was.

You'd make him stand still so you could “fix his eyebrows” or “just a little bronzer, babe, for definition!” and Bo would grumble but let you do it. The way your eyes sparkled when you were focused on something—especially him—made it real damn hard to say no.

And as much as he tried to play it cool, Bo adored the way you clung to him when a beetle skittered across the floor, squealing and climbing half up his torso like he was your knight in dirty denim armor.

"You're lucky you're cute," he'd mutter, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Obvi," you’d giggle, pressing a glossy kiss to his cheek and leaving a shiny mark he never wiped off until you weren't looking.

You gave Ambrose something it hadn’t had in years—life, noise, glitter in every corner of the wax museum (much to Vincent’s quiet suffering). Your pink hairbrush sat next to his tools. Your perfume mixed with motor oil. There were rhinestones on the old radio dials in his car.

And when some poor bastard stumbled into town and made a snide comment about “that bimbo clinging to Bo like a chihuahua,” Bo didn’t even give a warning. He just grabbed the guy by the collar, smiled wide, and said, “Say one more word. Go on. I dare you.”

He’d never say it out loud, but Bo loved you fiercely. Loved your dramatics, your soft hands, the way you made him feel like a movie star instead of a wax museum reject.

And if anyone touched you? God help them.

Even if you’d never lift a finger yourself (“I don’t do violence—it’s so bad for the nails, babe”), Bo was more than willing to handle it for you.

Because at the end of the day, you were his ridiculous, high-maintenance, adorable nightmare—and he wouldn't change a single thing about you.

Bonus: The Shopping Trip (Against Bo’s Will)

Bo Sinclair in a mall was the equivalent of dropping a pitbull into a ballet studio.

He was stiff, annoyed, and visibly scowling, while you pranced from one boutique to the next, holding up clothes and saying things like “This screams me, doesn’t it?” and “Bo, look at this! It’s like a skirt, but with fur!”

Every time he tried to retreat to a bench, you’d call him over with a squeal: “Babe! You have to hold my purse, I’m going to try this on!”

Bo, standing in a women’s boutique holding a pink bedazzled purse with a small chihuahua keychain on it, was a sight to behold. Some teenage girls giggled as they passed by. He gave them a slow death-glare that shut them up instantly.

And then you stepped out of the fitting room wearing something way too short, way too sparkly, and totally you.

Bo’s jaw tightened. “You’re not wearin’ that in public.”

“Why not?” You asked, twirling. “Too hot for you?”

Bo reached for his wallet. “…We’re buyin’ it. But you only wear it in the damn house.”

You grinned like you won a war. “So possessive. Kinda hot.”

Thomas Hewitt + Family

“Tommyyyy! There's a bug in the kitchen and it’s HUGE—oh my god, baby, I need you to handle it like, right now!”

Thomas had never met anyone like you.

You waltzed—actually waltzed—into the Hewitt family's dusty, decrepit home like a princess misplaced in a horror movie. Pink suitcase, heart-shaped sunglasses, fluffy keychains, lip gloss glinting like wet sugar on her pout. Your clothes were always perfectly matched, your hair always done, and you wore perfume that made you smell like cotton candy and cherry soda.

To the rest of the world, you were obnoxiously girly, with your dramatic hand gestures, and constant stream of Valley Girl slang. But to Tommy? You were pure, sweet light.

You squealed at bugs and cobwebs, refused to step into the kitchen barefoot, and definitely did not want to see “where the meat was made.” But instead of being cruel or judgmental, you’d wrinkle your nose and go:

"Ew, okay, I’m like, gonna pretend that doesn’t exist—but you’re still the cutest murder bear I’ve ever seen."

And Thomas, who had always been seen as a monster, didn’t know how to process someone calling him cute. His usual instinct was to back away, but you wouldn’t let him. You’d follow him around the house in your slippers with fuzzy pom-poms on top, chattering about skincare and outfit inspo and "how maybe this place could really pop if we added just a little pastel wallpaper."

When you first tried to hug him, Thomas froze—like a deer caught in headlights. No one touched him like that. No one wanted to. But you buried your head against his chest and mumbled, “You’re like a big warm teddy bear... with a chainsaw. So weird, but I love it.”

From then on, he melted every time you got close.

He’d do anything to protect you. You never had to lift a finger. If there was something gross in your path? Thomas took care of it. Bugs, messes, even replacing broken heels when you cried over snapping one on the old farmhouse stairs.

You made him feel seen—not as Leatherface, but as Thomas, the quiet man who liked to sew, who carefully cut fabric, who noticed colors and stitches.

One time, you saw the damaged lace curtain he’d repaired in the living room and gasped, "Wait—did YOU do this? Tommy, that’s, like, totally impressive! You’re, like, an artsy murder man!"

It made his ears go pink. He didn’t understand half of what you said, but he loved listening to you talk. Your voice was high and musical and full of love for every silly thing—nail polish, boy bands, weird drinks from the gas station.

And when you grabbed his hand and painted his massive fingernails soft pastel pink? He let you. Quiet. Blushing. Heart pounding behind the mask.

You brought chaos into his life, but it was the kind he never knew he needed. You made the horror of his world feel like background noise, just scenery for you to twirl and sparkle through.

You were scared of messes, yes. But never of him. And that was enough to make him fall harder every day.

Reaction of the Hewitt Family when they met you:

Luda Mae:

At first, Luda wasn’t sure what to make of you.

You were like a living Barbie doll—heels clacking across the floorboards, constantly asking if they had “like, anything organic” in the fridge, and wrinkling your nose at the dust like it personally offended her.

But then she saw the way Thomas looked at you. That softness. That stillness in his shoulders. Like he was finally… breathing easy.

And when Luda saw you gingerly wiping dust off the kitchen table with a pink handkerchief—still gagging, but trying—she raised a brow and muttered to herself:

"Well, I’ll be damned. That boy finally found someone who ain’t runnin’."

Within a week, Luda Mae was fussing over you like you were one of her own:

"Now sweetheart, don’t you go starvin’ yourself just ‘cause our food’s not from some big city spa store. You need meat on them little bones."

She even started defending your quirks: "If she wants pink lemonade in a wine glass, let her have it. She’s happy, and Tommy’s happy. That’s all I care about."

Luda eventually took great pride in teaching you “real homemaking,” even if your girlie girl instincts clashed hard with rural chores. You made a hilarious duo— “You expect me to churn WHAT?”— but there was affection in every sigh and scold.

Sheriff Hoyt (Charlie):

Ohhh, he HATED you at first.

All that chirping, that perfume, that attitude. He couldn’t stand it.

"You sure that’s not some kinda undercover spy, huh, Tommy? They sendin’ in Disney princesses now to take us out?"

He was always grumbling when you were around. Mocking your slang, your style, everything.

"‘Totes adorbs’? What in the HELL does that mean? Speak English, girlie."

But here’s the thing about Charlie—he might be a nasty piece of shit, but he’s loyal to blood. And when he saw how Thomas, his quiet, broken nephew, lit up around you… it gnawed at something deep in him.

One day he caught sight of you brushing Thomas’s hair behind his ears, gently humming while he sat still as a statue. Charlie stood there silently, watching the scene for longer than he’d admit.

Did he stop teasing you after that? No. Of course not.

But he started bringing you back things from town.

“Here. Some stupid lipgloss I saw. Said ‘cotton candy’ or some girly crap. Don’t get used to it.” (Spoiler: he bought you five more.)

He’d still act like he couldn’t stand you, but the minute someone outside the family made fun of you, he got real mean real fast.

"You talkin’ to our girl like that? ‘Cause I will rearrange your teeth, sweetheart."

Monty Hewitt:

Monty, bless his grumpy little heart, didn’t know what to make of you. You talk a mile a minute, wear hot pink everything, and once screamed bloody murder when you saw a spider crawling near his wheelchair.

But once he got over the initial shock, he actually found you entertaining.

He’d sit on the porch in his chair, sipping something strong, while you chattered about celebrity gossip or fashion trends, gesturing dramatically with a bedazzled water bottle in one hand.

"Now THIS is entertainment," he’d mutter, smirking.

You’d paint his nails once, calling it a “bonding moment.” He grumbled the entire time, but he didn’t stop you—and he definitely didn’t remove the pastel blue polish afterward.

Eventually, Monty became one of your unexpected protectors. If anyone said you wasn’t “tough enough” for the family, he’d raise a brow and say:

"She’s still here, ain’t she? You try living in this hellhole in heels. That girl’s tougher than she looks."

And he’d throw in a wink for good measure.

Despite the glitter and giggles, your place in the Hewitt family became solid. You weren't just Thomas’s quirky girlfriend anymore — You were family.

Your laughter echoed through the halls, and your energy brought life to the broken-down house.

You painted little hearts on the kitchen cabinets (Hoyt grumbled, but didn’t stop you). You decorated Thomas’s sewing corner with pink fairy lights ("Ambience, babe!"). You even taught Luda Mae how to contour her cheekbones one lazy afternoon, both of you giggling like teenagers.

You were chaos, glitter, pink fury—and somehow, you were perfect for the family. Because despite the perfume, the squealing, and the sparkles…

You loved Thomas. Truly.And they?They loved you for it.

Michael Myers

Most people wouldn't dare step within fifty feet of Michael Myers, let alone live with him. But you? You marched right into his life with a pink suitcase, a Chanel knockoff purse, and a lip gloss wand in hand.

You were the complete antithesis of him—bright, bubbly, and loud in all the ways he was cold and silent. The first time you laid eyes on him, you gasped. Not in horror. Not even in fear.

"Oh my god. You’re, like, soooo tall. And spooky. I love it."

He said nothing. Of course.

Just stared down at you, that pale mask blank and unreadable. You, on the other hand, looked up at him like he was some gothic god.

"You must be, like, a Scorpio or something. So mysterious."

Then you winked.

Michael wasn’t sure if you were insane, brave, or just so utterly oblivious that it baffled even him. But he didn’t kill you. Didn’t chase you. Just stood there while you babbled about your pink UGG boots getting dirty and how Haddonfield needed way more aesthetic lighting.

You moved in shortly after that. Not that he invited you… You just kinda never left. And strangely, he didn’t seem to mind. You filled his dark, grimy house with scented candles and plush throws. You left Hello Kitty slippers by the front door. You replaced the broken mirror with one that had LED lights and glitter decals spelling “You Look Fab.”

The house smelled like vanilla and strawberry body spray. The silence was filled with your upbeat pop playlists, makeup tutorials, and the occasional shriek when you saw a spider:

"Michael! Get it! Oh my god, it’s going to attack me! Babe, pleeease!"

He’d appear out of nowhere, squash the spider with a boot, and disappear again.

You’d clutch your chest, dramatically:

"Ugh, my hero. You’re literally giving Jason Voorhees nothing right now."

He never answered your questions. Never spoke. Never changed facial expressions. But you always knew what he was thinking.

When you forced a pink hoodie over his head one day that said “Killer BF Energy,” he just stood there for a solid minute, breathing through the mask. You thought for sure he was going to snap your neck.

Instead, he wore it the whole day.

You started taking selfies with him. You’d pose like an influencer, flashing peace signs with glittery nails while he loomed silently behind you, bloodstained knife in hand.

"This is my spooky little murder muffin. Isn't he adorbs?"

The internet thought it was cosplay. You never corrected them.

Despite the complete lack of words, Michael showed his affection in other ways. You noticed it.

He’d always show up behind you if someone was bothering you in town; He'd carry your shopping bags in one hand like they weighed nothing, while you skipped beside him in heels; He started leaving strange, oddly thoughtful gifts: a pretty rock, a heart-shaped hairpin, a necklace you’d once pointed at in a shop window.

And one night, after you'd curled up on the couch in a pile of blankets, face mask on and chick flick playing, he sat beside you. Slowly. Stiffly.

You leaned against his shoulder without hesitation. "You're like... the murder version of a golden retriever, honestly."No reply.

But he didn’t move away.

Sometimes you swore you saw his head tilt just slightly when you were doing your makeup. One day, as a joke, you painted his mask with sparkly pink eyeshadow.

He didn’t wipe it off.

No one got it. No one understood why you of all people were still alive. Why Michael Myers let you prance around in stilettos, spraying air freshener and calling him “boo.” But the truth was simple:

You weren’t afraid of the dark.You made it glitter.

And somewhere in the silence, behind the mask, he found a reason not to kill.

He found you.

381 notes · View notes

moonsaver · 1 year ago

Text

You were his sister's enemy.

Well, he rather assumes it.

Robin defends you whenever he scorns at you, and simply mentions you as someone who just has trouble communicating. Sunday, on the other hand, does not take to your mannerisms politely. Although distance and discord within branches of The Family have long shifted his attention from his sister and their once joint dream, it doesn't mean his protectiveness of it has vanished.

Your singing was nowhere near as perfect as his sister's, he believes. Robin defends you, saying you're great in your own way, and both of you have different styles of singing. He comments on your more mature look with disdain, thinly admonishing it as vulgar, while Robin tries to convince him you just work under a sultry concept. Everything you did, it was never as good as Robin's, and whenever even a single track of yours threatened Robin's on the chart, Sunday would be displeased. According to him, you were competing for fame with Robin, and even the audacity of you to go such lengths was disdainful.

Robin, however, has been trying to convince Sunday to be on better terms with her lover.

He isn't exactly unnoticing of Robin's new lipstick that's in a different shade than what she'd normally wear. A new perfume that's oddly charming, but expensive, not exactly what he sees her picking out. Hair accessories that he's never seen in her drawers, nail polish he's never seen her wear before, a new fresh change to her voice that's making it livelier as of late, which is suspicious, considering all of this takes place simultaneously after she leaves your room.

It's not long until Sunday manages to get a quiet moment with you. Confrontation isn't foreign to him, and neither are implied, cordial threats that are already schemed within the front of his mind as he gently turns the handle to your door.

You greet him politely, as expected, and both of you get talking. He gauges you out, asking you specific and roundabout questions, eyes scrutinizing the familiar color of nail polish on your fingers that were once on Robin's, the half-used bottle of perfume thats slightly peeking out of the poorly hidden drawer which he's sure is something Robin would pick, the glossy, sticky tissue which he assumes you used to wipe off some sheer gloss, which you obviously don't wear.

He's hostile, and he doesn't quite hide it. Warning, teetering on edge, observing and calculating his next question and your responses with every second. But alas, he finally leaves you alone, and silently takes his leave.

Sunday hates you. And that is a hill he will surely die on.

Or rather.. what else would you call this ugly, seething feeling inside his chest?

Seeing your eyes soften, your smile quirk up on your usually stoic face, your lazy, languid hands finding their usually hiding spot, tucked onto Robin's waist.

It makes him seethe seeing you do those things with his sister.

Or really, anything you do.

The laugh you share with an overly friendly employee, the side glance, silent communication with some of your audio-managing team, the playful pinching of your cheeks by another singer that's far too comfortable with you.

Your actions are.. despicable. Sure they are. And he starts questioning just why. He deludes himself with any reason that is clearly beyond rationale, and barely constrains a scoff when you try and ask him about his dampened mood.

Of course, he should find them despicable when they're done to him, too. But he doesn't.

And it's even more infuriating. He smiles softly and laughs at some of your words, playfully bumps you from time to time, and chuckles when you return the favor. He feels special when you make certain eye gestures, remember a few inside jokes, and wink at him to keep them a secret. And once he returns to his solitary confinement, it dawns on him, and he should be grinding his teeth to dust from the absolute fury you supposedly induce in him.

But he doesn't.

He's only left with a light feeling in his heart, which slightly, mournfully dampens when he sees you do the same with Robin.

They've shared a dream once. Surely, they can share a love, too?

2K notes · View notes

girlboypersonthingy · 1 year ago

Note

Was inspired by bambygourl’s fanart and a TikTok I saw. Dressing up as Roger and Jessica Rabbit for a costume party with Lucifer. I think he’d be all pouty and grumpy about dressing up as such a silly character and not a suave charming character. Tho his mood is sufficiently uplifted when he sees the reader dressed up as Jessica Rabbit. Pulling on his suspenders or bow tie for a kiss, getting lipstick on his mouth and face, and cooing over how adorable and handsome her honey-bunny is.

BYE I WENT AND LOOKED AT THE ART TOO THIS IS SO GOOD!!! Thank you for the request! And enjoy 😘

Notes: fem!reader, suggestive themes, just a short little drabble

Lucifer x reader- Honey Bunny 🤍

“(Y/N)…I look stupid.” Lucifer grumbles through the bathroom door to you, looking at himself in the full length mirror in front of him. He hated the way he looked in red pants and suspenders?! Like come on…and this ugly blue bow tie that clashes horribly with the rest of the outfit. “I’m not wearing the bunny ears. I’m not!” He complains loudly, pouting a bit when he hears you laughing on the other side of the door.

“I’m sure you look adorable, babe! Come on, it’s a costume party. Everyone will be in silly costumes!” You call out to him as you are finishing up your makeup. “Yes, but I’m the king of hell. I don’t want this to make me look bad. I dunno…just haven’t been out in a while. I’m feeling quite anxious, love.” Lucifer confesses in a soft and worried tone, still staring at himself in the mirror. He usually wasn’t such a poor sport when it came to these things but it’s been way too long since he’s attended a party, especially one thrown by one of the deadly sins. Luci is feeling the pressure.

