#“get your hands on his cash and spend it to the last dime” and then art gets tashi and the life patrick wanted

[posalis]

playing "hit 'em up style (oops!)" in the background of the churros scene was certainly a choice.

#challengers #“you're really committed to this thing” ok art you snake #“when you go then everything goes” and then it's the last scene art and patrick spent as best friends i'm sick #art donaldson #patrick zweig #patrickart #artrick #artpatrick #“there goes ”you'll never leave me alone“” playing at the same time art says “you're not here to visit me? :)” #-> “i don't wanna feel left out” #-> “one doesn't choose you and you're losing the other” #arggghh #“get your hands on his cash and spend it to the last dime” and then art gets tashi and the life patrick wanted #the life that he thought patrick would have; every skill and things he was jealous of

[miniimight]

"S'NOT MY BIRTHDAY..." silly girl, thinking you need an occasion in order to be spoiled by them!

with gojo, nanami x fem!reader

notes trying out this writing thing again lol

in previous relationships, you had to deal with the bare minimum. a generic greeting card on valentine's day, a bunch of snacks for your birthday, and a necklace for christmas because 'that's what girls like, right?'

now, with him, it's different. he has no qualms about getting you anything your eyes linger on, no matter the price. he had so much money, he picked things up and swiped his card without so much as a glance at the cost. it baffled you sometimes.

it happened was early on in your relationship. you then quickly learned to just sit back and let him spoil you!!

GOJO

satoru's fingers were laced with yours as he swung your connected arms between you. he inhaled deeply, looking up at the high ceiling of the mall. "today's a good a day as any to throw some cash, don't you think baby?"

you giggle and squeeze his hand. "one or two things should be okay." that's what you budgeted for, anyway.

he rolled his eyes, scolding you for your tiny imagination before allowing you to pull him along to your favorite stores.

it wasn't long before your eyes spotted the store you loved but couldn't afford. your stare was glued to the window display, all the cute tops and pants and bags and shoes and bracelets and...

when he felt your steps slow, satoru glanced at you. you were laser focused on the clothing store—naturally, he sharply turned towards it.

"hey!" you squeaked at the sudden change of direction, and you hurried to match his pace again. "toru??"

"i saw you looking, baby, why didn't you just say you wanted to check it out?" he teased.

you looked over to the side, embarrassed. "i... i don't wanna tempt myself, cus i know i'll gaslight myself into buying something."

he narrowed his eyes, not in scorn but in confusion. "who said you were buying anything?"

"huh?" you chirped, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

gojo stared blankly at you. you really were adorable, thinking he wouldn't spend his last dime on whatever you wanted, regardless of how trivial it was. a smile pulled at his lips.

"my sweet girl," he cooed. "my sweet, slow girl..."

you gasped indignantly and poked satoru's side, earning a giggle from him. "slow?!"

"obviously, i'll by whatever you want, silly." he tugged you towards the entrance of the store.

"but..." you resisted his pull. "it's not my birthday or anything..."

huh? he pouted. "as if i need a special reason to get you stuff."

"but..." heat creeped up your neck as you reveled in the unfamiliar feeling of being spoiled. something inside you told you that he was just being nice and was waiting for you to shut him down, save him the expenses. "it's not fair, is it? i didn't get you anything so far..."

his face fell slightly as he pulled you away from the busy traffic of the moving crowds. satoru pulled your chin up to face him. "i dunno what's running through that pretty head of yours, but answer me this, okay?"

you nod.

"you want it?" he gestured towards the store.

you hesitated, eyes straying from his face. he quickly squished your cheeks, causing your eyes to widen and snap to his. "—!"

"don't overthink it, pretty girl, just tell me."

"yesfh." you answer dejectedly, muffled against his hands.

"then you'll have it." he told you. "i want you to have anything and everything you say you want. i wanna buy it for you. and being able to hear you say 'my boyfriend got this for me' is all i need in return." he grinned cheekily.

you pouted, looking unbelievably cute in his eyes. he despises the partners of your past for leading you astray, thinking you needed to do something special in order to be appreciated. don't worry, he'll fix that in no time.

he pecked your pursed lips before hugging you. "okay?"

you giggle. "okay."

"yay!! now let's go!!"

by the end of the day, he had to call ichiji to help carry all the bags to the car. he was so proud of you!

NANAMI

kento was your shadow as you glided through the store, picking up things and setting them down.

"oh, this is so cute!" you squealed holding up a tee for him to see.

he smiled, more because of your excited expression than the t-shirt. "it is. you should get it."

you hummed, in thought. your hands drifted over the material, picking up the tag before inhaling sharply. "nah, another time."

he frowned. you'd done this at every store so far, picking up things you said you liked but leaving them behind. he was bewildered. "but... you like it, do you not?"

you winced, hoping this topic wouldn't come up. "i do! it's just the price. out of my budget, you know?" you said, trying to be light. you burned with discomfort. might as well just say you're poor.

kento frowned. "oh..."

"yeah."

you quickly turned away, avoiding the confused look on his face.

"y/n." he called you.

"...yes?" you glanced behind you, seeing him standing over the shirts.

"are you under the impression that you would be paying?" he asked.

you blinked. "oh?" yes, you were, but you were surprised to learn that he had the opposite understanding. "well... yeah."

he frowned, disappointed with himself. "i'm sorry. i didn't intend to make you feel that way."

you stepped closer, rubbing his arm soothingly. "what are you talking about?" you laughed softly. "you didn't make me feel any kind of way. i'm not upset, if that's what you're getting at. i never expected you to spend your money on me."

his frown only deepened. oh, how he has failed. "why not?"

you faltered. how did you manage to make it worse? "i'm not sure i understand..."

kento shook his head. "have you been thinking you'd be using your own money for purchases? this whole time?"

"um..."

"sweetheart, i'm paying. for everything, at all times." he refused to hear anything else, cutting you off when you opened your mouth to retort. "we'll have to circle back to the stores we previously visited."

it was your turn to frown. "kento, it won't be my birthday for a few months! you don't have to get me anything right now."

"what does your birthday have to do with anything?" he asked, genuinely confused. "i don't mean to interrogate you, my love, but i think i am the one who doesn't understand."

"you'd get me anything i asked for?" you shoot back, spelling it out for him. "for no reason?"

"for one reason," he replied. "simply because you want it. it'd make you happy."

warmth spread across your face. "that's two reasons." you mumbled.

he clicked his tongue, exacerbating your bashfulness when he pulled you into his side. he kissed your forehead. "you make me laugh, y/n. i was so confused as to why you weren't getting anything. surely that's not how you usually shop."

he bought that shirt for you, as well as the many things you thought were cute at all the stores you stepped foot in. now, you shop without any hesitations.

© miniimight ! thanks for reading <3

#gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo fluff #nanami x reader #kento x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk gojo #jjk nanami #gojo satoru #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk satoru #jjk kento #jjk x you

[ashwhowrites]

Love your older Eddie!

Picturing him working somewhere with a sweet, sunshine-y younger woman. Maybe a restaurant or store? He’s got a crush on her, but she’s always getting hit on by the younger, flashier guys who work there so he never thinks he’d have a chance. To hide his feelings he’s been a standoffish grump, so he can’t believe it when she reveals she has a crush on him at the work holiday party.

Angst/fluff/smut whatever you like - I know anything you write will be amazing! Thank you ❤️

I love older Eddie! I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting <3

Work crush

Working at a small restaurant that focused more on the younger crowd, wasn't the exact job Eddie pictured for himself. But after his car shop got shut down, he just needed anyway to make cash. In a way, it was like he had to start over.

He didn't enjoy how much older he was than everyone else who worked and dined there. He worked with young twenty-year-olds who needed cash throughout college and served bratty teenagers. Other than the cook, he was the oldest one there.

His older looks and charm got him good tips. Younger girls enjoyed the flirtation and teasing games. Eddie delivered that as much as he did their food.

He hated the younger guys he worked with. They were loud, annoying, and sucked at their job. Eddie had to cover their slack as they snuck out back for smoke breaks. But there was one worker that Eddie secretly adored, Y/N.

She was also young, part of a group of annoying guys. But she was polite, hard-working, and sweet. She brightened the restaurant up whenever she walked in. She made Eddie feel butterflies and he loved watching her happiness rub off on everyone. Many people requested her, she was one of the best. And she was damn beautiful. Which sadly, everyone noticed.

Eddie lost count the many times he overheard her being asked out, by customers and the employees. Eddie couldn't help but compare himself to the guys that asked her out. They were all young and looked like they'd be on the cover of a magazine. Eddie was nothing like that, he didn't stand a chance.

When she turned down Beck, even Eddie was shocked. Beck was the heartthrob of the restaurant, almost every girl signed their number with their receipts. He was tall, and fit, with blue eyes and dirty blonde curly hair. He was sweet and polite, and Eddie hated to admit he was perfect. If perfect Beck couldn't get her to say yes, Eddie knew there was no hope for him.

