#toe mold or something | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

valetoria · 24 days ago

Text

HE'S JUST YOUR 'TUTOR' .ᐟ ft. 𝓰𝓮𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓾𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾.

৻ꪆ synopsis. unannounced, your tutor shows up, his praises beginning to sound oddly lewd . . . and it leaves you wondering if it’s all in your head or if he knows exactly what he’s doing.

৻ꪆ tags. afab!reader. ⋆ raw sëx. ⋆ praise kink. ⋆ body worship. ⋆ corruption kink. ⋆ taboō cw. ⋆ doggystyle. ⋆ slight impǎct play.

you shift your drowsy weight on the oak chair, your spine slumping against the backrest as a groan escapes your throat at the sight of bulky curriculum binders lying lifelessly. you clench your teeth around the end of the stylus, the bitter aftertaste of ink soaking into your taste receptors. glancing at the clock, you realize your tutor still hasn’t shown up, and waiting alone at this hour isn’t exactly the best way to escape your misery. the stylus between your digits lands with a click on the blotchy-marbled countertop and as though the universe had heard your silent plea, the doorbell rings.

the noise splits through your apartment complex, making your attention snap to the hallway. with a sigh, you reluctantly rise from the comfortable spot on your chair, the cushion springing back to its original shape. your lips curl into a grimace at the loss of warmth, and you walk to your front door, leaning up on your toes. you take a quick peek at the lens. rotating the lock, you open the door to find your tutor standing there, completely drenched from head to toe in the rain. “suguru?” you snort, a laugh escaping your lips as your eyes run down his figure, taking in the sight of his jet-black tresses clinging to his face, with droplets of condensed water dripping from the tips and trickling down his nape. “what are you doing here?”

“good evening,” geto reacquaints, his chest heaving, a hint that he was merely out of breath. “my apologies for being so late. we had a session at seven although, i’m late . . . as you can see,” he explains, his hand cupping the back of his neck.

you blink, staring at geto with a look of disbelief. “you could’ve called considering you were arriving later than anticipated, i thought our session was canceled.” you reply, your hands fiddling with the door knob behind you.

geto suppresses a chuckle, his large-calloused hand wiping away a few goblets of water dribbling down his face before his fingers card through his wet, tousled black locks, “i called, but you didn’t answer. i’m guessing your phone was on dnd since it’s so late.” his presence stirs your carnally prurient thoughts, and the only thing your attention is drawn to is how soaked his top is—and if anything, you were no better than a man to check him out like that. is it really a surprise ? it’s in your nature to eye something you want - and for you, it was geto.

the diaphanous fabric of his shirt molds to the slim curves of his torso, offering a brief outline of the hard planes lying beneath the thinness of the material. the first few stubby buttons of his top were messily undone, sleeves rolled up halfway, revealing prominent veins trailing along his girthy forearms. your eyes wander down and lands on the subtle bulge in his groin, the tightness of his slacks accentuating his size and making it nearly impossible for you to sneak a glance unnoticed.

a rush of embarrassment surges over you, painting your cheeks a crimson hue—and that is how you realize, with a start, that you had been staring. you gulp, “i guess i missed that memo,” you force out as a response, your voice hesitating as you attempt to underplay your reaction with another feigned laugh.

“mmn,” geto calmly hums, arching a brow as he catches you staring at him longer than what have might been considered polite. “very well,” a sleazy grin spreads across his face as he clicks his tongue, subtly shifting his weight while his voice remains monotonous. “may i come in?” taking a small step forward, his eyes gleam down on you, his own stare roaming over your body before taking a glance back up at you, awaiting a response.

you instinctively step aside, trying to hide the rosiness spreading on your face as you fumble, “y-yeah, of course, come in.” your gaze lowers, and you don’t pick up the little glance he gives you.

as he enters, your welcoming space engulfs his figure. familiar, neatly arranged furniture and soft lighting come into his view, with the neatly made bed adorned with stuffed animals, a vase of perlite flowers, and a small stack of literature books atop the coffee table. “do you have anything i can dry off with?” he then asks, running a hand through his wet hair.

“right,” you pause, mentally facepalming yourself for not offering a towel any sooner. “let me get you a towel,” when you return from the quick bathroom trip, he takes the towel, thanking you with a sweet grin that tugs at your heartstrings and you can’t help but continue to stare, admiring the way he was so gentle with patting his face, and you admire the way he scrunches his dark obsidian tangles.

“quite the view, isn’t it?”

“what?” you query, snapping out of your little day dream and realize you’ve been caught red-handed. “no- just surprised to see you here, that’s all.” you shot back defensively—perhaps a little too quickly for your liking. with another gulp, you avert your gaze as your hand sheepishly rubs the back of your neck.

the corner of his lips curls into a smile, “can’t help but play around with someone like you," he chuckles, and you hesitate, momentarily second-guessing what he meant by that, but before you could even thoroughly process your thoughts, he swiftly changes the subject. "how about you show me what you’ve been working on, hm?” geto proposes, raising a brow and pulling you out of your musings.

your mouth quirks, and you plaster a smile on your face before your attention pivots, and you guide him to the countertop where you were working as your pearly-white acrylic hovers over the written numeral. “okay, so i’m stuck here,” you begin, moving your finger as you point to the equation on the sheet of homework that had you almost yanking your hair out in frustration.

geto bends closer to you from behind to study the problem, and you feel his warm breath brush against your nape, his fingers incidentally brushing against yours as he reaches for the textbook. your eyes fall towards his lengthy digits, and your lips press into a hard line as those deluded thoughts came rushing back.

“this is a classic limit problem,” his reverberating tone tore through your raunchy fantasm, and you had to remind yourself the two of you were still in session. “it’s about finding the value something approaches as we get closer to a specific point—these can seem tricky, but they often involve breaking things down to see the bigger picture.”

as he spoke, you tried to concentrate on his explanation, but it felt like your brain couldn’t come to comprehend his answer with the way his words were going through one ear and out the other. “think of it this way,” your tutor adds, “imagine you’re baking a cake, and you want to know how it’s rising just as it comes out of the oven. now, in this case, we’re trying to understand what happens as we get really close to that perfect moment.” he picks up the pencil and suddenly pauses, and you momentarily wonder what’s going through his mind before he resumes, writing down the nodules along the side of your paper.

“so . . how do i apply that to this problem?” you ask, trying to follow his guidance as you move your finger on the problem hesitantly.

geto crows softly, his calloused hand settling over yours to steady your movements. “here, let me show you, sweetheart.” the sound of the pet name rolling smoothly off his tongue makes you shift slightly in your chair, biting your lip to keep your smile at bay as your lips threaten to curl into a grin. guiding your hand over the numbers and symbols on the page, his fingers press firmly against the dorsal of your hand, correcting your work with gentle precision. “here’s a little secret,” he hums, writing out the steps for you to get a better understanding of, “when you encounter an indeterminate form, there’s a clever trick you can use.” with his hand still cupped over yours, geto’s burly fingers contradict the softness of your own - and with a click, the pencil falls against the wooden surface. “just take the derivatives of the top and bottom parts separately, it simplifies the limit.”

you then try on your own, still a little apprehensive, yet, you pick up the pencil, summarizing the information before attempting to replicate the steps he had just shown you. “mhm, doing so good for me, love. keep going, and you’ll get the hang of it.” a subtle tremor runs through you, and your body goes rigid at his sudden praise. his validation sending a rush of heat straight to your core that unravels a school of butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

you swallow hard, realizing your throat had gone as dry as sand. “right . . the limit,” your eyebrows furrow in concentration, but your thoughts are as vague as static playing on an old television screen.

his digits encouragingly graze your skin, and it only serves to leave your mind consumed by his subtle caresses. “here,” he murmurs, again, maneuvering you with a firm grip—a disparity to the tranquilizing discourse that accompanies his actions. “uh huh, just like that,” geto’s voice softens in a way that has you shifting slightly, rubbing your legs together as you suck in your bottom lip. with a slight nod, you put on a facade—acting as if you understood everything even though his words barely registered.

“alright, just one more step,” geto continues, manipulating the stylus in your hand as he assumes you understood his instructions, though the math was slipping out of your grasp faster than you could keep up with. “substitute the value into the simplified function to find the limit, you’re almost there, and you’re doing it all so well, better than you realize.” his breath fans your ear, and you began to question just how much of this was actually about calculus . .

another sharp inhale slips through your flared nostrils as you adjust your hips, aligning with the seam of your shorts. you consider it. consider whether or not to say something and break the tension between the two of you, but — “geto, i . . i’m not sure i’m getting this,” you finally admit. your voice pushing out and breaking barely above a whisper. when those words come loose, you sense him his corporeal frame leaning against your back, the damp fabric of his fractionally wet dress shirt against your skin sends goosebumps rising along your arms, and the close-contact throws you off.

“let me show you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear as he leans in. “sometimes, the best way to learn is through a visual demonstration.”

“geto,” your voice quavers with confusion, “w- what are you doing?”

a smirk flattens near the outer corners of lips, and he notices you catching onto his little comments, “what’re you talking about?"

a flush of embarrassment crept up your neck as you realize just how how weird your question might have sounded, and you quickly try to retract your words, but the damage was already done. “i—i didn’t mean it like that,” you stammer, feeling your face burn as you fumble for words to contradict yourself. “i just . . . i guess i’m confused about what’s happening here.”

his expression shifts, the initial act of surprise fading into a smug grin, of course he knew what was happening, after all he was making those comments to get a rise out of you. “you think i’m doing something else than just tutoring?”

“i . . . don’t know,” you confess, your brows merging as you overthought the situation in a matter of milliseconds. “it just feels like . . more than just a tutoring session.”

several intervals slip by hearing the soft rustle of clothes shifting slightly behind you before he finally responds. “is that so?” he soothingly hums, his fingers passing your soft hair aside and away from your neck. “i wasn’t aware i was giving off that impression.” before you could piece together another lame reply, geto’s free hand glides past your knuckles and down your thigh, and your legs part with little resistance, the movement feeling almost instinctual.

“i think you’re the one misinterpreting things,” geto croons, the side of his digit drifting under your chin as he tilts your head back to meet his gaze, “you’re soaked, sweetheart.” you immediately open your mouth to interject suguru’s embarrassing testimony, but he seizes the opportunity to cut you off again. “oh my, i didn’t think my little praises could get you like this . .” he teases, his warm breath hovering against your lips. as you struggle to form a coherent reply, he captures your lips in an upside down kiss, silencing any protest with the heat of his mouth.

a low whimper escapes your mouth as geto groans, the wet muscle of his tongue sweeping across the supple curve of your lip before he plants another open-mouthed kiss on you. his tongue slides along the seam of your lips, savoring the faint aftertaste of your cherry-flavored lip gloss. fingers tangling in your hair, he pulls your head back, cock hardening within the confines of his pants at the cacophony of your unexpected yelp. suguru’s lips form into a teasing smile as his hand drifts lower, digits ghosting over the sensitive skin just below your ribcage as he traces lower, teasing patterns along your waistline before slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts.

“you’re so eager for just a taste of affection, aren’t you?” a low sadistic chuckle escapes his twisted grin, tugging at the edges of his mouth as he quiets your muffled mewls with kisses. suguru continues to rub you through your panties, digits tracing soft, endless loops over your aching nub and adds pressure to feel your wetness seep through the cloth which draws a helpless moan from you that he swallows, deepening the kiss.

your mewls grow louder as you melt into his embrace, your fingers intertwining around his shirt to pull him closer, desperate for more of anything he has to offer. his kisses become feverish, his sloppy tongue overruling yours while ragged breaths escape the both of your lips as you squirm in your chair, whimpering against him as he relishes the small noises managing to slip from your throat. “that’s it,” geto whispers, that same smug grin spreading on his pretty face. “let me hear you, let me hear just how much you want it.”

the bedroom imbues with soft shared pants, the rustling shuffle of clothing, and the steady patter of rain thumping against the window, and his fingers lazily tease the hem of your panties. the damp fabric smacks against your cunt and another faint whine falls from your lips the second he peels your panties to the side. “fuck me—please . . . just do something,” you shamelessly plead, lasciviously spreading your legs to grant your tutor better access.

and just like that, you find yourself sprawled out on the bed, hips perched up on all fours while geto rams into your slobbering hole, the warmth of your mound fully exposed to the cool bedroom air. geto rests his head into the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your sensitive skin as his calloused fingertips trail and mark teasing little lines over your soft flesh. his lips press against your neck’s curvature, leaving a kiss that escalates into a bite, sending shockwaves through your throbbing bundle of nerves as bliss transmits you spiraling into a delicious short circuit.

“just look at you,” he rasps, his tone hoarse, “doing so well, you’re an absolutely a fucking—mess,” geto tightens his grip on your hips, pulling you flush against his groin as your honeyed nectar coats a glistening sheen over the lower expanse of his abdomen. the pillow wedged beneath you is sandwiched flat against the mattress under your weight, his cock stretching you out as he eases himself inside deeper, the warmth of him melding with your heat. each of his curved inches sinks closer to your sweet spot, stretching you taut until he’s fully embedded, leaving you feeling stuffed as your face buries into the pillow. your eyes flutter shut as his mouth falls open, the sensation almost too much for him to bear, and it drives him to the edge of his sanity as the pressure of your grippy walls tightly clamp around his bulging length.

a ragged whimper tumbles from your slightly parted lips as he shifts his attention to the sight of the hickeys dotting the back of your shoulders, a satisfied smirk flattening on his features as he runs his hands over your luscious contours, “such a good girl, takin’ everything i give you so well, hm?” his fingers sweep along your thighs and the swell of your tummy as he roughly pulls you lower on his pulsating shaft, “you’re fucking perfect, baby, pussy's so perfect.”

your assignment lies forgotten, abandoned—looonnngg discarded on the counter as your cunt flutters around geto’s thick cock, stimulated by every praise leaving your tutor’s mouth. geto pulls back just enough to tease your entrance, only to sink right back in again as he thrusts in slower, allowing you to feel every ridge, every vein dragging against your wet, rigidly soaking walls as you bite down on the sheets in between your clenching teeth.

“such a greedy little pussy,” he scoffs, squeezing handfuls of your plush backside. ssslaaapp! “such a pretty little thing, mhm, so pretty," suguru praises, his palm colliding with your rear again as you yelp into the pillow. the tips of his fingers dig into the flesh of your waist as he holds you steady. his veiny cock plummets into your rippling ass, the creamy plaps audibly loud within the four walls of your apartment’s bedroom as you could evidently hear your own arousal. every pull of his cock creates a lewd, syrupy suction that only makes geto go rabid—the friction almost agonizingly good to fathom, the stretch too much and still somehow not nearly enough.

geto’s hands roam over your body, admiring your soft curves and delicate angles that make you undeniably gorgeous. “beautiful ‘lil hips,” he murmurs, “plump ‘n lovely.” he draws you closer, tilting his hips to thrust deeper as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck. his lips find the hickeys he left on your nape, and he kisses over them with a reverent care. “you’re mine, all mine,” he breathes, totally dumb-fucked with the way your body responds to him, the way your curves mold against his hands.

a low growl rumbles from the back of his throat as his hand reaches for the fat of your ass, giving it another smack as his mind goes hazy at the sight of your recoiling ass bouncing off his thighs. your squelchy pussy shudders around his thick shaft, a white ring contorting around his girthy meat—the added touch of your mixed juices forms a thin string connecting the base of his pelvis to your slick cunt, and it drives him beyond his limits. his rhythm falters, and his breaths grow uneven.

with another shaky groan tearing from his lips, your drenched walls cling tightly to every inch of his length, shattering whatever ounce of self-control he has left. the pressure begins to unknot, and he loses it—that thin thread of restraint unravels as he picks up the pace, the wet, squelchy slap of your pussy hitting against his groin and echoing in his ears. “shit, you’re dripping everywhere,” he moans, his teeth nipping at your neck as the pad of his fingers draws lazy patterns across your swollen bud.

his nails pierce into the plush meat of your butt cheek, and his rhythm slightly falters between deep strokes as your body instinctively takes over, pushing back against him. you’re chasing your own release now, desperate for that sweet, maddening high as you thrust back, meeting his hips with a sensual, sloppy plap. geto groans through gritted teeth, and hands grips your waist tighter, your slick pussy enveloping and coating his cock in your dripping juices.

"mhm, fuck yourself on this disgusting cock," he moans, and you subconsciously raise your hips. your cunts a slick, syrupy mess, and his arousal dribbles down your folds, the trail of your mixed juices oozing from your bundle of nerves.

“you’re so deep,” you whimper, gripping the bedsheets beneath you as your thighs flutter, “right there, hah!” good god, the way you were recklessly throwing your ass back, desperately grinding against his cock with his name spilling from your parted, sheen coated lips like a prayer, drawn-out and slurred had him coming undone. your fleshy vice clenches down on his shaft, and your pretty glossy eyes roll back as bliss floods into your senses.

he lets off another filthy moan, “you’re so good f’me, yeah? this dick hittin’ that sweet spot?” he purrs, voice slick with awe as his hips continue to snap into yours, colliding in a catastrophic turmoil as his girth stretches you open deliciously deep. “so desperate for this dick, huh baby?” he murmurs, his pace becoming frantic as he buries himself to the hilt, over and over. swirling his digits around your clit in messy circles, you find yourself breaking beneath him—and his praise turns into a string of curses, his composure beginning to slips. “feel how deep you’re taking me?” he quieres, his thumb encircling your clit. “who’s my good fuckin’ girl, yeah, uh huh, you are.” you moan helplessly, his lewd praise leaving his lips as your legs kick in the air, his cock relentlessly pounding into you as the top brushes against your cervix sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

“so fucking, ngh—good!” you squeal, and the sound of your bodies ravishing each other becomes symphony of wet slaps and breathy gasps.

“you’re making such a mess, fuck darling, come for me, come for me, sweetheart, you deserve it,” he pants, your whimpers grow louder, turning into needy moans as you push back against him, desperate for more—a whine spills from you upon feeling him pulse inside, paired with a slight upward roll of his hips. his bulky tip kisses your g-spot, and your body trembles when he bottoms out completely, tip burying to the hilt.

“fuck, just like that, good girl,” geto groans, his words laced with praise as he comes undone watching his cock vanish again and again into your snug, gummy walls. in an instant, your body pulls you into a suspending trance that scratches at your nerves. your mouth falls open in a silent scream, and he feels it—your velvety interior clutching around his cock and pulsing wildly. your pussy spasms, your back arching forward with your vision wiping out completely. a kaleidoscope of colors swirl behind your eyelids—bright hues flickering with flashes of light as you’re caught in a sweet surrender. gasping for breath, your body trembles as warmth floods into your womb.

#valetora 𑣿.#art creds: @sakuranotomuri on twitter!#divider by cafekitsune.#geto suguru smut #geto suguru #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk geto #geto x reader #geto x you #geto smut #jujutsu geto #getou suguru x reader #anime smut #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #doujinshi

2K notes · View notes

rumplereids · 4 months ago

Text

research purposes.

tags: spencer reid x reader. tech analyst!reader. mentions of 50 shades of grey. bau ladies are like gossiping wine moms. fluff & crack, bcos spencer has been thru enough already. referenced/mentioned sexual acts but nothing explicit. a/n: got inspired by aj cook implying mgg was reading 50 shades + the table read of cm where mgg’s name card was “matthew 50 shades of gray gubler” masterlist. requests are open !

The team is on the jet home from a consultation in San Francisco. Everybody’s either dozing off (Emily and Derek), eating (Rossi), or doing paperwork (Hotch, as usual). JJ is scrolling on her phone, catching up on the pictures and videos Will sent of Henry when she notices something very bizarre.

“Reid, are you reading 50 Shades of Grey?”

“Huh?” he looks up from the paragraph he was reading. Something about not making love and only fucking hard. Or whatever drivel he’s suffering for you.

“I didn’t peg you the type to be reading romance or erotica.”

“It’s for research.”

JJ quirks a brow Spencer doesn’t see. His eyes already returned to the book in his hands.

“Research? For Y/N?”

“Yep,” Spencer turns a page.

JJ continues to gape at him. She wants to press for more details, but with a shake of her head, decides she was better off not knowing the intricacies of the relationship of people she considers her siblings. No matter how baffled she is by the fact that Spencer Reid is reading 50 Shades of Grey, she doubts that she’d want to dip a toe in that rabbit hole. However, she has no qualms of bringing up this certain knowledge in the near future.

Spencer was in a rush to finish his case load for the day. It’s your day off, so he’s doing anything he can so that he can go home earlier than usual. With you out for the day, he can’t even pop into your office to bug you, talk your ear off, or have an impromptu make out session. It was so sad, really.

He’s down to his last three folders when Derek attempts to get his attention.

“Pst! Pretty boy,” Morgan whisper-yells.

“Yes?”

“How’s Y/N?”

Spencer’s a bit perplexed by the question. While it’s not unusual for Derek to worry about your well-being, he finds it a bit weird for Derek to be asking such a question at that exact moment. As far as he knows, you texted Derek 15 minutes ago about mold on the street that you insist looked like the aforementioned man. That was the last time Spencer talked to you as well.

“She’s fine. Enjoying her day off.”