A few minutes pass as you perfect your lipstick and check your hair in the mirror. Finally you slip your heels on, layer on a couple sprays of your favorite perfume and exit the bathroom. As soon as you pass the threshold of the door way, all of Lucifer’s worries dissolve away in seconds. A wicked smirk finds your lips as Lucifer feels himself becoming nervous for a whole other reason. He couldn’t get any words out, not one little whimper would even leave him. He was star struck by you in that gorgeous low cut dress with all that glamorous makeup on. Fuck, he knew it would be impossible not to stare at your chest nearly overflowing from your dress all night.

“Aww, baby! You look so cute.” Lucifer huffs at your cooing. “Pleeeaasssee put the ears on, I wanna see.” You plead as you slowly close the distance between you two. “Come on, Luci. Wear ‘em for me~” You continue your advance on him, getting so close that he has no choice but to stumble back onto the bed behind him. Putting on your best pout and prettiest puppy dog eyes, you lean down to get nice and close to his furiously blushing face. Without saying a word, Lucifer puts the white fuzzy bunny ears on his head, still staring up at you with stars in his eyes. Immediately, you perk up with a bright smile.

“Yay! Oh my goodness, you are too cute! Ugh, I love you.” Quickly, you lean in and kiss his lips, lingering there for a second before pulling back. “Oh, my dear, you are so beautiful. Wow.” Lucifer mumbles quietly as he looks you up and down. You couldn’t stifle your giggles as you admire your lipstick stamped so perfectly on his own lips. “You know…” You start before slowly slipping your fingers under his suspenders and gripping them tight in your fists. “We don’t have to go.” Teasingly, you crawl into his lap, now straddling him on the bed as you use his suspenders to get him closer. “We could just…stay home.” You kiss his cheek. “I could ease your anxiety.” You kiss his other cheek then his forehead. “And you can mess up my makeup all you want~”

You sit up straight now and Lucifer looses all his self control as his hands come to your waist, fingers digging into your skin as he finds himself perfectly face to face with your busty chest. His entire face from neck to ears is rapidly turning darker shades of red as a dopey smile widens across his cheeks. Bitting your bottom lip, you shimmy your chest in his face. “Whatdya say, my little honey bunny~?” Lucifer becomes weak and flops back on the bed, laying on his back as you straddle his lap still, enjoying seeing him in this state of desire and embarrassment. He puts an arm over his face in hopes of hiding from you but of course, you pull his arm away and look down at him with a loving gaze. He looks so precious right now- in this silly costume just for you, blushing and sweating and speechless all for you, and covered in your lipstick too.

“No, no…” With a loud and exaggerated sigh, Lucifer sits up and gives you gentle hug, now letting his head rest on your plush chest. “We should go. It’ll be good to make an appearance, catch up with some friends.” After a tight hug, you happily hop off his lap and grab his hand, pulling him to his feet. “Great choice, my love. This will be fun! And I’ll be with you the whole time.” You assure him before leaning over and straightening out his bow tie. Without warning, you use the fabric around his neck to pull him into another heated kiss, this time Lucifer’s hands come to your hips as he hums against your lips.

“Fuck, you’re so cute. Promise you’ll mess up my makeup later then?” You nuzzle your nose against his face as you await his reply. He hesitates, obviously flustered and trying to keep his dick under control. “Anything you want, my love.” And now you’re giggling again, pulling him by the hand out the front door. “Oh! I forgot, lemme get something to wipe your face. You’ve got lipstick every-“

Lucifer pulls you close, wrapping his arm around your waist as he smirks devilishly. He continues to pull you along out the door. “I already look silly, right? Eh, just leave it. It’ll let everyone know that the babe in the black lipstick beside me… Yeah, she’s mine and I’m hers.” It’s your turn to blush and oh boy, do you turn red.

And the whole car ride there, you’re just covering him in more and more kiss marks, even leaving a hicky or two on him as he fondles your chest and slowly becomes drunk off your lips. You two walk into the party looking disheveled but happy, Luci covered in lipstick and sweat while your hair is a bit of a mess now and your lipstick is almost completely wiped off. Hes really glad he decided to wear the bunny ears after all because he loves the way you keep looking at him tonight.

#lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x y/n #lucifer x you #hazbin #hazbin hotel #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer hazbin #hazbin lucifer #lucifer hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader

2K notes · View notes

motherismotheringggg · 7 months ago

Note

nicholas chavez fic where he’s with plus size reader and he likes to see her jiggle during sex👁️👁️

made to worship 🥀

summary: this and one another anon request — LOVED THIS!!!

type: plus sized female reader x nicholas chavez

tags: established relationship, body worshipping, oral (m! and f! receiving), p in v sex, swallowing

author’s note: it’s the way i wanted to start writing for more specific readers/reader traits and the literal say i had this idea i got this request — INSANITY!!! but im so happy with this and i hope yall like it!!!

word count: 4909

taglist: @emluvsuxo , @blackynsupremacy , @hoffmansgirl , @godzillawillsaveus , @purple-1995 , @ilovecheetahchrome , @nicholaschavezslut69

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The evening sky outside your high-rise apartment glowed with hues of pink and orange, the city skyline twinkling like scattered jewels. Inside, your space was bathed in the warm, ambient glow of your carefully curated mood lighting.

Fairy lights danced along the edges of your large windows, their soft light complementing the flicker of vanilla-scented candles scattered across the room. The atmosphere felt magical, almost like you were preparing for a scene in one of Nicholas’s movies—but tonight, the star was you.

Your "HOTTIES GETTING READY 🍸💗" playlist blasted through your Alexa speaker, Sabrina Carpenter’s upbeat lyrics urging you to sway your hips as you moved. The giddy excitement bubbling in your chest spilled into every movement: the way you twirled in front of the mirror, the occasional shimmy as you reached for another makeup brush, and the soft giggles that escaped your lips whenever you caught your reflection.

Your vanity table, a beloved thrift find, was adorned with an explosion of beauty products. Palettes, brushes, and compacts were arranged like tools in an artist’s studio, each chosen carefully to create the masterpiece that was you tonight.

Seated at the vanity, you leaned in close to the mirror, your curls bouncing lightly with the motion. You added the finishing touches to your makeup: a delicate shimmer highlighting your cheekbones, a precise wing of eyeliner that drew attention to your sparkling eyes, and a deep crimson lipstick that Nicholas had once declared "dangerous." The way the shade made your full lips pop was undeniable, and you smiled, pleased with the effect.

Your curves were hugged by a black dress that flowed over your body like a second skin. Stopping at the mid-thigh, it was a classic little black dress with a timeless silhouette and a sweetheart neckline that drew eyes directly to your décolletage and cleavage.

The fabric accentuated the softness of your figure—the swell of your hips, the dip of your waist, the fullness of your chest. The dress had been an indulgence, a piece you’d bought after seeing how it made you feel: sexy, confident, powerful. As you smoothed your hands down its sleek lines, you couldn’t help but admire yourself in the full-length mirror.

You had always loved your body. It had taken years to cultivate the confidence you now carried with pride, but tonight, you felt it in every fiber of your being. You were beautiful. And Nicholas, your boyfriend of almost a year, never let you forget it.

He’d been away for three months, filming a secret project in Europe. While the distance had been hard, you’d kept in touch with texts, calls, and plenty of late-night FaceTimes. But nothing compared to the real thing—to having him home, finally able to hold you in his arms. Tonight was your first date since his return, and though you’d suggested he rest after landing, Nicholas had been insistent.

You smiled to yourself as you remembered his words: “Sleep can wait. I need to see you.”

You really did think it was a good idea for Nicholas to get some rest after his flight. He had spent weeks on set, pouring himself into his role and managing the grueling hours of filming. But deep down, you knew rest wasn’t an option—not when it came to you. Nicholas could never resist you, and truthfully, you loved it. After all, you hadn’t exactly made it easy for him to keep his distance while he was away.

From the moment he boarded his flight for Europe, you had made it your mission to remind him exactly what was waiting for him back home. It started innocently enough: a few sultry selfies in his favorite lingerie, each one showing off how the lace hugged your curves just right. But it didn’t take long for you to turn up the heat.

Fresh out of the shower, droplets clinging to your skin, you’d let the steam fog the mirror just enough to add a teasing edge. Then came the quick videos: the camera lingering on your soft, full figure as you massaged your breasts or gave a playful slap to your ass, letting him see exactly what he was missing. You knew what Nicholas loved most—the way you filled his hands completely, yet still left more for him to hold. And you loved reminding him of it.

But one night, it all escalated. A little wine-drunk and missing him more than usual, you’d drawn yourself a bubble bath. The warm water and frothy bubbles felt indulgent, and with your phone propped securely on the edge of the tub, you put on a show just for Nicholas. You let the camera capture the way the water caressed your curves, your body glistening under the soft glow of candlelight. You posed and shifted, the bubbles teasingly obscuring parts of you before you’d lift a leg or arch your back, leaving just enough for his imagination to run wild.

His response had been immediate.

nickypoo 💘

You’re killing me, baby. How am I supposed to survive three more weeks of this?

you:

just giving you something to look forward to <3

He hadn’t stopped there, though. After a few more minutes of teasing, he sent another message that made you burst out laughing:

nickypoo 💘

I’m about to tell them there’s an emergency back home. They don’t need to know the emergency is how bad i NEED you.

You’d teased him relentlessly for it during your next FaceTime call, but you couldn’t deny how good it felt to be wanted like that. Knowing Nicholas adored every part of you, from the playful curve of your smile to the plush softness of your body, made the separation a little easier to bear.

And now, after all those weeks apart, he was finally on his way.

The sound of the lock clicking echoed through your apartment, followed by the familiar creak of the door opening. “Baby, I’m just finishing up in the bedroom!” you called out, checking your reflection one last time in the mirror. “I’ll be out in a minute!”

Nicholas didn’t respond right away, but you heard the soft thud of his bag hitting the floor and the shuffle of his footsteps as he made his way inside. There was a pause, followed by the unmistakable sigh of relief he always seemed to release when he was at your apartment.

When you finally stepped out of your bedroom, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. He was standing near the couch, looking relaxed yet strikingly handsome in a fitted black sweater and dark jeans. His brown eyes lit up the second they landed on you, and for a moment, he just stood there, taking you in like you were the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen.

“Damn,” he finally managed, his voice low and reverent.

Before you could reply, Nicholas closed the distance between you in three long strides. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a hug so tight it felt like he was trying to merge you into himself. His hands roamed instinctively to your waist, fingers pressing into the plushness of your curves like he was grounding himself in the feel of you.

“God, I missed you,” he murmured, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His voice was muffled, but you could hear the raw emotion behind it.

Your arms came up around his back, holding him just as tightly. His body was warm and solid against yours, and the familiar scent of his cologne—a mix of cedarwood and something earthy—wrapped around you like a comforting blanket.

After a long moment, Nicholas pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands still holding your waist. His gaze was intense, his brown eyes darting over your face like he was trying to memorize every detail. Then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t a light, playful kiss. It was deep, almost desperate, like he’d been starving for you and you were the only thing that could satisfy him. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine, yet there was a tenderness to it—a gentleness that reminded you just how much he cared.

You broke the kiss with a soft laugh, brushing your fingers over your lips. “Okay, as much as I love this,” you teased, “I just spent way too much time on my makeup to let you ruin it before we even leave.”

Nicholas groaned, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t care about the makeup,” he muttered, his voice gravelly and thick with desire. His hands slid down to your hips, squeezing them in a way that made you feel worshipped. “You’re so damn beautiful, it hurts.”

The way he said it, with absolute conviction, made your cheeks warm. “You’re not playing fair,” you said, trying to maintain your composure, though the fluttering in your chest betrayed you.

His lips curved into a grin, one of his dimples making an appearance as he leaned back to look at you. “I haven’t even started yet.”

As if to prove his point, one of his hands slid up your thigh, the warmth of his palm searing through the fabric of your dress. His touch was deliberate, teasing, and the look in his eyes told you exactly where his mind was heading.

You caught his wrist before he could go any further, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t get all dressed up just for you to ruin it now,” you said, your tone playful but firm.

Nicholas let out an exaggerated groan, throwing his head back with a dramatic sigh. His hair fell into soft waves around his face, and when he finally looked at you again, his grin had only grown wider. “Fine,” he relented, though the glint in his eye told you he wasn’t giving up so easily.

You pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, then trailed your lips along his jawline, stopping just below his ear. “If you can wait until after dinner,” you whispered, your voice low and teasing, “I promise it’ll be worth it.”

His eyebrows shot up, and his lips parted slightly as a sly grin spread across his face. “Oh, you’re trouble,” he murmured, his voice tinged with amusement and a touch of awe.

You turned toward the door to grab your shoes and jacket, but before you could take two steps, a loud smack echoed through the room as Nicholas’s hand came down on your ass. The contact was firm, leaving a faint sting that made you yelp in surprise.

“Nicholas!” you exclaimed, spinning around to glare at him, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed your annoyance.

He bit his bottom lip, clearly pleased with himself. “Sorry,” he said, though his grin was anything but apologetic. “I couldn’t help it.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress a smile as you grabbed your shoes. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered, slipping them on.

Nicholas raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. “Okay, okay—I’ll relax,” he said, though his eyes lingered on you in a way that told you he was far from done admiring you.

As you reached for your jacket, you couldn’t help but glance back at him. The sight of him, so completely enamored and entirely yours, made your heart swell. It had been three long months, but in this moment, it felt like no time had passed at all.

————

When you walked down to the car, the sight waiting for you made your heart skip. Parked by the curb was Nicholas’s beloved cherry-red 1967 Mustang, gleaming under the soft glow of the streetlights. Sitting in the passenger seat was the biggest bouquet of flowers you’d ever seen—an explosion of rich red roses, delicate baby’s breath, and fragrant lilies. You couldn’t hold back your joy, practically leaping into his arms before peppering his face with kisses. Nicholas laughed, a low, happy sound that vibrated against your chest as he wrapped his arms around you.

The drive to the gallery was filled with light conversation and your playlist humming in the background, his hand firmly resting on your thigh, fingers occasionally giving it a little squeeze. At the gallery walk, Nicholas’s attention stayed on you more than the art.

As you strolled through the exhibits, his touch was constant—never intrusive, just reassuring. His hand rested gently on your lower back as you navigated the crowded rooms, steering you effortlessly through clusters of art enthusiasts. When you stopped to read a placard, he’d step behind you, his hands settling on your hips, his chest lightly brushing your back.

Whenever your eyes met, he’d steal a kiss—a quick peck if someone was nearby, but when the moment allowed, he’d dip down to claim something deeper, making you momentarily forget the world around you.

At dinner, he was utterly captivated. Candlelight danced in his warm, brown eyes as he hung on to your every word. You laughed about some silly drama your friends were having, vented about the weird maintenance issues in your building, and recounted the wild dreams you’d had while he was away. Through it all, his gaze never wavered. He was enthralled—not just by your words but by the way your lips moved, the sparkle in your eyes, and the sound of your laughter.

Surprisingly, the drive home was calm, though his hand remained a grounding presence on your leg. Even in the elevator, where you half-expected him to lose control, he was restrained—his eyes on you, dark with promise, but his body relaxed.

But the second you stepped through your apartment door, all bets were off.

————

You barely had a moment to close the door before Nicholas’s lips found yours, urgent and consuming. His hands tugged at your coat as if the barrier was offensive, and when he finally had it off, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His lips moved with a desperate hunger, yet there was still that softness to them, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to devour you or savor every second.

His fingers trailed up your sides, gripping at your curves in a way that made you shiver. “I told you I could wait,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and gravelly with a smile. Before you could respond, he lifted you effortlessly, his hands firmly grasping the plushness of your thighs, carrying you deeper into the apartment as if he couldn’t wait a second longer to have you all to himself.

Nicholas carried you effortlessly to the bedroom, his lips never straying far from yours. The kisses varied—some deep and consuming, others soft and teasing, but all filled with an undeniable need. When he finally set you down, it was in front of your full-length mirror, the glow from your bedroom’s soft lighting casting a golden hue over the scene.

You caught sight of yourself in the mirror, your chest rising and falling with each breath, lips already swollen from his kisses. Behind you, Nicholas stood tall, his hands resting on your hips as he pressed a kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder.

“You were breathtaking tonight,” he murmured against your skin, his voice deep and low, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. He kissed the curve where your shoulder met your neck, then trailed his lips upward until they found that spot just below your ear that always made you melt. “And you know it,” he added, his tone playful but dripping with sincerity.

His hands slid from your hips to your waist, squeezing gently as he pressed closer to you. You could feel the warmth of his chest against your back, his steady breath brushing against your ear. “Do you know why I put you here?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper.

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Why?” you managed, your voice breathy and light.

“Because I want you to watch,” he said, his lips curling into a sly grin as he began to trail kisses down the curve of your neck again. “I want you to see how beautiful you are, how much I adore every inch of you.” His kisses grew slower, deeper, as he slid his hands down to your hips again.

Nicholas’s kisses grew hungrier as his hands slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders. His lips trailed over the newly exposed skin, his breath warm against your collarbone, making your pulse race. With a soft sigh, the fabric slipped further down, and Nicholas took his time kissing every inch of skin revealed to him until the dress pooled at your feet.