With that realization, he didn't tease himself with the thought. He kept his space and didn't get to know her. He knew if he learned about her, he'd fall for her even more. It was safer to not know who she was. He just admired her from afar. He smiled to himself when he heard her sweet laugh. And he tried not to punch Beck across the face when he flirted with her his whole shift.

~~~

Tonight was the holiday party and Eddie didn't plan to go. He didn't want to party with a group of kids, he felt too old for that shit. The party was at a bar, and the owner had the dumb idea of everyone wearing Christmas sweaters. Eddie didn't own anything like that and he wasn't going to spend a dime to wear the ugly thing once.

Eddie cleaned up his last few tables, the restaurant closed early for their event. He pocketed the tip, ignoring the lipstick kiss and number written on the receipt.

"Poor girl, she was probably hoping you'd call." Eddie jumped as a voice came from behind him. He quickly turned to see Y/N standing there. A teasing smile on her face.

"I think she'll be fine," Eddie said, scooting into the booth to clean the table. He watched as Y/N took a seat across from him. She silently watched as he worked. Her eyes were on his arms and hands.

"Any numbers for you today?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah, but not interested." She shrugged. She patted the table, a hint for Eddie to sit down. Eddie threw the towel on the table and took a seat. He didn't want to be that rude to her face.

"Never are." He teased, she smirked and moved on.

"Are you going tonight?" Eddie tried not to roll his eyes at the question.

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Why would I?" He argued back

"It's a work party, you work here and you're invited." She said, pointing out the obvious.

"Nah, it would be like a dad hanging out with college kids. It's embarrassing. And I'm not wearing an ugly Christmas sweater."

"Yeah, but it would be like the hot dad you secretly want around. The kind where you go to your friend's house every weekend just to see her dad shirtless in the morning." Y/N said, a certain look in her eye. A look Eddie got from many of his customers. She was flirting....with him. "I have a bunch of my dad's old Christmas sweaters, I'll bring you one!" She stood up excitedly. Like she declared he's going.

"You think I'm hot?" Eddie asked, he couldn't help a tiny smirk that crossed his face. Everyone flirted with her, and she picked to flirt with him.

"I do and I know you'll look hot in the sweater. See you tonight." Eddie stared at her ass as she walked off.

"I'M NOT GOING!" he yelled after her. He heard her sweet laugh and the bell on the door.

~~~

Eddie groaned as he pulled up to the bar. He was two hours late. Mostly because he was debating if he was going to come or not.

He walked into the bar and scanned the room. He found a few of his coworkers scattered around. A few at the pool table, a few at the bar top, and a few in the back booth. He walked to the bar, at least he got to drink through it.

He held his drink and looked for her. He didn't want to make it obvious, but he knew he didn't care who was there, he came for her.

"EDDIE!"

Eddie turned to see a tipsy Y/N, her hands in the air as she raced into his chest. She crushed him in a hug. Eddie slowly hugged her back.

"I knew you'd come!" She said as she pulled back. She was decked out in Christmas wear. An antler headband, that he'd hate if anyone else wore it. But of course, it looked adorable. Red eyeliner and dark lashes. Her lips were red and Eddie stared at them for too long. Her Christmas sweater was full of printed-on lights. A few real lights that flickered. She had a black skirt, tights and black boots. She was glowing.

"Did you know?" Eddie teased, smiling down at her as she leaned on the bar for support.

"Of course. I knew once you found out I wanted you to come, that you would come. " She explained. She grabbed his hand, slightly tripping on her feet.

"Woah okay. Maybe you should sit." Eddie laughed, he wrapped his arm around her waist.

"No! We gotta go to my car for your sweater!" She argued, she didn't move away from his touch. She loved the feeling of his arm wrapped around her and the way she could smell his cologne. "Just help me." She said and began walking.

After a few stumbles and many laughs, they made it to her car. She unlocked it and grabbed the sweater from the seat. She slammed the door shut and leaned against it. Eddie removed his touch from her as he grabbed the sweater.

"Put it on!" She said she looked so excited and Eddie didn't have the heart to say no. He gagged on the inside but sucked it up.

"I gotta change my shirt so let's go inside." He said but she didn't move.

"don't be silly. Just change here. I'll cover my eyes." She threw her hands over her eyes, a giggly smile on her face. She was somehow even more adorable drunk.

Eddie didn't fight on it. He took off his jacket and placed it on the top of her car. He took a deep breath, preparing for his skin to hit the cold. He grabbed the bottom of his shirt with one hand and yanked it off. He let it drop to the floor as he put his arms in the sweater, as he pulled it on over his head, he heard a small squeak.

He could see Y/N's fingers split open, allowing her to see through. Eddie felt his cheeks warm at the thought of her peeking.

"Did you just squeak?" He asked, trying to hold back a smile.

"No" she mumbled, embarrassed.

"I can see that you're still peeking." Eddie laughed, she groaned and dropped her hands.

"I couldn't help it! You can't be this hot older guy that I want to ruin my life and expect me to just not stare at you." Sober her wished she'd stop talking.

"Ruin your life? That sounds like a bad thing." Eddie said confused.

"It means I have this huge crush on you. I see you flirt with those young girls and I hate that you never did it with me. I hate that everyone flirts with me, and you haven't." She pouted, she crossed her arms as she sighed sadly.

Eddie let out a small smile, moving closer. He lifted her chin with his finger and leaned down.

"I didn't flirt with you because everyone else got shot down. I didn't think I'd be different. But now that you are loose with your lips, I can admit I've been attracted to you since your first day."

Y/N felt her heart skip multiple beats. She couldn't believe the words he said, but the reality of his lips pressed against hers made her believe. She uncrossed her arms and wrapped her arms around him. Her palms were against his back as he deepened the kiss.

She wasn't sure if the alcohol or the kiss made her dizzy.

~~~

"Where the hell is Y/N? She got sat like ten minutes ago!"

"Where is Munson? His table has been waiting for the check for an hour!"

"I think we need to get back to work," Y/N whined, her hands against the door.

Eddie stood behind her, his hands gripping her hips as his cock pounded inside of her. The harder he went the more she cried. She felt her legs go weak as she tried to keep herself up.

"Not until I cum." Eddie grunted.

~~~

"Anything else I can get for you?" Y/N asked the pen smacking against the notepad. She tried not to seem annoyed with the rowdy group of male teenagers.

"You on the menu?" She tried not to roll her eyes. An unpleased look on her face.

"No, but my boyfriend serves up a delicious knuckle sandwich if you want to try it." She said with a glare.

The boy whistled, almost like her attitude made it more fun.

The second she felt the boy's hand touch her thigh, she snapped.

"EDDIE!"

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @manyfandomsfanvergentreblogs @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson request #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff x reader #eddie munson angst x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut x female reader #ashwhowrites

[formulawolff]

x. bringing the heat in miami - t.w.

pairing: female driver! x toto wolff

word count: 3.6k

warnings: cursing, mentions of sex, mentions of masturbation, lewd humor, age gap relationship, ANGST, naughty text messages, banter, light flirting, toto being down astronomically bad (like actually in the trenches) yadayadayada

prev. | next.

party in the city where the heat is on 

all night, on the beach till the break of dawn

“welcome to miami”

“bienvenidos a miami"

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

will smith’s infamous track fills your ears as you stroll in through the main gate of the track, fans clustered in thick waves. your name is called more times than you can count. posters, caps, shirts, you name it, wave about, begging to be signed. 

the sun shines overhead, casting bright, fiery light all around. although it was only around eight in the morning, humidity clung to the air, creating a sticky, dewy sensation on your exposed skin. fluffy clouds drift along, carried by a breeze as it rolls through. 

god, the weather was perfect.

hopefully it would be like this on race day.

“welcome to miamiiii,” alex bobs his head, singing along to the music, “are you excited? it is your home turf, after all.”

“if we were in phoenix, i think i would feel a little closer to home,” you suppress a giggle, “but yes, i am really fucking excited. everyone loves a race in their home country.”

“we’ll be in austin soon enough in october,,” alex shrugs, “when we’re in austin, i need you to show me how to ride a bull and teach me how to perfect that smooth texas drawl. i want to be like one of those little aunties who always say, ‘y’all come back now!’ like dolly parton! ” 

“you’re ridiculous,” the giggles blossom into a full-on laugh, “you don’t just start speaking with a southern accent. that’s not how that works.”

“sure it is,” alex nods, “hey, your parents are coming out for the race, right?”

“yes sir! they will finally get to see their baby girl in action!”

“they didn’t come out for a single grand prix last year?” alex raises a brow.

“i wasn’t winning races last year,” you counter, “i told them not to worry about spending that money during my rookie year. not everyone’s parents are loaded, you know.”

which, was a true statement. 

your parents had invested their time, hard-earned cash, weekends off, and a portion of their lives to get you here. you didn’t expect them to fly out for every single grand prix, make every event, or pay another dime towards your expenses. 

unlike many of the drivers, you were not born into an extremely lavish lifestyle. your parents were modest people, who happened to have a child later in life. ever since you were born, they lived in the same house, drove the same vehicles, and got by adequately. since they both worked full-time, getting you into the racing world was no simple feat. 

yet, they were determined to make your dreams become a reality. after years of careful coordination to the karting tracks, weekends devoted to races, and thousands upon thousands of dollars spent, you were offered a contract with williams racing. of course, you accepted that offer graciously. 

now, you were steadily paying your parents back for their dedication. once you signed your contract and those zeroes hit your bank account, you went out to the nearest dealership, purchasing a suburu wrx. with the premium package, at that. 

you would never forget your dad’s face the moment you pulled into the driveway, beaming as you placed the keys in his hand. 

that was one of the only moments you had ever watched him cry, wrapping you up in a tight, loving embrace.