There’s a big grin crawling across Derek’s face. Such a look on a man like Derek Morgan spelled trouble. He looks like he knows something that Spencer doesn’t. Spencer’s starting to get cautious.

“Anything exciting happened to you guys this weekend?” Derek asks with that shit-eating, I-know-something-you-don’t-know grin.

Spencer raises a brow.

“Not much. The usual,” Spencer flips a page in his file.

Morgan hums, “Ah, yes. The usual.”

Spencer looks up at Derek, perplexed. Having no idea what in the world Morgan is trying to get to.

“Late night?” Derek continues. Spencer shuts the folder in his hands.

“Are you trying to insinuate something?”

“I don’t know, am I?”

Spencer rolls his eyes and returns his attention to his work. Completely ignoring the chuckles coming from Morgan.

A few days later, Spencer is making his second cup of coffee at the office kitchenette, bracing himself for another round of paperwork when he hears somebody rush into the room. He turns from the counter to see you, flushed and embarrassed?

“Hey, darling—”

“Why did Penelope ask me how it’s like to have my own Christian Grey?”

“What?” Spencer puts his mug down to turn his full attention on you.

“She barged into my office, asking me what kind of BDSM we’re into!” you devolve into a sort of whisper-yell, eyes shifting as to check if there were other people around. The two of you were alone in the area.

“Why would she ask that?”

“I don’t know? Something about you researching BDSM for me?”

Spencer shuts his eyes in realization, “JJ.”

“JJ? What’s she got to do with this?”

“A week ago, on the jet home from San Francisco. I was reading 50 Shades of Grey.”

You take a pause, “You read 50 Shades? I thought you said it was complete nonsense?”

“My opinion hasn’t changed on that. But I overheard you and Garcia giggling over the movie’s actor… I wanted to see what it was all about.” He tries to be nonchalant with what he’s saying. You completely melt into a puddle.

“Oh, Spence. That is the cutest and sweetest thing that has ever happened to me.”

Spencer blushes red at the comment. All these years together, and you never fail to make him feel so lovestruck and bashful.

He clears a throat, “The BDSM in the book is so atrocious. Have you read it? Or are you only interested in the movie?”

“Just the movie,” you say with a grin.

“Their lack of communication is astounding. It’s completely far off from the BDSM we’re into.”

There’s a gasp behind you. You turn to see Garcia at the entryway of the kitchenette, one mug in hand, the other hand pressed against her chest.

“Oh , I knew it. Ya’ll nasty.”

“Penelope—” you start to speak. She cuts you off.

“I didn’t believe JJ at first when she said Spencer was reading 50 Shades for research. I mean, really, Spencer Reid and BDSM? Never thought to correlate those two things ever in my life,” Penelope rambles, and then mid-thought, she turns to you, “So you do have your own Christian Grey! That’s so sexy— I don’t think that’s the right word considering it’s Reid—” this earns a snort from the man watching amused, standing against the counter, “Have you recreated any scenes from the books?”

“Penelope!” you say, aghast.

“I mean, if Spencer’s using 50 Shades to spice up your sexy times then—”

Spencer begins to laugh. You turn to face him, in disbelief that he can laugh at your mortification.

“Trust me, Penelope,” he says, “we don’t need 50 Shades to spice up our sex lives.”

“Spencer!” You can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth right now. Penelope looks as if she’s hearing the greatest gossip scandal the world has ever produced.

“50 Shades is tame compared to us.”

“What?!” a third voice enters the conversation. Emily and JJ enter the kitchenette. Emily looked a bit confused, JJ looks just about ready to shit on you too.

You hide your face in your hands, trying to hide away from Spencer’s laughter. Emily, JJ, and Penelope start to bounce comments and choice words between the three of them. You hear words such as ‘unbelievable’, ‘kinky’, and the real kicker, ‘Dr. Reid will see you now’. You want to dig yourself into a hole.

Hands grip your hips, squeezing in silent comfort. Without removing your hands from your face, you mumble, “This is all your fault.” Spencer laughs once more, hands squeezing your hips one more time before he turns to pick up his coffee mug.

He moves to leave the kitchen, turning to you with a smug look on his face before he says, “Laters, baby.”

You refuse to acknowledge the three ladies descending on you like a pack of wolves.

taglist: @i-live-in-spite @khxna

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid fluff #down bad thoughts

2K notes · View notes

inklore · 5 months ago

Text

does it feel good?

— qimir x f!reader

premise: he is your beginning, the whole reason you have made peace with the darkness inside your head, and you know someday he may become your end. whether by his saber or by him finally consuming completely. you welcome both.

contents: established master x acolyte dynamics, shared force bond, unprotected p in v, foreplay, light choking, biting, scars and burn marks mentioned, death, teasing, over stimulation | wc: 2.7k+

note: i love that we all saw the water scene and went yeah that's for the smut writers. glad we are collectively going insane over this man.

The moons paint the water in a shimmering light that bathes its surface in sapphire that fades to the deepest of blacks the longer you stare into it. The waves that hit against the ragged stones are like a siren call to your aching body.

Your muscles are still tight and coiled from earlier. Your molars grind together when you lift your arms to pull off your ruined and stained clothes. A burning sensation felt through your body as the fabric covering your torso moved against every burn, cut, and bruise you had acquired tonight.

You didn’t stop by a reflective surface to check how many battle scars you’d earned. Badges of honor. More wounds worn like metals placed on your neck by a pleased master. Wounds, he’ll help you heal, stitch up, seal with the press of his palm to the tattered skin—stolen supplies from planets you can’t remember the name of with faces you can only remember the dead eyes of, used on the ones that don’t close up right.

The moonlight makes them look less serious. The illumination colored the dried blood and tissue into something misty. Almost tantalizing to the eye. Unlike the light of day, where you’re sure it will look less glamorizing. The ugly truth of the way your skin is going to bubble up and mold over to protect itself once the healing process begins is less glaring in this hue.

Your toe dips into the water. It’s always warmer than you think it to be. Always welcoming you in like it’s been waiting for you to return. Waiting to wash away the grim and blood that seemed more permanent on your skin than your own flesh.

You wade at the edge for a bit, pushing around the water with your feet. The water wading at your ankles.

The ringing hasn’t stopped.

It rarely does until you’ve closed your eyes and settled it. Until your body is less taut, muscles released from the on switch of fight. The power inside your veins thrumming like a wasp trying to free itself from the tissue of your bones.

As if it had gotten stuck in there and couldn’t find its way out. Refusing to settle down or leave until you’ve maimed, avenged, and proved yourself—leaving your body and muscles in their current state.

You’re not worried about something being in the water. If there were, you would have been able to feel it. Sense it’s beating heart and the danger of allowing it to keep beating. You’re alone as you walk further into the water, sinking into it’s depths until your body is completely engulfed. Your neck and head the only things going untouched.

The freshly made badges on your skin burn when you scrub your thumb along the edges of them. Specks of dried blood float along the surface of the water before they’re lost to the darkness below.

Amongst the ringing in your head, you can hear the screams of anger that tore from your lungs when the Jedi had gotten the upper hand. The green of his saber leaving red against your skin. Making your moves turn from confident to something rage fueled.

Somewhere among the ringing, you know his scream is in there. Amongst the many cries for help and cracking bones.

They always linger. Always hold on like a power pack to your dark side.

You know your body won’t fully relax until you’ve stopped the ringing, though. You didn’t believe in blessings or curses. Bad fortune or good. Everyone’s life ended the same way. If you did believe in the farce, you would think the ringing that goes from the base of your skull to the drums of your ears was a curse.

A quiet mind is a blessing.

The buzz of the force within you too heady when you're in the throes of battle. War. Darkness. It’s always been like that. Even before him.

It’s only gotten worse with him beside you. Like the bond the two of you had opened too much too deep and you feel everything more clearly. More unfortunately.

He taught you how to silence it. To reign it in after the adrenaline and pace of your heart slowed.

There were still things you had to learn. Things you were kept from knowing by your old master, the one who only saw one way to wield your power. A cowardly excuse for a master whose burial you wish you could have witnessed.

It’s aggravating, almost. Anger inducing for sure.

Someone not believing you are capable of knowing the truth about the power you wield. It’s criminal to not allow someone to be their true self all because of a set of rules that only benefited one group of people. One way of living, when there were so many.

Your aggravation has faded by now. The anger is still there and buzzes through you. But you no longer feel like a part of you has been held back. Stunted and aching like your chest had for years—as if a rock had found itself in the base of your heart and took up rent there—until Qimir showed you the way.

Your true self.

Your full potential and all you were capable of.

All that had been inside of you, held back for so long.

Filling your lungs with air, you sink yourself under the water and hold yourself there. Eyes closing as you center yourself. Slow the wasp in your marrow to something dull. Stop the ringing in your ears until all you can hear is the hum of the water hitting the rock above the surface.

Just you and the force.

Just you and the water.

Until you feel him.

Until he’s there inside your mind.

Until you feel a hand at the base of your skull, fingertips brushing at the nape of your neck to let you know he’s not just in your head. He’s beside you.

Your eyes meet once you’ve filled your lungs with air again, and you wipe the water droplets from your lids.

You watch him splash water against his neck, running the palm of his hand along the dirt and grime that clings to his skin. Cleaning himself of any traces of the deaths the two of you have left in your wake tonight.

His calm demeanor always pulls you back from the edge. Always brings a calmness to your blood. To the beating of your heart. Even when shit has gone haywire, his demeanor never switches up. Never slips into something that could be labeled as sloppy or driven by anything other than who he truly is. What he’s made of.

His calm seeping through your shared bond until you have no choice but to relax.

The handful of times you’ve seen that calmness turn into something animalistic, it’s made you envious, on the same hand, it’s made the space between your thighs burn.

“You did well tonight.”

“The smell of my burning flesh still clinging to my senses says differently.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in amusement, “you did well.” He repeats. Ducks his head forward to wet his hair. His fingers running through the strands, droplets falling down his face. Your eyes follow them all the way down the column of his neck to his chiseled collar bones.

It doesn’t take one wielding the force to know what your mind is projecting. Doesn’t matter that the two of you share a part of your brain. The thoughts of past nights spent together, Qimir teaching you the ways desire can be wielded and used to your advantage—or disadvantage, depending on how you look at it.

Your face turns from him. Eyes moving up to the moon.

Trying to hold back your thoughts the way he taught you. Even if it is futile against him.

“How do you feel?”

Has the ringing stopped, Is what he’s really asking. Do you need another lesson? Are you still weakened by that ailment? That curse?

Except he wouldn’t be as dramatic as that. Not with this. Not ever. Especially when it came to your power. Your capabilities. The perfect little acolyte he’s trained you to be.

“Fine.” Your answer clipped, honest. Because you are fine, and your stubbornness will not allow you to let this turn into another lesson about you not being able to be as calm and collected as he is. No shadows of doubt lingering over who he truly is. His purpose. His wants. His desires. His darkness.

He’s always been able to read right through you, though. Even without taking up space in your being. The force has little to do with that fact.

You were never afraid of the darkness that lived inside of you. Never afraid of the power you could wield and the lives you could take.

The only time you’ve felt true fear is being seen.

Accepted.

The potential to let someone of importance down and not withhold your end of a deal you’ve inked your name in blood just to be beside. To prove yourself to someone who’s your equal. Another half of your very being.

His face shows nothing but that calm amusement when he wades behind you. His fingers moving against your skin in an act to rid you of the spots of dirt you’ve missed on your neck and shoulders.

Swallowing hard when his fingers scrape against past scars, he lingers there for a beat. Running the pad of them against the raised skin. A whisper in your head.

You heal beautifully.

It’s a softness you’d never thought him to be capable of when you found out who he truly was. The man behind the mask. Even if the unmasking had been done unintentionally.

It’s not softness you feel from his touch, though. No, his touch eases the strain in your muscles, only to gather itself in your belly. Your body burning with anticipation, knowing how this goes.

How you’re rewarded when you impress him.

When you do as you are told, your master is ever the generous one.

“You’ve proven yourself tonight.” His lips brush against the tip of your spine, “killing without a weapon, not stopping until you were the last one standing. Freeing yourself from the ones who held you back for so long.” Your breath hitches in the back of your throat when his mouth presses down on that same spot at the beginning of your spine.

A hand snaking around your throat, his palm wet and warm against your collarbones as he pulls your neck at just the right angle to have you looking at him.

“Did it feel good?”

“Yes.” You swallow, wrap your fingers around his wrist. “It always does.” You whisper, your eyes flashing down to the upturn of his lips.

His nose runs along your cheek to your temple, his eyes closed, inhaling you. “I can always smell it. When you let yourself become one with the darkness. Right before you take a life.” His thumb runs a circle against the vein, which tells him the pace of your heart has picked up. As if he’d need it to know, as if the two of you don’t share something that links you completely to the other. “It still lingers. It’s distracting.”

It’s not a question, but you nod. Your eyes flutter when he pushes his hips forward, and the hardness of his cock moves against your ass.

He doesn’t ask permission, the two of you knowing you’re past such kindnesses, when his hand cups your mound. He knows what your body needs right now. What it wants, what it’s expecting. He can feel it too. His index and middle fingers spread your pussy, giving him access to that pleasure point on your body that only he knows how to stroke just right to have you pliant and singing for him.

As if you were not already devoted to him. As if he were not your reason for being.

He’s your beginning, and you have no doubt he will be your end if it comes to it.

The pad of his finger circles your clit in that slow way that lets you know he’s going to take his time with you. Going to drain every last bit of strain and tightness from your muscles, pushing that buzz between your legs and making him the only sound in your head—until he thinks you have had enough.

Until your reward is good enough for him to be satisfied with how you took it. Until he knows your mind is back where it needs to be—here, with him.

His mouth meets the hand at your throat, his teeth sinking into the parts his fingers aren’t pressing into. “You’re everything I could have hoped for.” His tongue laps against your pulse.

Perfect.

You may never know if he actually means the words; you can only feel what he allows you to feel through your shared connection. He’s better at blocking than you. But he knows you need to hear these praises. Knows how good and pliable it will make you. His words stoke the fire inside your soul that burns through your darkness. That allows you to become completely consumed by him and the desire to be on this side.

Of being free.

What he does allow you to feel lets you know there is some truth somewhere in there. You can feel it in how hard his cock thrusts against your ass when your body pushes back into him. You can feel it in the way his thoughts stream through your mind.

So obedient.

Your cunt’s so greedy for me.

You’re mine.

The skin on your fingers stings from gripping the rocks in front of you. The pain you should feel from the heel of your palm digging into the jagged stones, lost in the haze of pleasure consuming your body.

Qimir consuming every last part of your being.

Taking over every dark corner of your mind and not letting you feel or hear anything but him.

Your moans become more shaky, your chest heaving as you pant and curse. The weight of the finger on your clit grows heavier, faster, deliriously good the more you near your orgasm.

Your lips are moving in inaudible words. Words he understands, making him grin against your jaw.

“You want my cock tonight?” You know he’s read your mind, or rather, your body. Know he can feel what you desire and crave. What your minds begging him for. “Hmm, do you think you’re deserving of that big of a prize? You spill a little blood, and suddenly you’re greedy.” He hums, “you did well. Do you think you deserve it, though? No?”

Heat burns your cheeks; his chuckle makes you sob into the night air. The stubbornness to please and be as perfect as your counterpart wants you to be is not in favor of the mounting pressure that’s building in your pussy right now.

“I already think you’re perfect; don’t push it.” His foot pushes easily at your ankles. Your thighs spread enough for the head of his cock to press against your entrance and thrust inside.

“Mmm,” you whine at the stretch. Your eyes fluttering closed at your swollen walls being filled. Walls that tighten around him as he sets a fast pace. Matching the rhythm and stroke of his fingers. Sending your body on an overwhelming precipice of a carnal need to come.

The heaviness of his breath as he says your name against your skin—the quick flashes of the pleasure he feels from being inside of you—is what finally sends you over the edge.

Your orgasm rocking through you like a storm. Your body shaking against him, walls fluttering and squeezing around his cock, making him groan. Your throat raw and scratchy from the noise that’s pulled up from your lungs when everything in your body is set completely aflame.

Your hand falling from the rocks, and pressing your nails into his wrist, trying to pull his hand from between your thighs. The over-stimulation of his finger moving against your clit even after your orgasm has passed makes you cry out and ripple the water around the two of you as you squirm.

The tip of his cock hits that spot inside you that makes your vision go white. That falters your fight against his torment.

“You can do better than one. You deserve it, don’t you?”

#qimir x reader #qimir x you #the acolyte x reader #qimir smut #the stranger x reader #star wars smut #star wars x reader #laur writes star wars

2K notes · View notes

wibben · 2 months ago

Text

Pillow Talk

Choso discovers new sensations when thoughts of you turn innocent moments into something much more… hands-on.

↳ pairing: friend! choso kamo x afab! reader

↳ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, virgin! choso, m masturbation, pillow fucking, overstimulation, fantasizing, pillow fucking, (not sure who the artist is, if you do please let me know so I can credit!)

↳ wc: 3,485

↳ notes: another cross-post from my ao3 while I try to make tumblr my main writing hub! I hope you enjoy! <3

“Goodnight.”

Choso’s voice is soft, barely louder than the creak of the bathroom door as he eases it shut behind him. Yuji is already asleep, he assumes—he doesn’t expect a response, but routine compels him to speak into that dark hallway void anyway. He waits, listening—a response does come in the form of a loud snore down the hall.

Choso smiles fondly as he silently pads back to his own room, taking that as his queue that he is well and truly done with the day.

The cool, lingering dampness from washing his face clings to his skin, tiny droplets of water catching the faint flicker of silver from breeze-blown curtains as they trace thin rivers down his cheeks and neck. His hair, still slightly damp around his face, sticks to his forehead in dark, unruly strands. He doesn't care to tame it, nor does he bother to brush away the residual drips of water. They cool his skin wherever they touch, and he’s grateful for that because he feels oddly warm.

Warm enough that his t-shirt lies discarded on the bathroom floor, haphazardly kicked towards the laundry to be dealt with later.

He toes open the door of his room and nudges it shut behind him with his heel, listening for the soft cli-click of the knob. The room is dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of the moon filtering through the window, flickering through sheer curtains that really serve no purpose other than to look cute. That’s what you said, at least. Home decor…he doesn’t get it, but you seemed pleased with the addition so he was too.

Choso shuffles with mechanical routine as he approaches his bed, his body craving the comfort of his soft mattress, to nest into the carved divet in the foam created by and molded to his body.

With the unceremonious flop of a marionette with cut strings, Choso allows himself to fall onto the bed, the springs squeaking their protest and his sheets rustling under his weight. He lays there face down, eyes closed, and simply lets himself sink.

In the quiet dark of night and behind closed eyelids, he wonders if this is what boats feel like.

He’s never been on one, but he’s seen plenty—in movies mainly, like the one you watched together earlier that evening. With senses deprived, his body rocks with the gentlest sense of vertigo, up and down, forward and back, soothing. He feels heavy, liquid and relaxed, and yet… not quite right. There’s a restlessness beneath his skin, an undercurrent to his gentle tide he can’t quite shake. He keeps his face buried in his pillow, wrapping an arm around it and holding it tight, as if the soft fabric could anchor him.

…He doesn’t know how long he’s like this but fuck he can’t sleep.

He turns his head from his pillow, eyes cracked open in the dark, lower lip pouted and dragging against the fabric; he wears a petulant expression with nobody around to see it, nobody to explain away his uneasiness. He’s tired he knows he is, and yet he feels like a taut bowstring, ready to snap at a moment's notice.

Choso rolls onto his back instead, running a hand through his damp hair and pushing it back from his forehead as he stares up at the ceiling. The room is silent save for the occasional creak of the house settling, and the faint, distant sounds of the city outside. A dog, a car, the smash of a bottle on a curb, the flap of his curtain, the grinding of his teeth—he categorizes each sound methodically, filing them away neatly and willing the tedium to bore him to sleep like it always does. Always did. But not tonight.

He closes his eyes, trying to force tranquility and exhaustion upon himself, but his mind refuses to settle. He thinks of boats and the ocean, he thinks about when you came over and knocked on the door, he thinks of the movie he watched with you and Yuji on the couch, he thinks of cooking dinner with you in the kitchen—he thinks of you, you, and you again. The tension in his bones stirs more insistently with each and every thought, each train tracking straight back into your station.

But that’s okay. Choso likes you, likes thinking about you, and thoughts of you have lulled him to sleep before with a sort of embracing comfort he can’t even begin to name. He smiles to himself in the dark—the same brand of smile only you seem to inspire in him. He just needs to think of you more and then surely—

He remembers your smile when he opened the door, the way it lit up your entire face, the wrinkle in the bridge of your nose as it screwed up and made him smile in return. Your laughter, too, was infectious. It always is, and he caught that particular sickness with remarkable consistency every time you tittered or giggled—a laugh reciprocated in his own throat as quick as a lit match, earning more than a few wide-eyed, slack-jawed looks of disbelief from his brother.

And then there was the spaghetti.