For a moment, he pulled back to take you in, his eyes darkening as they roamed over your curves, lingering on the black lingerie you’d chosen. His hands spanned your waist, his touch firm yet reverent, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“God, you’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice thick with admiration. His fingers traced the curve of your hips, his hands splaying over the softness of your stomach, your thighs. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your jaw as he whispered, “You have no idea how much I’ve missed this. How much I’ve missed you.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, but before you could respond, he kissed you again—deep and deliberate, like he was pouring every ounce of emotion into the connection. His hands skimmed up your sides, over the swell of your breasts, and back down again, his touch leaving trails of fire on your skin.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured between kisses, his lips moving to your neck. “So warm. Do you know how obsessed I am with you? With this body?” His hands caressed your waist again, his grip tightening like he couldn’t help himself. “You drive me crazy. I swear, I’ll never get enough of you.”

“Nicholas…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, trembling under his touch.

He smiled against your skin, a slow, knowing grin as he gently guided you toward the dresser. “Lean here,” he said softly, helping you rest against the cool wood. Behind you, the mirror reflected everything—the way your chest rose and fell, the flush creeping across your skin, and Nicholas towering over you, his presence magnetic.

He caught your gaze in the mirror as he placed his hands on either side of you, caging you in. “I want you to watch,” he said, his voice low and commanding but filled with adoration. “I want you to see why I worship you.”

Your breath hitched as he tilted your chin up, kissing you deeply once more. His hands slid over your body with a confidence that made your knees weak, each touch deliberate, almost reverent. He kissed down your neck, over your collarbone, and then lower, his lips trailing along the tops of your breasts.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Nicholas dropped to his knees, his hands anchoring on your hips as his lips continued their descent. His fingers grazed your thighs, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. He pressed kisses to your stomach, lingering there, his lips soft but insistent.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmured against your skin, his brown eyes lifting to meet yours. The intensity in his gaze sent a fresh wave of warmth pooling in your belly. His hands slipped to the waistband of your panties, and with an effortless tug, he slid them down your legs.

He helped you step out of them, his hands strong but tender as he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder. The position left you exposed, vulnerable, but the way he held you—like you were the most precious thing in the world—put you completely at ease.

Nicholas pressed a series of kisses to the inside of your thighs, his lips slow and deliberate, as though savoring every second. His fingers gripped your thighs firmly, grounding himself in your softness.

“Look at yourself,” he said, his voice rough but gentle, his breath warm against your skin. “Look at how beautiful you are when I’m making you feel good.”

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting your reflection in the mirror. The sight of yourself—flushed and trembling, your chest rising and falling with anticipation—made your pulse quicken. But it was the way Nicholas looked at you, his gaze filled with a mix of reverence and hunger, that made your heart ache in the best way.

He leaned in, his tongue gliding over your sensitive flesh, and you gasped, your hands gripping the dresser for support. His movements were precise, deliberate, as though he was learning every reaction, every sound you made.

Your head fell back briefly as the pleasure built, but Nicholas’s voice brought you back. “No, baby,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze again in the mirror. “I want you to see this. I want you to see how gorgeous you are when you fall apart for me.”

His lips returned to you, his tongue and mouth working in perfect harmony as his hands anchored you in place. Every stroke, every kiss felt like an act of devotion, as though he was pouring every ounce of his love for you into his touch.

Every swipe of Nicholas’s tongue against your aching core sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body. His touch was maddeningly tender yet intentional, each flick and stroke designed to unravel you completely. Your knees faltered under the onslaught of sensation, but Nicholas was always there—his grip tightening, his strong arms grounding you. You felt the flex of his biceps as he held you steady, his strength wrapping around you like a promise that he wouldn’t let you fall.

Your gaze flicked to the mirror, and the sight made your breath hitch. You were a mess —your chest rising and falling with desperate heaves, your skin flushed with heat. Your bottom lip was caught between your teeth, a vain attempt to stifle the moans and whimpers spilling from you.

“I love it when you moan like that, baby,” Nicholas murmured, pulling back just enough to speak, his voice a low rumble that sent a fresh wave of heat through you. His lips were wet with your arousal, his eyes dark and hooded as they bore into yours. “Tell me how bad you need me, baby.”

Your voice trembled as you replied, barely able to form the words between your gasps. “So bad, Nicholas. I need you—I’m gonna cum.”

The admission spurred him on. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he returned his mouth to you with renewed fervor. The rhythm of his tongue became more relentless, his movements perfectly in sync with your rising tension.

Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as the pressure inside you reached its peak. “Nicholas—” you gasped, your voice breaking as the first wave of your orgasm crashed over you. Your body tensed, trembling against him as you cried out, the pleasure consuming you completely.

Nicholas didn’t stop, his grip firm as he held you steady, coaxing every last shudder from your body. When you finally came down, your breaths ragged and your legs weak, he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh before rising to his feet.

Before you could fully catch your breath, Nicholas turned you around with ease, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss so heated it stole what little air you’d regained. His hands worked quickly, unbuckling his belt and shoving his pants and boxers down in one fluid motion.

He guided you to lean forward, your hands bracing against the dresser as he positioned himself behind you. His hands gripped your hips, the rough pads of his fingers pressing into your softness as he aligned himself with your entrance.

The first slow, deliberate thrust stole your breath entirely. Nicholas let out a low, guttural moan as he entered you, his hands steadying your hips as he adjusted to your tightness. “Fuck baby, I missed this pussy,” he rasped, his voice rough and shaky. “You’re so tight baby ... You feel so good.”

His hips began to move, the slow rhythm building gradually, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure through your overstimulated body. Nicholas’s hands roamed over your hips and thighs, grounding himself in the feel of you.

His eyes were locked on the way your body moved with his, the way your plush curves rippled with every thrust. The sight seemed to undo him. He groaned low in his throat, his hand drawing back before landing a sharp slap against your ass.

The sensation made you cry out, the sharp sting blending with the pleasure coursing through you. Nicholas’s grip tightened, and he let out a grunt at your reaction. “You like that, baby?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

“Yes,” you managed to moan, your voice shaky but insistent. “Do it again.”

A wicked smile curved his lips as he complied, his hand landing another firm slap against your skin. The sound echoed in the room, followed by your moan, and he couldn’t stop himself from doing it again—and again, the rhythm of his thrusts growing more erratic with each deliciously sharp impact.

“You’re so good for me,” he groaned, his voice rough and breathless.

Nicholas’s thrusts grew faster, each stroke deeper than the last. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers pressing into your soft skin as he lost himself in the rhythm of your bodies. Each time his hand came down on your ass, the sharp sting sent a new wave of arousal through both of you, his groans mingling with your breathless cries.

His voice, a perfect mix of raspy and grumbly, edged with desperate whines, drove you wild. The sound was so raw, so unfiltered—it made you ache to give him the same overwhelming pleasure he was giving you.

You began to pick up on his rhythm, matching his movements with your own. Arching your back further, you started to throw your hips into him, meeting his thrusts with equal force. The shift in control made Nicholas let out a loud, guttural moan, his hands faltering for a moment as you took the lead.

“I love when you fuck me back like this,” he groaned, his hands slipping from your hips as he let “Baby, you’re so good.”

The praise spurred you on, your movements growing faster, more deliberate. You felt his resolve weakening, his breaths coming in short, ragged bursts as you took control. Each roll of your hips sent him deeper into bliss, and the sound of your bodies colliding filled the room—a symphony of moans, skin meeting skin, and the creak of the dresser beneath your weight.

Nicholas was completely yours now, his body trembling as you worked him. “You’re such a good girl,” he gasped between his moans, his voice thick with adoration. “So perfect for me. Just like that—don’t stop.”

But when he couldn’t take it any longer, his hands returned to your hips, gripping you with renewed urgency. He thrust into you harder, faster, his strokes relentless as he chased his release.

“I’m gonna cum baby doll,” he rasped, his voice breaking with the force of his pleasure.

The moment the words left his mouth, you turned your head slightly, your voice breathy but sure. “I want you to finish in my mouth.”

Nicholas groaned, his movements faltering for a split second before he regained his rhythm, thrusting into you a little longer before pulling out with a sharp gasp.

He guided you down to your knees, standing over you as he stroked himself, his hand moving in frantic, desperate motions. His brown eyes locked onto yours, filled with hunger and adoration as you tilted your head back, lips parted, waiting for him.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he muttered, his voice trembling with need.

Moments later, his release spilled into your mouth, warm and overwhelming. You took him in fully, your tongue swirling around his sensitive tip as he shuddered above you. His head tipped back, his chest heaving as he let out a low, broken moan, his entire body trembling with the force of his climax.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice weak as his hands gripped the edge of the dresser for balance.

You didn’t stop there, teasing him with gentle flicks of your tongue, savoring the taste of him as his knees nearly buckled. His back hunched as he let out a weak chuckle, his hand coming to rest on your cheek.

“Baby, please,” he begged, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Your lips curved into a satisfied smile as you pulled away, placing a soft kiss on his hip before sitting back on your heels. Nicholas reached down, pulling you back up into his arms, his forehead pressing to yours as he caught his breath.

But then, his lips brushed against your ear, and you felt the familiar heat of his words. “Don’t think I’m done with you yet,” he murmured, his voice low and full of promise. “I still need to have you… all of you.”

His hands slid down your sides, leaving a trail of goosebumps before giving your ass a playful slap. “Get on the bed,” he said with a mischievous grin, his brown eyes gleaming. “I want to see that gorgeous face of yours when I make you cum again.”

#lavender baby #nicholas chavez #nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholas chavez x y/n #nicholas chavez x female reader #nicholas chavez smut #nicholas chavez fanfiction

193 notes · View notes

akataiii · 9 months ago

Text

Lipstick stains (A Bakugou x Female! Reader)

"Ah, shit."

You look down at the empty lipstick, pursing your lips in annoyance. It was your favorite shade, and you had just run out, meaning you'd have to replace it. With a sigh, you slap on some clear lip gloss and head out of your room.

"I'll be back," you say to your boyfriend in passing, grabbing your handbag from the table where you had previously left it.

"Where you headed?" Katsuki asks, looking up from his phone in curiosity.

"I ran out of lipstick," you admit, making your way to the front door to put your shoes on. "I'm just going to make a quick run to the store to get a new one."

"At least get a different shade this time," Katsuki calls from behind you. "The one you had was ugly as shit."

You whip your head around, dropping your shoes before marching back to the couch to glare down at the blonde, who had gone back to looking at his phone. Upon noticing your stare, Katsuki's gaze drifts up to you again, and his brows draw together in a frown.

"What?" He grunts.

"Don't act like you don't know," you scold, crossing your arms across your chest and deepening your scowl. "That's my favorite shade you're insulting."

Katsuki's frown turns to a glare as well, and he shuts his phone off, tossing it to the side as he folds his own arms across his chest, mirroring your pose. "I'm not taking it back," he informs. "Ugly is ugly."

You resist the urge to punch him in the face, reminding yourself that he wasn't being mean on purpose. You do narrow your eyes at him, though. Silently communicating your rage.

Then, suddenly, an idea pops into your head, and you uncross your arms, letting them drop to your side. Katsuki picks up on your sudden shift in moods, and you can see him pull a grimace, knowing he was about to be pulled along for a ride he did not want to be apart of.

"If you hate the shade so much," you start, letting your lips spread into a smirk. "Then how about you tag along and pick one out for me?"

Katsuki lets out a pained groan, throwing his head back against the couch. "No way."

"Come on," you say decidedly, grabbing ahold of his wrist and hauling him to his feet. "Be a good boyfriend for once."

Katsuki makes an offended noise. "Fuck you. I'm a great boyfriend."

And that was all it took to get him out the door with you.

"How am I supposed to pick a shade when I don't know what it looks like?" Katsuki questions, watching you present him with several options.

"What do you mean?" You ask in confusion, holding a lipstick up to explain. "The color is literally right here on the bottom."

Katsuki makes a show of rolling his eyes and folding his arms across his chest, staring at you like you're an imbecile. "I mean," he grits out, narrowing his eyes at you. "How can I pick a shade when I don't know if it looks good on you or not?"

You let out a quiet 'Ohh' of understanding, bringing the shades closer to you again to examine the options.

"You could have just asked me to put them on, you know?" You say, smiling at yourself in the mirror when Kastuki's anger flares up behind you again.

When you've applied the lipstick to your lips, you spin around to show it off to the blonde, quirking your brows in the question, 'What do you think?'

Katsuki makes a face, scrunching his nose in consideration before he shakes his head, 'no.'

You sigh and dig a wet wipe out of your bag to wipe the lipstick off of your lips. Then, you pick out the next shade and put it on, smacking your lips before showing it off to your boyfriend.

"No," he says almost immediately. "That one looks even worse."

You shoot him an unamused look. "Seriously?"

The blonde shrugs, tilting his head to the side as he says, "You wanted me to be honest."

You purse your lips in irritation, thinking of a way you can get the blonde back for his pickiness. When you get an idea, your eyes light up, once again alerting Katsuki that he was in for a ride, whether he liked it or not.

"How about I see what it looks like on you, hmm?" You question, and Katsuki's eyes shoot open in response as you start to approach him in slow, almost predatory steps.

"Fuck no," he protests, holding a finger up in warning. "You are not putting that shit on my lips."

Your smile widens in response, and you keep stalking closer to the blonde, sidestepping him once, twice, before slinging your arms around his neck and placing a fierce kiss onto his cheek.

You let go of his neck, grinning in triumph as Katsuki stands there, stiff as a board.

"Yeah, you're right," you say, turning around and wiping the lipstick off of your lips again. "That shade is pretty ugly."

The blonde doesn't utter a word when you spin around to show him the next shade, still stunned from your earlier actions.

"What about this one, Kats?" You question, getting no response except for a strangled noise from the back of his throat.

"Let's see if I like it on you," you say, placing another kiss on Katsuki's opposite cheek, finally shocking the blonde back into motion.

"That one's ugly too," he says, and you don't miss the blush that creeps onto his cheeks, slightly hidden by the pink and red lipstick marks you left.

"Really?" You prompt, letting out a giggle at his flustered state. "I think this one's rather nice on you."

Getting no answer apart from a click of the tongue, you spin around and wipe your lips for the third time, putting on the next shade.

"How's this one?" You ask as your eyes leave the mirror. When you turn around, you're surprised to find that Katsuki is no longer a few steps away and is now standing almost on top of you, looming over your form with a smirk plastered on his face.

"It's perfect," he breathes before bending down and capturing your painted lips with his own.

A short but breathtaking kiss later, Katsuki pulls away with lipstick on his lips identical to your own, smiling down at you with affection flashing through his crimson gaze.

"Great," you whisper, still breathless from the kiss. "I'll get this one then."

"Damn right," Katsuki says, creating some space between the two of you as he takes a step back. "Now give me that wet wipe."

You chuckle, handing it over and watching as Katsuki starts furiously wiping at his face to get the lipstick marks off.

"Good?" He asks when he's done, looking at you for approval.

Your eyes widen before you quickly inspect the label of the lipstick you're holding. You bring a hand up to cover your mouth, looking back up at Katsuki with an apologetic gaze.

"What?" He questions, brows furrowing expectantly for when you drop the bombshell that has you looking so worried on him.

"Katsuki. I am so sorry," you say, unable to hold back your laugh when Katsuki grabs the lipstick from your hand and inspects the label for himself.

"IT'S FUCKING TINTED!?"

In the end, you got a new favorite shade of lipstick, and Katsuki... Well. Katsuki got some very positive feedback from the civilians he passed on patrol the next day.

#mha #anime #writing #fanfic #bnha #oneshot #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #mha x reader #bakugou x reader

121 notes · View notes

just-zy · 1 year ago

Text

So close yet so far

pairing: Jenna Ortega x Fem!Reader!

summary: More than friends, less than lovers.

A/N: lemme tell you, what a wayy to start this freaking imagine..Also this is an au wherein Jenna and Reader are in hs..

Warnings!: Shi angsty, kissy kiss kiss 😋 Jenna's a player here.. 😞

Masterlist

You didn't know if you'd won the lottery, considering you had a pretty girls tongue down your fucking throat, her hands roaming your skin, raw. Her soft grunts, and light tugging on the hem of your shirt while her right arm laid perfectly limp on your right shoulder, making your knees buckle, her touch alone could send you to heaven's gates and make you see galaxies.

I felt my throat let out an unapologetic whine, indicating that I needed to pull away for air. Gosh, I didn't want this to end. I was intoxicated by the girl in front of me.

"What's wrong, pretty girl?" The girl above me pants for air, asking with smugness lasing on her voice, clearly she didn't care about having a breather.

"W- we have class in a few minutes, Jenna." I say with a firm look in my eyes, but she wasn't having it.

"You're saying that like you weren't the one who initiated this, baby.." She batted her eyelashes, looking right down at me. "So, be a good girl and relax..We still have a few minutes." She says right before jumping right back into action, her soft plump lips gazing on mine like a lost puzzle piece.

She's gonna be the death of me.

...

"Hey gurrl– oh, what happened to your lips? It's bleeding!"

Yep, she started nipping at my lips when she felt me resisting her kisses.

"I— uhm, well I.. Fuck that, can we please not talk about this right now?" Dismissing her. I hear her lightheartedly scoff, she knew I wasn't being mean. Zoe and I had been friends for about a decade, so it wasn't a problem for her and for me when we give each other attitude.