“you didn’t have to do this. being your father is a gift in itself.”

“but you deserve it. you’ve sacrificed so much so that i could be in this position.”

“and you deserve nothing but the best, baby girl. you are going to be one of the greatest drivers formula one has ever seen. you make us so proud. keep making us proud. keep defying those odds. keep making history, baby girl.”

keep making history, baby girl.

as you stroll into the paddock, greeting the engineers, pit crew, and other team members, you can’t shake that feeling brewing deep within. 

it’s is a fiery desire, setting you ablaze with determination. 

you were going to keep making history. 

you were going to be the first american to win the miami grand prix. 

you were going to be the first woman to win two consecutive grand prixes. 

you were going to be the first woman to earn that title of world champion. 

you were going to chase that high. by any means possible. 

and nothing was going to stop you now. 

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“look at him,” lewis hamilton shakes his head, “he looks absolutely pitiful.”

“you think his little relationship is on the rocks?” 

“quite the contrary mate,” lewis remarks, folding his arms across his chest, “i think it’s more like the poor man is depraved. obviously the euphoria has worn off. he’s come down from that high. the man is craving more. plain and simple. a hand can only do–”

“i don’t need the mental image of my team principal wanking off,” george russell scoffs, rubbing his temple, “fuck, that is disgusting, lewis.”

toto wolff stood a few meters away from the drivers, engaged in deep conversation with bono and members of the crew. now that lewis knew the truth, he couldn’t help but notice how much power that american girl held over the team principal. it was almost as if he were deep in a trance, under some sort of spell. 

it was pitiful, really. just the sight of her was enough to send the team principal spiraling, intoxicated off her alluring aura. not like lewis could blame toto, though. there was no denying that the woman was extremely breathtaking. 

with her stunning features, witty mouth, unapologetic personality, and angelic presence, she was practically miss america.

well, not practically. 

she was miss america.  

everyone adored her. lewis could barely go throughout his morning without hearing her name being mentioned. whether it was fans, journalists, social media, even members of the mercedes crew, she was the hot topic of formula one, taking the world by storm.

toto was a lucky man. an extremely lucky man. 

if only she was into men her age. 

“my apologies mate,” lewis nudges george with his elbow playfully, “did we have anything going on today? any obligations?”

george’s brow furrow, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, “if we’re being honest, i can’t really remember. i think something to do with monster energy, maybe.”

“perfect,” lewis licks his lower lip, fishing his phone out of his pocket. 

time to text that little assistant. 

in all seriousness, he felt horrible for taking advantage of that young girl. she was only nineteen for fuck’s sakes, a fresh face to mercedes at the start of the 2024 season. that made her the perfect target to do his bidding. 

well, it wasn’t really bidding. 

more like investigative journalism. 

at least, that’s what lewis told himself to feel a little less guilty for what he was about to do. 

hey, do you by chance know toto’s schedule today?

seconds later, little text bubbles appear. 

he was meeting with you guys this morning, then he has an interview with the press around two-thirty p.m. it’s nothing super serious, just a brief session entailing his thoughts for the weekend. at four, he has a zoom call with a few of the mercedes execs. after that, he told me he was going to be out for the remainder of the evening. why? 

hmmm. how convenient. 

i was just curious. thanks for letting me know! i appreciate you, natila. 

of course, mr. hamilton! let me know if you need anything else! :))) 

it was now or never. go time.

after the meeting with the mercedes executives, lewis hamilton was going to knock on toto wolff’s door. he was going to stroll into that office, settling into one of those plush leather chairs. and before toto had the opportunity to speak, lewis was going to confront him about that american girl. 

how he was going to start that conversation, he had no idea. that would come to him in time as he went about his day, meeting with sponsors, flashing that lovely lewis smile, flirting with the reporters just a little. not too much so that it was obvious, but enough to make them blush a tad, giggling as they scrambled to stick to their script. 

but for now, it was time to focus on the matters at hand. 

across the track, a dutch driver strolls through the crowds, a jersey in one hand, phone in the other. glancing down at his screen, he curses under his breath at the throng of people. why were there so many people? where did they all come from? 

pausing for a moment, he taps his screen, thumb gliding through his contacts. 

“hey, where are you again?”

“we’re in the williams paddock!” her voice is an octave higher than usual, more than likely from anticipation, “we’ll see you soon!”

“sounds good,” max verstappen stifles a chuckle as he hears a voice on the other end, the words firm, demanding almost.  

“honey, who are you talking to? who’s coming over here?” 

“mom, please, just let me be on the phone for two seconds,” she exhales, “okay, i have to go. i’ll see you soon!” 

the walk to the williams paddock was excruciating, as max had to bob and weave through the masses to avoid reporters, potential sponsors, and any individual who called his name. it’s not like he didn’t like the fame that came with his success, it’s just that he didn’t like the constant cameras in his face. the prying questions. the intrusive comments. 

sometimes he wished he could just blend in, be like any other face in the crowd. yet, how could he when he was max verstappen? 

yet, as he steps into the paddock, he makes out the williams driver, her parents hovering around her as she introduces them to various members of the crew. at the sight, max can’t help but feel the corners of his lips curl into a smile as he notices the sheer and utter pride plastered across their faces. 

and they had every right to be proud of you. 

you earned it. 

“goedemorgen,” max clears his throat, raising his hand for a small wave, “i just came to stop by.”

the instant your mom realizes who is standing before her in the paddock, her eyes widen, lips parting, “oh my gosh – honey. look who it is!” 

“good morning max,” your laughter rings like bells as you cross over to the dutch driver, “how are you?”

“pretty good,” he nods, sticking out his right hand, “hallo, i’m max.”

your dad shakes his hand, squeezing it firmly, “nice to meet ya, max. i’m tony. this is my wife, heather.”

“pleased to meet you,” max beams, turning to your mom, “i brought something for you today. your daughter mentioned that you were a big fan of mine. so, i brought this jersey for you. she let me know your shirt size, so it should fit perfectly. my signature is on there somewhere, but i just can’t quite remember where.”

graciously, heather accepts the jersey, her eyes glossy, shifting to you as she wipes a tear, “oh, honey, you planned this?”

“of course i did,” wrapping an arm around her shoulders, you pull her in for a hug, “i couldn’t bear the thought of you guys attending the race without meeting any of my friends. besides, you deserve an all-inclusive experience at your first grand prix.”

“besides,” max shoots you a wink, “i wanted to meet the woman who crafted such a talented driver.”

at max’s compliment, your mom’s face flushes, “oh please! i can barely make it on the freeway without having a nervous breakdown. i don’t know how she can drive these things. it amazes me how confident she is and–.”

“i could show you,” max offers, “i have some free time tomorrow. i’m sure we could all meet up somewhere and i could take you for a spin, show you the ropes. how does that sound?”

“oh max,” your mom waves a hand, “you do not–”

“but i want to. it’s no issue. no issue at all.” 

“then it’s a plan,” you can’t help but grin as your moms’ eyes light up, “what time works for you, max? since it’s only thursday, we’ll have some time in the morning before the practice laps. or, we could go after. whatever works for you.”

“let’s go in the morning,” max suggests, checking his phone, “i think i can make a few calls. have someone bring in a car. we’ll take it out on the track.”

“is that allowed?” your mom arches a brow, “i just don’t want you two to get in any sort of trouble. 

“oh mom,” you roll your eyes playfully, gesturing to max, “that is max verstappen. whatever max verstappen wants, max verstappen gets.”

“she’s not wrong.”

“okay fine,” your mom nods, and you feel a giggle forming at her overprotective nature. 

“just don’t give me a heart attack out there, max. i have a very important race to watch on sunday.”

as your parents talk to max, alex making his way into the conversation, you feel the buzz of your phone in your pocket. carefully, you fish it out, ensuring to shield your screen from your mom’s wandering gaze. 

this is unbearable. i need to see you tonight. are you going to have any free time? i vaguely recall you mentioning that your parents were going to be here. i will take no offense if you would like to spend time with them. i know you do not get to see them often. 

i need to be inside you, schatzi. i can’t think straight right now because the only thing i can think about is fucking that perfect pussy of yours. 

i miss my golden girl. more than anything. 

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“lewis? this is a pleasant surprise.”

“how’s it going mate?” lewis hamilton bears a quaint smile as he settles into a chair, face-to-face with the team principal, “things going well?”

“eh,” toto shrugs, his head bowed as he types away on his phone, “same old shit, you know.” 

“things going well with the horseback rider?”

oh, so he wasn’t going to drop it. silently, toto curses the attentive nature of his british driver, “they’re fine.”

“so,” lewis leans back, folding his arms across his chest, “when were you going to fess up and admit that your little girlfriend doesn’t ride horses?”