It’s a simple meal and he eats it far too often—but it’s good, and easy to make for three. And you, ever eager to help, had insisted on joining him in the kitchen while Yuji picked out a movie. He didn’t mind though; your presence was nice, even if it meant treacherously navigating around you as you both shuffled around the small space with enthusiastic clumsiness. You bopped cabinets and the fridge closed with your hip, which he too fell victim to more than once, finding himself nudged into the counter by a stray hip-check. Despite the occasional collision, your proximity was a comfort, a warm, lively presence in the otherwise mundane routine.

Choso couldn’t help but chuckle as you fumbled with pots and pans, finding your determination to be helpful endlessly endearing, even with something so simple as flitting about the kitchen. He directed you to the cabinet where a jar of tomato sauce was stored with a quiet look of anticipation—innocently underhanded is the request. You wouldn’t be able to reach, he was sure. You wouldn’t be able to reach, and you would ask him for help, and he would be able to help—

He remembers the way you stood on your tiptoes, reaching for the jar with your free hand splayed against the counter. As you stretched, he watched as if in slow motion, fabric unfolding like the draw of a curtain away from a theater stage. Your shirt rode up, exposing just an inch of the skin above your waistband.

The sight was brief, but it held a searing magnetism that held Choso hopelessly hostage. It sapped his mouth of moisture, glued his eyelids open, and his hand gave a peculiar twitch with the sudden urge to touch you. He watched your skin shift as you reached higher and higher, the gentle curve of your waist, the way your skin looked so soft and inviting and smooth as satin and he so badly wanted to see if this usually hidden expanse was as soft as it looked, and Choso doesn’t want for much but god did he want—

And he completely forgot to offer you a hand, his mind swept blank with ringing tinnitus in his ears when you laughed and settled back onto the balls of your feet, whirling around and flourishing the jar with a triumphant smile. Your eyes sparkled with satisfaction, and there was a slight flush on your cheeks from the effort. Choso had smiled back then, feeling a warmth in his chest that surely had everything to do with the heat of the kitchen.

Choso suddenly flinches in surprise, abruptly torn from the pleasant memory as he absentmindedly rolls his wrist over his erection. He must have been doing this for some time now, judging by how the waist of his sweatpants has already rolled down his hip bones, freeing the red and needy head of his cock to the cool air and smearing a shiny trail over his arm. He stares down at the unmistakable bulge snaking up towards his navel silently perplexed, his shaft straining against the loose fabric where it’s still confined.

He’s fully hard. He hadn’t even realized it happened, hadn’t recognized the feeling building inside him until it manifested so obviously. Arousal snuck up on him, licking up his spine with hungry fangs while he was lost in the memory of you.

Familiar heat pools low in his abdomen, a dull hook that drags beneath his skin. His cock twitches with every beat of his heart, a heavy, insistent pulse that’s impossible to ignore. And he has tried to ignore it before. It keeps him from peace, from sleep— god he just wants to sleep.

It’s a mix of aching need and slick, simmering napalm that spreads through his veins and ignites kindling he hadn’t even known was there. He knows this feeling well, even if it has no name; the way his cock grows heavier and jumps against his stomach, the way his breathing grows rough and deep—all sensations he’s experienced before, though they never fail to leave him flustered and bewildered…and annoyed, above all else.

The intensity of the need always catches Choso off guard, consuming his thoughts and clouding his mind until he could find some way to deal with it. It frustrates him how this desire would strike at the most inconvenient times—when he’s trying to sleep, or worse, the times when he’s with you —an all too frequent occurrence, he thinks, and he wonders if you’ve done something to him. He’s been a decent friend to you, so it’s with a feeling of tormented betrayal that he simply cannot understand why you would afflict him with this so cruelly and so often.

Choso lets out a shaky breath, his hips shifting restlessly against his sheets. He hesitates, a moment of self-consciousness flickering through him and burning his face with a secret blush that blooms on his face first then leaks to his throat. He shifts upright, yanking his pillow from beneath his head, the familiar texture of the fabric cool against his skin, and positions it between his legs. He shoves his pants down, bunching them around his knees—good enough.

He tilts his thigh outward and lifts his hips up, giving an almost tentative grind into the pillow, as if unsure he’s doing it right. The friction is familiar, almost comforting in its predictability. Choso’s nostrils flare with a heavy sigh, his head falling back to the mattress as he stares heatedly at the ceiling, his eyes narrowed to slits. Slowly, he starts to fuck his pillow, the movements deliberate and mechanical, driven by the single-minded need to rid himself of the troublesome arousal gnawing at him.

His cock throbs with each slow thrust, the pressure of the pillow against him both soothing and maddening. The heat in his abdomen builds, coiling tighter with every grind. Pre-cum slicks the fabric, smearing in thin, dark stripes with each drag of his length against it. The pleasure is there, tingling all the way down to his toes, but it doesn’t crest, doesn’t even come close, leaving him teetering on the most frustrating of knife edges.

He grinds harder, hips moving more forcefully now, desperation seeping into every motion. The familiar rhythm that usually brings him relief is failing him, the need growing more intense with each passing second. His mind is a haze of lust and longing, the image of you blending with the sensation of his cock twitching against the pillow, creating a heady tonic that seeps deeply into his brain, sinking hooks that he doesn’t know yet he will never be able to remove. He bites down on his lip, a low, frustrated groan escaping his throat as he thrusts harder, faster, violently clawing for the release he so desperately and suddenly needs.

But it's not enough. His body is slick with sweat, muscles tensing and trembling with the effort. The pillow, once a source of solace, now feels infuriatingly inadequate. It only works him up higher, hotter, veins in his forearms standing out as he whines in frustration.

The pillow crumbles beneath Choso’s hands, the downy feathers within compressing and shifting into a useless lump under the abuse of his pelvis. Each pounding drag against the pillow drives him further from his peak, his own aggressive hopelessness raking him over hot coals as the very thing he uses to relieve himself falls apart in his hands.

His breaths are harsh, ragged, his heart pounding in his chest as he fights against the insistent ache that won’t go away. His goal remains just out of reach, a teasing promise that leaves him gasping and grinding against the pillow with mounting desperation. He wants to scream—it isn’t working, it isn’t working, why isn’t it working?

With a final, helpless thrust and bitter groan, he collapses onto the bed, panting and trembling with unspent desire. The need is still there, throbbing and insistent, leaving him feeling more restless than before. He whips the pillow aside to thump somewhere on the floor, damp and crumpled.

Choso lies there, staring up at the ceiling, his body aching with unresolved tension. The memory of you lingers in his mind, water and oil with the frustration of his failed attempt at relief. He feels helpless, yearning in the dark for something. Sleep, peace, release from his torment, you.

You.

It’s a new thought, one he’s never entertained before, but now it feels so undeniably right. He doesn’t question where the idea comes from; it’s an instinct, an impulse he can’t quite name but can’t ignore. Driven by this sudden urge, he trails his hand down the firm ridges of his abdomen, wrapping his fingers around his throbbing cock. The sensation is electric, sending a shiver up his spine as he tentatively strokes himself.

The sensation is immediate and overwhelming. It's like a jolt of lightning, a direct line of pleasure from his cock to his brain. His eyes flutter shut, a soft gasp escaping his lips as his fingers slide along his length, the friction so much more intense than the pillow. It's hotter, slicker, and he can feel every ridge and vein beneath his touch. His hips lift off the bed, rutting roughly into his palm with a choked whimper.

He strokes himself again, more confidently this time and slowly at first, exploring the unfamiliar territory with hesitant drags of his hand. He grips himself tighter, his thumb brushing over the sensitive head, and a strangled moan breaks free of his flushed and sweaty throat. It’s sharper, more focused, and it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before.

Thoughts of you flood his mind, but they're different now, colored with a perverse longing that makes his heart race and his cock throb in his hand. He remembers your kind smile, but now it feels like an invitation, a secret shared just between the two of you. Your laughter echoes in his ears, sweet and melodic, but it twists into something more intimate and utterly salacious.

His strokes quicken, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He thinks of you reaching for the jar of tomato sauce, the way your shirt had ridden up, exposing a strip of skin that glowed in the kitchen light. That innocent moment which only planted seeds of interest is now blooming with raw, aching desire. He imagines touching you—it would’ve been so easy to reach out and skim your flesh with his fingertips, to wrap his hand around the soft curve of your waist as he stood behind you, pin his hand over yours on the counter—

His fingers move faster, slick with pre-cum, each stroke sending pops of color to the edges of his vision. He thinks of the way you held the popcorn bowl between your thighs, the meat of your legs squishing around the ceramic and the genuine affection in your eyes when you offered it to him. But now, he imagines those eyes darkened with lust, looking at him with the same desire that grips him now. He pictures you close, your body pressed against his, your breath hot against his neck as you whisper his name.

Your voice would never sound as saccharine as it would as his name forms on your lips, your voice sweet as spun sugar as you coax him toward oblivion with a hand much gentler than his own.

The friction is maddening, his grip tight and unrelenting. Each pump of his hand draws him closer to the edge, his pleasure building in a way that’s almost unbearable. He imagines your fingers tangling in his hair, your lips ghosting over his skin, sending shivers down his spine. His hips thrust into his harried palm, chasing a climax that’s so deliriously close as his room is filled with the wet little sucks of pre-cum leaking between the creases of his fingers.

He imagines those same fingers in his hair drifting down his body, splayed over his abs, leaving red lines in their wake. The thought of your touch surprises him, but it feels so vivid, so intoxicating. He pictures your hands moving lower, tracing the dark hair that trails down his abdomen, teasing and scratching lightly. He imagines your hand… fuck, he imagines your hand.

Choso’s body tenses, his breath hitching as the pleasure peaks. His mind is filled with you—your smile, your laughter, your touch—how can he so vividly feel a touch he’s never known? How can he crave it so feverishly? By god does he crave it.

With a gasp he suddenly turns his face into the crook of his arm, teeth pressing forcefully into the cords of muscle as he cums, muffling the guttural moan and reducing it to desperate whimpers instead.

Cum spills over his fingers, hot and sticky ropes spurting onto his chest, his stomach, his spine arching under the almost blinding force of it and he only remembers to breathe when the lack of oxygen makes him dizzy.

His breath comes in ragged, uneven gasps as he lies there, stunned as certainly as if he’d taken a blow to the temple. Using his hand made all the difference, and picturing you rather than the detached clinicality he always approached this with changed everything. For the first time ever, the act of masturbation didn't feel like a necessary chore, it was a joy. His cum glistens on his skin, thick and milky, smeared across his abs and chest and sheets, a living, dripping, testament to that change of heart.

Choso’s hand remains wrapped around his cock, now softening in his grip, but he can’t bring himself to let go—an irrational concern that he might never feel something so exquisite again if he were to release himself. His cum dribbles over his fingers, pooling in the creases of his palm, and still he cannot let go.

He milks his cock slowly, drawing out every last drop with each firm squeeze around the head. The sensation is almost painful, the overstimulation sending sharp sparks of pleasure and discomfort through him, but he can’t stop. Each squeeze brings another bead of cum to the surface, dribbling down over his knuckles, mixing with the sweat and ejaculate that already slicks his skin and connects his hand to his belly with pale ropes.

His mind is a whirl of conflicting emotions. Embarrassment floods his thoughts, a blush creeping up his neck and settling in his cheeks with that awful clarity that always crashes his consciousness after.

He wonders if he shouldn’t be thinking of you this way. He’s never thought of anyone else like this before, and the intensity of it all leaves him feeling exposed and vulnerable. But then, a small voice in the back of his mind reassures him. You’re friends, after all. This helped him, and you always love to help.

He’s struck with an odd desire—not the desire that landed him here, spent and weak and flushed in his bed with his palm wrapped around his soft and gooey cock, but a different kind. Gratitude. He’s grateful to you for afflicting him with this and unknowingly aiding him through it. Should he thank you? Choso thinks he should thank you.

But for now, he lets himself drift in the hazy aftermath, your image the last thing on his mind as he begins to succumb to sleep, the feeling of your imagined touch still warm against his skin. Yes, he thinks as his brain all but weeps in joy as the curtain closes on wakefulness, he would have to thank you.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen smut #choso kamo #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x reader #choso smut #choso x reader #choso x you #jjk choso #jjk smut #jujutsu choso #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso kamo x you #choso jjk #choso #kamo choso

774 notes · View notes

catboyieejeno · 7 months ago

Text

bf! intak who falls asleep on your shoulder during car rides and plane rides instead of the other way around. probably drools a little too, but you don’t have it in you to wake him up because his eyes are half opened and his cheek is completely smooshed. so endearing, it would be a crime to disturb him :(

bf! intak who blushes furiously when you kiss his cheek. kisses on the lips are phenomenal, and they are his absolute favorite—but there’s something so sweet about you giving him a kiss on the cheek, especially when you have to stand on your tippy toes and rest your hands on his chest.

proceeds to hold your hands where they rest, looking down to hide the flustered, dorky smile that takes over his features.

“one more” he’ll ask, giving you the softest, pleading eyes. “please?”

bf! intak who blows raspberries on your tummy, and kisses it after. who also has a habit of playing with your fingers, or your rings if you’re wearing any. who has to be touching you at all times, whether it’s a hand on your hip, or your knee, or the small of your back. has to be touching you, and if he isn’t because you’re not nearby, he’ll perk his head up, and look around until he spots you. jogs over and fits his hand into yours with a kiss to your knuckles, mumbling “i was wondering where you went :(“ “but it’s okay!” he beams “cause i found you!”

bf! intak who wakes you up by accident every morning when his lips press into your shoulder or your neck or your jaw. the funny thing is: he’s still asleep. he’s kissing you and nuzzling into you in his sleep with his warm cheek pressing against yours and his hair tickling your face. his arm pulls you tighter to him when you stir, and finally, he wakes up when you stretch, in fear that you actually meant to get up.

“don’t get up yet… please, you’re s’warm..”

“intak, baby, i was just stretching.”

“come closer >:(“

scowls but with his eyes closed until you’re completely wrapped around him and under the mountain of blankets again.

bf! intak who always insists on showering with you. 9/10 times, he’s in there with you, and 6/10 times, it isn’t even sexual. he’s making a mohawk out of your hair with shampoo, and molding his own hair to match with a silly grin on his face. he’s scrubbing your face wash lovingly onto your cheeks and kissing your nose as you smile up at him (then proceeds to wash his face like a MAN all rough and crazy, which earns him a bit of a scolding from you). he holds you under the water and steals little pecks as the water bill gets higher and higher (at this point, you would’ve saved more water taking separate showers).

if you guys are playing music he’s singing loudly between giggles and designating parts so that you guys can put on a little concert. If there’s no music then he’s bickering with you about how you’re hogging the hot water, so he pushes you out of the way. only stays there for a few seconds though, cause the thought of you being cold makes his heart break a little. switches sides with you again with a little feigned annoyance, but even when you insist you aren’t cold he convinces you to stay under the hot stream.

bf! intak who tries his best to cook for you, following recipes of foods you’ve liked to the very last detail. refuses to let you help, but will allow you to sit on the counter as his personal cheerleader so he can steal a kiss or two or ten as he works.

is so careful to measure everything right, letting you try it along the way (only after he’s approved of the taste himself). watches for your reaction so so eagerly and smiles SO big if you say it’s good.

bf! intak who loves being praised by you. sometimes even fishes for compliments because any kind of approval from makes his heart so full and makes him feel so loved! “don’t i look handsome today?” or “did i do a good job?”

whether you compliment his outfit or his looks, or you simply tell him thank you for something, he’s over the moon

bf! intak who is has such a huge heart and gives it over to you completely. it’s yours! so don’t break it. falls first and falls harder, from the very first moment he sees you is so whipped. willing to give you absolutely everything and anything you want.

is so gentle, so considerate, so caring, so intak.

truly your best friend & lover all in one.

2K notes · View notes

jjenthusee · 26 days ago

Text

Our Love

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

A/N: something a lil mushy because I made a coffee to soothe my head from a couple drinks last night and i got inspiration HAHA nothing like some good fluff to start my morning ENJOY :) comment if your comfortable, please let me know if you enjoyed my silly words <3💐

Summary: It was a no sleep kind of night, but Jason being right next to you made sleep feel a little less important.

Tags: ✨FLUFF✨

Word Count: 1k

“I’m so tired that I can’t fall asleep.” You groaned into the pillow. Aches and sleepy eyes finally relaxing as you crawled into bed for the night, pulling the blanket over your body, morphing yourself into soft cushions.

You had all you needed to get a good night’s rest. A pillow with the perfect softness, comfortable pajamas, your teeth brushed, and your partner radiating a nice and relaxing warmth next to you.

But you only laid there, closing your eyelids trying to mimic sleep and unsuccessful in tricking your body.

“Welcome to the club.” Jason slightly chuckled as he laid in the spot next to you, the bed dipping at the two of you.

He laid on his stomach, arms laid beside his pillow with his head facing you. The blanket kicked aside, weaving between his legs from his movement.

You lazily reached your arm out and rubbed your fingers through his hair. Feeling the strands, swirling the white pieces to make it stick forward towards you. You smiled when you continued to section off different part of his head. By the time you were satisfied, the strands were going in every direction.

You listened to Jason hum while you played hair stylist, making mindless, unintentional movements, but Jason appreciated the touch, easing him into relaxation.

This time with intention, you slowly made your way down to rubbing his temples, physically making Jason melt into the mattress. The bits of tension in his shoulders easing.

Everything felt so perfect in the little world you both had. Fighting no night of sleep because it didn’t come easy tonight, but like the perfect person Jason was, you were in this together, soaking in each other’s presence at the fact that you didn’t have to face this alone.

Your fingers made its way to his cheekbones, gently smoothing the pads of your fingers into the bone. Using your thumb to rub his eyebrow, tracing the direction of the hair before touching the sensitive skin underneath his eyes.

The slightly darker skin, affected by months of no peaceful sleep. Only when he was so exhausted that his body would shut down for a moment, but it wasn’t rejuvenating, more akin to a reboot than a rest.

You analyzed his eye bags, letting a little bit of sadness seep into your own skin. Trying to soak up any of his struggles through the skin contact.

“We can’t sleep, but it just means I get more time with you.” You admitted, not fully realizing the cheesy line you said aloud.

“So romantic.” Jason smiled and your palm molded to the lift of his cheek. He kept his eyes closed, but the clear enjoyment from the skin-to-skin contact was felt in the way he was so content.

He was always a very patient man, allowing you to receive and offer the physical contact he didn’t give to others, but the way he didn’t flinch at even the smallest touch from you was bittersweet.

If he couldn’t sleep tonight, the least you wanted to do was get him to relax.

So, you continued to caress his face. Tracing over soft and textured skin. Feeling the slight overgrown stubble growing onto his jaw.

Jason’s breaths were even, letting you do whatever to his body. Trusting you enough to keep his eyes closed as you roamed his face.

“What should we eat for breakfast?” You asked him, your fingers gently touching the edge of his lips, tracing a healed over scar.

Memories came back to you, of you sitting in the rain of a back alley. As you felt your body freeze over looking at Jason covered head to toe in soot and a mixture of his and another’s blood, only the drops of rain cleaning tiny bits of his skin from the damaging night.

You tried to reach your hand out to touch him, to see if that really was the Jason you shared so many memories with. You remember that your hand shook so badly that you couldn’t even touch the gash on his lip profusely bleeding.

The flinch that ignited Jason out of his stilled state once you did manage to touch the sensitive skin for a moment.

“I’m thinking we could pick up something.” Jason suggested, interrupting your thoughts, slightly moving his head toward the hand that stopped moving while you stayed silent. “I remember you talking about the spot down the street. You must be craving it because you mentioned it every time we passed it.”

You continued your rubs again, pushing back harsh memories and resurfacing back to reality.

“We haven’t been there in a while. I wonder if the owner remembers us.” You used your thumb to trace Jason’s nose. The slight bump was no doubt from a previous fist fight gone wrong and it must’ve really hurt.

“We went there probably three times a week, we even have a photo on his wall.” Jason warmly laughed. “He might buy us a ‘Welcome Home’ cake if we go back.”

Jason opened his eyes, his eyelashes moving from his cheek to fully see you. A kind, childish sparkle was in the centers of his eyes. It brought another smile to your face.

“I wouldn’t mind cake for breakfast.” You let your hand travel down to his jaw, to the back of his neck.

You felt the overgrown hair as Jason also reached out to rub at your side.

A subtle ticklish feeling was making you want to flee from the funny feeling, but also refrain from breaking contact. Jason played at this motion by continuing to run his fingers into the fabric of your clothes, but once he was satisfied in making you slightly squirm, he let his hand rest on you.

“Breakfast cake it is.” Jason spoke into the relaxing air, tracing your face with his eyes. Making longer glances at his favorite features, knowing every detail.

“I can’t wait.” You looked back at him, seeing the messy hair you styled and his love-struck tender gaze. How his cheek slightly smushed from laying on the pillow, his scar that crushed your soul, and the gaze you would move Gotham for.

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd #red hood #writing

674 notes · View notes

nanivinsmoke · 5 months ago

Text

✩ Grey Sweatpants

✩ dilf!toji x fem!reader

✩ warnings & tags: ovulation, age gap (readers in her mid 20s & toji is late 30s), creampie, breeding kink, overstimulation, blow job, couch sex, etc.

✩ ✩ living with your ex-boyfriend/baby daddy is a hassle, but sometimes it’s for the best.