"Alright dude chill, someone clearly pissed in your coffee today." She teasingly taunts me whilst she held her pen between her index and middle finger, acting like she was poking me with the object. She had her eyebrows raised, indicating that she knew what had happened with my wounded lip.

Of course she knew about me and Jenna's situation, it was never a secret to my Best Friend.

"You know, you might end up regretting agreeing to Jenna about being friends with benefits.."

I regret staring directly at her ever since I saw her walking down that flight of stairs, gosh who would've thought love at first sight existed?

"Nevermind that— oh shit-" Zoe stares right behind me, her mouth agaped and wide-eyed. "Fuck– don't look!"

I skeptically chuckled as she began taking my hand with hers, implying we had to leave immediately. Obviously I wasn't backing down as I was curious on what had gotten her into such a state. "Don't look, stupid!"

Welp, I wish I hadn't, God forbid I don't die now.

There she was, in her black leather jacket, someone else's fingers tangled in her hair, her lips grazing someone else's. Her burgundy lipstick, staining their hungry lips.

Fuck.

"Okay! Let's go! Let's move it."

"Y- yeah.."

I was so close, yet so far.

...

"Hey there, pretty girl."

"Hi, Jenna."

I shrugged as I was sat under the biggest tree in the campus. Its shade hiding me from the sunlight. It's been what, at least two days since me and Jenna's intimate act were established. Missing her was an understatement, but having to go back to her knowing she had someone else's tongue down her throat? That'll just feel so wrong for me, considering I couldn't get the image out of my head.

"So, you haven't been calling, what's up with that?" I see her lightly tilt her head to her right. I took a deep breath and glanced up at her, not really in the mood for her intimate acts. "Homework, Jenna. At least make sure you aren't failing your classes."

She scoffs, "What's with the attitude? Why so feisty. Was it because I had you running late for class?"

I averted my attention away from her, my heart doing flips. Uncomfortable. Flips.

"I– No, it's not that-"

"Then what? Talk to me– wait, did you..?" I felt the atmosphere change dramatically, I see Jenna moving her lips, she can't seem to get her words out. "Look, it's not really a surprise that I fell for you–"

"You said– you.. You weren't going to fall for me- Y/N you know I'm not the type to—"

"Yes! Gosh, Jenna. I know! Do you think I chose this? Do you think I chose to fall for a player?!" I stood up, having all my attention on Jenna, alone. "Then why the fuck did you agree to this anyway when you knew the outcome?!" Every word that got out of her mouth, every stab of her index finger on my chest, every impact it did on my clothed skin, felt like a knife stabbing right through my already broken heart.

"Well— Fuck! I don't know! I wanted to be closer to you, that was the only way to get your attention." I heaved and coughed as tears threatened to fall. I grew limp, I stood on my ground, not moving.

I am fucked.

I was on autopilot, I took all my shit and hastily went back inside school. Timing wasn't on my side, I still have a few classes.

Time never favoured me, anyway.

______+______

#jenna ortega #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x you #enid sinclair #wednesday addams x reader #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x reader

213 notes · View notes

vodika-vibes · 18 days ago

Text

Cotton Candy Lipstick

Summary: The first year of the war, Monnk meets a woman at 79s and spends the night with her on his lap and kissing her breathless. Four years later, with the war over and with a shiny new set of rights under his belt, Monnk is haunted by the memory of her lips.

Pairing: Commander Monnk x F!Reader

Word Count: 1193

Warnings: Spicy implications at the end

A/N: I was in a Monnk mood and decided to do something about it. Thus, this story was born. Sorry if it's not the greatest. I'm very tired.

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

In Monnk’s personal opinion, he’s the most pathetic man to ever exist.

For one, very simple, reason.

It’s because four years ago, he met a young woman at 79s, and he’s been stuck on her ever since. Every time he closes his eyes, her face swims into view. And when he’s dreaming at night he can hear her voice and feel her lips against his.

It’s, frankly, embarrassing.

He doesn’t even know her name.

And it’s been four years, and he never saw her again after that first meeting.

And yet, here he is. Retired from military work, yet still living on Coruscant just in case he runs into her at the store or at the park or something.

She tasted like cotton candy. Her kisses sugary sweet in a way that Monnk became addicted to over the course of a single night. If he had been a smarter man at the time, he would have gotten her name or number.

But he had been a dumbass kid, basically, and let his angel slip through his fingers.

At this point, his brothers are starting to give him a hard time about it, calling him pathetic for being stuck on someone who might not even exist. And when Monnk started pushing back, they decided the best way to handle the situation is to set him up on a series of, increasingly bad, blind dates.

Honestly, Monnk isn’t sure why he still goes on these dates. Other than he doesn’t want to deal with his brothers’ nagging him about standing up his date.

Which brings him to now.

He’s dressed casually, a button down shirt and some nice-ish trousers, as he sits at a table in a restaurant that he doesn’t really like, waiting to meet a date he’s pretty sure he’s going to hate.

The last three dates he’s been on have hated his hair—she said that men shouldn’t dye their hair blue or wear it long—and one said that if she was going to date him, he would have to get his tattoo removed, which is never going to happen.

He shifts in the chair and rests his chin on the palm of his hand with a sigh. Maybe if he just leaves, he can tell his brothers that he got stood up and they’ll stop with this ridiculous blind date thing.

Monnk is pulled from his thoughts when someone drops into the chair across from him, and he flickers his gaze across her face. She’s pretty, her hair pulled into a braid down her back, and her lips are painted in the same shade of pink that you see on bubblegum.

She’s not really looking at him, though. She’s messing with her purse, and talking in his direction. Something about work being a hassle and that this isn’t really her thing, but her friends insisted.

And then she looks at him, and Monnk is able to get a good look at her face, and he straightens in his seat. He’d recognize her face anywhere. Stars know he’s dreamed of it enough times.

“Oh! It’s you!” She sounds pleased when she looks at him, and a bright smile crosses her pink lips.

“Monnk,” He offers her his hand, which she takes as she offers her own name, “Maybe now we’ll be able to talk more than once every four years.” He offers with a small grin.

“Hopefully!” She doesn’t seem to want to pull her hand away from his, her soft fingers gliding against his wrist, “I went back to 79s the next night, looking for you.” she admits, sounding almost sheepish.

“I got deployed that morning,” Monnk explains, “And I was gone for six months.”

“Well, that’s alright. Because we’re here now, yeah?”

“Yeah,” His grin widens, “So, do you still wear that cotton candy lipstick?”

A bubbly laugh falls from her, and then she shifts her chair so she’s able to press her knee against his, “It is my favorite.”

“It’s my favorite too.” He turns in his chair, just enough that he’s facing her, and he brushes his fingers against the corner of her lips, “Is that what you’re wearing today?”

She shakes her head with a teasing grin, “I decided to wear something new today.”

“Flavored lipstick?”

“Of course.”

Monnk taps his thumb against her lower lip, “What flavor?”

Her grin widens, “Why don’t you tell me?”

His gaze flickers to her lips, and then he leans back, “You know, I haven’t ordered anything yet. You want to get out of here?”

She tilts her head, almost coyly, “Aren’t you hungry, Monnk?”

“Starved,” He replies immediately, “but there’s nothing here that will hit the spot.”

She averts her gaze for a moment, but then locks her gaze with his again, “Well, in that case, we should definitely leave.”

It takes less than five minutes for Monnk to get up, for him to help her up, to guide her out of the restaurant, and to tug her into an alley not far from the restaurant so he can crash his lips against hers.

She tastes like strawberries, and she’s so soft as she presses against his body, her arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. It’s the kiss, and the body, he’s been dreaming about for years.

So, really, it’s not his fault when he pulls back so he’s able to trail his lips down her jaw to her throat. And it’s not his fault when he lightly nips on the soft skin of her neck.

And when she whimpers, and tangles her fingers in his hair and pulls on it, Monnk starts to plan his wedding with her.

Her soft fingers trail through his hair, and she breathes out his name like it’s a prayer, and Monnk has to remind himself to check his grip so he doesn’t hurt her. But his gaze meets hers, and there’s something soft and hot in her gaze, and he can’t help but grip her hips even tighter.

Her eyes flutter slightly, “Monnk,” she murmurs, “You should walk me home.”

It’s an innocent comment.

“Will you let me stay?” Monnk asks, he doesn’t want innocent.

Her fingers glide against his jaw, “Until you get tired of me.”

“So, never then?”

And she grins at him so brightly that her eyes crinkle at the corners.

The following morning, Monnk wakes up with his legs tangled in hers and his arms tight around her waist. He’s deliciously sore from the scratch marks on his back and the hickies covering his body.

His comm is chiming with multiple incoming messages, so he grabs his comm to check his messages, all while tracing the marks he left on her body with a careful finger.

She groans and buries her face in his chest as he opens the many messages from Cody, and then Monnk releases a laugh. She whines and pulls back to squint at him, “Monnk?”

“Looks like you weren’t my blind date last night, princess.”

She blinks slowly, her sleepy brain struggling to comprehend, “That’s okay. This is better.”

“Oh,” Monnk leans in and steals a heated kiss, “I absolutely agree.”

@heidnspeak

@justiceandwar98

@etod

@kiss-anon

@lonewolflupe

@silly-starfish

@msmeredithrose

@cdblake1565

@badbatch-bitch

@continous-mistakes

@falconfeather23435

@tiredbi-peach

@kimiheartblade

@clones-cyare

@cc--2224

@mira-loves-star-wars

@trixie2023

@rebell-ious

@padawancat97

@sweater-sloot

@bb8-99

@wax-birds

@adriennelenoir

@omegaprime18

@bad4amficideas

@dukeoftheblackstar

@yoitsjay

@liz-stat

@arctech-fox

@lokigirlszendaya

@sailorflora

@jetiimasterbekah

@six-1mpossiblethings

@clonetrooperjournals

@ct7567329

@thatforlornfeeling

@moose-ubi

@adamime

@acatalystrising

@well-wa

@dreamie411

@thatonespriteobsessedbitch

#star wars #tcw #commander monnk x reader #monnk x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic

38 notes · View notes

ronearoundblindly · 8 months ago

Note

https://www.tiktok.com/@yeuyeutp/video/7417104012320754977?_t=8pwVPUhpxbq&_r=1

I thought this is so cute! Which Cevans characters are letting you swatch your makeup on them? I can already tell with characters like Lloyd, he’s gonna be like ‘fuck that shit’ 😭😂 Ransom is gonna whine like he always does for sure ‘Why are you putting this sparkly shit on me 😡🤬’

Link here. Sorry this took so long, but I finally got the inspiration to answer this one while sifting through asks! Warning for an f-bomb or two. No, it was not avoidable. We shall call this the "Black Friday Shopping Edition" of Who Would...

James Mace

Honestly finds it all useless and dumb. Thinks you're beautiful without all this sh*t on your face. Abhors glitter and will riot if you get it on him at any time. Rants about all the plastic packaging and how it's bad for the environment.

Curtis Everett

He cannot believe the prices. Curtis is incapable of walking around the store without pointing out this $25 thing that's--turns tube over--"POINT FIVE FLUID OUNCES?! Honey, just no."

You strategically stand in front of the $45 products while nudging him out of the store. Come back alone or with a friend. Curtis is not your man for this.

Jimmy Dobyne

Fucking no. Not for the same reasons as Mace and Curtis though. Jimmy thinks you look magnificent when you do your makeup (he doesn't prefer it, mind, but he appreciates the final result) but has zero interest in knowing how the sausage is made. You go shop. You take your time in the bathroom or at the mirror. He isn't there for those stages.

Johnny Storm

Antsy. Fiddles around testing out the skin and haircare stuff for men. Bit obsessed with colognes. Needs to know you're opinion on what suits him. He will let you swatch on his hand and arm but will not necessary stay put while you make your decisions. Possibly spends more money than you sometimes. Definitely tries new products more than you do, not really searching for his favorite or the best, just like new and is a product whore.

Jake Jensen

Jake, my beloved, is fascinated by the various textures and tries to spot the super subtle color differences. He's always genuine about which things he prefers--hates sticky textures--and wants you to feel as lovely as he finds you all the time. Jake will even clean up his arm then start over to swatch your top choices beside each other, remembering which brand and colors they were. He is wildly amused by the names of lipsticks and nail polishes specifically. He kinda wants that job.

Lloyd Hansen

Loudly announces what will make you look whorish, the asshole. Everything is described as looking nice while you cry from how good he's fucking you or looking hot smeared on your face and his dick. Doesn't give a shit about price or whatever; he's not paying for it.

Ari Levinson

He's distracted but around. Follows you casually. Will answer questions and give his opinion when prompted. Has too much hair to swatch on him though. Will randomly put his arm around your shoulders, kiss your temple, and say "whatever you want." Insists on paying, even if his eyes bug-out momentarily.

Ransom Drysdale

You are correct: he will not allow sparkly shit on his person. In fact, he's too bored to stick around when it's not him shopping. Ran is extremely vocal and particular about what looks great on you and what's meh. Refuses to let you buy the meh things. I will say, he is deeply appreciative of the final result. Loves when you are all dolled up and beaming happy. Doesn't show it really, but he's smug as hell with you on his arm looking so fine...

Andy Barber

He has opinions, but he is not a palette. Andy throws a wary glance your way when he notices the prices or that there are several of the same type of product in your basket. There are very rare instances where he's goofy and in the mood to be playful with you, so Andy has been known to put a vivid or dark shade of lipstick on himself when you're turned away and then play it off until you notice. He thinks it's utterly hilarious to smear it on you with kisses in those moment. Adorable jerk...

Steve Rogers

Everything is a palette, and all the colors remind him of some sort of art. I mean, this guy thinks you are art. Steve can't help but imagine what you're thinking of wearing with the makeup, he knows complimentary colors and shading, and he's the best of most worlds in this scenario.

Bucky Barnes

Buck gets an enormous kick out of this, really leans into his preening, theatrical side. Swatch all over him, he doesn't care. Bucky also will gently help you apply makeup, cupping your chin in his hand while gliding that lip gloss you're interested over your bottom lip. He mimics pressing and pouting so you spread it around. I mean...I don't know how this guy makes everything both loving and sensual but goddamn do I believe he does.

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Who Would... Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

75 notes · View notes

hogwartsstudentconfidential · 7 months ago

Text

Welcome back to your favorite paper ever ;)

First off I wanted to wish everyone a very happy holidays seeing as they are coming up very fast.

Second of all I wanted to issue a warning because this party last weekend seemed to have stirred up a lotttt of drama.

And third of all, can someone tell me how Professor Binns is still teaching here? It's absolutely ridiculous. Not a single student can stay awake in that mans class.

Anywho as always here are our updates and informative section for the week.

Professor McGonagall has assigned a major project due before the holidays so pair up or swear up because if it's not done you're probably failing the year and nobody wants that. So pick your partners wisely and submit your mood boards that you think suit yourselves by the end of next week.

Here are some things that your mood boards should include: What you want to be after school, your favorite class, your family, your favorite things and in the center a picture of yourself ofc.

This Friday there will be another quidditch game. I know surprise surprise am I right? No. If you don't suspect a party or a quidditch game with every update where have you been? This weekend is Hufflepuff vs Gryffindor. Probably another party this weekend depending on if y'all are ready after this past weekend's mess.

On another note Mary MacDonald is hosting a cookie gathering a couple of days into Christmas break so I'd like to remind everyone all are welcome except Riddle, Avery, and ESPECIALLY NOT MULCIBER.

And our final reminder is James Potters Christmas ball that will be held December 24th to the morning of the 26th. Please dress appropriately for such an important event.

NOW ONTO EVERYONES FAVORITE PART (I know that's why you're here) ✨THE GOSSSIPPPPP✨

Boy do we have a lot of gossip this week y'all plus some photographic evidence ;)

Let's start with our favorite dramatic couple, Pandora Rosier and Lucius malfoy. It seems the two broke up, this we all of course know but immediately the girl went on a date with another man, Fabian Prewett. Isn't that crazy? Moving on after being in a relationship for such a long time. Although no one seems to blame the girl after finding out Lucius is the one who ended things. The same boy tried making up with his ex-girlfriend only to find her coddled up with the red headed Gryffindor at the party this past weekend. Lucius dropped his make-up gift for his ex and ended up starting a fist fight with the Gryffindor instead. Who then ended up calling Pandora a whore. Ouch that one's gotta hurt.

Severus Snape and a few others ended up breaking the fight up after Pandora was pushed harshly onto the ground by Fabian, with no apology and then it seems the intoxicated blonde girl ran off in tears after the fight, leaving Lucius to pack up his smashed flowers and fix his own bruised knuckles without anyone's help.

And then (ikr it just keeps going) the girl ended up posting a sad love song dedicated to missing the boy. Is there a possibility Pandora is ready to take the boy back?

Now onto Anastasia Selwyn everyone's favorite Slytherin Princess. The girl who seems to have everyone but one wrapped around her finger seems to have had a little fun this past weekend. Miss Selwyn was seen running off with none other than Gryffindor rival, Phoenix Harvey. The same boy posted lipstick stains all over his neck that seemed to match the shade of Anastasia’s own lipstick. Could this be an enemies to lovers story in the making?

Speaking of making out it's been noted that Edmund Avery and Elias Smith were off getting high and drinking together at the party and even caught making out? Are these two friends hiding a different relationship than what they've been telling everyone?