“i don’t understand what you–”

lewis scoffs, clicking his tongue, “i know exactly who your little girlfriend is because she’s a few spaces ahead of me on the grid.”

shit.

the expression painting lewis’ features is brimmed with satisfaction, his gaze piercing right through the team principal as he shifts uneasily in his desk chair, running a hand through his hair. 

toto was well aware that lewis had completely blindsided him, pinning him in a corner. it was quite literally perfect timing, as the team principal was merely minutes away from organizing his things, shutting down his computer, and heading out the door, well on his way to his golden girl. 

well played, lewis. well played. 

yet, he had to maintain his composure. he had to maintain that poker face as lewis cocks his head, prompting him to formulate some sort of witty retort. 

“i’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“bullshit,” lewis shakes his head, “you’re not a very good liar, toto. you of all people should know that i can read you like a bloody book. how long has this been going on?”

well, he had to fess up now. lewis would continue to call him out on his shit if he kept up with the lies. letting out a shaky breath, the team principal hangs his head in defeat, his heart thumping against his rib-cage, wiping his damp palms on his slacks.

no going back now. time to come clean. 

“since she won in jeddah. but if we’re being technical, it started in bahrain.”

“wait,” lewis sticks his hands up, squeezing his eyes shut, “pause. this has been going on since the start of the season? for weeks you’ve been sneaking around, meeting up with her in secret or something? was she the one who came to brackley between melbourne and suzuka?”

with all of the questions pouring from lewis’ mouth, toto’s mind reeled, a swirling torrent of anxiety, fear, and disappointment. his cheeks burn with shame, tinged pink. 

“yes, she was.”

tilting his head, lewis’ lips purse, “you like her?”

“well isn’t that blatantly fucking obvious,” propping his elbows on the desk, he massages his temples with his fingers, “how did you find out?”

“it wasn’t hard,” lewis shrugs, “i mean, i see the way you look at her.” 

toto’s eyes narrow at lewis’ vague response, “how. did. you. find. out?”

“natila texted me about it,” lewis coughs, averting the team principal’s beady stare, “she may have heard a conversation or two.” 

“regarding?” toto presses, satisfaction pumping in his veins as lewis starts to crack, shifting in the chair, “come on, lewis. you can’t just march in here and demand answers from me without sharing your sources. what did natila hear?”

“she heard the entire conversation you had with the drive to survive crew while we were in suzuka. they mentioned that they had footage of you walking over to her motorhome. that’s all natila heard. don’t fire the poor girl,” the words were rushed, breathy, “it was my fault. i asked her what she heard. i told her i would pay her if she told me what she knew.”

“well,” toto blinks, swallowing thickly, “did you end up paying her?”

“only like five thousand.”

“that’s quite a large sum over something you could have just asked me about personally,” clasping his hands together, toto raises a brow, “why didn’t you just come to me instead?”

“because you got so fucking defensive the first time i asked about it!” 

lewis did have a point. 

a good point, at that.

it was not like the team principal would have withheld information regarding his developing relationship with the williams driver. it was more like he feared what would ensue if he did share what had transpired. he trusted lewis, he really did. additionally, it wasn’t like this was just some average woman. his career, her future, and so much more were at stake. the benefits of keeping it all under wraps greatly outweighed the risk of discovery. 

more importantly, he was protective of his golden girl. 

she was his little escape from it all. a breath of fresh air after excruciatingly long nights in the paddock or disappointing days on the track. she was his sun, shining her vivid, warm, golden rays into his dreary and dull life. 

sure, toto was a billionaire. but money was not everything. 

nearly every day, toto’s mind wandered to their time spent together in brackley. the way she felt against his skin. the way her shy smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. the way her fingers felt intertwined with his. the way her lashes fluttered as she slept, lips parted ever so slightly. the way his hands roamed her curves, relishing the softness of her. 

that memory alone was worth far more than the number of zeroes in his bank account. 

“you’re falling in love, aren’t you?”

lewis’ voice is low, dangerously quiet. yet, there’s a curious glint in his eyes, the bitterness and anger no longer present. his body language is more relaxed, legs crossed, the driver fiddling with his thumbs. 

“i –” toto stutters, scrambling to find the right words, “yes, i am.”

“does she know?” 

“no,” he inhales sharply, “she doesn’t.”

“you want to tell her though, don’t you?”

“it would just feel rushed,” the team principal dismisses lewis’ inquiry, his voice hardening, “i have to be realistic here. no one falls in love that quickly. that’s just petulant.”

“well look at it this way,” lewis offers, “if you’ve had your eye on her for some time, then it’s really not that rushed. clearly, if you’re feeling those emotions so deeply, then it’s accumulated over time. i don’t want to pry, but how long have you been attracted to her?”

“you don’t want to know,” a chuckle rumbles in the team principal’s chest, “it’s embarrassing, really.”

“no, no, no,” lewis tuts, “tell me, toto. how long?”

“december 2022, when she signed her contract with williams. when i saw that photo of her, i knew i had to have her. last summer, in monaco, i may have slipped up and approached her at the afterparty. i flirted with her, but she dismissed me. so, i kept my distance. however, it was just growing harder and harder to stay away. it was impulsive, that night in bahrain. but i wanted to make a move before anyone else got to her.”

as toto finishes, he can’t help but notice lewis’ smirk, “holy shit, toto. you’ve been wrapped around her finger for quite some time then, yeah?”

“i wouldn’t say that–” toto begins, clicking his tongue, yet, he’s swiftly cut off as a new figure cracks open the door. 

george russell leans against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. his lips are pressed together, forming a tightly wound frown. 

“way to include me in the gossip session, guys. what did i miss? clearly, quite a lot. if you don’t mind, i would like to join the conversation. toto, would you start from the top? even though i’ve already heard most of it, when were you going to bring it to my attention that you were fucking that bloody williams driver?”

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taglist: @younxii @toldyouitwasamelodrama @kravitzwhore @persona1lies @pucksandpower @k3ira13 @prettiest-at-the-party @martwll @annewithaneofthegreengable @zoeyjadetice2010  @sinners-98-world @laura-naruto-fan1998 @nebarious @joalslibrary @swifth0lic

as always, if i forgot to include you, please let me know! thank you all for the continuous support! i love y'all sm!! <33

#toto wolff #f1 #formula 1 #toto wolff x reader #formula one #alkaline series #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff x you #alkaline: female driver! x toto wolff #female driver au #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #miami gp 2024 #max verstappen #george russell #lewis hamilton #alex albon #williams racing #mercedes amg petronas

[mypoisonedvine]

𝘧𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 || eddie munson x reader

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 || eddie's been your dealer-with-benefits for just a few weeks now, but you didn't know that he had another friend to spend time with when you weren't available... a plastic friend that he keeps in one of his drawers.

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 || over 3k

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 || smut (18+ only, use of a fleshlight, penetrative/rough sex), dom!reader, sub/switch!eddie, slightly service top eddie?, reader is a proud slut, implied drug use, some fluff/feelings at the end, eddie being a sweet lil baby with a crush on his bimbo client

NO SPOILERS for stranger things in here!!! it's just smut with no relation to the plot of the show at all lmao

“Second drawer from the top,” he nodded in the direction he was indicating, and you bit your lip as you crossed the trailer to search for the goods.  

After this many months of getting your supply from Eddie, you knew your way around the place.  And on nights like this, when you were going to get high together, he let you get it out yourself while he prepped the grinder and papers.

“W-wait, not—” he started to correct you, because you were opening the second from the bottom, but it was too late.  You’d already seen it, and you looked over your shoulder with a grin on your face as he started to blush.

“What’s this?” you asked tauntingly, picking up the black plastic fleshlight.

“N-no, don’t touch that,” he warned, “you… you don’t know where that’s been.”

“Oh, I think I do,” you grinned, standing up and starting to walk towards him.  “It’s been around your cock, right?”

He stammered, but didn’t really say anything, as you sauntered towards the couch and admired the beauty of his flustered expression. 

“Is this what you use when I have enough cash to pay for my shit the right way?” you wondered.  But he probably thought the other way was the right way… it started small, jerking him off for a dime bag, letting him feel your tits so he’d share a joint with you.  When you wanted enough to last you a while, you’d suck him off or ride him right here on this couch— or in his van, if you didn’t have time to go down to the trailer park for a deal.  And you could tell he was getting a little clingy, now, wanting more and more of you, offering ‘free’ stuff if he could fuck you again.  

Honestly, he was a good fuck, so there were times that you saved your money and just pretended you didn’t have enough cash to get your dose.  You’d come here tonight with plenty to pay for it properly, but now… now you had new ideas.

“Is this what you fuck when you can’t fuck me, Eddie?” you continued taunting, sitting down beside him and looking at the toy more closely.  “It’s better than just jerking off with your hand, right?”

“Y-yeah,” he admitted, voice cracking.  “Yeah, it’s better.”

“Looks like it feels alright,” you shrugged, playing with the soft plastic end, modeled in the shape of a ‘generic’ vulva… not nearly as beautiful as the real thing.  “Does it feel good when you fuck this, Eddie?”

He choked, but eventually nodded, and watched you slip a finger into the hole to feel the texture.

“Yeah, I can see the appeal,” you decided.  “How do you use it— you put lube on first, right?”