“bye my babies! have a good day at school—I love you!” you waved from the door as you watched your kids boarded the yellow school bus; with it driving off into the distance. you closed the door and sighed, turning around to see your messy living room. you rolled your eyes and began to pick up the clothes that were strewn across the floor.

‘his ass couldn’t help me clean up before he left?’ you cursed to yourself, thinking about your lazy ass baby father.

the two of you had one child together, your daughter; tomie, who was the light of your life and the one of the only good things to come from your previous relationship. in addition to your daughter, you gained a step-child; megumi. even though you & toji never married, you considered the boy as your own—loving him like his mother should’ve.

toji and megumi were forced to move in with you after a fault wire in the house caused a fire. you had speculated that toji was the cause for it, but he kept denying it everytime.

toji stayed home most of them time, since his job didn’t need him currently and you thought having him around would be good. but, you thought wrong. he hardly helped around the house, leaving you to clean the messes that him and your children made, he hardly cooked—which you were kinda glad about; you didn’t trust him to defrost chicken. however, he was an amazing dad to your two kids and wouldn’t knock him for that.

as you swept the floor, the sound of the front door being opened and closed alerted you and you turn your head, ready to fuss at your baby daddy. “toji! when are you going to—.” toji stepped into the living room, sweaty and shirtless—and as your eyes followed a sweat bead that dripped down his chest, the hem of his grey sweatpants caught your attention; and they fixtated there.

you could see the imprint of his dick and your thighs pressed together, as you began to remember all about it and how it made you feel.

“yer’ gonna quit your staring or what?” toji’s deep voice brought you back to reality and you immediately went back to yelling at him.

“can you start fucking helping me around here? im getting swamped! its bad eno—.” he walked up to you and cut you off, holding your chin up with his hand. “alright, you take a bath and I’ll handle the house. I’ll cook something to eat too.”

never in a million years did you think toji would cook or clean for you, but you weren’t about to pass it up. you nodded and scurried off to the bathroom that was adjoined to your bedroom and immediately drew a nice bubble bath. you put in your favorite scents and even lit a few candles, before you turned off the steaming water.

peeling off your clothes, you cringed when you got to your blue panties—the coldness of your arousal stuck to your lips as you peeled it off. it’s amazed you how he could still make you feel that way, without even touching him. it’s like your body was molded for him, it craved him at every moment. and as you sat in the bathtub trying to forget about it, your body and mind betrayed you. just the thought of him freeballing in those grey sweatpants, had your nipples hardening and your cunt gushing.

toji’s body looked like it was sculpted by gods, it was perfect. the way each ab and muscle were defined was mind boggling. you found yourself laying against the cool porcelain tub, teasing your hard nipples while you pinched your clit between two of your fingers.

“fuck toji~!” you moaned out softly, the subtle pleasure coursing through your body. you stopped pinching your clit and started rubbing it, eyes rolling back as it throbbed on your middle finger. imaging toji’s fingers replacing yours on your pretty little clit had your toes curling and your cunt spasming like crazy; cumming hard as the bubbles sloshed around you.

you sat there breathless for while before you got the strength to clean your body and drain the tub. rummaging through your closet, you found one toji’s old tshirts that your kept—slipping it on along with your slippers, before walking out of your bedroom.

the smell of food cooking made your stomach growl and as you turned the corner into the kitchen, the sight in front of you made you cover your mouth with eyes. your baby daddy was standing in front of the stove, stirring up whatever food was in the pan his muscles flexing with each movement. those infamous grey sweatpants sat low, showing the start of his toned ass.

you wanted him so bad right now, you could feel yourself getting more aroused by the second—and you had to do everything in your power to stop it, despite the thumping you felt down below.

“is this a dream? never thought i would get to see you cook. it’s like a miracle,” he snickered as you teased him, still stirring up his dish; before turning the burners off.

“taste this, mama~” he called you by the old nickname he gave you and it made you melt. you opened the mouth and accepted the savory taste of chicken and rice, unable to help the moan that escaped your mouth. his scarred lips turned up into a smirk and he grabbed two bowls, making one for him and you. toji led the way to the living room, putting the bowls on the coffee table, before going back to get you both something to drink.

“after all this time, you’ve decided to finally cook. why haven’t you cooked? and you cleaned the house? what’s the reason—you think you’re getting some?” you teased and he let out a roaring laugh, scooping up a spoonful of his food, before he got serious.

“I never cooked because I knew you enjoyed it. I could tell it was a way to help you distress and unwind, the same thing with cleaning the house. this is your house, I don’t wanna mess it up—mama~” your heart warmed, you did love cooking and cleaning, especially when you were stressed. you felt bad, he didn’t consider this as his house and you never gave him the opportunity to. even though the breakup between you two was mutual, you always gave him hell.

“toji….this is your house. despite everything, i love having you here—and the kids can see it too, i think they like seeing their parents together.” you spoke softly, innocently placing your hand on his crotch. he smiled and pinched your nose, turning to drink his beer; while you stared at his pretty face.

the way his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the rich beverage, had you pressing your thighs together—feeling yourself get wet. your eyes traveled to where you hand was and you slowly started to rub that spot, causing his eyes to advert over to yours. he raised his eyebrow and watched you, that sexy little look on your face that he knew too well—made his dick swell.

“it’s been a while, think you can handle me still?” he asked, a smirk etched onto his lips and you nodded slowly. he put down the bear bottle and pulled you into a sloppy kiss, his tongue swirling on yours. you bit his bottom lip as you pulled away before pulling his sweatpants, making his cock spring free. he was huge, his tannish cock had nice girth to it—along with two veins running from tip to base. he looked bigger than you last remembered, and it made your mouth water; from fear and sheer arousal.

you swallowed and immediately enveloped your mouth around it, the sticky—salty taste of his precum entering your mouth, making you moan out. “shit girl, just like that~” his hand pushed your head down, making you take him deeper in your mouth. you gagged from the force, but quickly got used to it. spit, pooled and trickled out the side of your mouth, and the sounds of your lewdness echoed through the living room.

he reached over behind you, and lifted up your t-shirt, shocked to see that you weren’t wearing any panties; but even more shocked to feel how soaking wet you were. he smirked and slapped your ass, hard, making you choke on his dick—as a result of you trying to yelp. he slid his finger up and down your slit, sending chills up your body, coating his middle finger in your slick—inserting it inside of you afterwords.

the two of you moved in sync, his fingers pumping fast inside of you while you sucked his cock; hitting all the right spots. he inserted another, curling his fingers up to rub against your g-spot, while you gripped his balls, massaging them as you deep throated him.

and you both could feel each other twitching, release approaching the both of you hard—no longer able to hold back, the two of you climaxed. his creamy white load warmed up your mouth, while you creamed on his fingers. pulling back, you swallowed every last bit of his cum, savoring it as it went down, before kissing him; letting him taste himself. he pushed his fingers into your mouth letting you do the same, turning you on even more.

you stood up on the couch, hovering your cunt over his crotch, “sure you can ta—shit!~”

you cut him off as you sat down on his dick, letting him stretch you out in go. you took your bottom lip between your teeth, getting used to his size—walls clenching on him as you sat there. and when you slowly began to bounce, he couldn’t help the small moan that left his mouth. you threw your head back as you bounced on his dick, cunt creaming all over him. you were beyond wet, pussy squelching and queefing—taking his cock like a good girl.

“missed…this….—mhm—this dick~.” moaning in between your words, gripping his shoulder while you rode him, jiggling your ass ever so often. he grunted, loving how fucked out you looked—putting two fingers in your mouth; sucking them with no hesitation.

with this other hand, he sent smacks to your ass—loud popping sounds vibrating throughout the living room. toji loved your body, especially after you gave birth to your daughter. he loved how plushy and fuller you became; ass more plumper each day.

he could feel you clench down, walls moving frantically.

“that’s it mama, cum for me. show daddy how much you wanted this dick~.” toji sent another smack to your ass and you threw your head back, only for him to grab you by your cheeks; forcing you to look at him while you cum.

face contorted with pleasure and your eyes were peppered with little black spots, while you rode out your orgasm. he pulled you into a kiss once more, letting you slowly grind on him. taking you by suprise, he picked you up, sitting down on the rug beneath you and making you turn around. your phat ass was facing him and your face was deep into the soft beige couch, moaning once he pushed back into your sensitive cunt.

toji held onto your waist and watched as your ass wobbled against him, clapping with each stroke. he loved to watch it move, the stretch marks painted against the smooth skin, and the way it rippled when he thrusted into you. you eyes were rolled back to the whites, mewling as you took his dick—gripping the cushions as he rubbed that spot.

PLAP. PLAP. SMACK!

toji was slowly losing his mind from the sounds of your rough love making, his cock twitching inside of you with each stroke.

“cum for me! please—feels sho gud—“ he stuck his fingers in your mouth once again, pounding your pretty cunt sloppy.

“you looked so good pregnant with my seed—i can breed this pussy? wanna put another baby in ya” he grunted, giving you deep and powerful strokes. you mindlessly nodded your head, feeling your orgasm increasing.

his hips slammed into yours, his cock twitching before he finally released—making your belly warm with his cum. “yes daddy—fill me up so good’~” he slapped your ass, drilling your pussy while continuing to dump his milky load inside of you. he wasn’t stopping till you got yours and with his movements, you weren’t far behind.

you let out a loud moan, eyes rolling back deep into your head, cunt clenching so tight around him—you drained more ‘milk’ out of him. a powerful stream of clear fluid, pushed out of you; forcing him out with a loud queef following. toji plugged his finger up into your cunt, fingering you hard during the span of you squirting all over the run beneath you.

calming down, he pulled you by your chin and kissed you; melting into his touch.

“I’ll draw you a bath and pick up the kids, go get some rest mama” he picked you up with ease and walked you both to the bathroom.

you saw the kids off to the bus stop, forcing a smile on your face before you closed the door shut. you raced to the bathroom, to cough up the nasty warm liquid that came up—flushing the porcelain toilet. you groaned, touching your boobs which were oddly tender, and sat on the toilet. you reached into the stand beside it and pulled out two clear blue pregnancy tests.

while you waited for the results, toji came home from his morning job—body covered in hard work and sweat. “y/n? where you at mama?” he called out to you, looking around the house, only to not hear a reply. entering the bedroom, he saw the bathroom’s door halfway closed and he made his way over to it, knocking before entering.

you stood up and held the two positive pregnancy tests, folding your free arm under your chest.

“twins?” he joked and you hit his arm—giggling.

“we’re going to need a bigger place, soon.”

#dad toji #jujutsu kaisen toji fushiguro #toji x y/n #jjk toji #dilf toji x reader #dilf toji #toji is a dilf #toji smut #toji jjk smut #jjk smut #reader x jjk #reader x toji #fushiguro toji #dilf toji x y/n #toji x you #toji fushiguro smut #nanivinsmoke #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen toji

761 notes · View notes

tinythebunni · 9 months ago

Text

Eddie “the freak” Munson x cheerleader reader

!! Big Stretch Baby !!

You were probably ruining your reputation by just being in his trailer. You were definitely ruining your reputation by getting fucked by Eddie Munson. The freak of Hawkins High School.

You didn’t know what it was about him, something just drew you in. Maybe it was the way he lived life like it was only him that mattered. Or maybe it was the way he smiled after losing a fight with your boyfriend, with blood staining his teeth and winks sent your way.

It didn’t matter much now, you couldn’t even think with the way his hands were massaging your tits and his hand sliding down your underwear. You squealed and kicked your feet when he pinched your clit, almost as if you were trying to get away.

“Oh no baby, ’m not letting you go that easy.” He remarked as spread open your folds with his index and middle finger.

You looked up at him, chest heaving and eyes glossed over with need. “Been trying to get in this pretty pussy for years, you’re such a fucking tease. Wearing those tiny cheer skirts, been such a slutty lil baby.”

Your back arched into his touch as your hands curled into his bed sheets, face curled in his shoulder, trying to muffle your moans in his neck. He continued fucking his fingers into you, two digits deep inside you, hitting that spongy spot that made you see starts. His thumb rubbing you clit as you spasmed against him.

Just as you were about to cum around him, he pulled away from you, leaving you feeling empty. He looked down at you and saw how you clenched around nothing, making his cock twitch in his jeans.

Eddie almost always went commando, made it easier for him to pull himself out his pants and jerk off to you at cheer practice. He’d pull down his pants and pump up and down his cock until he lost all restraint and came to your tits peeking out your bra and silly little cheer top.

He spins you around so your facing him, slamming his lips against yours. You moan against him, hands trying to figure out where to go. You were such a cute little thing to him, you and your goddamn doe eyes staring at him, hands moving up and down his body, trying to figure out where to place them.

Eddie wanted to ruin you completely and utterly. He wanted to break you down and build you up and replace you with only thoughts of him and mold you into his slutty little plaything. He wanted to train you to get wet even at just the thought of him.

He kisses down your neck while your hands fiddle with his belt buckle and jeans. Your nimble fingers fumble with the zipper, messing up a fee times from nerves and arousal.

His cute baby.

Slipping his jeans down and off completely, you look back up at him, catching sight of his leaking pink tip. Eddie was average sized, maybe 6 or 7 inches. But god! Was his dick girthy. You didn’t even know if you could fit it in your mouth.

Almost as If Eddie could hear your thoughts, he spoke up. “Uh uh Baby, you can taste me another time. Right now I wanna get inside that gorgeous cunt of yours. ‘Know she’s achin for it.”

Eddie pulls your panties to the side and lines up his tip with your opening, tapping it against you as you whine and grind down on to him.

“Shh baby, be patient f’me, know ya got it in you.” Oh he was gonna just ruin you! But that’s exactly what you wanted. He slid inside slowly, groaning at the feeling of your walls fitting to accomatd him. “Biiiig stretch baby, can you handle it?”

You nodded rapidly, already too fucked out to answer. Your tongue was slightly out your mouth, tears rolling down your cheeks form how badly you needed to come. He could feel you clenching around him and the slight roll of your hips as you tried to get him to move.

You could feel the slight pain but you didn’t care. You just wanted Eddie! You just wanted him in you and fucking up into you and god the way you could feel your tummy bulging had you curling your toes.

“Fuck baby, you see that? See how deep I’m in you?” As if to prove his statement, he fucked up into you, holding your hips as a handle for him. You let him use you, let him use you like a fucktoy. You just wanted him on you. You wanted it all.

You forgot to answer him in your daze, which he obviously caught. Eddie grabbed your cheeks, pushing them into a pout as he kissed your face. “Look at you, ya dumb thing. Can’t even answer a simple question?” He pushed your hips down onto him so you’d grind down onto him, his tip hitting the perfect spot inside of you.

You could feel the smirk on his lips while he continued kissing you, moving down to your neck, moving your shirt out the way to make space for him.

He couldn’t wait to see you walk into school tomorrow, blushing bought red as your ass cheeks from his hand prints, desperately trying to cover up his hickeys and love bites. The thought made him groan against you, as you panted and held onto his chest trying to get a grip on reality.

“Gonna fuck you dumb baby. Don’t cover up these marks either. Wanna watch your stupid fucking boyfriends face when he sees how much of a slut you are for the freak.”

What a fucking pervert.

#eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things smut #stranger things fic #stranger things fandom #stranger things #stranger things season 4 #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson brainrot #eddie munson fem!reader #bimbo!reader

2K notes · View notes

bookshelf-dust · 3 months ago

Text

something’s gotta give

gif by @kwistowee

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 5,988

warnings: swearing, crude jokes, sexual innuendos, general hatred for either party, one small mention of a judgmental christian lady, depictions of an accident involving a box cutter, talk of blood and the ensuing wound, banter, both reader and eddie trying to get under each others skin, enemies to lovers trope

synopsis: eddie munson is a prick. a prick who also happens to be your coworker. you hate his guts. he hates yours. and who would think there’d be reason for anything else?

a/n: well, hello!! i’ve been working on this idea for a little bit, and it was definitely a challenge because i’ve never taken on something with this dynamic before. it was so tricky to come up with all these snarky remarks, to build up a world where it made sense. speaking of, this is without a doubt a 90s!au. i am proud of myself for trying something new and i think it turned out pretty good. shoutout to @clovermunson for listening to me vent about my struggles and helping me mold eddie into the smartass he is. also thank you to @steph-speaks for making me a cutie rb banner!! peep it at the end of the fic. happy reading!!! <333

————

“Here’s your change and…there’s your receipt.”

You bump the cash register drawer with your hip, slamming the thick metal shut. You give a big, warm smile to the woman in front of you. She has a face full of freckles and the most beautiful silver hair that makes her blue eyes look insanely vibrant.

She grins back at you, setting her palm on the countertop, her nails painted a pale, shimmery shade of pink. “Thank you, sweet pea. And thank you for helping me find some goodies!” She shakes her paper bag.

You hand her a complimentary bookmark with the store name on it. “You’re so welcome. You’ll have to stop by and let me know what you think about that one!”

“Of course! You have a good day, now.”

“You too!” You give her a small wave as she walks out the door, and move to put away the store’s copy of her receipt. Your smile drops immediately when you feel a looming presence behind you. The paper in your hand gets crushed when you shove it under the counter.

“Damn, you flick the bean this morning?” Eddie’s voice drips with malice. You know he’s wearing that sinister ass smirk before you even turn to face him.

“Why? Need some advice on how to find it, Munson?” You grab a stack of books off the counter and slide out of the way so he can clock in.

The sound of his boots on the carpeted floors tell you he’s following you. He always is.

“I think it’s a valid question, princess. You’re in such a good mood it makes a guy wonder…”

You stop in the mystery section, looking for authors with the last name beginning with ‘F,’ and begin to restock. “Well, Eddie, if I got off and that’s why I’m so bubbly today, it’s pretty clear to me that somebody gave you blue balls last night.”

He laughs, snatching a book out of your hand to put it on the top shelf when he sees you rise up on your tippy toes. It pisses you off. “Harsh, princess.”

You turn around at the sound of the doorbell, but he stops you with an arm outstretched to rest on the wall.

You grab his hand and shove it out of your way. “I guess you should’ve put that hand to good use then and given yourself a quick, and probably little, job before you came to your real one.”

When you escape his vicinity, you look around for the customer you heard come in. There’s a young boy wandering through the back section where you sell records, tapes, CD’s, whatever the fuck. It’s Eddie’s section, and therefore not your problem.

You hold eye contact with the man in question, giving him your bitchiest look possible. “You have a customer, Munson. And…” you glance at your watch, “I’m going on lunch.”

Eddie watches as you cross your arms and march off to the break room. His gaze falls to your ass. You’re wearing this long skirt, one that falls just above your ankles so your boots poke out. The fabric is loose and flowy, but manages to cling to your skin and he can see every curve when you walk. Every bounce of soft flesh—

“Hey, excuse me?” The voice of a boy, no more than fourteen, snaps Eddie out of his dick-controlled reverie.

He spins around to face the kid, putting on his customer service face. “What can I do for you, little dude?”

In the break room, you stand in front of the microwave, shifting back and forth on your feet while you wait for your leftover pasta to warm up. It’s rare now for your shifts to line up with Robin’s. She is a good coworker, and you’d built up this system, this rhythm, that Eddie has never even tried to build with you.

God, you miss her. And you fucking hate Eddie Munson.

You pull out a chair and sink down into it, too pissed to care that you’re essentially manspreading and certainly eating like a slob.

What angers you the most is that you tried to be friendly with Eddie when he was hired. You have seniority over him, and you were happy to help him figure out how things worked. But he didn’t give a fuck. To you, it seemed like he was too good for your help.

But the first time you saw him ask Robin for help, you realized that he just…didn’t like you. And you don’t know why. You have always been nice to your coworkers. You have no reason not to be. Except when you get to a point that you’re forced to match their energy.

You down the rest of your drink. You need to go out and get some fresh air, despite the fact that it’s fucking scorching outside.

Up front, Eddie gives the young boy his receipt and a little bag full of cassette tapes, buttons, and a patch that he helped him pick out. Another child saved from the masses of pop music, he thinks.

He taps his ringed fingers against the counter, lowering himself so that his elbows rest against the cool vinyl. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie catches a sticky note stuck to the edge of the computer monitor.

The store’s goal total for today is written there, penciled messily in your handwriting. Eddie rolls his eyes. Why do you always have to be on top of everything like that? You’re so fucking uptight all the time Eddie’s surprised you don’t waddle because of the stick you permanently have up your ass.

Ever since the day he got hired a few months ago, Eddie has despised you. He remembers taking a small tour of the shop and being introduced to you where you were organizing a new shipment of magazines.

You stood, shyly fidgeting with the pin on your fitted denim vest. You were bubbly, with these sweet little doe eyes and an expression on your face like you were hoping to make a new friend. He remembers your palm feeling unsettlingly cold when he shook your hand, and now it all makes sense to him.

What with the way you can change moods with the drop of a pin, how you manage to bring a storm cloud with you every time you walk in his direction but have everyone else wrapped around your finger.

A cold-blooded bitch like you must surely feed on the souls of little children every morning.

He hates how organized you are, how prepared. How you behave all patiently when you’re with a customer who’s been a prick, even though he knows it’s all an act because you’ll give him a death glare at any given chance.