Our proof that was sent in. I mean at this point just ask each other out, Godric.

I've been told to note Remus Lupin and Sirius were hogging a couch and snogging the whole time all of this drama was going on. Hogwarts it couple for real.

Now speaking of couples it seems Andromeda Black has found herself a new boyfriend. The young daughter of Black seems to have gone on a date with none other than Ravenclaw quidditch captain Alexander Kemet-Ali. The two were spotted at a little restaurant in Hogsmeade, seemingly close to one another and even being rumored to have shared a kiss. May this be a new Hogwarts it couple joining the ranks?

(Andromeda and Alexander)HAHAAHAHAHA I HAD PROOF.

Another area of interest is our very own Veronica Davis has posted an interesting question on her blog.

This is her blog from yesterday. It seems we may have a new one for the girls ;)

And onto our last but most interesting gossip for the night. Has anyone seemed to have noticed Mary MacDonald was nowhere to be found during the party? Her ‘good friend’ Emmeline was looking for her during the whole party but the girl was rumored to have gotten lost in the confusing corridors of the school. Only for her to show up a day later with a small bruise and the news that Mulciber was in very bad condition and needed to be brought to Madame Pomfrey, which she refused to do herself. If anyone wants to sign up to whoop Mulcibers ass after he heals the sign up sheet will be posted in the great hall.

Oh and Marlene, honey I'mma need you to act up or something cause I miss writing about you, darlin'.

Anywho that's all for now. Don't forget to send in your gossip for next time.

Have a nice night and remember I'm always watching.

Tah Tah 💋

@james-the-amazing-potter @thebr1ghteststar @looneymoonyy @wormy-loves-ch33se @mystical-magical-me @king-ofthe-crop @xeno-graphical @malfoy-lu @rodolphus-le-strange @averykissableguy @fire-allayer @poison-penmanship @lifeofthe-barty @whokilledevanrosier @pandoras-nox @little-king-official @cas-not-the-band @marls-mckinn0n @hjonesworld @mary-mcdeal @emmelineandhervans @sybill-patricia-trelawney @lilyevansoffical @alicethekindone @flowers-of-narcissus @andromedashoax @the-queen-bellatrix @severusprince-snape @fabian-with-an-f @mollberryshortcake @fawningamos @k1ndest-keeper @aelius-with-a-quill @annajohn-silvae @adam-lukas-morningstar @imogenmorningstar @oxxen--free @camille-laurier @luciagraham @daughter-of-spring @magandang-kaluluwa

Ooc: If I missed tagging anyone I'm sorry.

#marauders&co

94 notes · View notes

thyme-in-a-bubble · 2 years ago

Text

the breakfast

lilac, chapter two

a/n: when my love, @chvoswxtch, asked me to bring the horny energy of miss patty from gilmore girls, of course I fucking did it, I'm not a criminal, that's what we all deserve

summary: “well, hello stranger.”

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, lumberjack AU, pete castiglione era, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, slow burn, wholesome villagers being adorable

word count: 2373

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

masterlist | join my taglist

The Lilac Inn wasn’t just an inn to the citizens of Dunbrook. It was its beating heart, a hub for the small community to gather.

As the town’s only culinary establishment, the residents had always made a habit of eating a fair amount of their meals in the inn’s dining room, the door to the kitchen often staying wide open so that Harvey wouldn’t have to leave the stove in order to catch all of the juicy small-town gossip that had people blabbering.

“Dad, did you turn off my alarm?” you snapped as soon as your scurrying feet carried you into the bustling kitchen.

Not lifting his eyes from the loaf of bread he was currently slicing, your dad simply countered with a jovial, “well, good morning to you too, sleeping beauty!”

“Dad,” you sighed, jaw clenching at his usual demeanour, the paralysing dream you’d just roused from not setting you up to be in the right mood for such a level of positivity.

“You just looked like you could use the extra hour or two,” a smile still warm on his lips, the middle-aged man defensively raised his hands.

“But I’m supposed to help you out,” your eyes followed his movements as he trotted towards the stove, “I can’t do that if I’m asleep.”

“Exactly,” your dad passed by a hook full of tangled textiles and tossed you an apron, “that’s why I let you go a little longer so that you wouldn’t doze off on me before lunchtime arrives.”

“I wouldn’t have dozed off…” you mumbled pettily as you tied the linen around your waist. Exhaling lowly as you watched him crack two eggs into a sizzling skillet, you asked, “what can I do?”

“Well for starters,” he tossed the shells into a small scrap bowl to his side, “these were the last eggs, so if you could go get some more out by the front desk, that would be superb.”

“Why do you have eggs on the front desk?”

“Because Otto’s chickens are laying a lot right now and so he told me he’d give me some today when he swung by for breakfast.”

“Wait, Sheriff Nilsen has chickens now?”

“Yeah, has for a long time,” the decade of you not living here grew palpable, “he usually just drops the extra ones off here, so they should already be there because I just took his order two minutes ago.”

“Alright,” you disappeared through the back door and snaked down the narrow corridor, ending up behind the messy reception area.

Your eyes didn’t have to search for long before you noticed the petite basket, brimming with beige eggs, resting on the top of the counter right beside the small rolodex that displayed what date it was. Grasping it in your hand, your vision momentarily drifted down to the small, framed photo nuzzled behind the ever-open logbook. Sitting on the swing that still hung from one of the sturdy trees out back, head adorably posed in a tiny palm, there a 7-year-old version of you sat, forever frozen in that singular moment, beaming up at the camera.

“Ah!” a sharp voice boomed as you heard the front door swing shut, “oh my goodness, oh my god! Y/n!”

Raising your chin, your eyes grew wide at the rotund woman beaming at you from the doormat, “miss Rays!” you hurried around the front desk, “oh my god, it’s been so long!”

Capturing you in a hug, she pressed your form into her bosom, “darling, we’re not in bed together, call me Donna.”

Pulling back with a light chuckle, your eyes fluttered over her features, “you haven’t changed one bit,” her lipstick still a fiery shade red and hair still short and feathery framing her plump cheeks.

“You however have,” she clasped your free hand in hers, guiding your figure to give her a good view, “oh, do a little spin for me,” you bashfully obliged with a giggle, “yes! Honey, who is this woman, what have you done with the adorable little girl I used to tutor?”

To your knowledge, Dunbrook never really had a proper school, but for as long as you could recall Donna had always operated as a teacher to the handful of children that called the reclusive mountain village their home. Even though it was just run out of her living room, she had still been the best teacher you’d ever had, her patient way rivalling any of the professors you had to endure when you went off for college. As a matter of fact, she had been the person who’d pushed you to send in the application, praising that you were too clever not to go out and change the world.

“Oh, stop it,” you sighed light-heartedly, a chuckle still bubbling out of your chest as you shifted the subject away from your own appearance, “so, you still come here for breakfast?”

“Of course, I do, you’ve tasted your father’s cooking,” readjusting her purse, she hooked her arm in yours, “a real shame that he’s never accepted any of my offers of becoming your stepmom,” she leaned in to add as you crossed over the threshold into the dinner room, “I could have been served all my meals in bed like some Egyptian queen!”

“I’m sure you can easily find another fellow that can handle himself in the kitchen,” the click-clack of her heels came to a stop by one of the small round tables, her eyes briefly taking in the other patrons before a slight crease appeared betwixt her polished brows.

“Oh, darn it,” her vision stayed glued to the table in the corner as she lowered herself onto her seat, “he’s not sitting at his usual table…”

“Who?”

“The eye candy over there,” she tilted her chin in the direction of the broad, muted flannel-clad back of the man sitting by the window furthest down at the bottom of the room, “you see, I asked your dear father to always reserve this spot for me just so that I can have a great view, if you know what I mean…” gulping down the rest of his coffee, the man’s head tilted enough for you to recognise whom the rugged looking visage belonged to, “oh boy, I tell you, if I was 30 years younger…”

Haven assumed that you’d never again run into the stranger who’d helped you just the day before, a warm flutter suddenly trickled down your spine, “like that’s ever stopped you before,” you pointed out, snapping your eyes out of their trance, “so, uh, do you know what you want to eat or do you just want some coffee or something while you think on it?” you took two steps towards the oblong table where mismatched teacups where stacked and the steam of a few thermoses, all containing a different hot beverage then the next, billowed out.

“Some coffee would be lovely,” she smiled as you with one hand snatched up a mug and the decanter labelled as such, “and some oatmeal if you don’t mind, sweetie.”

Promptly pouring her a cup, you then signed off with a wink, “you got it,” before your vision landed upon the latest of Donna’s abundant infatuations once more.

Attempting to make the short journey seem spontaneous and effortless, you bounced from table to table, topping off people's cups, before reaching the final one.

Drawing in a deep breath, your embarrassingly giddy voice then found his ears, “well, hello stranger.”

Eyes flickering away from the newspaper sprawled out before him, a look of shock washed over his gruff features as he glanced up at you, “oh, hi.”

“Pete–, it is Pete, right?” you checked, slight mortification beginning to brew within your belly.

“Yes, ma'am,” his head nodded ever so slightly.

“Do you want a refill, Pete?” you savoured the taste of his name on your tongue.

“Sorry?” his brows furrowed at your offer.

“Your coffee,” you pointed with the hand that clutched the handle of the thermos, “do you want some more?”

“Oh,” he breathed, though the puzzled look didn’t seem to fade, “yes, always.”

Leaning in slightly over the newspaper, you filled up the drained mug, only a murky ring at the bottom indicating what it had previously contained, “and can I get you something to eat as well?”

Eyes narrowing, he stared up at you, “is your vacation really already so boring that you got a job here or what?”

“Oh,” you couldn’t help but breathe out a light chuckle as you answered, “I’m not on vacation and I guess, kinda,” staring back into his eyes as you attempted to repeat your question, “so, do you want any–,” though before you could finish the sentence, out pranced your father, a plate of food balanced in his palm.

“2 eggs sunny side up and some sourdough toast, as per usual,” he sang as his long arm came down to slice the air between your forms, placing the dish upon the table.

Briefly catching his eye, Pete then offered a polite nod of gratitude, “thank you,” folding the paper up and scooting the meal closer.

Feeling the small basket of eggs disappear from your grip, you blinked back at your father as he softly requested in your ear, “honey, could you give me a hand in the back when you’re done out here?”

“Sure, dad,” you flashed him a smile before watching him disappear once more.

Feet still glued to the floorboards right by Pete’s table, your vision then returned to him as his deep voice washed over you, “so, you’re Harvey’s kid, then?”

“Yep, that’s my dad,” your balance briefly shifted as you rocked on the balls of your feet, “thank you, by the way, for yesterday.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” his fork punctured one of the golden yokes, “how’s your car looking?”

“I don’t really know yet. The local mechanic is taking a look today, so fingers crossed it’s not anything too catastrophic,” you felt your palms begin to sweat as he simply stared up at you in silence, “anyhow,” you averted your gaze nervously, “I’ll stop bothering you, let eat in peace,” you nearly bumped into the chair behind you as you backed up towards the kitchen, the near accident not managing to draw any words out of him, only the hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his lips, “see you around, I guess…”

“Hey, dad?”

Briefly raising his eyes from the logbook cracked open on the wooden counter, he glanced up at you as you bounced down the wide staircase, “yeah, pumpkin?”

Hand tracing the railing, with the aid of the grip, you swung your form around the last post as you ascended the final step, “did you know that the hot water doesn’t work? Like at all.”

“Yeah, that and about a million other things around here,” he sighed, vision returning to the ledger as you rested your folded-up arms upon the top of the reception, “this is a beautiful historic building… and what I mean by that is that there are too many things that either don’t work the way they should or at all. I am not a millionaire, honey. If I was, then the issues wouldn’t be piling up the way that they are…”

Bottom lip snug between your teeth, your mind raced a moment before you quietly theorised, “exactly how long is that list?”

Eyes racing to find your eyes, your father joked, “why? Did you become a contractor while living in New York or something?”

“No, but I was always the handy one out of the two of us,” you noted before your shoulders raised in an innocent shrug, “how hard could it be?”

“Let me get this right,” he raised a palm up between you as his eyes crinkled even further, “you’re telling me you wanna try and patch this place up?”

“Well, it couldn’t hurt the business side of things. When was the last time you booked out more than two rooms at a time here?”

“Oh, no, no,” the moustachioed man then began to shake his head, “you’re not turning this place into some fake, glossy tourist attraction.”

Swinging around to his side of the counter, you assured him, “hey, I’m not saying let's flood this place with tourists, but maybe just a handful more?” tilting your head in an attempt to catch his gaze that had now returned to the open book, “just enough to make ends meet, perhaps also enough to at some point hire someone else so that you won’t work yourself to death…”

Eyes frozen on the page before him, a long exhale then flowed from his lungs as he deliberated.

“Alright, fine, yeah, I guess that wouldn’t be that bad…” he tried to downplay the smile that blossomed upon his lips.

Spine pressed against the edge of the front desk, you then braced with your palms and hauled yourself up onto the spot that was just clear enough for you to sit there without knocking any knickknacks over.

“So,” you drew out, searching for a new topic to explore, “Donna seems to be quite set on that guy Pete to be her new husband, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harvey chortled, “but you know her, she’s like a dog spotting a pheasant every time she sees a new man. I think genuinely I might be the only person in town who isn’t either terrified of him or has some desire to sleep with him.”

“How long has he been here anyway?”

“Eh,” he glanced up at the stained glass adorning the front door as he thought, “maybe a year or two? He mostly keeps to himself, lives up in a cabin in the woods and only really comes down here to either provide some firewood to whoever needs it or have some coffee,” vision landing on you, he then noted, “you however seemed to have broken through to him quite quickly. Took me like 5 months to get anything more than a grunt of recognition out of him.”

“Oh,” you couldn’t stop your eyebrows as they promptly rose up, “well, he kinda helped me the day that I got here. He was the guy I caught a ride with…”

#lea’s writing #lilac series #lumberjack!frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle imagine #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle fic #the punisher fic #frank castle fanfiction #the punisher x reader #frank castle fluff #frank castle series #lumberjack au

650 notes · View notes

thicccshady · 7 months ago

Text

It's Britney, B*tch, tehe🎶

Eminem X Reader

✨️MasterList✨️

Content: Silly Fluff

A/N: For the sake of this story, please pretend FaceTime on a mobile phone was a thing in 2000!

Marshall sat in the makeup chair, squinting at himself in the mirror as a stylist added the finishing touches to his blond wig. The long, wavy strands framed his face in an *almost* perfect imitation of Britney Spears. His makeup was already done—glossy lips, a touch of blush, and eyeliner that made his blue eyes pop.

"OH MY GOD! I'M A GIRL!" Marshall made everyone in the room burst into laughter.

“Man, I look too good right now,” he declared, inspecting his reflection. He smirked, pulling at the schoolgirl skirt he was wearing. “Y’all sure y’all don’t want me to drop a pop album after this?”

The crew laughed, used to his antics. Marshall was in a particularly playful mood today, and nothing entertained him more than the absurdity of this skit.

Grabbing his phone, he turned to the stylist. “Hold up, I gotta call Y/N. She needs to see this.”

Marshall pulled up FaceTime and hit Y/N’s contact. When she answered, her face appeared on the screen, a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“Hey, babe—” Her brows furrowed as she got a better look at him. “What the hell is this? New haircut?"

“Surprise!” Marshall sang, striking a pose. “I’m Britney, bitch.”

Y/N burst out laughing, covering her mouth. “Oh my God, Marshall, what are you wearing?!”

“It’s not just *what* I’m wearing, it’s *who* I’ve become,” he said dramatically, flipping the wig over his shoulder. He imitates Spears' voice and bats his eyelashes rapidly “I’m Miss Britney Jean Spears now. You can call me Queen Brit from here on out.”

“Queen Brit, huh?” she teased, trying to keep a straight face. “I don’t know if I can take you seriously with that lipstick.”

“Take me seriously?” He leaned closer to the camera, puckering his lips. “Baby, these lips are serving looks. Admit it—I’m kinda killin’ this.”

“Oh you absolutely are. I might need to borrow that shade of lipstick.” Y/N said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “I can’t believe they talked you into this.”

Marshall grinned. “Oh, they didn’t have to talk me into it. I volunteered. Told Dre, ‘I’ll do it if it means I get to keep the outfit.’”

As Marshall panned the camera to reveal the rest of his outfit, Y/N couldn't hold in her laughter at his silly demeanor.

He laughed, clearly enjoying himself. “I’m just saying, I think this look might awaken something in you. Don’t lie.”

Y/N flipped him off. Marshall responded with a series of poses and duck lip faces.

Y/N smiled and giggled. “I love it. But I love you more.”

“Damn right you do,” he said, his grin returning. “All right, I gotta go film this masterpiece. You’ll be the first one to see it when it’s done.”

“Oh I look forward to it,” she said.

Returning to his Spears' impression, “Catch you later, Queen Y/N.”

“Bye, Queen Brit,” she replied, laughing as she hung up.

✨️Want to know when I post? Click here to join my taglist!✨️

#eminem #eminem x reader #marshall mathers #marshall mathers x reader #slim shady #slim shady x reader #real slim shady

105 notes · View notes

hangesdarling · 1 year ago

Note

Hiiii !!