“A-and a condom,” he added.  “Easier to keep it clean…”

“That’s smart,” you smirked.  “You fuck me without a condom, but sure, give the toy some courtesy—”

“I— I would’ve used one if you asked!” he insisted.  “You said we didn’t need it—”

“I’m teasing you, Ed,” you rolled your eyes.  “I just think it’s funny.  You’re so careful with your toy, but so reckless with me… you don’t fuck any other clients raw, do you?”

“N-no,” he answered, “I don’t fuck any other clients at all… I… I actually don’t get laid that often.”

“Really?” you pressed, voice heavy with sarcasm.  “That wasn’t obvious to me already considering you’re a social pariah and came in half a minute when I blew you.”

He swallowed, and you laughed, remembering how sweet it was when he came all over your face in a matter of moments— and started apologizing before he’d even finished.  You promised it was fine— because actually, it was fucking hot— and he finally shut up when he watched you use your fingers to gather his come from your face and start licking it up.  What are you doing? he’d gasped.  Well, I can’t go back out there like this, can I? you’d replied.

“Still, I didn’t think you had this little number to come home to,” you giggled, admiring the piece.  “Does she have a name?”

“I-it’s not a she,” he sighed, “it’s just an it.  Can… can we smoke now, or what?”

“No, I wanna hear more about this first,” you insisted, and he groaned in frustration.  “You didn’t give it a name, but… do you say a name when you’re fucking it?”

Of course, you knew the answer when he looked away quickly.  

“Oh, baby, you can tell me,” you promised as you moved in a little closer.  “Whose name do you say?”

“Y-yours,” he admitted, finally, and you laughed quietly again.

“That’s cute.  You pretend it’s me?”

He nodded.

“Oh,” you smiled, “you must be very good at pretending.  Because this thing isn’t nearly as good as me.”

You heard the way his throat caught on itself, and the way he breathed shakily as you reached forward to start opening his belt and fly.  He lifted his hips to help you pull his jeans down, but you didn’t need to— you just reached into his boxers and pulled his cock out, surprised to find it already hard.

“Shit, Eddie, when’d you get a boner?” you giggled.

“Wh-when you said you were coming over,” he relented as you grinned, stroking him slowly.  

“I’ve got you trained good, huh?” you noticed.  “I told you I was bringing cash.  You still hoped something would happen, right?  But did you think this would happen?”

He shook his head.

“Put a finger in the toy for me, Eddie,” you instructed, and he did as he was told right away.  “It’s not like me, is it?  What does it feel like when you put a finger in me?”

“Feels like…” he breathed, looking down at where your hand was wrapped around his cock.  “Feels like it’ll barely fit.”

“Mm, that’s right,” you agreed.  “This toy isn’t that tight, you can only feel one wall at a time when you put a finger in.  Guess it doesn’t matter when you’ve got this big cock to fill it up, right?”

He grunted through his teeth, and you stroked him a little faster.

“Still, it feels so much better to stretch me out, doesn’t it?  Loosen me up a bit?”

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath.  “Yeah, it feels better t-to fuck you.  So much better.”

“And this toy, it can’t get wet for you,” you said like you were just realizing it.  “That’s so sad…”

“You’re always so wet,” he remembered with a little groan.

“Not always, Eddie,” you purred, “just when I’m around you.”

“Oh, god,” he moaned, head falling back on the couch.  You leaned forward and spit down onto the head of his dick, spreading it with your hand so you’d have a smoother go of it, and you felt his cock flex in your palm.  “Fuck, that… feels really good…”

“Yeah?” you encouraged.  “But the toy feels better than jerking off, that’s what you told me.  How about I let you fuck that?”

“O-oh, um,” he stammered, “I— I just wanna fuck you.  Please?  You can ride me if you want.”

You snorted— if you want.  Like it was a favor to you, and not him desperate to the point of begging.  You loved that begging… and unfortunately for him, you wanted more.  Ignoring his request, you took your hand off of him and grabbed the toy with your dominant hand instead— and slipped it down onto his erection.

“Shit,” he hissed, “please— it’s not as good, you know it’s not—”

“But it’s good enough,” you reminded him, your tone getting a little more stern as you moved the toy up and down over his dick.  “It’s good enough for you to fuck this thing, what, a few times a week?”

“More like every night,” he admitted.  “I… I fuck it a lot.  Sometimes more than that.”

“Really getting your money’s worth, huh?” you mocked.  “Tell me, did this cost more or less than it does to give me free drugs so you can fuck me?”

“M-more,” he answered.

“Funny, how my pussy’s so much cheaper but so much more valuable,” you grinned.  “I’ve always been a bit of a cheap whore, Eddie— you probably know that about me.”

“I… I never thought that about you,” he promised.

“You didn’t hear the rumors?” you challenged, raising an eyebrow.

“I did,” he admitted, “but I didn’t believe them…”

“Do you believe them now?” 

You were surprised to see him shake his head.  “You’re so much more than that,” he insisted, and you stuck your bottom lip out a bit.

“Awww, baby,” you cooed, “you’re a bit of a romantic, aren’t you?  Tell me, then— what do you think about when you’re fucking this?  Pretending it’s me and all… what do I say, what do I do?”

“I— I don’t know,” he breathed, and you stopped moving the toy instantly— he tried to move his hips a bit to keep the pace going, but stopped when he caught himself.

“Don’t lie, Eddie,” you warned.  “I like you because you’re honest.  Don’t mess that up.”

He smiled slightly, eyes tinted with hope as he looked at you.  “You like me?”

You rolled your eyes.  “No, I can’t stand the sight of you, that’s why I’m hopping on your dick every other time we meet up,” you answered sarcastically.  “Geez, Eddie, are you stupid or something?”

You heard that whimper, the one he tried to suppress.  “N-no,” he denied half-heartedly.

“Do you get a little stupid for pussy, though?” you wondered, and he forgot to answer when you started moving the toy again— proving your point exactly.

“Ohh god, baby,” he whined, clearly frustrated as his fists held on tightly to the sofa beneath him.  

“You were gonna tell me what you imagine me doing, when you’re fucking your little friend here,” you reminded him.

“I— I think about you getting on top of me,” he began to describe, eyes falling shut— you hoped he was imagining it now— “and kissing me… asking me to fuck you…”

Wow, kissing and then asking for consent.  Doesn’t get much more vanilla than that.  Good thing you found his innocence endearing— well, good thing for him.  Not so good for you, as you were trying to avoid catching feelings.  Normally you liked fucking guys because of the way they looked at you— in awe, amazed.  And Eddie certainly did that, but you actually liked fucking him, you liked how he felt inside you and how he kissed your neck while he warned you that he was close.  You’d told him so yourself, you knew those praises pushed him closer to the edge— but you failed to mention he was the only guy that you liked feeling inside you anymore.

You failed to mention he was the only guy you never faked it with.

“What else?” you prompted.

“And then I fuck you,” he said plainly.

“How?”

“Hard.”

It was your turn to bite your lip.  Good thing his eyes were closed or he would’ve seen how his words were affecting you.  “And what do I do when you fuck me hard, Eddie?”

“You… moan, a lot,” he mumbled.  

“Oh, that’s right— this toy can’t moan for you either, can it?  Wow, you poor thing.  Nobody here to tell you how good you fuck me.”

“God,” he whined through his teeth, and you moved the toy faster and faster over him— watching him thrust up his hips to meet it halfway.  

“It’s such a shitty substitute for me, but you’re still so desperate for it,” you observed.  “Are you always this desperate, baby?”

“Not always,” he breathed, smirking a little, “just when I’m around you.”

Hearing him repeat what you’d said before took you by surprise— and Eddie didn’t surprise you often.  He was pretty predictable.  He surprised you that first time you did something like this, by— bizarrely enough— giving you a hug after you’d given him a handjob.  Guys, overall, tended to react the same way to offers of sexual favors or to seeing your tits and all that, but that was new.  And weird.  But sort of sweet?  Mostly weird though.  He surprised you again by making you come when he fucked you, but that was a much more pleasant surprise.  

Still, overall, you’d gotten the hang of him and his habits pretty quickly.  He liked to kiss your neck, he liked to watch your tits bounce while you were riding him, he held onto your hips and kept you down if you tried to get off too soon… what he didn’t do was hit you with little witty remarks like that one, and totally throw you off your game.  Guess he didn’t get quite as stupid for pussy as you thought.

“You look cute,” you noticed, “fucking your toy for me.  You usually fuck it faster, don’t you?  You don’t like to take your time with it or anything?”

“I usually just wanna come,” he replied, “as fast as possible.”

The thought of him so pent up, fucking his fleshlight as he moaned your name, was… exciting, to say the least.  You wondered if he ever did this while his uncle was home, across the trailer sleeping— did he have to bite his fist to keep quiet?  That was extra exciting.  “Do you wanna come now?” you asked.

“Not like this,” he pleaded, “not— not in the toy, when you’re right there…”

“Yeah, I’m right here,” you grinned, “but what if I wanna see—”

He didn’t even let you finish.  “Fuck, don’t make me come in the toy, please,” he begged.  “You like how I fuck you, right?  I’ll do whatever you like, baby, please…”

That would be a tempting offer if it wasn’t always true.  You simply picked up the pace again, making sure to push the toy all the way down to the base of him each time; he whined and gripped the sofa tighter.