But most of all? He hates how fucking gorgeous you are. You’d think all that hatred would make you look like an old hag, but no. Instead you walk around in your skirts that show off that perfect ass and every once in a while you wear a shirt that shows the tiniest sliver of your stomach, or in some cases, your back, if you bend over. He hates when you wear those platform boots with the heels that allow you to level with him.

And the fact that you’re walking toward him right now.

Eddie watches as you strip off the cropped button-up you’d been wearing, exposing your bare arms.

There’s a tattoo running up the length of your bicep that he’s never seen before. His gaze lingers on it for long enough that you catch it and raise a brow.

“You cry when you got that, princess?” He points to the dark ink on your skin.

You slide behind him and sit on the stool in front of the computer.

“No, Eddie. I fell asleep. If you want to bond about how you wailed during each of your tattoo sessions, you’ll have to talk to Brian.”

He scoffs. “Guess you can handle a little prick then, huh?”

“I work with you everyday, don’t I?” You smile, but keep your eyes on the computer screen. There’s supposed to be a new shipment of books coming today, and your boss already asked you to set up the display when it gets here. That reminds you, and you speak before Eddie can give you a smartass remark. “Eddie, there’s a box of new vinyls in the back you’re supposed to sort and put out.”

“Yeah? I’ll get right on that, mom.”

You pinch your thumb and forefinger together so that you don’t snap. It’s such a shame that such a pretty man is such a fucking asshole.

The mouse starts to feel slick from your clammy hands as you click around, trying your best to track the package. Slam!

Eddie drops the box of records on the far end of the front desk, making you jump. He grabs a box cutter and pulls open the mess of cardboard and packing tape as aggressively as possible.

Your head snaps in his direction. “Can’t you do that anywhere else, Munson?”

“Nah, babe. My only entertainment for the day is pissin’ you off, and I just clocked in.”

You facepalm. “Jesus fucking Christ, I miss Robin.”

Eddie cups his hand around the shell of his ear. “What’s that, princess? You need Buckley, huh? Bet she puts up with your shit.”

You stand up. “More like she puts up with me talking about the shit you put me through, because you masquerade as a sweet little angel when you work with her.” You’ve moved toward the other end of the counter before you can even realize, leveling with Eddie and getting in his face.

He places both of his hands on the table, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Maybe it’s because Robin isn’t a fucking priss, and actually has a personality.”

That hits a nerve, and Eddie catches the way your brows twitch. But your poker face doesn’t slip, not for a second. Your eyes flick to the front door.

“You have a customer, Munson. I’ll go take care of the records. Oh, and they’re a chick. Maybe you can go see if she has a personality that’s up to your standards and get your dick wet so that there’s a slight chance you become less of a raging asshole.”

Eddie looks over his shoulder at the young woman who’s just walked through the door. She has long, dark hair and more piercings than he can count. She’s his type, and he hates that you clocked that. When he turns back to you, you’re already taking the box off the counter.

“Oh, and Eddie? Fuck you.”

You get the vinyls sorted and put away in record time.

————

If it’s possible, the next day is hotter than the last. You’re sweating the second you walk out of your front door, your hairline quickly dampening and your thighs sticking together on the drive to work.

You put on the one short dress you own today, grateful for the fact that your place of occupation doesn’t have a strict dress code. It’s too hot to wear anything, but the thin, mesh-like fabric and little spaghetti straps will do just fine.

Luckily for you, Eddie’s shift doesn’t start until one, so you’ll be able to have a chill morning where you won’t feel like blowing your own brains out. Knock on wood, but you even feel a little giddy because Robin opened, which means she’ll be there to welcome you and greet you with a bit of peace.

You pull open the front door, and pick up speed, knowing the cool air is just within your reach. The sounds of heavy metal reach your ears before you see him.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

You consider yourself lucky that the floor is empty, because you did not consult your conscience for one second before expressing your pure annoyance that Eddie is here before he was meant to be.

You push up your sunglasses so they’re level with your eyebrows, and take a look at the figure standing behind the counter. There is no Robin anywhere in sight. “Where is Robin? Why the fuck are you here?” You catch Eddie’s gaze drag up and down your bare legs and that good mood flies right outside the front door.

“Why are you dressed like that?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “What’s the matter, Eddie baby? You not see a lot of shoulders in that fuck ass club of yours?”

You pull your sunglasses back down over your eyes and grin, because you’ve just seen Eddie Munson blush. That one really hit the mark, and you are immensely pleased with yourself.

Even more so when you realize he’s following you. You start switching your hips, knowing where his gaze is. You’re not as stupid as he thinks.

His wallet chain is jingling, his hair flying behind him as he jogs to meet you in the middle of the store. If a customer were to walk in right now, they’d see the both of you standing nose to nose, a murderous look in your eyes, and probably feel like they’d just walked in on a taping for a soap opera.

“What do you know about my fuck ass—” He coughs, practically chokes. “W-what do you know about Hellfire?” Eddie asks. You can almost see his blood boiling.

You put your hand on his chest. “I’m a rogue, bitch.”

The sound of your laugh reaches Eddie’s ears before he’s even registered your hand on him, your breath on his neck, and that you’ve turned around and disappeared. There’s no way you’re not a witch. Are you a witch? What does a hex feel like?

Eddie starts walking to the stacks, suddenly encouraged to see if you carry any witchcraft-related texts. The doorbell chimes and he’s forced to spin around.

The group of people that have just pushed through the doors is huge. At least six teenagers of varying heights, followed by four or five college-aged kids. And they all look like they’re on a mission. Two of them head straight for the records, one for the magazines, and he loses sight of the rest down the romance aisle.

In the back, you lock up your bag and shake out your shoulders.

Your fingers fly over the radio, quickly changing the station Eddie had chosen to one you know plays much better music. You turn the dial down a little too, having already started to feel blood leaking out of your ears.

At the counter, Eddie watches in horror as the teenagers grab armfuls of records and CDs. What’s worse is that a family of four walk in next. An older woman walks straight up to him. “Excuse me, sir?” Sir? What is he, a fucking mummy? “Where are your bibles and Christian novels?” He catches her eyeing the ink littering his pale arms.

“I can show you to them, ma’am. If you wanna come with me, we’ve got a whole section just for that!” Your bubbly voice meets Eddie’s ears. And so do the sounds of “There She Goes” by The La’s.

The woman turns on you, her smile brightening, and she’s quick to follow your purposeful step. Over your shoulder, you wink at Eddie.

He knows it’s evil. He knows he fucking hates your guts. He hates that you’ve just charmed that red flag of a woman. But he’ll be damned if he fails to admit that his zipper didn’t feel just a little tighter at that faux flirtation in your expression.

“Let me know if you need help finding anything, alright? And if we don’t have anything in stock, we can always order it for you!”

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes and you’re practically stomping on your way back to the counter. You use the walk to actually take in Eddie for the first time since you came in.

He’s wearing a t-shirt that he obviously cut the sleeves off of at home, purely based on the way they’re fraying. His arms are…beefy, to say the least. His skin looks unnaturally soft, and his biceps are just so big and they look like they’re begging to be squeezed or bitten, even.

Your eyes wander lower when he’s called over to help a child cart probably ten CDs to the counter. His jeans aren’t tight, not exactly. But they fit. He’s got more ass than most people would know what to do with. You can’t help but wonder what it looks like outside of that ratty denim. Or what else he might use that bandana for.

You park yourself in front of the register, getting the system set up before the rush you can feel coming on. The cracks in the leather seat below you pinch your thighs, but you can’t be bothered to care. You deserve it for thinking of such a dickhead that way. Why are the gorgeous ones always assholes?

A quick glance over your shoulder tells you that Eddie’s not helping kids anymore, but shamelessly flirting with a girl who can’t be more than twenty-one. She looks slightly intimidated by him, until he flashes his ring-covered fingers in front of her. You recognize that look, the one that tells you she might just eat him alive.

You fear she’ll be immensely disappointed when she truly gets to meet his personality.

In the time he’s been trying to woo this young lady, a line has formed, and now you’re stuck cashing people out. The Christian lady is first.

“You find everything you needed today?”

She drops some change into the tip jar and takes a mint from the tray you just restocked. “Yes, I did, sweetheart, thank you for asking. You see that? Yes, that one—isn’t it gorgeous?”

She forces you to look at the fancy bible she’s picked out, and you do so despite the voice inside your head screaming for her to fucking pay already and get out because she’s been here long enough and the line is only getting longer.

“It sure is!” You do your best to smile kindly. You hand her the receipt and a small card that not only thanks her for her purchase, but promises a ten percent discount if she comes back within the next month.

The next customer is easy, a ten year old with a storybook that has colorable pages and a bookmark with rainbow tassels. You hand him a sticker and tell him you like his Gizmo shirt, and he beams his way out the door.

When you are confronted with a set of parents who clearly have more kids than they seem to want, you feel a warm breath on the back of your neck. “You have a happy pill on you I can have?”

Eddie takes the stack of books out of your hands and places each one in a paper bag. The customers aren’t even looking at you, what with the husband fussing about inflation and How much for a paperback? and the toddler trying to eat the rug.

“No, sweetie,” you start, sliding the bag across the counter, hoping maybe the woman will notice and take her gaze off the street just outside the window. She takes it without looking at you, without a word, and the husband walks away mulling over the receipt, not bothering to do a headcount of kids. “I can’t keep up with your stash of boner pills.”

Eddie laughs. He tosses his head back, bearing his thick neck to you. It’s a slow sound. You can’t help but feel like it’s not something you should hear. It feels like the kind of laugh someone saves for a lover in privacy. And it’s so gravelly and deep.

The line has slowed, and all that’s left for you to do is keep an eye out for the customers slowly making their way up front.

You tilt your head a little in Eddie’s direction, signaling that you’re speaking to him. “You probably do need them though, based on the way you were eye-fucking that girl earlier. God knows you’re gonna need a little…happy to keep up with her.”

Eddie bends a little at the knees, getting his head completely level with yours, his brown eyes twinkling with malice. “You think about my dick a lot, princess?”

You place your hand on the counter, less than an inch between yours and Eddie’s fingers. One move and they’d be touching. Hell, one step forward and your front would be pressed to his. “More like I worry about it,” you say.

He quirks a brow, his lips ticking up at the corners. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Since I see you try and pick up a girl in the store at least three times a week and you know what? They never stick. So either it’s that you can’t get it up, or it’s that if you treated any woman as well as you treat that guitar of yours, maybe they’d be satisfied.”

Eddie takes a step forward. You’ve never been this close to him. “You know, Princess, they might not last, but based on your fucking attitude, it seems like you’re jealous.”

“Jealous?”

He pushes a strand of hair out of your face. Your blood pressure spikes. It feels like your veins are turning colors with how angry you are. Eddie has the nerve to laugh.

“Yeah. I think all this bitchiness comes from the fact that no one will put their dick anywhere near you. They’re probably afraid you’ll make it shrivel up and die.” You don’t say anything, and he just keeps going. “Hell, I’m nice enough that I’d fuck you if that meant you’d get off my back.”

Your entire body goes rigid. And in that moment, you know that’s exactly what he wanted from you. But you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“Thanks for the offer, Munson. But I’d rather gouge my own fucking eyes out than let you touch me. If you wanna see me as a priss, that’s fine. But at least I’m not an insufferable prick who can’t give a damn about anyone who’s not shoved so far up my own ass and ready to fall at my feet at any given moment. Some people have to grow the fuck up.” You practically spit out the last few words, your voice laced with venom.

Eddie blinks. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes glazed over. For the first time since he met you, he doesn’t have shit to say.

————

You and Eddie are the only ones on schedule today.

You haven’t spoken in days, just moving around one another and doing your jobs in silence. You can’t lie about the pride you feel in your chest from having finally gotten to him. Even if the dead quiet is unsettling, you feel a sick sense of satisfaction.

You think Eddie might’ve even mastered the art of a fake, but amiable personality.

You’re currently hiding away in the back room, unpacking new shipments of books, vinyls, display materials, along with all the shit you actually need like paper for the register and cleaning supplies.

Not that it matters where you are because you’ve had a total of one customer today. But that’s how Wednesday’s go.

It’s sort of mindless, this activity. You slide the box cutter over the packing tape, rip open each box, take everything out, stomp the box flat, repeat. It’s not very stimulating, but you don’t hate it.

The last box though is covered in enough clear tape to catch every fly in the world, and it’s taking some serious sawing to get through. You set your hand on the worn and slightly damp cardboard, bracing yourself to get one end of it loose.

You’re just getting there when the blade finds a raindrop on the silky tape and slips free. You’re not expecting that, of course, and the blade slices the skin of your forearm quickly and thoroughly.

You yelp, dropping the box cutter. You’re never one to wail or scream, but you let out a whimper at the shock of pain. Your non-dominant hand starts to shake as you take in the wound.

You’re too panicked to realize that your frightened exclamation could be heard up front, considering there’s no music playing and you left the receiving room’s door open.

It doesn’t look deep enough to need stitches, but it’s bleeding. Quite a bit, actually.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.”

There are thudding footsteps, and then Eddie appears in the doorway. “Fuck fuck fuck, what? Bein’ so damn loud.” He pauses, taking in the sight before him.

Your eyes are glazed over, your hands shaking, and you’re cupping your forearm so as to not let blood drip all over the floors.

“Oh fuck off, I do not need this right now!” you exclaim, knowing he’s going to berate you or say something demeaning and you are not going to cry in front of him.

Eddie says your name.

He never says your name. It makes you look up at him, and you almost feel nauseous at the sincere look on his face.

“Do you need me to drive you somewhere?”

You roll your eyes. “No, Eddie. I’m not fucking helpless! And I’m not bleeding out either!”

He steps towards you, his hands outstretched like he’s a ringmaster, like he’s trying to tame an apex predator. “But you are bleeding.”

“No fuckin’ shit, Sherlock—”

“Let me help you—”

You decide to shove past him, whimpering your way towards the bathroom. Eddie is on your heels. You try to shut the door in his face, but he plants his boot firmly on the floor and prevents you from it. His glare is unwavering.

He repeats your name once more. It sends a shiver down your spine. “Just—just fucking stop for a minute, okay? Let me help you. Let me do this one thing without any of this shit, you hear me?”

You blink. Eddie kicks the door stopper down so it stays open. His eyes flick to the toilet seat. “Sit.”

You’re too winded to say no. So you sit down, cradling your arm, while Eddie rummages around for gauze and wipes and whatever the fuck he can find because he’s not a nurse but he has had to clean himself up on more than one occasion.

You can’t process that Eddie is treating you this way. Like a human. That he’s insisting on helping you when he doesn’t get anything out of it.

When he returns, he settles on his knees in front of you, looking into your eyes to make sure it’s okay for him to touch you. You hate the way your stomach flips. But the little shift in your arm tells him it’s alright.

Eddie’s fingers are cold on yours as he turns your forearm outward so he can look at the wound. You can’t help but watch as he works on you. Takes care of you.

He sets a paper towel underneath your arm, using another to press down on your skin and make sure the bleeding has stopped. The pressure hurts, but you don’t say a word.

Eddie hooks his foot around the corner of the trash can, pulling it closer. He throws out the bloody towel and wets another, being as gentle as he can in an effort to clean all of the dried red splotches from your skin.

The cut isn’t deep, but it definitely nicked a few capillaries along the way. It is a little longer though, and Eddie has to use two big pieces of gauze to cover it. This is after he’d swiped your arm with alcohol wipes, grinning to himself because of how hard you were trying not to show him any weakness.

Eddie’s thumb lingers on your skin long after he’s taped you up. You’re both silent, sitting in your shitty workplace bathroom. You can feel that he wants to say something, but you don’t know what. It’s why you haven’t gotten up yet.

You notice his eyes on your face before you meet his gaze. “Will you look at me?” he says. Your heart jolts in your chest.

“What for?”

“So that I can tell you why I’ve been a giant dick since I met you and you’ll see I’m being real with you.”

Your head shoots up, mainly because you can’t really believe he’s just said those words. “Hold on,” you laugh, “You’re going to explain yourself now? After I spent all that time trying to be your friend and you—”

“Treated you like shit, yeah I know.” Eddie drags his hands down his face. You’re not sure why, but you feel compelled to listen to him. “I showed up and you were there in your cute fucking skirts and you were so nice to everyone and just so…good? I couldn’t stand it.”

You blink.

“I’m not like that. I’m not good with people and empathetic like you are and it takes me a long fucking time to do anything right. And I chose to take that out on you, to hate you, because you were so perfect, and that was easier than falling for you.”

Your mouth drops open. He what? Eddie waves his hands in your direction.

“Close your mouth, you’re gonna catch flies. I hated that I could’ve dropped to my knees for you the second I met you. You looked at me like I was precious, like you were happy to meet someone new, and I’m such a fuck up, such a nuisance to so many people, that there was no way I was going to let a pretty girl like you befriend me and have me ruin it all. Because the truth is, I’d kill to be as fucking good as you are.”

You start shaking your head. You feel your eyes glaze over, so you look down at your freshly bandaged arm.

“And I realize that the only reason you’re a dick to me is because I started that shit.”

You let out the barest hint of a laugh. “It’s called matching your energy. There wasn’t any point in trying to befriend you when you…hated me.”

Eddie says your name again. “I don’t hate you. I do hate myself though, and that I was so—”

“Jealous?” you interrupt, finishing for him.

He tugs on the hair at the base of his neck. God, this is the most ridiculous fucking thing.

“Yeah. Jealous that I don’t have as much good in me as you do. I’d see you working, see you happy to help anyone, see you pull more weight than anyone else here. I hated that you’re everything I’m not.”

When you finally look back up at him, you’ve gone all teary, and something inside Eddie breaks. It snaps.

“We’re not supposed to be the same. If we were, nothing would ever work. You act like you’re just—just this helpless piece of shit, Eddie. You aren’t. But I can’t make you realize that. All I can do is tell you that if you want to be more charismatic—or whatever the fuck—you gotta work at it.”

He’s looking at you with his stupid ass doe eyes, and you think you finally understand him.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re everything I am, Munson. No one else is livin’ your life for you.” You start to trail off, but not quite yet. “I wish you hadn’t been so fucking sincere so I could yell at you.”

Eddie tosses his head back, bearing his neck to you, and laughs. He raises his hands, beckoning you. “C’mon. Let me have it. You deserve it for how many times I’ve called you a priss.”

You shake out your shoulders, and if you weren’t still drained from the box cutter incident you’d jump up and hop back and forth like you’re readying to get in the ring.

“I get it, you know? But I also don’t think it’s fair, because, and I’m gonna be honest here, the day you got hired I thought you were so gorgeous. Trust me, I was fully weak in the knees. You were also dressed like, well, you, and I wanted to at least make friends with you because you seemed, to use your words, good.”

“I heard you crack a few jokes, saw you picking up on how things worked, and then with me it was like you had this alter ego. I just don’t think it was fair that I got the short end of the stick here, even if I did enjoy being a smartass to you. So I guess what I’m really saying is, why me? Why weren’t you a dick to Robin, or Brian or fuckin’ Keith? Why not take out your jealousy on someone else?”

Eddie stands up, shoves his hands in his back pockets. “You can hit me if you feel like it, because I know this is going to sound fucked.” He pauses, and then all the words spill out at once, leaving you completely breathless when he’s finished.

“Not only was I jealous of how perfect your soul is, but you being so sweet made me want you. I wanted you all to myself. I wanted that personality, those kind remarks, that look you get in your eye when you’re listening so well, I wanted it all around me, all the time. It felt like you were this fucking angel, I wanted to lose myself in you.”

“But it didn’t feel like I’d be worthy of you either. I figured you’d get sick of me, real quick, when you realized I wasn’t as good of a person as you. When you figured out all the shit I need to work through. It seemed easier to hate you than to have you see me the way everyone else does. Nobody wants a work in progress.”

You laugh. You take in your surroundings, still in the work bathroom, and you laugh. Eddie’s brows shoot up, and his heart drops out of his ass and onto the tile floors below him.

“Eddie, everyone is a work in progress. And I am an extremely patient person.”

He recovers himself fast enough to make one more smartass remark. “You’re sure you don’t wanna kick me in the balls or somethin’?”

You take a step towards him, breathing deeply. Breathing him in.

“Not right now, Eddie. What’s frustrating though, is how much I want to kiss your dumb ass. Your annoying, over-complicating, completely ridiculous, stupid hot fucking ass.”

Eddie blinks. You might as well have kicked him in the balls because he can’t even think a single coherent thought now. Not with the way you’re pushing up onto your toes and pulling him down towards you, shaking your head so he doesn’t make up something stupid about not deserving it.

And then your mouth is on his. Your lips are so warm, and everything else disappears. All Eddie can feel is you. Your perfume engulfs him, the heat of your chest pressed against him, the soft fat of your hip under his hand. When you pull on his hair he almost whimpers.

You kiss hard, harder than he’d have thought, but it’s so gentle at the same time. You’re kissing him stupid. There’s no other way to put it. The only thing that pops in his head is that his suspicions about you being a witch were totally fucking spot on.

When you finally pull away, your lips have gone all puffy, and there’s this dazed but incredibly satisfied look in your eye. He’d take you home right now and get on his knees for you if you’d let him.