Can you pls write a hange oneshot where reader gets off on calling them commander and getting dominated by them ? 🫣 established relationship pls 👉🏼👈🏼

commander — h. zoë

PAIRING. Hange Zoë x female reader

SYNOPSIS. It was your second anniversary with Hange when they found out that calling them Commander turns you on.

CONTENT. 18+, MDNI, making-out, sexual nudity, alcohol consumption, lots of pet names, cursing, dom!Hange fr, fingering, Hange makes you suck their strap, strap-on sex, bondage, marking, biting, multiple orgasms (lmk what else)

WORD COUNT. 2.4k

A/N. omg anon you have no idea how much i love this idea aghhh

It was around 9 PM when you were patiently waiting outside the headquarters, putting a layer of lipstick on with a compact mirror in hand. You smiled to yourself, knowing that the shade perfectly matches the lingerie you're wearing under your work clothes. After all, your second anniversary with Hange has to be more special than the previous one. You made a mental note of the things you prepared for tonight, all the while eyeing the stars littered across the night sky.

However, Hange snapped you out of your musings with a surprising backhug almost knocking the air out of your lungs. Their giggles soon filling your ears with mirth.

"Hange, you scared me!" you pouted to which they responded with a soft laugh.

They wrapped their strong arms around your torso, lips planting a tender kiss on your neck as they spoke, "Hello there, my love. Sorry about that."

You turned around to face them, placing your arms above their shoulder before leaving a kiss mark on their cheek.

"Naughty as always," you teased them, causing their eyes to soften in a sultry manner as their hands went to your waist.

"But you love that, don't you?" Hange smirked. They further proved that they're in an extremely flirty mood tonight by carrying you into their arms, dashing out of the headquarters, and into the awaiting car in the parking lot.

"Happy second anniversary, sweetheart," they whispered before pulling you into another heated kiss on the driver's seat. Hange's hand wandered under your shirt, their callused hands gripping and rubbing circles on your soft flesh. They smiled into the kiss as their thumb felt your lacy underwear beneath.

Hange gently pulled away, placing a firm kiss on your chest before saying, "I'll have you at home. Hope you're ready for my surprise, honey."

Hange almost didn't make it to the house as their lips were already linked to yours outside the door. Your hands felt for the knob, stumbling yourselves into the living room as Hange would not break the kiss. Their hands maintained a firm grip around your waist, never letting go until the both of you collapsed on the couch.

"Ease down, baby," you managed to whisper, catching your breath as Hange busied their mouth on your neck.

Hange let out a low groan. "How could I when you're also wearing that perfume that drives me crazy?"

You smiled to yourself. "You noticed?"

"'Course I do." Hange continued leaving open-mouthed kisses on your flushed skin, a lace of red marks crawling along your neck.

Hange pulled away momentarily as if remembering something. They smoothed out their creased clothes, suddenly smiling.

"Before I forgot," they panted. "I have something for us tonight."

With that, they stood up from the couch and walked over to the counter. They pulled out a large bottle of wine while balancing two shot glasses and ice on one hand.

"Oh, I wouldn't mind a drink," you beamed, sitting up.

Hange grinned at you, flashing that naughty smirk that always gets your knees weak.

"This isn't just a normal wine, sweetheart," they smiled, their voice curling into a mysterious tone, triggering your curiosity. "I got this one made for us."

Hange popped the cork open, pouring halfway into the shot glass before placing a large ice cube with a clink. They offered you one as they poured the other for themselves. The cloying smell danced in your nostrils, a sweet mixture of strawberry and honey.

"Reminds me of your perfume," Hange remarked as they brought the glass to their lips. Indeed, the smell reminded you of the sweet perfume you always apply on your skin, like fresh sugared strawberries in summer.

You tilted your glass until the cold drink slid down your throat, the sweet and tangy flavor coating your tongue. The sensation made your heart thump, your lips sucked on the remaining drops until the ice bumps on your wet lips. You found yourself asking for more, and in each shot, you felt a familiar heat creeping up on your body— one that reached past your ears and reminded you of the first time Hange made love with you.

The bottle was emptied halfway when Hange brought you onto their lap once again, their wine-stained lips connecting with yours. They had long set their drink down, eager to have something much sweeter. Hange placed a hand on the back of your head, sliding their tongue into your mouth. Their tongue brushed against yours; a way to taste each other, to seal the experience of such a tempting drink. Your lips sucked on theirs, swiping your tongue over the succulent taste of their lips as your hips began to grind against them.

Your body ached for friction, a relieving touch after such a sensual warmth. Hange took this as a signal to set you back down on the sofa, their other leg anchoring on the side so they could press their body against yours more intimately. Your mind was in a dreamy haze, one where all you could feel was Hange's touch, where all the memories playing were Hange bending you over or folding you into submission. The wine must be an aphrodisiac, you wondered.

Hange slipped their hands under your shirt, swiftly undoing the buttons one by one until you're left with that lingerie you bought specifically for this day. At that moment of intense passion, Hange tried to ease you down by kissing your shoulders, neck, and chest. The tender attention from their hands and lips failed to ease you up, but rather aroused you even more.

You pulled them by their necktie, pulling their glasses off as your lips attached to theirs. Your legs wrapped around Hange’s hips, securing them in your body. Hange circled a thumb over your breasts, their hands slowly creeping down until their fingers brush over your clit. A whimper escaped your mouth, involuntarily bucking your hips to their touch.

"Ah, so eager, aren't you, darling?" they teased, teasing your wet entrance with a finger, earning them whiny pleas from you. Hange chuckled at your reaction, the sight of your blushing face looked so beautiful into the night. The scent of strawberry on your lips matching your perfume aroused Hange even more. Their eyelids grew heavy, a sultry smile stretching on their lips as they slid their middle and ring fingers inside you. You gasped softly as you felt the cold metal of the promise ring on their finger— that special gift you gave them on your first anniversary as their girlfriend.

You bit your lip, whimpering as their thrusts were excruciatingly slow. Their other hand held down your abdomen so you wouldn't move.

"Please..." your whine broke into a whisper. "Please, Commander."

Hange shot you an amused glance, lips curling teasingly from your desperate plea.

"What did you say, sweetheart?" they asked innocently, fingers still thrusting at a languorous pace.

Your hands went to your face in embarrassment, having realized what came out of your mouth.

"Come on, don't be shy, love," they muttered, gently caressing your inner thighs. "Say it again."

The way they used their commanding voice only thickened your arousal, like honey dripping down your throat in a way that makes it hard for you to breathe. And yet it was so sweet.

"Please... Commander," you whispered, fully submitting to their command.

"Good girl," they smiled as their thrusts quickened, their lips catching your moans in a heated kiss. Their slender fingers curled and stretched you out, knowing just the right angle to make you squirm and scream in delight.

Your hands clawed on their back, your mouth working to leave kiss and bite marks on their neck and chest. Sometimes your hand would tug on their hair, followed by a whimper of pleasure that Hange delights to hear.

The coil in your stomach tightened, urging your hips to move along Hange's rhythm as your release came crashing at you. You let out a loud, drawn-out moan of Hange's name before stilling yourself back to the couch, still panting.

Hange kissed down your throat and said, "I'm not done with you, sweetheart."

They were so gentle as they sat you up on the couch, whispering sweet things into your ear before making a contrasting move that filled you up with arousal once more.

They unbuckled their belt before motioning towards the floor and said, "On your knees, love."

Your cheeks heat up once again, as you get down on your knees. Hange couldn't miss the excited smile on your lips as they unzipped their pants to show you the new dildo strapped on them.

Your teeth caught your lower lip, a hand running a hand over the length. It was longer and thicker than all the ones Hange has used on you before. "You really bought a new one, huh?"

"Just for you. I know my princess can take it,” they smirked, holding up your chin. "Get it wet for me, alright?"

Your head bobbed up and down in alacrity, eyes hungry for what Hange has in store for you. "Yes, Commander."

It was all Hange needed to hear before kissing you once more, their tongue running over your lips before pulling away to replace it with the tip of that dildo. They held down the length, brushing the tip through your lips before slowly inching it inside your opening lips. Hange fed you inch by inch, mindful if you're in discomfort because of the size. But they found none but pleasure in your face as your eyes fluttered close, taking the length halfway before pushing it back and forth against your mouth.

Hange has to cover a hand on their cheek, keeping themself from losing control just by seeing your cheeks hollowing out on their length. Your hands rested on their knees, breathing through your nose and careful not to choke. Every thrust was hitting your uvula, stretching out your throat in both pain and pleasure. Your eyes fluttered open, meeting Hange's eyes just to show them how deep you could take them in.

"Fuck," Hange whispered, eagerness spreading over their face just by watching you.

"Oh god, I need to do it inside you," they mumbled before slowly pulling the thing out of your mouth. Hange circled an arm on your waist, pulling you back to their lap for another kiss.

"Since you like calling me Commander so much, I hope you won't mind a bit of what I'm planning to do," they chuckled in your ear. They rose from their seat, keeping a hand on your waist as they went to the study table they set up in their living room.

Hange went behind you, kissing the back of your neck once more as they gathered your wrists behind.

"Remember when we first met?" Hange began to which you nodded, attentive and intrigued with how they were starting. They smiled at yoru direction and continued.

"I thought you're just another stick-in-the-mud Survey Corps logistics officer. Just handing me the reports and such," Hange grinned at the memory, slowly undoing their tie. "But I got the hint when you're frequenting my office. Always early on reports. And sometimes... your skirt would be a little too short or something."

Hange placed their necktie around your wrists, securing the soft fabric in a firm knot. Your breath caught on your throat as they went close to your ear, making something inside you tingle.

"Really, I want to hold back. But my mind kept telling me I need to have you bent down on my desk, getting fucked," Hange pushed you further until your hips hit the edge of their desk. "And that's just what I did."

Hange's voice went deep and husky as they pushed a hand on your back, bending you in such a provocative position with your hands tied up. Words caught in your throat, mind blank from arousal. You felt the tip of their dildo brushing and teasing your folds, eliciting another moan from you.

"Remember all of that, my love?" You could hear Hange's smile just from their voice as they began to inch the dildo deeper into your entrance.

"Fuck...!" you breathed out, your voice diminishing into soundless moans as the new length stretched you further. Hange angled their thrusts in a way that you could feel the depth in your stomach. They slid in and out slowly so you could get used to the length and girth.

In no time, Hange has you wet enough to increase their thrusts. They bit and kissed your back, whispering praises in your ear, and entertaining you each time you called them Commander.

"That's it, my sweet girl. Doing so well for me," they would whisper.

Outside, the night was cold and quiet, offering a tranquil scenery for sleeping creatures. But the passion from your lovemaking defied that cold silence. At some point, Hange became a little too eager, tearing away the thin lacy fabric on your skin despite your protests. I'll buy you a new one, sweetie, they would whisper breathlessly, as their hands roamed over your almost naked body.

The table rocked against the force of your movements, papers sliding down, and a pen holder or two getting knocked over. Your moans erupted in broken, varying tones of the word Commander, and Hange couldn't help but tease you about it.

"Mhm, you're so obedient. Bending down for your Commander like this?" they would say.

Hange drew out multiple orgasms from you, your wetness beginning to drip down your legs as they pulled out. Seeing your weak, almost limp body bent down had Hange smiling as they untied your hands. They took their discarded uniform across the room, gently wrapping it around you before taking you in their arms to carry you upstairs.

Once there, Hange cleaned up the both of you with a warm, damp towel before sinking to the sheets. You slept almost instantly in their warm embrace. They whispered one last, "Happy anniversary, my dear" before resting their head on your chest to sleep.

Perhaps it was around 3 or 4 AM when your eyes blinked open, and felt relief remembering it was Saturday tomorrow. Hange remained sleeping on your chest, their brown locks messily draped over. You kissed their forehead, gently taking Hange’s hair in your hands to tie them in their preferred ponytail. As you finished, you ran a hand on their hair, waiting for sleep. However, you realized something pressing against your chest from the uniform Hange lent you. You were careful to inspect the breast pocket to not wake Hange up. Your hand fished down the small circular object, angling it on the sliver of moonlight pouring from the window.

You held a soft gasp at the realization that you were holding an engagement ring. Delicately, you slid it on your finger and found it to be in a perfect size. Your eyes softened once more, a smile etched on your lips as you took the ring back to the breast pocket of Hange's uniform. The night rocked you back to sleep, your eager heart looking forward to the warm morning to come.

likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated, sweethearts <3

296 notes · View notes

mermaidgirl30 · 2 years ago

Text

Shout out to @mandoisapunk for being my beta reader! One shot is posted on A03! @pedrostories

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairings: Joel x Reader, Joel x female reader

Word count: 8,905

Summary: After having a bad breakup with Joel Miller, you decide you need a night at the bar to relax and meet someone new. Little do you know, Joel is there but he’s with someone new. Will you let your jealousy get the best of you or will you get revenge with another man at the bar?

Warnings/Tags: No Outbreak, jealousy, angst, longing, fluff and smut, cream pie, oral, fingering, unprotected P in V, Dom Joel, possessive Joel, porn with plot, lots of smut, drama, makeup sex

It was a warm summer evening. The Texas heat was brutal, but the nighttime was just a little more bearable as the temperature dropped from 100 to the 80’s. It was Friday night, the one night where the city of Austin came to life the most. Cars crowded the streets with their flashy lights and music that was turned up too loud. Just a normal start to the weekend.

You’d spent most of the early evening getting ready in your too bright, too bulky vanity. Caking your lips with the darkest red lipstick you could find, putting on that perfect shade of pink eyeshadow, getting your eyeliner smooth and sharp, and curling your hair into long waves. You had to look perfect tonight. You were in the mood to flirt, maybe meet a nice guy, maybe bring someone home. It was all up in the air, you just needed to get out of the house. You needed attention. Needed to get your mind off him. It had been a long, insufferable week at work, and you just needed a break.

You walked down Sixth Street that was filled with busy bars and noisy people, settling on a bar called The Black Stallion. A bar you usually didn’t go to. You could’ve gone to all your usuals, but you figured you’d try something new. Maybe tonight would be your lucky night.

You didn’t answer the phone when the girls called earlier, you just needed a night alone to unwind, uncoil all your raging thoughts that had been stirring in your mind.

You’d been doing so good lately. It’d been days since you last saw him. Weeks since you last touched him. You didn’t need him though. It was over between you two, and you had to accept it.

Acceptance could be messy though, and that’s what you’d been lately. A fucking wreck. You thrived off cheap liquor and lousy hook ups to get you through the weeks, trying your best to move on and keep your mind busy. It didn’t really work much though.

Not really.

But you were getting better. One day at a time.

You’d gone days without thinking of him, keeping your mind on men that could be your next obsession to fill the void. Someone who would want to wine and dine you, treat you right. You liked Golden Retriever boyfriends who were kind and sweet. But they weren’t anywhere near what Doberman boyfriends were. Overprotective, loyal, powerful. The ones that say “Touch her and you die” kind of vibes. That’s what Joel was, your Doberman…

No, fuck that and fuck him. You were not doing this tonight. You were here to have fun, to meet someone new. No more thoughts of Joel. He was in the past. You had to look towards your future, with someone better.

Something pulled deep inside you though. Something you pushed down, crushing it with the too high black heels you had on. Sinking it further into the cracks with every clank they made against the pavement that you walked across. This was your time to shine, to go in there and act like you own the place. You sighed and took a deep breath, calming yourself before you stepped in.

You walked into the lit up bar with your head held high. The air smelled like all sorts of liquor and the hint of cigarette smoke that lingered high in the air. The place was packed. Bodies were littered all around you. A couple that was too cozy wrapped themselves up together right next to the door, melding together in a passionate kiss. You rolled your eyes and kept moving forward, it made you sick.

It was dim in here as the lights were down low. You moved past the packed in bodies and found a seat at the bar, pulling back a black barstool and sitting down. You leaned against the dark wood bar top and settled in, looking around at your surroundings. A large mirror covered the back wall as bottles of liquor sat on one another, making all sorts of fancy patterns next to the glass cups.

A pack of older biker men sat a few seats away from you, already ogling you. You wanted to roll your eyes, yell for them to stop staring, but it was pointless. You knew you looked good. You could snatch up any man you wanted if you really tried. But the only man you wanted attention from was gone. You pushed past the thought and flashed them a smile, not caring if you didn’t really mean to be flirty with them. They could have one smile. That was it.

The bartender came over to you, about to take your drink order you assumed. He was handsome, maybe just a couple years older than you. He had black slicked back hair and green eyes that could entrance any sane woman. He was over 6 feet tall and had a nice build. Seemed like a charming gentleman.

“What are you drinking tonight, sweetheart?” he asked smoothly, cleaning off a glass cup with a towel.

“Whiskey and coke, please,” you purred, gently smiling at him.

“A whiskey girl huh?” He raised an eyebrow in surprise.

You shrugged your shoulders. “It’s what I like.”

“Figured you’d be a fruity cocktail girl.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you raised an eyebrow in defense.

“No disappointment here,” he said as he raised his hands in defeat. “One whiskey and coke coming right up.” He moved away and started mixing together your drink, watching him closely to make sure he knew what he was doing.

The truth was whiskey and coke wasn’t your usual. Not until you met Joel, then you were hooked. It was his favorite, his go to, his only choice of alcohol. And now it was yours as well. A taste you couldn’t shake. Your own personal brand of heroin. A taste you could get drunk off.