“You can touch me instead, if you want,” you offered with a purr.  “You can feel my tits— go ahead, Eddie, I’ll lift my shirt up for you—”

“No,” he choked out.  There he goes, surprising you again…

“No?”

“No, I’ll come,” he clarified with a grunt.  “If I feel your tits right now, if I even see them, I’ll fucking come— and I don’t wanna come in the toy, I wanna fuck you so bad, please baby—!”

“Shh, don’t get all worked up,” you smiled, “I’m gonna let you come in me, Eddie.  Is that what you want?” 

“Yes!” he shouted, “fuck yes— thank you…”

Oh, that thank you, it tugged at your heart more than you expected.  “You just gotta promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

You smiled proudly.  “I want you to fuck me the way you fuck that toy when I’m not here, okay?”

Pulling the fleshlight off of his cock, you watched it bob in the air helplessly for a second.

“I’m your toy now,” you told him, and he instantly launched forward to capture you in a kiss.

“You’re so much more than that,” he mumbled against your lips after a moment of it, and you resisted the urge to melt into his arms.  He kissed you harder, deeper, needier— and just about when you expected him to pull you onto his lap, he stood up instead.  “Hold onto the back of the couch,” he ordered.  Well, you weren’t one to say no to that.

When you were bent over on your knees, holding the couch diligently, he yanked your shorts and underwear down and instantly speared you onto his cock.  “Fuck!” you shouted, toes curling from the stretch— yes, you were dripping wet, but he was still a lot to take.

“So much better,” he sighed, “fuck, you’re perfect.”

He grabbed your hips and set a ruthless pace— fast and rough, filling you to the brim every time.  This must be the way he fucks the toy, desperate to come above all else… and you loved it.  You couldn’t stop yourself from moaning, even though the force of his thrusts made you feel like the wind was getting knocked out of you.  He moved one hand up from your hips to your shoulder, keeping you from getting too far away so he could go as deep as possible; your eyes rolled back in your head.  “Eddie,” you sobbed.

“Louder,” he demanded.

“Eddie!”

“Fuck, that’s it,” he sighed, “want everyone to hear you… they can all hear you, baby, keep going.”

And you did, screaming his name like you’d forgotten every other word— which wasn’t too far from the truth.  You realized, then, that he really didn’t want you to be his toy.  He just wanted you to be his.

“I’m close,” he groaned, so quiet it was hard to hear him over your own cries, “I’m gonna come inside you…”

“Come in me,” you encouraged, “come for me, Eddie— I’m yours.”

You said it because it was true, not because you knew it was what he wanted to hear.  But, it still made him come in an instant.  He held onto your hips and keeled over as he buried himself deep, giving you every drop and making you feel so beautifully full.  He kept coming for a while, and you hummed happily as he started to catch his breath.  “Fuck,” he panted, resting his forehead on the back of your shoulder, “I came too fast, I-I’m sorry—”

“No, it’s okay, I wanted you to,” you promised.

“But you didn’t,” he sighed.

“Don’t worry about it,” you laughed, “that’s another thing toys can’t do.”

“And that’s another reason why you’re so much better,” he replied, reaching down under you to slip his hand between your legs.  His fingers started to gently circle your clit, just below where he was still inside you.  You whined, and you heard him growl as you tensed up inside.  “See, that— the way you grip me… I wanna feel you come, baby, do you think you still can?”

If anything, your problem was just going to be how easy it was— you’d gotten way too close from just a minute of being fucked like that, it was embarrassing.  Well, it should’ve been embarrassing.  But you weren’t as self-conscious about it as you thought you would be.

His fingers found a pattern, not too much pressure but still plenty, as they rubbed circles on your bud.  You kept whimpering, trying to rock your hips back onto him, but he held you still to keep you from moving too much on his sensitive cock.  “Just stay still, I’m gonna make you come, okay?” he breathed.  

It was all about you, you weren’t really used to that.  Actually, you weren’t at all used to that.  Nobody had ever taken the time to make sure you came… even Eddie just usually made it happen on accident.

“Oh god,” you heard yourself gasp— you were fighting it, though you weren’t sure why.

“That’s it,” he cooed, “that’s my girl.”

Yours.  You came with a gasp of his name, your back arching deeper as he kissed along the line of your shoulder.  He kept showering you in praise, letting you ride it out before he gently pulled you down to lay with him on the couch— careful never to let his cock slip out, keeping you full and warm as you started to relax.

It took you a minute to come back to reality, and you squeezed his hand at the end of where his arm was wrapped around you, holding you tightly against him.

“You’re full of surprises, you know that, Eddie?” you smiled.

“What does that mean?” he chuckled.

Really, though, it wasn’t just that he managed to surprise you from time to time.  It was the way that he made you surprise yourself.  Maybe not all guys were the same, and maybe he was right: maybe you were so much more than what they thought you were.

#eddie munson x reader #sub!eddie munson x reader #sub!eddie munson #eddie munson smut

[dragongutsixofficial]

THOUGHTS ON EPISODES 7 AND 8:

Episode 7:

RICHELIEU MY POOR LITTLE MEOW MEOW

A Richelieu-centric episode ??? Sign me THE FUCK IN (seriously though he may be my favorite character in the book i'll take any crumbs I can)

Also loved to see him and Milady interacting more !!! Super nice 🖤⚜️

GO APESHIT RICHELIEU

FUCK THE POPE RICHELIEU

In the book (SPOILER ALERT) Milady tells a story very similar to the false testimony she gives in court in order to make Buckingham's right-hand man believe he abducted and raped her and turn him against him- it's really nice to see that referenced in the show

Like to see Louis actually having a personnality

Liked Ninon ! But why would you fall for Athos when ARAMIS IS RIGHT HERE

Also I do think they didn't need her to romance anyone to make her interesting in that episode ? I understand it's the usual plot device but ah well

Love how the last shot of the episode is Constance pining d'Artagnan against a shelf. We all know who's the top in the relationship

To conclude: great episode, did I mention i loved to see more of Richelieu ?

RICHELIEU MY POOR LITTLE MEOW MEOW

Episode 8:

MILADY MY POOR LITTLE MEOW MEOW

Love how the skirt-chasing for money is exactly how it works in the book

Alice (Porthos' love interest) is a pretty good reference to his mistress in the book and a very nice lady but I think the hilarity of Porthos having to deal with her original version would've been amazing (an older woman married to a cupid man who won't spend a dime while they're both just desperately waiting for him to pass to inherit his fortune)

Love how (in the French version at least) d'Artagnan is barely portrayed as actually caring for his farmers' lives, only his cash xD

De Tréville is a good dad

Love d'Artagnan just walking into Richelieu's office like he owns the place

Richelieu is having a mental breakdown

GOOD FOR HIM MY POOR LITTLE MEOW MEOW

But don't be mean to Milady >=(

Milady and Athos being like: love in the air ? Wrong ! Gas leak =D

Mr. Bonacieux is very nice with Constance though. Like I would not have reacted that well

Also nice to see him working for Richelieu. The people who made this show clearly dearly care for the book

d'Artagnan getting promoted !!! Yeah =D now he's got the cool shoulder pad

d'Artagnan in the book 5000000000% wants Milady and does still a dude's identity for the second time in order to essentially rape her though so it's nice to see d'artagnan having a moral backbone more solid than that of a chocolate éclair

So uh. I do think Aramis took his own sword back from his ex's grave

Btw in French at least right before they start the duel d'artagnan says something like "speaking from personal experience, never trust in love" and Athos gives him a dramatic side eye. This can be explained in two ways: 1- he relates 2- d'artagnan YOU'RE SAYING THAT IN FRONT OF YOUR POLYCULE

Also once Alice dumps Porthos in the French version him and Aramis have an exchange that's like "So you're not gonna marry her" "Who would take care of you if I did" and I love them

Before he gets dumped, Porthos also says something to the effect of "there's a life after being a musketeer" to shut Aramis' criticism down. Boy don't give him ideas. If this was book! Aramis he'd take it to heart have an existential crisis lock himself in a room for weeks and whip himself crying about how he's gonna become a cleric

Edit: fixed a typo from Milady and Porthos to Milady and Athos

#the musketeers #d'artagnan #aramis #porthos #athos #richelieu #milady de winter #louis xiii #the three musketeers #alexandre dumas #dgix watches the musketeers #the musketeers bbc #monsieur bonacieux #constance bonacieux

[blacknifealecto]

Happy DFF Bestie!!!!! A little challenge: write a 300 word (triple) drabble about J/D…can be superpeaks if you want!

HAPPY DFF as we know I went Fucking Insane and actually did....three of these because superpeaks has me so bewitched

Putting these behind a cut so it's not super long on the dash

Dean ambled through the door of their room at the Pine View, a stack of envelopes in his hand. “Ran by the post office, the box was damn near full.” The room was a haze of cigarette smoke, common during the day when Sam was at school. With the weird case he’d been on, he’d been spending the days holed up in the hotel smoking cigarette after cigarette on Dean’s dime as he tried to draw connections between the dead girls - grasping at straws if you asked him.

John barely looked up as Dean threw the stack of letters on the table, fake names in barely legible scrawls, some of the envelopes floppy and over-soft from the sweaty hands that had sent them. “And?” He said, his voice a tired growl. He was deep in the weeds of the case bullshit.