Your lips tick up at the corners, and he has to shake his head so he can really hear what you’re about to say.

“Aren’t we on the clock, Eddie?”

————

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

940 notes · View notes

frannyzooey · 2 years ago

Text

One Bed

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

A/N: Just shameless "there is only one bed" filth for the amazing beauty who is @jollyrancher87. Thank you for sending me your ask, my lovely - I hope you like it! ❤️

“Goddamn it.”

He sighs, his fingers curled around the straps of his backpack as he shifts his weight to one foot and you step around him to see what he is looking at.

Oh.

“I mean,” you start carefully, “At least there’s one?”

You both look at the set of beds in front of you: one perfectly fine, if not a bit worn and dusty, and the other one covered in a pool of water from a crack in the ceiling above. It’s been dripping on it awhile, long enough for silt and plaster to form a sort of sludge on the top of the comforter and you only imagine how thick the mold is underneath.

“Just take it,” he says, shrugging his pack off and you frown, shaking your head.

“You’re the one with the bad back, you take it. I’ll make do on the floor.”

Impatience and exhaustion flares bright in his reply, his expression one of frustration. “I’m not gonna let you sleep on the fuckin’ floor while I get the bed. Just take it. I’ll be fine.”

He places his pack on the floor, kneeling down to join it. Resting his head on the rough, dirty canvas and folding his tight arms across his chest, he looks so comically uncomfortable that you fight the urge to laugh.

“Jesus, Joel, get up.” You tap the toe of your boot against the heel of his and he looks up at you with a frown. “Look, it’s not huge or anything, but we should both be able to fit. Get up here.”

His eyes narrow, and you roll your eyes, turning away from him. You feel his gaze on you as you set your pack down and toe your boots off, placing them both at the end of the bed. Pulling back the covers, you lay down and tug them up and over you, laying still.

“You coming?”

There is a beat, and then you hear another deep sigh escape him from the floor.

“Fine.”

–

Practically asleep before his head hit the pillow, he wakes in the middle of the night. Not the sort of sudden jolt that he’s used to, but rather a slow, hazy pull from the depths that he’s often not afforded. He’s been sleeping deeply, and what wakes him is that he’s hot – too hot, uncomfortably hot. He moves to push away the covers when he touches something else instead - you.

You’ve wound around each other in your sleep: your face buried in the crook of his neck, your arms curled against the width of his chest, his leg tucked in between your own with his arm slung protectively over the curve of your side. He can tell you’re still asleep from your slow, steady breaths and he tries to carefully extract himself, but for every inch he moves back, you unconsciously press closer.

He tries to rouse you instead, his hand gently shaking your shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispers softly, in the dark. “Hey. Wake up.”

Expecting you to wake with a start, he tries not to think about how the only reason you’re probably so deeply asleep is his close proximity. How he himself slept just as deeply for the same reason.

He shakes you again. “Hey.”

Your eyes still closed, a small frown pulls between your brows. You tilt your face up, still half asleep and when your mouth brushes his, he freezes. He doesn’t move, abandoning the attempt to wake you and he thinks you’ve fallen back asleep when your arm unfurls from his chest, reaching up to cup his cheek. He lets you touch it for a moment, his eyes taking in your face in the dark.

Your mouth is so close to his he can feel warm puffs of your breath skimming over his lips, your face so close that he can see the fan of your thick lashes and your nose brushes against his in a sleepy nuzzle, seeking out his warmth. Your hand slides up into his hair, fingers threading into the thick strands.

He should pull back and stop this, but he doesn’t.

“Joel,” you whisper slowly, your mouth full and soft with sleep.

His eyes drop to it for a moment and it looks so plush and inviting that he can’t help himself.

When his mouth meets yours in a chaste press, you kiss him back with an unconscious purse of your lips, opening them just enough to fit his lower lip neatly between your own. He breathes you in, letting them rest together in a full, lush fit and then you’re giving him another one; a firmer, more conscious pressure. Another one yet, his hand cradling the soft curve of your cheek to keep you in place.

You fit yourself closer to him, your thighs tightening around his own and your nails drag over his scalp, his fingers pressing into the hinge of your jaw in a silent request to open yourself wider for him. You taste sweeter than he thought you would, your sleep-thick mouth warm and inviting and hungry and when he shifts to lean over you, you tug him on top of you instead.

You might have been sleeping before, but he knows you’re fully awake now even if you won’t open your eyes. Your movements are intentional, the width of his body heavy and solid between your legs, comforting in its weight and your head tips back into the pillow, pulling away from the kiss for some air. He doesn’t seem to need any, his mouth molding around the curve of your jaw before sliding down the length of your neck and he gives the sweet skin there open mouthed kisses, a slight suck to them. His teeth catch, and you quietly moan.

Bringing his mouth back to yours, his beard brushes against your skin, your tongue chasing his as you deepen the kiss and when he lets out a low groan into your mouth, you swallow it down, savoring it.

He sounds just like he does in your dreams, just like the way this feels. Slick and needy between your legs, you roll your hips up to meet his in a wordless invitation and he presses his down into you, making room for himself. Soon you’re grinding against each other in desperation: your achingly empty core seeking out the solid heft that you can feel pressed against you, his own need evident.

“Joel, I –,” you whisper into his mouth in between kisses, a pleading creeping into the word and he nods, knowing what you need.

His hand reaches down and fumbles with his belt, another groan pouring into your mouth when he feels the heat of you against the back of his hand and then he’s working on the button of your jeans, trying to work it open. You try to help, but it’s not fast enough for him and with your thumbs still hooked under the waistband to slide them down, he shoves his hand underneath everything to find your slick seam, filling you swiftly with two thick fingers.

“Fuck,” you whine, abandoning your plan and arching your hips into his hand. He curls his fingers and begins a grinding stroke, the digits a snug fit in their slick slide.

“Goddamn,” he groans, muscle memory making him reach for a spot inside. He finds it, rubbing the pads of his fingers against it and is rewarded with your breathless cry, and a tight clench. “You’re so fuckin’ wet for me. So wet. Gonna feel so good around my cock. Gonna make me come, with this sweet little pussy.”

His fingers work, work, work underneath your jeans and you can’t even answer him with how good it feels. You let your thighs drop open wider, your hands reaching down to splay over the curve of his ass and you meet every one of his strokes with your hips, forcing his fingers deeper. He looks down at you with hooded eyes, his mouth parted as he watches you take.

“I want a taste,” he breathes, pushing his fingers in as deep as they can go, down to the base of his bruised knuckles. “I want –” he kisses you greedily, panting into your mouth. “I want to taste it, but I –”

You want him to taste it too - Christ, you do – but you need him to fuck you right now more than you need air to breathe, so you wrap your hand around his wrist with a tug and he slips it out from your pants, your hands already working on shoving your jeans down. He understands, his weight abruptly leaving you to sit up and back on his heels and when he helps you strip them off along with your underwear, his body bows immediately to taste, but you stop him, pulling him back up to cover you.

He reaches between you to pull himself out, aching and thick and stiff in the calloused palm of his hand and since that is the sensation that he is used to, he groans loudly when he finds the dip of your entrance and fills you with a smooth, slick stroke.

You hastily shove the loose band of this jeans down further, needing to feel every inch of skin he’ll afford you and when his hips are a neat, flush fit against your own just like his mouth was earlier, you rock up to encourage him to move.

“You okay?” he asks, knowing just how much he is to take and you nod, your teeth biting into your plush lower lip.

“Yea, just – just move.” You raise your head off the pillow to kiss him, and when he dips his own to reach your mouth, he slides even deeper, his body relaxing on top of yours. The action steals the breath from your lungs, a soft sound catching in the back of your throat and he pulls his hips back just enough to feel the friction of you before sliding home again. Again, again.

Your thighs hitch higher around his waist, your hands slipping under his thick flannel, splaying over his muscles flexing under your hold. His hand curls around the crown of your head, keeping you in place as he feels you shift up the mattress underneath him with every thrust and between the skill of his mouth and his hips, you can’t think of anything but him.

You wish you could feel him wholly: feel his firm, bare body against yours, feel the sparse hair that covers his thighs and trails low over his belly, feel sweat collect where your body is joined as he moves above you - but you’ll take what you can get, in this room in the middle of nowhere, in this bed you were forced to share.

“I knew you would feel this good,” he says lowly, his eyes closing with a frown. “I knew it.”

He’s been thinking about it for ages, waking up hard night after night, finding relief in his hand when he gets a moment alone and now that he has you, he can’t stop himself from going harder, deeper. The damp heat of your mouth rests just under his jaw, your gasps reaching his ears like the sweetest sound he’s ever heard and it makes him swell even more inside you; a bright flare of heat gathering at the base of his spine.

You hook your ankles higher on his back, your hands bracing themselves on the mattress to help you force the angle just right and his hips are a rhythmic pound against the inside of your thighs, his jaw clenching with effort. He switches into a grind the wetter you get, his hand coming up to cup your chin and force your mouth to meet his, and your fingers dig into the meat of his forearm, holding on.

Black skates around the edges of your vision, his scent and his sounds and his weight and strokes and thickness consuming you, and you just like in the shadowed blur of your dreams, you can’t say anything. Instead your body matches his need: your fingers gripping him in their desperate hold, your heels digging into the back of his thighs to push him deeper, your mouth memorizing his taste.

He was never a man of words to begin with, but they have all left him now, and he chases the flutter he feels around him, stoking it until you’re all but gasping underneath him in your breathless warning. He wants to hear you say it just like you do in his dreams and as if you can read his mind, you do.

“Joel,” you cry out, your lips brushing against his. “I’m – you feel too good, I –”

His hand drifts down to hold your hip, and he picks up his pace.

Your fingers twist in his flannel, hanging on as he tips you right over the edge and the frozen, taut lock of your body underneath him makes him spill his own release; some inside, some along the curve of your ass when he tries to pull out. He twitches against you, his cock a wet smear along your skin and even though you can feel him try to immediately pull back, you hang on tight to him, forcing him to stay close.

He’s breathing heavily and so are you, your eyes locked on each other.

He doesn’t know what to say. He shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have encouraged it, shouldn’t have taken advantage of your sleep muddled need and just when he’s about to open his mouth, you beat him to speaking.

A smile curls at the edge of your lips and his eyes drop to watch; he can never look away from your mouth.

“Thank god for one bed.”

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #joel miller smut #joel miller the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic

7K notes · View notes

alnilaem · 10 months ago

Note

HELLO HELLO HI!!! just read your butcher!simon and i’m. in LOVE??? maybe you could continue about reader like. keeps running into him at the Worst Times (running late going somewhere looking like shit, barely awake or crying in the elevator idk LOL) and he’s just like 🤨🤨??? OR reader tries to make small talk with him since they usually get off work at the same time but simon being simon he’s just like. hm. or grunts HE’S TRYING! BUT HE’S JUST a bit socially inept… oRRR reader bakes and had some leftovers and decides to give extras to simon and he’s like. Okay . and pretends that he’s not amused but secretly loves it SO CUTE AAGHH can’t think of anything else but penny for your thoughts? teehee LOVE YOUR WORKKK

ARGHHHH socially inept butcher!simon is so cute. i wanna build a shrinking machine and zap him with it and fossilise him in amber <3

Dusk has eclipsed Manchester, draping a greyscale blanket over the city by the time you enter the laundry room with a hamper tucked under your arm.

That was fifteen minutes ago. And since then, you’ve been trying to get the damn washing machine to work.

It’s an old hunk of junk. Repurposed scrap metal with duct tape lining its corners and a dog-eared note hanging above it, reading, Do Not Overload! in crude writing.

You bend your thumb into the start button for the umpteenth time, but it’s fruitless. The feeble machine rumbles to life, sputtering, then has its embers killed as it fails to continue running.

You angrily huff. Your eye bags are as laden as your muscles, heavy and weighed down with the stress of everything piling up. Job hunting; the constant maintenance your neglected flat needs; the abrasive attitude of your new neighbours.

Fleetingly, you consider moving back home. But before the rumination snatches you, you snuff it out with a swift, irritable kick to the drywall next to you, your toes bending with the impact, the pain crawling up your marrow.

“Bit uncalled for, don’t you think?” Chimes from behind you, and you swirl around, coming face-to-mask with Simon. You hope he can’t see your dewy waterline.

“Don’t believe that wall ever did nothin’ to ya,” he tacks on.

The cellophane of the plastic bag he holds—which you presume carries his laundry—crinkles as he clenches his hand. He’s swathed in sweatpants and a compression shirt, slick with a wisp of sweat, and lets his curls sit freely, its tint somewhere on the threshold between rustic cocoa and gilded blonde.

Simon’s words belatedly catch up to you. You heed his attempt at a playful inflection, unsure if it was meant for you or for him, and flush when you see how expectantly, and bluntly, he’s eyeing you.

You listlessly gesture to the washing machine. “It isn’t working.”

His grunt is prefatory. Simon walks towards the machine, poises a fist over it, and brings his hand down on it in three, sparse punches.

The machine coughs out exhaust, then burgeons into a smooth run.

“Not broken,” Simon grumbles, his words barely lucid beneath his Manchester lilt, “just fucking old.”

“I see,” you mumble, “thanks.”

Simon steps back and begins unloading his own laundry. He stuffs wads of clothing, all imbued with blood and the scent of meat, into another machine.

A pinprick of gluttony tugs your stomach. To say something, anything, to keep the conversation warm.

“The mask…” you begin, “is the black mold in your flat that bad?”

Simon turns to you, his eyes deadpan. It sends icy humiliation up your spine, leaving you pettish.

The hum of the washing machine loosely offsets the thick embarrassment in the room. Loud and tinny.

Beneath the rumble, however, a small, barely-there chuckle crosses Simon’s tongue. “Ha,” he says. It’s charitable at worst and genuine at best.

“… I should go… while my clothes’re washing,” you mumble, your cheeks hot with embarrassment.”

You’re past the threshold, stepping into the corridor, when Simon calls after you.

Your lungs stutter and stop. You want him to ask for your number, ask you out to lunch some time, but when you turn around, you feel like you’re falling.

An ornamental pair of panties dangle from Simon’s forefinger. It’s lacy, gauzy, and should be lying on the floor of your flat.

You burn a searing molten as you snatch it from his hands, mortified, and sprint towards the lift.

You turned around before you could see it. A caper in Simon’s eye, the barest implication to something more than a maladroit interaction: an amused, titillating smirk beneath his mask.

#simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #cod mw2 #butcher!simon #ghost writing #orion writing

1K notes · View notes

strwbwrrybunny · 4 months ago

Text

cherry hill. eren j. 11k.

cw 𐙚 nsfw link, plug! eren, long plot,cannabis consumption, lots of angst, little bit of domestic violence by readers bf, ony, armin and connie cameo, car sex, toxic-ish reader, black reader, spanking, toe-sucking, oral, size difference, dirty talk, cream-pie, creaming, multiple orgasms, cervix kissing, pet names, thumb in ass, fluff at the end, lowercase intended! or in which you and your best friend do the dirty. . . minors shoo!

a/n𐙚 just wanna say, i love eren and i worked really hard on this so if you enjoy please like, comment or reblog:)

“i know you wanna tell me, so just say it.”

you soak in his words, eyes staring at the pink hello kitty rolling tray, fingers slowing as they work on the blunt-in-progress. you were more of a let someone else roll girl, but you were trying to get better. the tray, with its playful design, contrasts sharply with the intensity of the moment. each curve and line of the hello kitty image seems to mock your fumbling fingers, but you persist. the rolling paper crinkles slightly under your touch, the scent of fresh herbs filling the air.

you can feel his gaze on you, a mixture of amusement and patience, as you try to perfect the roll. the blunt takes shape slowly, each twist and tuck a testament to your determination. envy bubbles up inside you as you think about how his always come out so flawlessly—stuffed to perfection, smooth, and not a single piece of weed dropped. you blame it on his big ass hands; there's so much you can do with big hands. his fingers, adept and confident, always seem to mold the tobacco leaves with an ease that leaves you in awe.

“so?”

oh yeah, back to his question. you shift in your seat, eyes now on your manicured feet propped against the dashboard of the camaro. the soft hum of the car's engine fills the silence, and you can feel the tension building. you don’t know if you should say anything; you know how eren gets. he’s a hothead, you’ve known that ever since you first laid eyes on him in kindergarten. ha, who knew a six-year-old had the strength to break a grown man’s nose? the memory brings a small, amused smile to your lips, but it quickly fades as you consider how to respond.

“"ʚ♡ɞ.” annoyance laces his voice,he hates when you get cagey like this.

“it’s nothing.” he knows you’re lying, the way you’re focusing immensely on your toes. the dim light from the dashboard illuminates your face as you stare at your feet, making it clear you’re avoiding eye contact. he admits they’re pretty, but not that damn interesting. he already knows that you and your boyfriend got into a nasty fight, maybe the nastiest yet. but, he wants to hear it from your mouth. he eyes the bruise on your arm, his jaw clenches. the sight of it makes his blood boil, he’d already pistol whipped that hoe once; he doesn’t mind doing it again. the tension in the car is palpable, every second stretching out as he waits for you to open up.

you can feel his gaze now burning into you, the weight of his concern pressing down on you. the silence in the car is deafening, broken only by the occasional hum of the engine. you know he’s waiting for you to say something, anything, but the words are caught in your throat. you take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “it’s just... things got out of hand,” you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

he doesn’t say anything, but you can see the anger simmering beneath the surface. his grip on the steering wheel tightens, his knuckles turning white. “out of hand?” he repeats, his voice low and dangerous. “that doesn’t explain the bruise on your arm.” you flinch at his words, the reminder of the fight sending a fresh wave of pain through you. you know he’s right, but you don’t want to admit it. you don’t want to admit that your boyfriend hurt you, that you let it happen.

the car feels like a pressure cooker, the tension building with each passing second. you can see the muscles in his jaw working, the effort it’s taking him to stay calm. “look,” he says finally, his voice tight with barely controlled rage. “you don’t have to protect him. if he’s hurting you, you need to tell me.” you can hear the desperation in his voice, the need to protect you. it’s almost enough to make you break down, to spill everything. but you hold back, the fear of what might happen if you do keeping you silent.

"well, i broke up with him, so, it’s . . . nothing.” you turn your attention back to the blunt. he hums. “for real this time?” you nod, feeling the weight of the decision settle in. you’re so tired of dealing with that manipulative nigga. every interaction with him felt like walking on eggshells, constantly trying to avoid triggering another argument. you don’t even know how the latest argument started, something about eren. it was always something about eren. he hated him, convinced that men and women couldn't just be friends. every time you mentioned eren, his face would darken with suspicion. he always accused you of being too close to eren, implying you were more than friends.

you’d thought about doing something just to spite him, to prove a point, but deep down, you knew you could never go through with it. the thought of jeopardizing your friendship with eren was unbearable. eren had been there for you through thick and thin, a constant source of support and understanding. losing him as a friend was a risk you weren't willing to take. the bond you shared with eren was one of the few stable things in your life, and you valued it more than anything.

as you sit there, you feel a mix of relief and sadness. relief that you finally took a step towards freeing yourself from a toxic relationship, but sadness for the time and energy wasted. you take a deep breath and exhale slowly, trying to let go of the lingering tension. maybe now, you can start to heal and focus on the relationships that truly matter to you.

“you got a light?” you ask, finishing up. eren sucks his teeth. “girl, y’know i always got a lighter.” he leans over, reaching past your legs and popping open the glove compartment. your skin tingles as he brushes you, and you pull your legs down, tucking them underneath you. a smile tugs at your lips when you see the hello kitty lighter. it’s comical seeing his tough, drug-dealing self carrying around such a girly lighter. he thinks it’s cute. it reminds him of you. he also always makes sure to put your weed in a hello kitty package, loving the way your eyes always lit up when he handed it to you.

“wanna do the honors?” you pass the misshapen mess to him. “you’re dead wrong—y’know what, never mind. i’d love to.” he holds the lighter in his hand, and your eyes glisten as you watch the end burn orange as he inhales. almost immediately, you’re reaching for it, and he chuckles at your neediness. it’d been a while since you last smoked, admittedly, you were trying to stop. but, life was life-ing and you needed it. joyfully, you wrap your glossy lips around the blunt, inhaling the white tendrils of burning toxins. the foggy smoke splashes onto your teeth and slips into your dark eyes. the sweet substance fills your lungs, and you exhale your relief in a cloud of grey smoke. it swirls upwards like a mist, devouring everything in its delicately deadly path before curling into nothingness.

eren watches you with a mix of amusement and something else, something softer. “you always look so peaceful when you smoke,” he says, his voice low and thoughtful. you glance at him, your eyes slightly glazed but filled with gratitude. “it’s my escape,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “sometimes, it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

he nods, understanding. “i get it. everyone needs an escape.” he takes another drag, the end of the blunt glowing brightly in the dim light of the car. you both sit in comfortable silence, sharing the moment, the smoke, and the unspoken bond that ties you together. in this small, hazy world, everything feels right, if only for a little while.