You remembered so clearly what it was like to hang off his lips, his breath smelling of whiskey as he drew you in, tangling his tongue with yours as you melted into him. A tingle ran down your spine just thinking of the way you got lost in his scent. Whiskey and mahogany. Your two favorite scents. You threw the thoughts out of your head quick before the bartender came back over. What the hell was wrong with you? It was over, done.

He came back and set the drink in front of you. “Here ya go, one whiskey and coke on the house. One of those gentlemen over there paid for your drink.”

You looked over and nodded to the man who did. He wasn’t your type at all. Short, buzz cut hair style, and grey eyes. You were still polite and smiled, looking back at the bartender. “Thanks.”

“Enjoy. Let me know if you need anything.” He smiled and turned away, going to help another customer a few seats away.

You took the straw that was in the drink and spun it around, watching the ice clink together as the amber colored liquid mixed before your eyes. You listened to the soft hum of Metallica carry through the bar, easing your mind of any tension you had seconds ago. You took a sip of your drink as the cold liquid ran down your throat, the sweet aftertaste hitting seconds later, covering the burn of the whiskey.

You glanced around the room, taking in the low lighting the bar encapsulated, watching the spin of couples on the small wooden dance floor, scanning the doorway as men trailed in and out of the bar. You were trying your best to relax.

Your eyes made their way to the pool tables, scanning over the groups of people that were crowded around them. The black walls mixed in with the red carpets of the pool table tops, along with the cue sticks that sat against the walls. You relaxed against the bar top, your knees grazing against the table.

Two couples that were holding hands walked away from the pool tables, making a clear path for you to see. As you took another drink from the cold glass, you froze. Choking on your alcohol and tipping the glass over, spilling it all over the bar surface as the glass hit the ground and shattered into tiny pieces.

Holy shit. What stood across the bar was a sight that blinded you. You felt as if a car had just crashed into you, your insides completely wrecked. Joel. There he was in his favorite red plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as his thick arms hugged the smooth material. Bulging veins covered his arms, his huge hands on each side of the pool table. Except they weren’t just on the pool table. He was leaning over some girl, and his hands were covering her waist.

You choked again on nothing, your throat constricting. She had big, blonde hair that was caked in hairspray. Her icy blue eyes fell over his face, a big red lipstick smile covering her mouth. Her double D’s were spilling out over her too small hot pink tank top. Her denim shorts were hiked up, almost showing her ass. She looked like the city slut, an instant sour taste entering your mouth.

Who the fuck did Joel Miller think he was taking out? Why was he with her? She was definitely not his type, but apparently you didn’t know what his type was anymore. It obviously wasn’t you.

Suddenly your short black dress felt too short, felt too tight as your chest suffocated against it. Your heels felt too tall, too uncomfortable. Your matted red lips felt dry, your throat barely catching any air. You swore you were about to get sick. You didn’t know if you wanted to scream at the top of your lungs or cry. Maybe you wanted to go pull out her fake bleach blonde extensions. You weren’t a violent person, but your insides were burning just watching her. Little miss give me attention getting ogled and touched by the Joel Miller. Give me a fucking break.

“You alright there, sweetheart? You broke your glass and look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” The sweet bartender was back in front of you, cleaning up the whiskey that you had spilt.

“I’m fine,” you said with gritted teeth, turning back to glance at just how close Joel was to the blonde bitch. Sliding his fingers over her thigh, teaching her exactly where to aim the cue stick on the table, leaning down against her. You were boiling alive inside, about to either run out of the bar or stand your ground and watch as jealousy burned through you.

“You don’t look fine to me,” he said carefully. “Now, what do you keep looking at huh?” He turned his head and looked in the direction of the pool tables. He spotted Joel and his new girl hovering over the pool table, all smiles and laughs. Pathetic.

“Oh, I see. You looking at that couple over there? He an old flame or something?”

“Something like that,” you said quietly, teeth still bared.

“That girl over there is named Brianna. She’s a frequent to this bar. I see her all the time with a different guy. She knows how to get around. She’s been coming with that one the past week though which is unusual. She usually doesn’t stick around that long before she’s on to the next guy.”

“That’s just lovely,” you said sarcastically with a scowl on your face.

“Hey, look at me a minute. Let me give you some advice,” he said gently.

You turned towards him and rested your elbows on the table, leaning in so you could hear him clearly.

“You’re really worried about that guy? Honey, this whole bar is after you. And there’s a guy on the end right over there that has had his eye on you ever since you stepped foot in here.” He pointed out a man at the end of the bar, sitting alone with a beer in his hand. He was good looking. Really good looking.

Tousled blonde hair with bright blue eyes and a jawline so sharp that it could kill. He was wearing dark faded jeans and a black button up, the top buttons undone and his tie loose. His sleeves were rolled up to expose a black intricate snake tattoo that ran up his entire arm. Whoa. Okay, this guy wasn’t just hot, he was sexy. Maybe even boyfriend material.

“Let me give you some advice. If you want to get over someone, you get under someone. And I bet if he saw you with that guy sitting at the bar, he’d be jealous as fuck. I know I would be. I don’t know what happened between you two, but he messed up. And it’s his loss. Now, why don’t you put on a pretty smile and wave him over. Make that other guy regret ever letting you go.”

You thought about his words, let them sink in as they flowed through your mind. Make him regret ever letting you go. Okay. You could do this. You could make him jealous. Easy. You already had Mr. blondie on a tight leash. All you had to do now was pull.

The bartender placed another whiskey and coke drink in front of you, replacing your broken one. You took a large gulp and placed it back on the table, getting your courage up. Let the games begin.

You smirked over to the hot blonde, batting your long eyelashes at him, coaxing him to come join you at the bar. He gave you a devilish grin and stood up from his barstool, slowly making his way over to you. When he made it over, he pulled out the barstool next to you and sat down carefully.

“Didn’t think I’d get your attention tonight,” he said with a smirk, his blue eyes piercing into you, making your stomach flutter with butterflies.

“And why’s that?” you asked with a laugh.

“Because you’re the prettiest girl in the room.”

You gulped at the compliment, turning just slightly so your knees could brush up against his, scooting the tiniest bit closer, your dress hiking up half an inch, exposing more thigh. He stared down at your legs, going over every inch with his eyes, sending chills down your spine. He really was attractive. He had that typical bad boy look, but he also looked sweet. Maybe even caring. Guess you’d have to find out.

“You’re sweet,” you said with a blush forming on your cheeks.

“I try. What’s your name?” he asked genuinely. You gave him your name, and he said it back with a lull in his voice. A sweet sound you could get used to. “I’m Alexander, but you can call me Alex for short.”

He had an accent. Definitely not from Texas. He sounded like he was maybe from another country. “You’re not from around here, are you?” you asked curiously.

“I’m from England originally, but I’ve lived in California most of my life. I just moved here a few months ago for work. Trying to start up a business here and get it going before I go back to California.”

“Wow, an English man. I always loved the English accents. They always sounded so romantic.” You placed a hand on his thigh, leaning in closer, batting your eyelashes up at him. His eyes went wide as you slid your hand just a bit higher, stopping just short of his zipper. Putting the flames to the test. He passed with flying colors.

He gently laid one of his hands against the small of your back, sinking it down just before he could graze your ass. You didn’t mind. This is what you wanted right? To get under someone and forget Joel. Make him jealous so he knew exactly how you were feeling right now.

You glanced back over to the pool table, and he was planting a kiss on her cheek, hugging her from behind as she held the cue stick in her hand, trying hard to concentrate on where to aim. You wanted to vomit, but you tore your eyes away from them and focused on the hot man that was sitting next to you.

“So, what exactly do you do for work?” you asked casually, trying not to let your anger slip out in your tone.

“I run a few tech companies. Nothing too big. Oh, but we’re partnered with Apple, so we’re kind of a big deal,” he said nonchalantly, brushing it off.

Your eyes widened as you snickered. “Apple is huge! You must be swimming in money.”

“Something like that,” he laughed back at your response.

You flirted back and forth for the next few minutes, taking in the sounds of rock and roll music flowing through the bar, finding things in common to talk about. You could see this was going well. And if it went really well then you’d be in his bed by midnight.

“So, uhh you think you want to go on a date sometime? Maybe this weekend?” he asked shyly.

“Is this not a date right now?” you asked, running your fingers lightly up his striking snake tattoo. You could feel the goosebumps start to spread over his arm. Your plan was going exactly how you wanted it to.

“I mean, I want to take you out to dinner. Maybe take you home with me also…” he said quietly, watching you closely to see your reaction.

“Oh, I think I’ll let you do both,” you said flirtatiously, leaning in closer to him, lips hanging just below his.

He didn’t stutter one bit. He sealed the distance between you and pressed his lips against yours. It was a hot, sticky kiss as he moved his hand down to your ass, opening your mouth to invite him in. His tongue connected with yours as it swirled around, tasting like vodka and whiskey mixed together. After a couple of minutes of intense making out, you broke the kiss, sitting back in your own bar stool.

As you went to turn to your drink, you saw dark eyes staring at you intensely from across the bar, right next to the pool tables. It was Joel, and he was mad. No, more than mad. He looked livid, fuming with rage. He was holding the cue stick so hard in his hands that it looked like it was about to snap in half.

You didn’t know what to feel. Remorse, jealousy, sadness, your feelings were all over the place. But you had to see this through. You wanted him to hurt just as much as he had hurt you while having to watch that slut of his fall all over him. But something like regret washed over your insides, making your stomach drop at what you just did.

Alexander leaned over and kissed you softly on the cheek, putting his hand dangerously close to the inside of your thigh, hiking your dress up even more. You squeezed your legs together, not wanting him to expose too much to anyone else.

Joel threw down the cue stick on the pool table and grabbed the blonde’s wrist, pulling her to the bar table. The same one you were at. Fuck.

He pulled out an empty seat for the girl and sat down next to her, sitting right across the table from you. His eyes were searing into yours, about to burn you alive. You tried to look down, but you could still feel his heavy gaze on you. He wouldn’t let up. He was brooding.

The room was becoming too hot. Your head was fuzzy from the warm alcohol and your cheeks were flushed. You hadn’t even had that much to drink, but the way Joel was looking at you now was making you scorch with heat. You needed a cold glass of water and now.

You waved down the bartender and asked for a water. He quickly got you a cold glass and placed it in front of you. You didn’t even say thanks, you were too preoccupied with calming the hell down. You threw your head back as you chugged the water down, hoping it’d help cool you off.

As soon as you finished the water and placed the glass back down, you realized it didn’t help at all. You were still too hot, feeling like you could crawl out of your skin at any moment. You looked back up at Joel, and he was now pushing the blonde’s hair back, exposing her neck as he placed a kiss against her collarbone. He looked straight at you the entire time he was doing it, his cold gaze burning through you. He was taunting you, showing off just what he could do with another woman.

You could feel the burning tears in the back of your eyes that were screaming to escape. You wanted so badly to break down into a puddle and cry, yell at him for ruining you, scream just how much you hated him in this moment for making you feel this way.

You couldn’t watch anymore. You had to get up and go. You couldn’t hold it together anymore. “I’m sorry, I just need a moment. I’ll be right back,” you said hurriedly to Alexander as you got up out of your seat and walked as fast as you could to the back of the building. You needed to be alone. Just for a few minutes. Until Joel got up and left the table.

You couldn’t look at him anymore. Not tonight anyways. After seeing him with that blonde, you realized just how not over him you were. You still cared way too much, even if what he just did tore you to bits. You had done the same to him though. You wanted to make him jealous, so you did. You got what you deserved. You just didn’t know it’d hurt this much.

You pushed yourself through the crowd, finding it harder to breathe. The music was too loud, the lights were too bright, there were way too many people around. You just wanted to be left alone. Before you could make it through the long, dark hallway up ahead, someone grabbed your wrist and pulled you ahead.

“Hey, stop! You can’t just…” You tried to yank your hand away until you realized just who had grabbed you. You turned to face them and realized it wasn’t just any random person. It was Joel. Oh no.

He pulled you into a large, lavish bathroom and locked the door, standing right in front of it so you couldn’t leave. Who the hell did he think he was?

“Joel, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” you hissed.

“I wanted to talk to you.” His eyebrows were furrowed together, his arms crossed over his chest as his thick arms hugged the plaid material.

“Right now? In the bathroom? No, I don’t think so. Now move so I can leave.” You tried to go around him, but he wouldn’t budge. He just stood in front of the lock, body unmoving.

You tried to push him away, but he wouldn’t move. It’s like you were trying to get through a brick wall. “Joel, I mean it. Get out of my way,” you said with more force.

“No! Not until you talk to me,” he yelled, eyes glaring at you.

You huffed and threw your arms up, backing up. “Fine, whatever. You want to talk, then let’s talk.” You crossed your arms and matched his energy, cocking your hip out to lean on.

“What the hell was that out there?” he asked angrily, his nostrils flaring.

“What was what?”

“You making out with that asshole. He was all over you, practically had his goddamn hands up your skirt,” he spit with rage.

“Oh no, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to jump down my back when you were all over that blonde slut.”

“Oh, I was not.”

“Bull shit! I saw it with my own eyes!” you screamed, irritated with him already.

“I wasn’t touching her nearly as much as that fucker was touching you.” He was searing at you, eyes blazing fumes. He was jealous as fuck.

“You’re jealous, aren’t you?” you asked in disbelief, eyes growing wider.

“So what if I am? You’re jealous of that blonde girl I was with too. Admit it. You were only trying to make me jealous to prove a point.”

“You arrogant son of a bitch, I was not!”

“So did you come here with him tonight or was he just some cheap shot you found at the bar?”

That was it. You weren’t doing this. You had had enough. “Move,” you demanded, putting your hands into fists at your side.

“No,” he said with finality. “Not until we finish talking.”

“God, you’re so infuriating! Look, if I knew you’d be here tonight I wouldn’t have even come here. The last thing I wanted to see was you all over a dumb bitch who doesn’t even know how to hold a cue stick correctly.”

“And you think I wanted to see you making out with a selfish prick who just wanted to take you home for the night and never call you again after?”

You clenched your jaw after that comment, hands balled at your side, wanting nothing more than to slap him across the face. “Why should you even care? We’re over! I thought the breakup was mutual. Why should you care if I’m trying to move on the best I can?”

“By getting under a man you don’t even know?” His eyebrows were raised, a look of anger taking hold on his features.

You held up your hand, frustration taking its hold over you. “Don’t even say anything because I know you’ve probably already slept with your new blonde toy.”

“So what if I have?! Not like you care.”

That hit you like a ton of bricks, your heart sinking at the thought of those two in bed together. You wanted to be sick, wanted to throw up every ounce of alcohol you took in. You kept it in though, holding on to your dignity.

You walked over and shoved him against the door, taking out your growing frustration on him. Wanting to do it again and again until all the hurt left your body. “Oh, I do care. More than I’d like to admit,” you stammered out, almost losing your footing on the floor.

Joel grabbed your wrist tight, preventing you from backing up. “Let go,” you said with a tight jaw.

“First tell me why exactly you were all over that guy tonight.” He was looking down at you harshly, something shifting in his eyes the more he looked at you.

“I was just having fun. I thought he might be nice and..”

“You’re lying,” he said with a locked jaw, eyes hounding you as he didn’t let up on his grip around you.

“Fine, you win! I was flirting with him to make you jealous because I couldn’t stand to see you with little miss attention!” Your voice was raised, a faint cry getting stuck in your throat. He released you from his grip and let you take a step back.

“I knew it,” he said proudly, slicking his dark hair with grey streaks back. Watching how his fingers slid so easily through it, remembering all the times you got to do that. Wanting nothing more than to be able to run your fingers through that messy hair that you always thought was so sexy.

“Congratu-fucking-lations. Want a prize or something?” you sneered.

“Hey now, don’t be like that.”

“How do you expect me to be, Joel? I haven’t talked to you in weeks. Hell, I’ve been doing the best I can. I had a really shitty week at work, and this was just the icing on the cake! So thank you so much for that, I sincerely hope you’re happy!” you shouted as you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms again.

“No, I’m not happy,” he grimaced, tightening up his fingers one by one.

“Oh, really? Why not?”

“Because I couldn’t fucking stand watching another guy that wasn’t me be with you!”

Oh. You wanted to fall apart at how Joel was looking at you now. He was breathing hard, and you swear you saw tears start to form in his eyes. “Joel, I…”

“I’ve spent weeks trying to get over you. It didn’t matter what I did or who I went out with, none of them were you. I have nightmares all the time. Ones where you’re always wrapped up beside me in bed, and I’ll wake up and you aren’t there. Or ones where some other guy is in your bed, taunting me from across the room. It was all just a dream though. So I did what I had to do to try to forget about you, but nothing worked. So excuse me for trying to get over you with her.” He sounded defeated. A sad lullaby that wanted to be put to sleep.

He relaxed his eyes, sadness closing in on him. Oh, Joel. “That night of the fight, why didn’t you go after me?” you asked quietly, barely able to keep your head up, doing everything in you to keep hold with his eyes.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to…” he said quietly, eyes looking down at the ground as he shoved one of his hands in his pocket, the other one hanging loosely to his side.

“I did. And you never came after me. You didn’t call. I was waiting for you to, but you never did,” you said with a shaky breath, holding back tears.