Dean snatched the cigarette from his fingers as his dad exhaled a drag and put it between his own lips, smirking cockily as John looked up at him “How about you take a break?” He asked as he scooted John’s chair back the couple of inches he needed to sit on his dad’s lap. “We’ve got the time to answer some of those real quick, make some cash for your-” he paused to take a drag of his own, “habit here.” The smoke leaked from between his lips as he spoke.

He smiled as his dad leaned past him and grabbed the first letter on the pile and opened it, splitting the side of the envelope with one quick jerk. As John read the letter, a desperate plea to meet the luscious-lipped boy perched on his lap, Dean trailed smoky kisses across his jaw. He could feel his dad’s cock stiffen through his pants, pressing gently against his thigh.

The tacky lingerie thong chafed between the cheeks of Dean’s ass, the fabric painfully cheap. There hadn’t been a whole lot else at One-Eyed Jacks that was fit for a boy besides a couple of thongs that strained to fit his cock in them. He’d seen the thick fold of cash Laura had come out with the last time they’d been together, and she wore the ridiculous card-themed lingerie that the patrons were so obsessed with. So he’d wear the stupid thing, black satin with red lace, dotted with little heart and diamond beads around the waist.

The lights in the room he’d been shown to were dim, casting a dull golden glow over the red carpet, the wood panel walls, the over the top decor. He couldn’t believe anyone could get off to this, let alone enough people for the place to stay afloat. But old dudes had weird taste, he’d seen that firsthand.

Dean looked up as the door opened, his second patron of the evening. The first had been a quick blowjob, his knees still pink from the time he’d spent kneeling on the carpet. Old guy, weird french accent. He’d scared Dean.

John. His eyes slightly lidded, he’d been drinking, probably been gambling too. Dean hoped he’d won the money he was paying for this with, otherwise those were funds he'd gathered. “Never seen you in something like that before,” John said, his words just on the edge of slurring, “looks cute on you baby.” Dean gulped and nodded as John crossed the room and grabbed his chin hard, pulling him up into a rough sloppy kiss. “I don’t think-” he nipped at Dean’s lips roughly, prompting a shocked gasp from his son, “I mind paying for it if I get to fuck you in this.”

Dean heard the door to the bathroom open, the footfalls instantly identifiable as his dad. He sniffed the bump of coke off the motel room key quickly and followed it up with a cough, hoping John hadn’t heard him doing coke in the bathroom of the Roadhouse. 

“I know what you’re doing in there,” John said, still loud to compensate for the bar noise. In the silent room, it startled Dean. He dropped the key on the floor, a disappointing amount of powder still clinging to it as it fell. “That why you’re so okay with whoring yourself out, Dean?” John saying his name was an accusation, a pointer finger jabbed into his chest through the door of the lone stall in the bathroom.

“You’re one to talk,” Dean said as he bent to pick the key, sticking the dirty metal in his mouth to suck the stuck remnants off, “smokin’ me out of house and ho-” 

The door banged open, John’s eyes dark as he stared down his son. “What did you say to me?” Three steps and he had Dean back against the wall, looking down at him with rage and hunger in his eyes. “I’m your father, you little slut,” he said, voice a growl, “you oughta treat me with some respect.” 

Backed against the wall like that, Dean barely recognized his father. Since coming to Twin Peaks, there was a new darkness Dean saw in his eyes sometimes, not the usual simmering rage of having lost his wife, his life. This was hungry, a predator in the shadows, stalking Dean as its prey. He shivered as John leaned in and placed a wet kiss on his jaw, his father’s teeth on his ear prompting a high yelp. “What,” this John’s voice was different, even darker, more distant, “thought you wanted to play with fire.”

#dadfucker friday #johndean #i shant say #superpeaks #i think about the things twin peaks would do to john and i feel so bonkers its great

[fadedlovemp3]

HEY LADIES WHEN YOUR MAN WANNA GET BUCK WILD JUST GO BACK AND HIT EM UP STYLE GET YOUR HANDS ON HIS CASH AND SPEND IT TO THE LAST DIME FOR ALL THE HARD TIMES OH WHEN YOU GO THEN EVERYTHING GOES FROM THE CRIB TO THE RIDE AND THE CLOTHES SO BETTER LET HIM KNOW THAT IF HE MESS UP YOU GOTTA HIT EM UP

[einsteinsugly]

The Most Jackie-ish Songs Ever...

"Emotions" by Mariah Carey (you've got me feeling emotions, deeper than I've ever dreamed of...)

"Heart of Glass" by Blondie (in between, what I find is pleasing and I'm feeling fine...)

"Hit 'Em Up Style" by Blu Cantrell (get your hands on his cash and spend it to the last dime...)

"Killer Queen" by Queen (she's a killer queen...dynamite with a laser beam...)

"Lovefool" by The Cardigans (love me, love me, say that you love me...)

"Money, Money, Money" by ABBA (money, money, money, must be sunny, in a rich man's world...)

"Pretty Girl Rock" by Keri Hilson (don't hate me 'cause I'm beautiful...)

"She Works Hard for the Money" by Donna Summer (she works hard for the money, so you'd better treat her right...)

"Straight Up" by Paula Abdul (do, do you love me?)

"Take a Chance on Me" by ABBA (if you change your mind, I'm the first in line...)

"The Tide is High" by Blondie (the tide is high, but I'm holding on, I'm gonna be your number one...)

"Uptown Girl" by Billy Joel (uptown girl, she's been living in her uptown world...)

#that 70s show #that 90s show #jackie burkhart #my essays #teh music #this is all i've got #and then burning down the house for kelso

[sp1rit-realm]

HEY LADIES WHEN YOUR MAN WANNA GET BUCK WILD JUST GO BACK AND HIT EM UP STYLE GET YOUR HANDS ON HIS CASH AND SPEND UNTIL THE LAST DIME FOR ALL THE HARD TIMES

#hit em up style #hannah's headphones

[thewigglingrng]

Sometimes you take the moon and you take the sun. You take everything that seems like fun.

But then he takes the house and he takes the Thembots. That's when go back and hit'em up style

Get your hands on his cash and spend it to the last dime. But then u catch him red-handed creeping on the person next door.

Picture this they were both butt-naked banging on bathroom floor. How could you forget he was still in contact with the Thembots.

But then you get a text from 9 inch Neil that says. If your're horny, let's do it.

Ride it, my pony. Which got you screaming yeah-yeah-yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

You then finally text The Thembots group chat to make emands and share screenshots on your potential hookup

With your last text to the chat Stating. So come aboard and bring along. All your hopes and dreams. Together we will find everything that we're looking for. Thembot world domination!

#is what it is #an evil villain spy plan that would work on me

[motownfiction]

two pennies and a dime

Lucy’s about to do something bold. At least, she wants to. When she reaches into the little red purse her parents got her for her birthday last year, she finds she only has two pennies and a dime.

She’s in eighth grade and standing in a very long lunch line. Like always, Lucy brought her lunch in a brown paper bag, but that’s not what she’s doing up here. She’s not in this line for herself at all.

No, she’s in it for Will.

That may very well be the theme of this whole school year: Lucy Callaghan is in it for Will O’Connor. It doesn’t matter what happens. If she attends one of the school dances, she does it because Will is going to be there, and she wants to spend just that much extra time with him. Watching his lanky bones try to pull off the Hustle. Making fun of people on the sidelines with him. Hearing him laugh. Lucy is in it for Will. She’s been in it for him since the day they met, seven and a half years ago, when he asked her what a Pisces was.

It’s just that now, she’s tough enough to admit it.

Everyday since they started eating lunch in the high school cafeteria in sixth grade (the only place St. Catherine’s can fit their junior high students in the middle of the afternoon), Will has made a big show of wanting an ice cream sandwich. His mother never gave him money for one because she thought a full dollar for mediocre chocolate cookies and vanilla soft serve was a rip-off. And in large part, Lucy agrees. But they’re coming to the end of junior high now – the end of an era, the era of Will’s ice cream lament – and Lucy figures it’s a good epilogue.

Or, at least, it would be if she had more in her purse than two pennies and a dime.

She really should have been thinking. Usually, she’s so good at planning things ahead of time. Last year, when she heard that Ms. Dumont always assigns a research paper to her eighth graders, due annually in April, Lucy got started over the summer. She had an annotated bibliography by Labor Day, which wasn’t even required. Lucy is good at plans. She’s good at anticipation. But as soon as Will enters the equation, she forgets what it means to solve for x. And that’s saying a lot, given she’s never been very good at math in the first place.

Sadie’s standing next to her in line, listening dutifully as Lucy drones on and on about how she would have loved to see the look on Will’s face when she gave him an ice cream sandwich. Lucy’s never actually told Sadie that she’s in love with Will, but since they’re best friends, she has to have figured it out by now. Besides, Sadie reads people’s feelings even better than Lucy reads Silas Marner. She gets it.

“I just can’t stop thinking about the satisfaction of it all,” Lucy says as they slowly inch forward in line. “It would be like bookends. You know … the story begins with Will wanting an ice cream sandwich, and it ends with him getting one?”

“I know,” Sadie says.

“And you know how much I like bookends.”

“Yeah. You have a whole bunch in your bedroom alone.”

“They make me look so professional.”