"i hate when you wear lipgloss, makes the blunt sticky as hell," eren states as he grabs the blunt from you. "a girl's gotta look pretty when meeting her plug," you joke, pearly whites gleaming. and pretty you are. he would never admit it, but he admired the fuck out of you—the way your brown skin always seemed to shimmer, the way you always smelled so damn good, even the way you laughed—it was ugly as hell but he loved it.

"you don’t need makeup to look pretty," he says, ignoring the way his dick twitches in his pants as your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. "i know, but i feel better when i do it." you run your hands through the silky strands; his hair is so damn shiny. you wonder what his secret is. you can’t help but run the dead ends between your fingers, this long, beautiful ass hair and he refuses to keep up with it. he mostly keeps his hair in a bun, but for you, he wears it down because he knows you like playing in it. he doesn’t mind; it actually feels good.

he’s gone home with cornrows more times than he can count, and he always thought they looked ridiculous on his white ass, no matter how much you assured him they looked good. "you need a trim; i got you tomorrow after class." he only nods and puffs the blunt. he looks so beautiful—inked arm resting on his lap, sharp jaw clenched as he inhales. you know it’s weird to look at him this way, but you can’t help it. he’s eye candy; it’s okay to look . . . right?

the faint scent of mango from his air freshener fills your nose, your favorite. you take yet another drag from the joint, the tip glowing bright orange once again, then passing it to eren. “lord," eren starts, taking a hit and exhaling slowly, "remember that time you greened out at my place?"

a smile pulls at your lips, how could you forget? your stomach hurt for like three days straight, you had to call out of work and class. "oh god, don't remind me! that was so embarrassing."

"nah, it was hilarious," he replies, boyish grin on his face. "you were convinced the couch was swallowing you whole. you kept yelling, 'help, it's got me!'"

you couldn’t help but giggle, pushing at his shoulder, his stocky build didn’t move but it was worth a shot. "stop it! i can't believe i did that."

"and then," he continued, chuckling, "you tried to call 911, but you forgot how to use your phone. you were like, 'why isn't it working?' and i had to take it away before you actually called them."

you wiped tears from your eyes, still giggling. shit, you were gonna mess your makeup up. damn eren, and his talent to always make you laugh. ”stoppp,” you whine, crossing your arms over you chest and jutting your lip out.

he smiles, enjoying the sight of you so carefree. "okay, okay, i'll quit. but seriously, that was one for the books. i've never seen anyone freak out over a couch before."

you shook your head, still smiling. "you're ridiculous," you picked at your chipped acrylic nail, "but that's why i love hanging out with you. you always know how to make me laugh." eren’s smile widens, taking another hit before passing the joint back to you. "well, someone has to keep things interesting," he says. "and besides, what's life without a little laughter?"

“mhm,” is all you get out before your glossy lips wrap back around the blunt. you could feel those intrusive green eyes on you, he couldn’t help but admire your pretty ass. perfect makeup dewy and light with faux freckles sprinkled across your nose, wispy lashes framing your upturned eyes, those juicy lips pulled into a half-smile. you’d recently cut your hair into a bob, and he loved it so much. he wanted to run his fingers through your silk press but remembered the last time he’d done that, you’d punched him in the face. "never touch a black girl's hair," is what you’d said.

you’re little as hell compared to him, but you pack a serious punch. he swore his eye randomly twitched for two weeks after that. his eyes trailed down. you were still in your gym clothes, him having pulled up right after you got home. it was hard to ignore the way his heart had skipped when he saw you wearing that cherry red matching set, the shirt clinging to you perfectly, showcasing every curve. your ass jiggled as you ran to his car in those tight-ass pants, every hip dip, every dent in your round ass visible. you’re so damn pretty, he could stare at you all day.

the way your body moved, the way you carried yourself with confidence and grace, it was mesmerizing. he watched as you took another drag, your lips wrapping around the blunt with a casual elegance that drove him wild. your eyes met his for a brief moment, and he felt a jolt of electricity shoot through him.

"stare any longer and i’ll charge you, jaeger." he snorts at this but pulls his gaze away. he clicks the power button on his phone and sees it’s approaching midnight. you’d been with him for half an hour, yet it had only seemed like a few minutes. you had that effect—time seemed to fly by when he was with you, and he hated it. eren knew you had classes in the morning and would probably be heading back to the apartment you shared with sasha soon. she hated when the two of you smoked inside, so naturally, you’d resorted to hotboxing in eren’s modded-out camaro.

"shut up," he mumbles, cracking a window to let some smoke out. you watch as it collides with the night air and dissipates. "fuck, i’m so tired. today was leg day—squats and the stair master killed the fuck outta my me." you puff, hands massaging your sore thighs. he wishes those were his hands. "since when are you such a gym rat?" eren looks amused, sticking the tip of the fat blunt out of the window and ashing it. "m’ don’t know. trying to stay consistent. not everyone can be built like a greek statue naturally," he laughs as you glare at him.

"what can i say? i just hit the gene jackpot." he’s got that right—he’s so damn pretty. you’re actually jealous of the way his lashes are naturally long and kiss his rosy cheeks. this time, it’s you who’s staring. you’d been refraining all night, but the way he’s rocking that black T and black denim jeans with brown nike dunks definitely made you look twice. the ink beautifully sits on his skin, his scent overwhelming.

"well, catch me in a couple of months—my body will be so t." a smile plays on your lips. "oh it's not t now?" he rests back in his seat. pulling down the visor, you start checking your makeup, choosing to ignore his comment. bloodshot brown eyes stare back at you, and you’re unsure if it’s from tiredness or the weed, maybe even both. you didn’t even realize how sleepy you were until now, the warmth of a hot shower beckoning you.

"mmm, i’m so sleepy. should probably get inside." a soft yawn escapes your lips as you stretch your limbs, feeling the tension ease away. "i know, you need your beauty rest. can i have a hug before you go?" eren pokes his lip out, and you giggle, finding it amusing that this six-foot-four man is pouting like a little girl. he knows it’s hard for you to say no to him. "fine," you mutter, rolling your eyes playfully.

you grab your hello kitty tray, the cute design always bringing a smile to your face, and slip your crocs back on, their familiar comfort grounding you. smoke billows into the night air as you push open the door, the humid air a stark contrast to the coolness inside the car. you walk around the car to where eren is already waiting for you, his tall frame silhouetted against the dim streetlights.

his embrace is warm and comforting, enveloping you in a sense of security. he smells so good, a mix of cologne and something uniquely him, and he notices that you do too, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he holds you close. you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest.

after a few moments, you attempt pull away. "i really should get inside," you say, your brown eyes meeting his lighter ones. he nods, understanding but not letting go just yet. "noo, jus’ one more minute," he murmurs, pulling you back into his arms. you giggle and close your eyes, savoring the warmth and comfort of his hug. you don’t know what’s up with his clingy behavior lately, but you don’t mind. it feels nice to be appreciated for once in your sad life.

he finds it hard to restrain himself as your ass sways with each step you take away from him. god, you’re so thick that it drives him absolutely crazy. he can’t help but imagine sitting between those luscious legs as you trim his hair tomorrow, the thought sending shivers down his spine. he watches intently, waiting until you’re all the way inside the house before he finally hops back into the cool car. what is he gonna do about you?

eren is pissed at you, more pissed than he’d probably ever been with you. you told him you were done with jean, yet here you are on his snapchat story. he couldn’t see your face, but he knows it’s you from your hair. it stung knowing you’d lied straight to his face last night. he clenched his fist so hard he drew blood. did you take him as a joke? were you that fucking dumb to let yourself be manipulated into jean's arms again? the thought made his blood boil. in a fit of rage, he pushed connie’s arm, which was holding the phone showcasing the snapchat story, sending the device flying.

eren’s mind raced with a mix of anger and betrayal, unable to comprehend how you could do this to him. he felt a storm of emotions brewing inside him, each one more intense than the last. he had trusted you, believed in you, and now, seeing you with jean again, felt like a dagger to his heart. his stormy green eyes, usually so full of determination, were now clouded with hurt and fury. his warm olive skin seemed to flush darker as his anger flared, veins pulsing visibly against his clenched fists.

he remembered the conversation from last night vividly. you had looked him in the eye, your voice steady, promising that you were done with jean. he had believed you, letting a small glimmer of hope spark in his chest. but now, that hope was crushed, replaced by a seething rage. he couldn't understand why you would lie to him, why you would go back to jean after everything.

eren’s thoughts spiraled further into darkness. did you think he was a fool? did you think he wouldn’t find out? he felt the sting of betrayal deep in his gut, twisting like a knife. his mind replayed the moment he saw the story, the recognition of your hair, the undeniable proof of your deceit. every second felt like an eternity as he stood there, grappling with the overwhelming emotions.

he wanted to confront you, to demand answers, but he also knew that in his current state, he might say something he’d regret. the pain and anger were too raw, too consuming. he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the image of you with jean kept flashing in his mind, fueling his rage. the room around him seemed to blur as his focus narrowed on the betrayal he felt.

eren knew he needed to calm down, to think rationally, but it was nearly impossible with the torrent of emotions raging inside him. he couldn’t shake the feeling of being made a fool, of being played. he had always prided himself on his strength, his ability to see through lies, but now he felt vulnerable, exposed. the trust he had placed in you felt like a weight dragging him down, suffocating him.

he looked at connie, who was now staring at him with wide eyes, clearly taken aback by eren’s sudden outburst. but eren couldn’t bring himself to care. all he could think about was you, and the betrayal he felt so deeply. he needed to confront you, to get to the bottom of this, but he also knew that he needed to calm down first. taking another deep breath, he tried to steady his racing heart, but the anger and hurt were still there, simmering just beneath the surface.

“eren, you need to calm the fuck down.” connie’s tone was serious, a stark contrast to his usually laid-back demeanor. eren, normally so composed, was pacing the room like a caged animal, his face a mask of frustration and pain. connie could see the turmoil in his friend’s eyes, the way he was lashing out because he was hurt. he knew eren loved you, even if eren himself refused to admit it.

connie didn’t understand why eren kept his feelings bottled up. it was stupid, like some high school drama. he watched as eren grabbed the things you’d left behind and tossed them into the trashcan with more force than necessary. connie, was speaking but all eren could hear was his thundering heartbeat.

his mind was a whirlwind of emotions, and he knew he had to confront you, but he needed to do it without losing control. he stormed out of the room, leaving connie behind. he made his way to your place, each step fueled by the anger and hurt he felt.

when eren arrived, he didn't bother knocking. he shoved the door open with a force that echoed through the room, and there you were, sitting on the couch, looking up in surprise. the sight of you, so calm and unaware of the storm brewing inside him, only fueled his anger further.

"eren, what's wrong?" you asked, concern etched on your face as you stood up, your heart pounding with a mix of fear and confusion.

he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but his voice shook with emotion. "why did you lie to me?" he demanded, his eyes burning with hurt. "you said you were done with jean, but there you were, on his story.

your eyes widened in shock, and you quickly took a step forward, your heart pounding. "eren, it's not what you think," you began, but he cut you off, his voice rising with a mix of rage and desperation.

"then what is it?" he snapped, his words dripping with sarcasm and pain. "because it sure looks like you went back to him."

you took a step closer, reaching out to him, but he stepped back, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and pain. "eren, please, listen to me. i didn't go back to jean. i was just talking to him, trying to clear things up." you stressed, it hurt you that eren was hurting. but, you had no one to blame but yourself.

"clear things up?" eren repeated, his tone bitter and disbelieving. he scoffed and his tongue against his cheek, god, he’d never hated anyone like he hated you right now. "and you couldn't tell me that? you couldn't trust me enough to let me know?"

"eren, i didn't want to upset you," you said softly, tears welling up in your eyes. "i thought i could handle it on my own."

his face contorted with rage and heartbreak. "you always think you can handle everything on your own," he shouted, his voice breaking with the weight of his emotions. "but you never think about how it affects me! you never think about how much it hurts me to see you with him!"

"eren, i—" you started, but he cut you off again, his voice filled with raw pain.

"i love you, damn it!" he confessed angrily, the words tearing through the air like a storm. "and you just keep running back to the men who hurt you, instead of the ones who want the best for you. you're a stupid, selfish bitch!" his words cut through you like a knife, and you could feel your heart shattering.

you tried to reach out to him, to touch him, but he slapped your hand away, his eyes filled with tears. "don't touch me," he said, his voice cracking. "you're done with me. we're done."

you could only watch through tear-filled eyes as eren turned and walked out of your life, the sound of the door slamming behind him echoing like a final, devastating blow.

the days that followed were a blur of agony and tears. you cried until you couldn't cry anymore, the pain of losing eren too much to bear. he didn't come over, didn't show up when all of your shared friends hung out. he'd blocked your number, cutting off all contact. the hurt was overwhelming, and you felt like a part of you had been ripped away, leaving a gaping hole that nothing could fill.

the days turned into weeks, and the pain lingered like a dark cloud over your life. you tried to distract yourself with work, with class, with anything that could take your mind off eren, but nothing worked. every little thing reminded you of him—the scent of his cologne that still lingered on your clothes, the way he used sit patiently while you practiced braiding on him.

you found solace in small things, like the comfort of your hello kitty tray that eren had given you as a gift. it brought back memories of happier times, when you both would sit together, sharing meals and laughter. the scent of cigar smoke, which you once found annoying, now brought a strange sense of comfort, reminding you of the nights you spent together, talking about everything and nothing.

you even found yourself wearing your crocs more often, a gift from eren that you used to tease him about. now, they were a reminder of his thoughtfulness, of how he always wanted you to be comfortable.

but the nights were the hardest. lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, you couldn't escape the memories. the way eren used to hold you close, his arms wrapped around you, providing a sense of security and warmth that you now desperately missed. you longed for his touch, for the reassurance that everything would be okay. but he was gone, and you were left to navigate the darkness on your own.

sasha couldn't stand seeing you in such a slump. with a gentle touch, she stroked your hair, brushing back the tears that had been silently streaming down your cheeks. "if eren's shutting you out like this, maybe it's for the best," she said softly, her voice a mix of concern and tenderness. she shifted slightly, her legs dangling off the edge of the bed, creating a comforting presence beside you. "we're all going to see a drive-in movie tonight. you should come. i think it would be good for you," she added, her eyes filled with a genuine hope that you would find some solace in the company of friends.

her words lingered in the air, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. maybe sasha was right. it hurt to not have eren here, the absence gnawing at your heart, but you couldn't keep living in this shadow of sadness. the thought of being surrounded by friends, the comfort of the open night sky, and the distraction of a good movie seemed like a small step towards healing. sasha's presence was reassuring, a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions.

you took a deep, shaky breath, feeling the weight of your sorrow start to lift, if only just a little. the idea of a night out, filled with laughter and companionship, seemed like a lifeline. sasha's hand remained on your shoulder, a silent promise that you weren't alone in this. with a tentative smile, you nodded, deciding to take that first step towards reclaiming your happiness.

“yay, that’s the spirit! i’ll tell everyone you’re coming. they’ve missed you,” sasha squealed excitedly. “we’re leaving in like an hour, i gotta go get ready!” she slipped out of your room and shut the door behind her, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

tossing the covers from your body, you slid your feet into your teddy bear slippers and made your way to your vanity. the light was bright and harsh on your eyes, and you had to blink a couple of times to adjust. how you felt was the epitome of your outside appearance: puffy eyes, dry skin, chapped lips. you looked terrible, and you couldn’t believe you’d let yourself go so much in the span of a couple of weeks. “alexa, play ‘more than a woman’ by bee gees,” you said, beginning to get to work.

pushing your hair back with a fluffy pink bath headband, you slowly went through your makeup routine, finding the familiarity of it all comforting. it’d been about thirty minutes, and you were finishing up, just needing to draw your freckles on and do your lip combo. you were surprised your makeup had come out so well, seeing as you hadn’t done it in a while. but as you stared at the clean, smooth base in the white wooden vanity mirror, you were pleasantly surprised.

you were currently lining your plump lips with brown, smudging the liner a bit with your ring finger for an ombré effect. you just had to straighten your hair and find something to wear, then you’d finally be done. you couldn’t help but feel a wave of anxiousness wash over you. what if eren was there? you didn’t think you could be in his presence without breaking down. you’d heard he’d gotten a girlfriend—how could you not? sasha was always so damn loud, and the walls in this place were thin as hell. you weren’t jealous, but the thought of seeing him with someone else made your stomach churn.

you took a deep breath and reminded yourself that tonight was about having fun and reconnecting with friends.

you’d finished with your hair, meticulously pressing each strand until it fell just right. satisfied with your reflection, you turned your attention to your closet, pushing aside hangers and rifling through a sea of fabrics. after a few moments of contemplation, you settled on a red sleeveless cropped shirt, the bold "miller genuine draft" logo emblazoned in white letters across the front. it was eye-catching and edgy, exactly the vibe you were going for. you paired it with low-waisted denim jean shorts that hugged your curves and accentuated your figure perfectly. to complete the look, you slipped into a pair of black knee-high platform boots that added a few inches to your height and a lot of attitude to your ensemble. it was simple but still stylish. look good, feel good, right?

“sasha! you ready?” you called out, grabbing your bottle of victoria’s secret ‘bombshell’ perfume and giving yourself a generous spritz. the familiar scent enveloped you, adding a final touch of confidence.

“yep—you look hot,” sasha replied as she entered the room. her brown hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail, showcasing her delicate features. she wore a cropped black shirt that highlighted her toned midriff, paired with crisp blue skinny jeans that fit her like a second skin. thigh-high boots clung to her legs, adding a touch of drama to her outfit.

“thanks, sash, you look hot too. connie will be drooling,” you teased, noticing the faint blush that spread across her cheeks as you winked at her. she thought you didn’t know about her and connie hooking up, but once again the walls in this place were like paper, and secrets didn’t stay hidden for long.

“you ready?” you asked, grabbing your phone and bag, feeling a rush of excitement for the night ahead.

“sure am,” sasha said with a grin, hooking her arm through yours. together, you made your way out, ready to take on whatever the night had in store. the air was electric with anticipation, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of exhilaration as you stepped into the night, your friend by your side.

the air is warm, and there's a gentle breeze that makes the evening feel perfect. the sun is beginning to set, casting a golden hue across the horizon, and the sky is painted with shades of orange, pink, and purple. as the light fades, the large screen at the drive-in movie theater becomes more prominent, ready to transport its audience into the eerie world of the classic horror movie, "it."

cars are lined up in neat rows, their occupants settling in with blankets and pillows, creating cozy nests in the backs of their vehicles. some have even brought lawn chairs, spreading them out under the open sky. the chatter of excited moviegoers fills the air, a mix of laughter and anticipation as everyone gets ready for the show.

mosquitoes are out in full force, buzzing around annoyingly. thankfully, you remembered to bring bug spray, and you take a moment to apply it liberally, ensuring you can enjoy the night without constant swatting. the faint smell of the spray mingles with the more pleasant aromas wafting through the air.

the scent of freshly popped popcorn is unmistakable, its buttery goodness making your mouth water. nearby, the sweet, sticky aroma of candy apples tempts your senses, reminding you of childhood fairs and carnivals. funnel cakes, with their crispy edges and dusting of powdered sugar, add to the olfactory delight, and you can almost taste the sweetness in the air. various other delicious sweet snacks are also available, from cotton candy to caramel corn, each scent blending into a symphony of indulgence.

"can you believe this shitty ass popcorn was twenty dollars? could’ve brought my own shit." ony sucks his teeth as he plops down in the back of armin’s ford truck. armin laughs, shrugging his shoulder at his friend. "should’ve gotten funnel cake, you can never go wrong with funnel cake," he says, mouth full of the delicious sweet treat. ony puffs, peering over at the familiar blue honda, a grin spreading across his face. "i know that ain’t, ʚ♡ɞ!" he shouts excitedly.

he hasn’t seen you in weeks. shit, the only person that had is sasha and even she wouldn’t give much intel on you. you can feel the stares of your friends as you get out, feeling terrible for just disappearing without an explanation but you’d needed time to yourself. you were sure they were caught in the loop of all that had happened between you and eren.

"hi guys," you smile, waving. immediately armin and ony are encasing you in a tight hug, sasha joining in. you giggle, enjoying the moment. "we missed you! how dare you leave me alone with these two idiots," armin jokes. they finally pull away, ony finding his place back in the truck and stealing some of armin’s funnel cake. "m’sorry, just been going through some things." armin nods, he knows.

"y’know i'm always here for you, right?" he says softly. you nod, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt as your anxiety creeps in.

"okay good," armin gives your shoulder a squeeze before he finds his way back to his truck.

"where’s connie?" you peer over at sasha, she looks worried as her fingers tap furiously on the screen. "um, he should be here any second i-" she’s cut off as the sound of a familiar engine rumbles through the air.

you freeze. it’s him. he’s here. your heart thunders in your chest, each beat echoing louder than the last. a wave of nausea hits you so hard you almost want to throw up. everyone is looking at you, or at least it feels that way, and you can feel the walls closing in. the world seems to narrow, and you have to grip the roof of your car to steady yourself as your legs threaten to give out beneath you.