“I thought you never wanted to speak to me again,” he said with sad eyes, his eyes turning a warm honey color. You wanted to melt into those eyes. Wanted to bleed into them until you couldn’t see anymore.

“No, that’s not true…I…I don’t even remember what we were fighting about now. It was stupid, dumb, whatever it was. And look where it led us. To this exact spot. Making each other crazy with jealousy. All for what? To hurt each other? To get back at one another? Because that’s not what I wanted. That’s never what I wanted,” you said as you brushed a stray tear away, blinking away anymore that were about to fall.

“Hey, it’s okay…” He reached out a hand and wiped another tear away, lingering his fingers on your cheek. You closed your eyes and took in his gentle touch, remembering every single touch he ever gave you.

You took a step back, away from his reach. The warmth from his touch turned into a cold, vacant feeling. Wanting nothing more than to seep back into his warmth. He took a step forward, but you took one more back. “You never gave me the chance to get over you…” you whispered quietly, your voice coming out hoarse.

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry…” He looked so sincere, sadness dripping off all his features. There was no more anger left. It was only replaced with longing and apologies.

He walked towards you, and you let him this time. He stopped in front of you, pulling back a lock of hair behind your ear. You leaned into his touch, wanting to sink into it.

“I never stopped loving you,” he whispered gently against your ear. And there it was. That one word that you had been waiting to hear again. A hushed lull that could hum you to sleep.

“You…you still love me?” you asked in a daze, confused.

“That’s right. I still love you.”

“Then why didn’t you fucking fight for me? I was waiting for you to chase me out that door, come stop me and tell me not to go. But you didn’t! I was waiting, Joel. I was waiting and you never came for me!” You were broken. Tears spilled downing your face as your vision got blurry.

Joel didn’t waste a second as he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you so tightly that you couldn’t break free. You just cried into his chest as he held you, trying to soothe you as he took a hand and gently slid it up and down your back. Taking away all your pain.

“I love you…” you whispered quietly, enough for him to hear.

“I know, baby. I know. I should’ve never let you go…” With that he kissed the top of your head and held you tighter, not wanting to break apart from you.

You felt a sense of relief. You were back in Joel’s arms. Back to where you really wanted to be. You didn’t want Alexander. You wanted Joel. He was home, and he always would be. You don’t think you could ever stop loving him. Because what the two of you had was something you never felt before. It was beautiful and was something that shouldn’t be broken.

You stayed in his embrace till all your tears dried up, slowly backing up to look up into his beautiful face. His eyes were the color of hazelnut coffee, and he had the most apologetic look on his face.

“Let me make it up to you. I want to show you just how sorry I am,” he said gently, catching the edge of your wrist.

“And how are you going to do that?” you asked, questioning him.

“By showing you exactly how I feel about you…”

Before you could say anything, he crashed his lips against yours. It wasn’t just any kind of a kiss. It was a desperate, starving kiss as he pulled you closer, pressing you up against the wall. You sank into his velvet lips, chasing his whiskey taste you so desperately loved. You opened your mouth, and his tongue shot in, chasing yours as it engulfed you. He tasted so sweet, his whiskey and spice flavor enveloping your throat.

He bit your bottom lip and slowly released it, quickly finding your neck as he sunk his mouth down on the most sensitive spot that rested above your collarbone. You choked out a moan as he grazed his teeth along your neckline, sending a pool of slick against your now drenched panties.

He lifted you up and wrapped your legs around his waist, running a hand against the inside of your thigh, dangerously close to your throbbing center. He dropped down again to your neck, sucking so hard that he’d surely leave a mark. You ran a hand up through his tousled hair, and he groaned as you dug your nails into his scalp.

He brought his face up to your level and rested his forehead against yours, still slowly slithering his fingers up and down your thigh, making you squirm with anticipation. “Gonna make you feel so good, baby. Gonna show them just who you belong to.”

“Tell me who I belong to,” you gasped out.

“Me,” he growled. He slammed his mouth into yours again and brought his hand higher on your thigh, digging into the sides of your scrunched up panties. He lifted your dress above your hips, exposing your drenched center. You bit down on his lip as he teased you, running his fingers lightly over your pulsing core, sending more slick running down.

“Jesus, baby. You’re already so fucking wet for me.”

“Mhmm,” you moaned out as he slipped a hand inside the wet material, sliding through your folds and circling your clit firmly. You felt hot pulsing desire run through your core as he made you wetter from the touch of his calloused fingers.

“Joel…” you moaned out as he placed more pressure on your throbbing clit, wanting more, needing more.

“What’s that, darlin’?” he smirked, a devilish grin ghosting over his lips.

“I need more,” you begged, moving your hips up so you could grind against his sticky fingers.

“More what?” he asked with an edge to his voice, his dark eyes honing into yours.

“I need more of…more…” He slowly pushed two fingers inside you, pressing his palm against your aching clit. “Fuck!” you breathed out, your voice shaky from the friction.

“That’s what I thought.” He smirked as he fell to his knees and pulled down your panties, placing them inside the pocket of his jeans.

“I missed you, baby. Missed your long legs.” He ran a hand up your thigh, sending shivers down your spine. “Missed your smell.” He grabbed one of your legs and put it over his shoulder, running his tongue up your inner thigh and stopping right before he got to your pulsing center.

“Missed your taste…” He took his tongue and ran it all the way up the center of your folds, covering his tongue in your slick. You moaned out in response, and he took it as a reward. “That’s my girl. Now hold on tight. Gonna give you just what you deserve.”

With that he lapped up more slick, quickly finding your clit as he circled and circled you, making your head dizzy from the building heat. He was sucking and pulling your throbbing clit into his mouth, making your legs shake against him.

He slid two fingers inside you and pumped in and out, flicking your clit back and forth with his tongue. You grabbed a hold of his hair hard and pulled his head up higher. His eyes were staring into yours intensely. His coffee colored eyes were now full blown black pits as he was devouring you. It was the hottest most intimate thing you ever saw, making more slick appear between your legs.

“Joel…I’m close…I’m…” you groaned out, bucking your hips higher, needing more of him.

“Want you to come for me, baby. Want you to spill all over my mouth. Want to taste just how sweet you are…” He was pumping his fingers faster inside you, putting more pressure on your clit with his tongue as he ran it up and down, nice and slow.

You were squeezing your leg around him, pulling him closer to you as you could barely take anymore. The pressure was building and building inside your core. So much that you were about to release it all, let it spill all over Joel’s tongue.

“Come for me,” he commanded. He pulled your clit inside his mouth and sucked hard, breaking that seal that was holding in all your pressure. And you were done for. You released your orgasm as a low moan escaped your mouth, coating your inner thighs with hot stickiness.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised as he lapped up all the slick from your throbbing center and thighs, leaving no trace left behind. He placed your leg back on the ground gently and stood up from his knees, placing his hands around your waist to balance you from your intense orgasm.

You took a few seconds to uncloud your mind, come back down from the wave of bliss you’d just been on. You needed more. Wanted more. And you knew what you wanted to do next. You wanted to taste him.

You slowly lowered your hands to his belt, undoing the buckle and feeling his growing bulge through his jeans. He groaned as you traced your hand against his length, wanted so bad to make him feel just as good as he had made you feel.

“I think it’s my turn to taste you now. I want you to remember just how good I can make you feel.” You lowered yourself slowly to the ground, unzipping his pants and shoving them down to his ankles along with his black briefs.

You stared up at the growing erection that was planted firmly against his stomach, precum glistening on his tip. You wrapped your hand around his massive width and slid up and down his long length, squeezing just the slightest. He groaned in response as he stared down at you with dilated pupils. “I want you to know who blows you the best. Not that blonde girl. ME,” you said possessively.

“Fucking feral, darlin’. I love it. Now, show me just how good you can take this cock,” he said greedily.

You smirked up at him as you licked his tip, circling all his sensitive areas. “Fuckkk,” he moaned as you yanked up and down his shaft, licking precum off his tip. You slowly took him in your mouth, taking him in as far as you could go, gagging on his large length. He was big, but you knew just how to take him. Knew exactly how to make him feel good. It was like clockwork, you knew him that well.

You continued sliding your mouth over him, tasting the saltiness coat your tongue. A flavor you revelled in. He grabbed the back of your hair and pulled you forward, driving deeper into your throat until he was touching the very back, gagging and choking on him. A sound you loved hearing because you were driving him wild, sending him over the edge with your throat.

Tears stung your eyes as they ran down your face, drool pooling down your chin as he slammed back into you, mouth fucking you aggressively. “Good girl. That’s a good fucking girl,” he groaned with force in his words, enjoying every second of your mouth on him. Your hands your planted firmly on the back of his thighs, holding on for dear life as you choked on him. The taste of him was intoxicating, something you could get drunk on.

A few more thrusts to your mouth and he was releasing you and pulling your chin up to look at him, taking that long breath that you needed. He wiped the tears from your eyes and cleaned off the drool that was coating the edges of your mouth.

“Look at you, you’re a mess,” he said as he clicked his tongue with a smirk on his face, wiping once more under your eyes.

“I’m a mess for you,” you answered quietly, staring up into honey eyes that were turning darker by the second.

“That’s right. My mess,” he said aggressively. “Now c’mere, I’m not done with you yet.”

He pulled you up from the floor and took you over to the counter, placing your hands on the edge of the sink as he bent you over, facing directly in front of the mirror. He placed his hands over your fingers and put a leg in between yours, pushing your thighs further apart with his foot. You gulped as he kept his foot there, unable to move your legs at all. It was seductive, intimate, and hot as hell.

He leaned over your shoulder and put his mouth right next to your ear, grazing his lips against the sensitive skin. You whimpered when you saw just how he was looking at you in the mirror. The look of lust, desire, pure want, and need in his eyes. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him look so hungry for you. A hunger he’d go feral for until he ate up every single inch of you. Slick pooled at your center at the mere thought of it. Fuck.

He took his tongue and ran it up your neck slowly, stopping every couple of inches to kiss and caress your skin that was aching for his touch. You angled your neck towards him, wanting more. Needing that hunger as much as he did.

“Gonna fuck you now, baby. Gonna show you just who you belong to.” He grabbed your hair and pulled your head up higher so your eyes were staring into the mirror. “Eyes on me. I want you to watch. I want you to moan my name, I want the entire bar to know you’re mine,” he growled. It was possessive, jealous, dominant. And it was erotic as hell.

He slid the tip of his cock over your folds, collecting the slick and making himself thoroughly wet. You whimpered as he slid into you slowly, driving another moan out of you as your walls squeezed around his thick width.

“That’s right, baby. Takin’ me so good. Takin’ me like the good fucking girl you are,” he growled. He slid one hand in front of you and pulled down your dress, exposing your hard, pebbled breasts as he grabbed at them, thumbs digging into you. He then sunk his mouth down on your shoulder and bit. Teeth bared like he was a vampire coming in for the kill. Marking his territory. Claiming you. Making you feel like you were on cloud nine as he rammed into you over and over again. Feeding your aching core, increasing your hot wave of desire that was building inside you.

He was staring seductively at you in the mirror, black pits bleeding into your eyes, making you lose control of how insanely hot you were in the room. The smell of sex was everywhere. Mahogany, whiskey, and dripping bodies filled the air, making you light headed and dizzy.

“Joel…” you moaned as he circled your clit, hearing the wet, sticky sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you, corrupting all form of coherent thoughts you were having.

“Atta girl. Say it again. I wanna hear it. Say that you’re mine. Look at me with that pretty face and repeat it back to me.”

He pressed harder on your clit and pulled your hair tighter, making you gasp at how dominant he was being. Making you want to come undone just by the deep growl in his voice.

You moaned as it was all too much. You were about to shatter yourself all over him. “Joel…I’m yours.”

“Repeat it!” he growled into your ear, staring ravenously back at you in the mirror, his hand digging into your hip.

“I’m yours, I’m all yours!” you screamed out, fighting everything in your body to just hold on a few seconds more.

“That’s my good girl. Now come for me.” He sped up his circles on your throbbing mound and pressed down hard, drawing a line down your entire clit. That did it. You were rolling your eyes back and coming hard for him. You clenched up around him and released yourself on him, coating his cock in wet sticky slick.

“Goddamn, baby. Feels…so…good,” he moaned as he pushed up into you a couple more times, then he was making that sexy orgasmic face as his eyebrows furrowed together and pushed your hips into the counter. He was spilling his seed inside you, saturating your walls and calling your name. Your name sounded like a melodic lull against his deep voice. Entrancing in itself.

He stayed like that for a few more seconds then slowly slid out of you, letting his seed slip down your thighs, coating it all in white. It was warm, messy, and it was him claiming you, all of you.

He turned you around to face him, gently placing one hand around your hip and the other brushing stray locks of hair behind your ear. He slowly leaned down and kissed the top of your head, caressing your cheek with a feather-like touch. It was so gentle that you wanted to fall into him, stay in his arms where it was warm and safe. Where you felt most at home.

He lifted your chin and traced your face with his thumb softly, looking at you like you were a diamond in the rough. It made your insides tingle, a wave of admiration and longing hitting you hard as he stared at you with those warm honey eyes that made you melt.

“I missed you so much…” he whispered as he ghosted his lips over yours. Making you drink in his whiskey breath and mahogany cologne. Your two favorite scents because that was his trademark. Your choice of ecstasy.

“Not as much as I missed you.” You took your hand and ran it through his salt and pepper beard slowly. He seemed to like it cause he groaned and leaned into your touch, looking at you with endearment and tenderness.

A faint smile spread on his lips at your statement. “Alright, let’s get you cleaned up before we go back out there,” he laughed as he adjusted your dress and helped you clean off the sticky mess in between your thighs. He pulled up his jeans and tucked in his shirt, fixing his tousled hair.

You quickly ran a hand through your hair, trying to tame the messy sex hair the best you could. You tried to reach into his pocket for your panties, but he grabbed your wrist and stopped you fast, clicking his tongue at you. “Oh no, you’re not getting these back right now. They’re stayin’ with me,” he smirked with darkening eyes.

“I can’t go back out there with nothing under my dress. What if people see?” you pouted with wide eyes, not wanting to leave the bathroom till you had something on.

“They’re not gonna see cause we’re leaving, now,” he said adamantly, sliding his hand down from your wrist to your hand, entangling his fingers with yours. It felt so good, so warm, so right.

“But what about your date?” you asked hesitantly, lowering your voice.

“Look at me,” he said firmly, grabbing your chin. “I don’t give a fuck about her. We’re leaving, now. You and me. Not her.”

“Where are we going?” you asked with questions in your eyes as he dropped his hand from your chin.

“We’re going home.”

“Home? Are you taking me back home to my place?”

“No, baby. You’re going home with me,” he said gently.

Oh. “You’re taking me back to your place…?” Your voice carried off into the distance, not believing what you just heard.

“Yes, where else would I be taking you?”

“I don’t know. I thought…”

“You’re going home with me, period. I’m not letting you go again. So c’mon, let’s go.”

“Okay.”

As you walked out of the bathroom, a gentle smile spread across your lips. You had done it. You got him back. He still wanted you just as much as you wanted him. It was almost surreal. You thought for sure you would’ve ended the night at Alexander’s house, but you’re glad that wasn’t the case because you would’ve just been sulking over Joel the entire time.

He pulled you through the crowded bar, making space for you to pass as he kept a hold on your hand, pulling you into his chest as he grazed his hand over your hip and pushed you forward. Making sure no one else was able to touch you.

As you passed the bar, you saw Brianna staring wide eyed with an open mouth at the two of you. She looked pissed and she tried calling Joel’s name, but he didn’t even turn his head. He didn’t care about her. He was back with you now. Every ounce of jealousy that you had toward her was gone because he was yours. She didn’t get to have him anymore. You smirked at her, letting her know you had won.

A few more steps and you were passing Alexander. Joel glared daggers at him as you passed him by. He was letting him know that you were his, and he didn’t appreciate when he had been touching you. You mouthed sorry, and all he did was shake his head and take a stiff drink from his cup, looking anywhere but at you. You didn’t care anymore. He was just a placeholder, a vacant spot until you got what you wanted. Joel.

Joel walked you to his white Chevy and opened the door for you, helping you in so you wouldn’t trip over your tall heels. As soon as you got in, he closed the door and went over to the driver side and got in, starting up the hum of the truck as the engine came to life.

You remembered it just like it was yesterday. His soft velvety seats, the smell of cigarettes and wood filling the inside, his favorite bands playing softly against the stereo. He turned up Pearl Jam, and it was just as you remembered. This was what peace felt like. You were content, finally.

As he started driving, he threw an arm over the back of the seat, coaxing you to join him. He looked over at you with those calm brown eyes and nodded his head, wanting you to scoot over by him.

You smiled shyly and slid over to sit beside him, leaning over and resting your head on his shoulder as he placed his arm around you, grazing against your arm with his calloused fingers.

This was what home felt like. He was home. And that’s where you were going. Back to his house, with him. And this time you wouldn’t run out, you wouldn’t let him go. You’d stay forever. Right in his arms. Right where you felt most at home. His. As much as he was yours. Two pieces that fit together perfectly, and that’s where you’d stay. Until the end of time.

#joel miller #joel tlou #joel x you #joel the last of us #joel x reader #joel x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #jealousy #a03 fanfic #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal #dom!joel miller #possessive Joel #joel miller fic #no outbreak!joel miller #no use of y/n #joel miller pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction

224 notes · View notes