"ʚ♡ɞ, just breathe, okay? i didn’t know he was coming until the last second, i promise," sasha says, her voice a soothing balm against the chaos inside you. she rubs your back in slow, comforting circles, her touch grounding you in the present moment. her breath of relief is almost palpable as your breathing begins to slow, the tightness in your chest easing just a bit.

you take a deep breath, letting the cool evening air fill your lungs, and try to focus on the familiar scent of popcorn lingering in the air. it reminds you of simpler times, and the scent is oddly comforting. the noise of the drive-in theater fades into the background as you concentrate on sasha’s voice and the steady rhythm of her hand on your back. gradually, the panic subsides, you can just avoid him . . . right?

“yooo, "ʚ♡ long time no see.” connie cheeses as he steps out of the camaro you’d been in countless times before, yet it all seemed so unfamiliar now. you could feel his eyes on you, but you couldn’t see him as he hid behind that five percent dark tint.

“hi constanceee,” you tease, giggling as his face pulls into a scrunch at the use of his full name. he pulls you into a hug, it’s friendly and warm. “and don’t be throwing out my government, girl,” connie says, pushing your temple with his pointer finger as he pulls away. you laugh, putting your hands up, “whatever you sayyy. you look nice.” you hum, noticing his outfit—a white longed sleeved shirt under a black thrasher shirt, baggy jeans hanging low around his hips topped off with a pair of scuffed-up converse.

if ’stoner skater boy’ was a person, it’d be connie. he smiles at your compliment, “you don’t look too shabby yourself.” he nudges your shoulder. “thanks, connie.” you murmur, swiping a strand of hair behind your ear. “stealing my man?” sasha pops her head into the conversation, you roll your eyes with a smile. “he’s all yours.” you giggle, watching as the cute pair hook arms. this was the most touchy you’d ever seen them; you wondered if they were dating now.

as the sun dips below the horizon, the sky darkens, and the first stars begin to twinkle. the screen flickers to life, and the familiar, haunting music of "it" begins to play. the audience quiets down, the atmosphere shifting from festive to tense as the story unfolds. the glow from the screen casts eerie shadows across the rows of cars, adding to the spooky ambiance.

unfortunately, you were third wheeling. you were in the back seat of your own car, feeling a bit out of place as connie and sasha whispered and giggled in the front. you try to focus on the movie, but your mind keeps drifting back to the way things used to be, before everything got so complicated. eren still hasn’t showed, and you wonder if he’s with his girlfriend. you want to ask connie but your pride doesn’t let you, you sink into your seat as the two start to kiss.

“I’m gonna get a drink.” you curl your lips inwards, unsure if they even heard you over the sound of their lips smacking together. must be nice. you push open the car door and stand to your feet, stretching your sore limbs. the back of your honda was not comfortable in the slightest bit. eren is parked right beside you, and the urge to open his passenger door is strong, but you resist and walk past with your head down. your throat burns as you fight back tears.

suddenly, you’re flat on your ass, grass poking into your thighs. you look up to see eren standing over you, his expression unreadable as he stares down at you. he looks so fucking good, his long hair pulled back into a messy low bun, strands framing his stoic face. he’s wearing a black shirt with a design printed on the front, and it’s hard to ignore the way his inked muscles stretch around the fabric. a pair of khaki loose jeans hang around his hips, paired with chunky converse. he’s wearing a gold bracelet, the one you’d given him. you want to say something, anything, but your mouth is dry and you can hardly think with the way your heart is beating.

he extends a hand to you, and you hesitate for a second before grabbing it. his touch is warm and familiar, and you can’t resist as you pull him into a hug. his arms don’t wrap around you, but you don’t care. the waterworks start up and you’re fully ugly crying as you bury your face into his shirt. the familiar scent of him makes you cry even louder.

“e-eren,” you hiccup, “p-please l-let me talk to you.” you beg, your voice desperate but you don’t care. you need to explain yourself. eren was still pissed at you, no doubt about it. but seeing you so vulnerable, begging for him to talk to you, pulled at his heartstrings. his heart and mind were at battle on what to do. part of him wanted to walk away, get in his car, and drive away. but the other part wanted to embrace you, wipe your tears away, and tell you it’s gonna be okay.

“please don’t cry, we . . . can talk. just stop crying,” he finally murmurs.

you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "i didn't mean to hurt you," you whisper, your voice trembling. "i miss you, eren. i miss us. i can't stand the thought of losing you." your words are rushed, desperate, as if saying them faster will make them more true. eren's eyes soften for a moment, and you think you see a flicker of the old eren, the one who would hold you close and tell you everything would be alright.

he finally wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer. the warmth of his embrace is overwhelming, a stark contrast to the cold emptiness you've felt without him. you inhale deeply, the scent of his cologne mixed with a faint hint of cigar smoke filling your senses. it's a smell that brings back so many memories, both good and bad. you cling to him, your fingers digging into his back as if you're afraid he'll disappear if you let go. he’s missed this more than he wants to admit, you look so damn pretty. he’s missed the fuck outta your face, your smile. you’re wearing these tight short denim jeans and he wants to grab a handful of your ass and knead it between his fingers.

"i'm sorry," you sob, your voice muffled against his chest. "i know i messed up, but i need you. i can't do this without you." eren's grip tightens, and you feel a glimmer of hope. maybe, just maybe, things can go back to the way they were.

“i-,” eren starts but his words catch in his throat. he takes a deep breath, “we can talk in my car.” he finally says, pulling away from you. he leads you back to his car, opening the door for you. your heart races as you slide into the seat, eren popping open his door and sliding in. it’s quiet for a few moments before eren speaks up. “so explain, why did you go back to jean?” he asks, trying to push down the rage that’s bubbling inside of him.

you sigh, running a hand through your hair, “i didn’t fuck him, i really just went over there to get some things and clear the air.” you try to keep your voice steady as you speak. “he took that picture and posted it to make it seem like we were back together. he fucking knew it’d get to you.” you ramble, tears falling from your eyes. you hate how much of a crybaby you’re being, but you can’t help it. you’re fighting for him, and you’re not gonna let him walk out of your life again.

“i would never intentionally hurt you, eren. i care for you so fucking much! and it eats me alive knowing that i hurt you. but i promise, if you give me a chance, i can—i will treat you how you deserve to be treated. when you told me you loved me, i realized how selfish i had been. it was in my face all along, and i didn’t realize. i’m in love with you, eren, and i think deep down i always have been—” your rant is halted as eren presses his lips against yours. it’s soft and passionate, and you melt in his touch.

eren pulls away slightly, resting his forehead against yours. “i’ve been so angry,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “i didn’t know what to believe. seeing that picture... it broke me.” his hands cup your face gently, thumbs brushing away your tears. “but hearing you say all this, i believe you. i want to believe you.” he takes a deep breath, trying to steady his emotions. “i love you too, and i want to make this work. but we need to be honest with each other, no more secrets.”

you nod, your heart swelling with hope. “i promise, no more secrets. i’ll be completely honest with you from now on.” you take his hands in yours, squeezing them tightly. “we can get through this, eren. together.”

eren smiles softly, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief and determination. “together,” he agrees, his eyes lock onto yours, a silent conversation passing between you. the tension in the air is palpable, thick with unspoken words and simmering emotions. he leans in closer, his breath mingling with yours, and your heart races in anticipation.

without a word, he cups your face in his hands, his touch both gentle and possessive. the world around you fades into a blur as his lips capturing yours in another kiss that is both intense and hungry. it's as if he's pouring all his emotions into this one moment, and you respond with equal fervor, your hands tangling in his hair.

the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more desperate. his tongue teases the seam of your lips, and you part them willingly, inviting him in. the taste of him is intoxicating, and you lose yourself in the sensation, every nerve ending alight with desire.

"i-i need you," you whimper against his lips, feeling your core throb from the sloppy kiss you two shared seconds ago. a smile pulls on eren’s lips, his thumb trailing against your soft, two-toned, plump lips. your eyes are full of desire and lust, and he fucking loves it. “want me to fuck that pretty pussy?” his voice is deep and raspy. you nod, clenching your legs together, feeling the heat in between them stir at his filthy words.

"get in the back, pretty girl," he taps your thigh, and you quickly find yourself stepping over the center console as you climb into the back seat. the leather seats are cool against your skin, contrasting the warmth radiating from your body. eren follows close behind you, his presence filling the small space as he adjusts the seats to give you both optimal room. the sound of the seats clicking into place is drowned out by the pounding of your heart.

his fingertips dig into your thighs, leaving a trail of tingling sensations that make you gasp. your back is pressed against the door, the cool metal seeping through your clothes as you watch him intently. he pulls off your boots, large fingers fumbling with the buttons of your shorts now, each movement deliberate and teasing. you lift your hips instinctively, allowing him to slip them off more easily, your legs spreading wide in anticipation.

"look at this, soaking through your panties already?" he laughs, a deep, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. his thumb traces the wet stain adorning your underwear, the fabric clinging to your arousal. a shaky breath escapes your mouth as his fingers brush against your clothed clit, the sensation both electrifying and maddening. he has you in his hand, he knows it.

he presses wet kisses along your thick thighs as he pulls your underwear down your soft brown legs, you smell so damn good it’s got him twitching eagerly in his pants. his kisses trail down your legs, holding your calf gently, your breath hitches as he places pecks all the way down to the gold bracelet clasped around your ankle. “e-eren,” you whine, pussy throbbing.

with each kiss, his lips leave a lingering warmth on your skin, sending shivers up your spine. he takes his time, savoring every inch of your body as if committing it to memory. the way he moves is deliberate, almost worshipful, making you feel like the most precious thing in the world. his hands are firm yet gentle, guiding your further legs apart with a reverence that makes your heart race.

as he reaches your toes, he pauses, his eyes darkening with desire. his tongue flicks out, teasing the sensitive skin before he takes your toe into his mouth, sucking gently. the sensation is electric, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. his eyes never leave yours, the intensity of his gaze making you feel exposed and vulnerable, yet completely safe in his care. the air is thick with the scent of your arousal, stickiness seeping onto his leather seats.

“tell me what you want, ʚ♡ɞ,” his hands massaging your feet, he sure knows how to make a girl feel special.

“eat my pussy, please.” you don’t even recognize your voice as you whisper the words. you’re hot with desire, eren's lips dart out to lick his lips before he leans down, inked hands pressing into your inner thighs as he holds you in place. “with pleasure,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with lust.

your head smacks against the window as his tongue moves lazily over your sopping folds. his mouth feels like heaven on your sex, each stroke deliberate and slow, sending waves of pleasure through your body. “so fucking good,” he whines into your wetness, the taste driving his senses into overdrive. you’re the perfect combination of salty and sweet, and he finds himself pressing his face further into you, desperate for more.

his tongue flicks and swirls, exploring every inch of you with a fervor that makes your toes curl. his inked hands grip your thighs tighter, holding you open as he devours you. the sensation is overwhelming, your body arching off the seat as you lose yourself in the pleasure he's giving you. “oh my god,” you whine, your voice barely more than a breathy moan as his tongue ravages you.

each movement of his mouth feels like pure ecstasy, his lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to bring you to the edge. he alternates between long, languid licks and quick, teasing flicks, keeping you on the brink of release. the sounds of his mouth on your wetness fill the car, mingling with your breathless moans and the soft creak of the leather seats.

eren's eyes flick up to meet yours, the intensity in his gaze making your heart race. he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters, his sole focus on bringing you pleasure. his tongue delves deeper, finding that perfect spot that makes you see stars. your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as your body trembles with the force of your impending orgasm.

“let’s see how many fingers you can take angel,” eren's eyes glint mischievously as he slides a single digit inside of you. the feeling is both foreign and electrifying, causing your breath to hitch. you grip the headrest, your knuckles turning white as he follows it up with a second finger. the stretch is intense, but you bite your lip, determined to endure. when he adds a third, your body tenses, and you’re sure you’ll split as he pushes another in.

“h-hurts,” you whine through clenched teeth, your nails digging further into the headrest, leaving crescent-shaped imprints. eren pauses, his expression softening as he presses a tender kiss against your thigh. “it’s okay, just relax around ’em princess,” he coos, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. “m’ trying,” you want to sob, but take a deep breath, trying to focus on the warmth of his lips on your skin rather than the discomfort.

eren continues to kiss your thighs, his mouth trailing gentle, reassuring kisses that help you relax your walls around his fingers. the sensation of his lips, combined with the rough yet careful movement of his hand, begins to ease the tension in your body. “o-okay, you can move,” you gulp thickly, your eyes shutting as you brace yourself.

“good girl,” he begins to push his beefy digits into your greedy pussy, the stretch becoming more bearable as your body adjusts. each movement is deliberate and slow, allowing you time to acclimate. “taking my fingers so well, so proud of you kitten.” he murmurs.

the mix of pleasure and pain sends waves of pain conflicting sensations through your body, but eren's gentle kisses and soothing words keep you grounded. you focus on the warmth of his touch, the reassuring pressure of his fingers, and the way he makes you feel safe and cherished even in moments of vulnerability.

“y-your fingers a-are s-so long!” you drool, hands finding themselves back in eren’s hair.

“you wanna cum on em’?” eren smiles, eyes gazing at you as you fall apart underneath him. you’ve pulled your shirt up and his cock twitches as you pinch and squeeze your hardened nipples between your fingers.

“y-yes! s-so close!” your sweet voice is a symphony of desperation and desire, each word trembling with the intensity of the moment. eren's eyes darken with determination, the sound of your plea igniting a fire within him. he doesn't hesitate, his mouth finding its way back to your sensitive clit with a hunger that matches your own.

the car's backseat is cramped, the leather seats sticking to your skin, adding to the rawness of the moment. outside, the movie plays, but inside the car, it feels like time has stopped. the scent of weed lingers in the air, mixing with the fragrance of your perfume, creating an intoxicating blend that heightens your senses.

“oh god, eren!” you gasp, your back arching off the seat as his tongue flicks over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

the sensation is electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. you grip the edge of the seat, your fingertips aching as you fight to hold on to the last shreds of your control. he’s so deep inside of you you can feel his fingers kissing your cervix, you wanna run but eren's eyes that are peering up at you as you come undone are saying don’t even try.

his hands slide up your thighs, his touch firm yet gentle, grounding you as his mouth works its magic. “i can feel you trembling, baby,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a low, seductive growl that sends shivers down your spine. his large hand repeatedly cracks against your thigh as he spanks you, pushing you further over the edge.“let go for me. i want to feel you come undone.”

his words are your undoing. you cry out, your body tensing as the pleasure builds to an unbearable peak. “eren, i-i can’t—” you stammer, your voice breaking as the orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. your vision goes blank for a second, “m’ cumming! c-cumming!” you hiccup.

he doesn’t let up, his mouth continuing its relentless assault on your clit, prolonging your pleasure until you’re a quivering mess beneath him. “that’s it, just like that,” he whispers, his voice filled with pride and satisfaction. “you’re so beautiful when you come for me.”

as the waves of pleasure finally begin to subside, you slump against the door, your chest heaving with the effort to catch your breath. eren crawls up beside you, his eyes softening as he takes in your flushed, blissed-out expression. “are you okay?” he asks, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

you nod, a lazy smile spreading across your lips. “more than okay,” you murmur, reaching up to cup his cheek.

“can i fuck you?” he ask almost hesitantly, you giggle. was he really asking you that?

you nod,”please.”

in an instant, eren is naked, manspread as you’re straddling him. the heat between your bodies is palpable, every inch of your skin tingling with anticipation and desire. your lips are intertwined with his, a passionate dance that leaves you both breathless and yearning for more. his thick cock twitches against your warm pussy, the sensation sending shivers down your spine and igniting a fire deep within you. his arms dig into your skin, his fingers kneading your doughy thighs with a fervor that speaks of his desperation and need.

he can’t get enough of you, his voice breaking as he pleads, "ʚ♡ɞ p-please,fuck me," the whine in his tone making your heart race and your core tighten. you grind your slick folds against him, feeling the hardness of his cock pressing against you, so hard it feels like he might explode at any moment. "patience baby," you murmur against his ear. he shivers, his body reacting to every word, every touch, every breath. your stomach churns with desire as his head lulls back against the seat, his eyebrows knitting together in a mixture of pleasure and frustration.

you rub your throbbing clit against his swollen pink flushed tip, the friction driving you both to the edge of ecstasy. his eyes flutter closed, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he struggles to maintain control. every movement, every touch, is a symphony of sensation, a dance of desire that leaves you both yearning for more.

his hands move from your thighs to your hips, guiding your movements as you continue to grind against him. each stroke, each grind, brings you closer to the precipice of pleasure. his moans grow louder, more desperate, as he feels you thriving against him. "please," he whispers again, his voice barely audible over the sound of your combined breaths. you can feel his need, his desire, and it mirrors your own. "since you asked so nicely," you sink onto him, moaning softly at the stinging stretch.

“you’re s-so big,” a broken sob leaves your lips, he was gonna fucking break you.

“you can take it, i know you can.” eren murmurs against your shoulder, arms holding you in place. he resists the urge to buck his hips into you, you’re so tight and warm around him.

once you’re adjusted, you begin raising your hips on eren, your mewls of pleasure mixing with the rhythmic slap of your ass against his thighs. the sensation is intoxicating, each movement sending waves of ecstasy through your bodies. eren's hands grip your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh as he guides your movements, his eyes dark with lust and need.

"god, you feel so good," he groans, his voice thick with desire. he pushes his thumb into your asshole and you nearly scream, “so tight,” he gasps,his words send a shiver down your spine, adding fuel to the fire burning within you. you lean forward, your hands resting on his chest for support, feeling the hard muscles beneath your fingertips. the connection between you is electric, every touch, every movement intensifying the pleasure you both feel.

"mm, you like that, baby?" you whisper, your voice breathless and filled with longing. you can see the answer in his eyes, but you want to hear him say it. you want to hear the desperation in his voice, the need that mirrors your own.

"yes," he gasps, his head falling back against the seat, his eyes closing again as he loses himself in the sensation. "please, don't stop."

you smile, a sense of power and satisfaction washing over you. you increase your pace, your hips moving faster, the sound of your bodies coming together echoing in the space. each thrust brings you closer to the edge, the pleasure building with every movement.

"you're so deep," you moan, your voice trembling with the intensity of your feelings. eren's grip on your hips tightens, his own breaths coming in ragged gasps. you can feel him getting closer, his body tensing beneath you. you’re a creamy mess as you ride his cock, the sick sound of your pussy queefing each time you lower onto him making your stomach twist.

you nearly scream as eren begins bucking his hips up into you, his thrusts fast and unrelenting. the intensity of his movements sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body, making it hard to catch your breath. his inked hands grip your cheeks, pulling them apart to glide deeper into your wetness. the sensation is overwhelming, tears brimming in your eyes as he rolls into you with a fervor that leaves you trembling.

"tell me you love me," he pants, his voice rough and desperate. his eyes lock onto yours, filled with a need that mirrors your own. the urgency in his voice sends a shiver down your spine, adding to the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you.

"i love you," you manage to gasp, your voice breaking with the intensity of your feelings. the words feel inadequate to express the depth of your emotions, but it's all you can manage in the heat of the moment.

eren's mouth descends to your chest, his lips latching onto one of your nipples. the sensation of his mouth sucking on your sensitive flesh sends another wave of pleasure crashing over you, making you arch your back and cry out. his hands continue to guide your movements, each thrust driving you closer to the edge.

"mm, i fucking love you," you sob, the words spilling out in a rush of emotion. the tears that had been brimming in your eyes now spill over, streaking down your cheeks as you lose yourself in the overwhelming pleasure and love you feel for him.

eren's pace quickens, his hips driving up into you with a relentless rhythm that leaves you breathless. each movement is a testament to his need for you, his desire to feel you, to be as close to you as possible. the connection between you feels electric, every touch, every thrust amplifying the intensity of your emotions.

"i love you so much," he groans, his voice thick with emotion. his grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pushes you both closer to the edge. the sensation of his body moving against yours, the sound of your breaths mingling, the raw emotion in his voice—it all combines to create a moment that feels both profound and beautiful.

as you reach the peak of your pleasure, your body shudders, a wave of ecstasy washing over you. eren follows moments later, seed decorating your sore walls.you collapse against him, your bodies slick with sweat.

eren's arms wrap around you, holding you close as you come down from the high. his lips press gentle kisses to your hair, a soft, loving gesture that contrasts with the intensity of what you just shared.

“ain’t no fucking way—“ ony, connie, and sasha say in unison as they watch the car rock. ony laughs out loud, smacking connie's shoulder. he pulls out his phone and starts recording, connie shoves ony's hands away. what's his damn deal with hitting whenever he laughs? connie feels a bit jealous. at least someone’s getting some. he looks over to sasha, who’s crying, “girl—is you crying?” connie breaks into a smile.

“i’m just so happy they made up! i hope she gets pregnant. i wanna be an aunt.” she sniffles, wiping her tears away with a smile.

“you are mad wild for saying that—where’s armin?” connie asks, shaking his head in disbelief.

“here! what’s up—oh,” armin's voice trails off as he looks at the car, funnel cake dropping out of his hand. he stands there, mouth open in shock, the powdered sugar from the funnel cake dusting his shoes.

“did he forget his back window isn’t tinted?” connie asks, raising an eyebrow. they all burst into laughter, the absurdity of the situation hitting them all at once. the car continues to rock, oblivious to the audience it has gathered.

1K notes · View notes