Sadie laughs. They step forward in line, and Lucy further realizes how embarrassing it’s going to be to get up to the cash register and not buy anything.

“I just really thought he’d like it,” Lucy says. “And he does so many nice things for me. I don’t know why, but …”

“He’s in love with you,” Sadie interrupts. “Don’t act like it’s something else.”

Lucy blushes. She still can’t make herself believe that anybody would look at her and like her like that. She’s not sure she can say in love, even though that’s pretty much how she feels whenever she looks at Will. She shuffles forward in the lunch line.

“I just wanted to be nice,” she says. “Anyway, that’s all.”

Sadie snorts, as though she knows it is most certainly not all. She reaches into her own little green purse and pulls out a crisp dollar bill, which she hands right to Lucy.

“My grandma gave me that the other day,” she says. “I have enough money to get lunch, but she told me to spend that dollar on something special.”

Lucy bites her lip to quell the incredible love bubbling up inside of her.

“And what?” she asks. “I’m something special?”

Sadie nods.

“Yeah,” she says. “You, and whatever you have going on with Will. That’s the kind of thing I want to spend a dollar on.”

Lucy nods. She tucks the dollar into her purse and wonders what she did to deserve a best friend as perfect as Sadie.

“Besides,” Sadie adds, “I kind of want to see his face, too.”

The girls laugh, and a minute later, Lucy has the ice cream sandwich. Years from now, when she and Will are married, they’ll look back on that afternoon as a seminal moment in their never-ending romance. And Lucy won’t deny it.

But she also won’t deny what it really was: the day she realized she and Sadie had their own never-ending love, too.

#drabble #food #writeblr #ch: lucy callaghan #ch: sadie doyle #ch: will o'connor #dynamic: sister christian #ship: c'est la vie say the old folks #year: 1981 #asks #marshalcoded #thank you!

[cyancherub]

money | hayakawa aki

PAIRING.  aki x fem!reader

LENGTH.  10.5k (also available to read on ao3)

PLAYLIST.  dressdown

SYNOPSIS.  your boyfriend has two problems: the first is that he wants you to spend all of his money, and the second is that he really wants to fuck you in the fitting rooms.

CONTENT.  established relationship, semi-public sex (takes place in the dressing rooms of a lingerie shop; it gets crowded at some points), mirror sex, praise kink, size kink (he’s much taller than you and just generally larger than you), a lot of teasing and foreplay, nipple play, hand / finger kink, fingering, some guided masturbation, oral (f receiving, he eats both holes from the back), tonguefucking, soft sex, multiple orgasms, simultaneous orgasms, creampie, pet names (baby), consensual somno flashback

OTHER NOTES.  needy reader but he likes it, he’s in control but in a soft way (a lot of gentle instruction), reader is in form fitting lingerie, aki smokes indoors, there’s also sort of a paypig dynamic because he just really wants you to spend his money LOL

NOTES.  all my love to mystic @uppermocns​ for making me fall head over heels for this man who would treat u so right, and also for tons of the headcanons & little details that went into this fic. <33

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU ARE A MINOR. BY CLICKING THE READMORE, YOU CONSENT TO VIEWING ALL THE CONTENT STATED IN THE WARNINGS.

Aki has a bit of a spending problem.

It’s not that he’s impulsive with his purchases, and he’s definitely not anywhere close to being strapped for cash. He’s frugal and low maintenance, and he’s responsible with every dollar he spends on himself. He works often, and works overtime whenever there are extra things to be done — as long as you don’t mind an evening to yourself every once in a while. He doesn’t even use his leave days unless you feel like going somewhere special.

(He’ll also use his leave days if Denji and Power pester him enough to take them on a trip, but that’s beside the point.)

The point is, he’s more than comfortable, and he has a good amount of money leftover to play with. But he doesn’t play with his money; he can’t remember the last time he splurged on something for himself.

The crux of the problem, then, is that Aki wants you to play with his money.

You’re not greedy or spoiled, and he doesn’t think you’d object if he were to never spend a single dime on you. But, for whatever reason, whenever he sees you, Aki wants to splurge.

So, on the days when you’re both free — after the lazy morning bleeds into the lazy afternoon, after you eat the breakfast he’s made for you, and after he clears your dishes from the table — he asks. From the sink, with his eyes on the soapy dishes, in a tone free of obligation, he ventures,

“Do you feel like going to the mall today?”

Of course, he doesn’t mind if you say no. If there’s one thing he wants to spend on you more than his money, it’s his time. But luckily for him, you understand his spending problem. So the answer is usually,

“I’d love to.”

So the two of you often end up just as you are today — strolling through the mall together, your arm looped around his. You always use the opportunity to dress up; you like to go out adorned in one of the pretty little dresses he’s bought for you. And he’s usually in something understated, something that’s become soft and comfortable with wear. He stays casual — hair down, a cigarette in his mouth. Maybe a little at odds with you, like you’re the diamond of a ring and he’s the band.

But Aki doesn’t mind blending into the background. These trips are supposed to be about you, anyway. He likes it like this: letting you set the pace, letting you lead him into whichever shops you feel like going to.

You usually take your time browsing, and then in the dressing rooms. But he’s patient; he doesn’t mind. Really, he finds it enjoyable to sit back and smoke while you try on all the outfits you’ve picked out. You always come out looking pretty in everything you put on, and seeing your face light up when you find something you particularly like is all the entertainment he needs on a day off.

He’d buy it all for you, every single outfit you want, but to his chagrin, you’re usually a little picky. So he always ends up carrying a few less bags for you than he’d like to. You’ve long since stopped complaining about how much he spends on you, but he suspects that you’re still holding back.

But he makes it up to you in the little ways.

As the two of you exit a shop, Aki hears you murmur something about stopping for coffee. So he takes you to one of the overpriced cafes in the mall and orders you something extravagant. Something with a lot of words in the title, and a lot of whipped cream.

The tables at the cafe are absurdly small; the bags of clothing sit on the floor around the two of you, like a small sea of gifts. He watches you use your straw to inhale some of the whipped cream at the top of your drink while he sips on a black coffee between drags of his cigarette.

“Is there anywhere else you want to go?”

“Oh,” you muse, “I think they were opening up a new lingerie shop on the second level? But it seems kind of expensive, so…”

“Lingerie shop?” he says. “Okay. Finish your coffee. Then we’ll go.”

He finishes long before you, so he nurses his cigarette patiently, waiting for you with his chin propped up on his other hand. He’s thinking that he doesn’t want to make anyone in the lingerie shop uncomfortable if he hangs around, so he should probably let you go in alone. He can use the downtime to find something for Power and Denji at a different store.

He plans to tell you that once you’ve finished your coffee, but you immediately start to chatter about the outfits he bought you earlier as you lead him to the lingerie shop. He doesn’t have the chance to slip away before the two of you are at the store front; he’s in the middle of saying hold on, let me just give you some money, but you’re already pulling him in with you by the arm.

“What are you worried about? Couples shop together in places like this all the time.”

He’s not sure about that, but you’re already through the door. You were right — this is an upscale place — dimly lit, expansive. There’s an employee waiting right at the front to greet you both. He thinks he might protest again about coming in with you, but the employee is already welcoming him and taking the bags from his hands to stash them away for safekeeping while you shop.

He guesses he might as well stay with you. He really doesn’t want to disturb anyone, but you’re already flouncing over to one of the racks. So he settles for smiling apologetically whenever he happens to make eye contact with another shopper.

He tags along as you shop around, watching you pluck things off the racks — paying more attention to you than the sets you pick out. Thankfully, it’s not very crowded, so there aren’t many people around to worry about. He’s doubly grateful for that when you pull him through the little doorway that leads to the fitting rooms.

He’s used to waiting for you near the fitting rooms of whatever store you’re in. It just seems a little less appropriate when it’s a lingerie shop.

“Should I really be in here?”

You’re a little flippant when you respond. “It’s completely fine. Why else would they have a seating area?”

Looking over at the lavish chairs opposite the stalls, he guesses that you’re right. Everything in this place is oversized and luxurious; there’s even a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Not that it’s emitting much light. It’s so dim in here that he wonders how people can even see what they’re trying on. Maybe it’s a sales tactic, he muses.

“Just wait right there,” you’re saying, pointing at the chairs.

He doesn’t mind waiting. He doesn’t mind when you order him around a little, either. It’s cute, in a way. A nice change of pace, since he’s usually the one giving orders at work.

He settles into a chair as he watches you disappear into one of the absurdly large fitting rooms, catching a glimpse of the inside. Mirrored walls all the way around.

He’s not expecting you to come out and show him what you’ve picked out this time; it’s not like you’re going to do a twirl for him out in the open while you’re in nothing but lingerie. Not that he’d object if you did, but maybe the wait will be a nice change of pace, too. He’s sure you’ll show him what you’ve picked out once the two of you get home, and he’s looking forward to the surprise.

It’ll almost be like a little present for the both of you. You dress up in a pretty little set, and he’s the only one who gets to see it on you. He’s the only one who gets to take it off of you. Maybe that makes this shopping trip a little bit selfish — maybe it defeats the point of taking you shopping — but he can think of endless ways to make it up to you. Endless ways to treat you.

Maybe he’ll take you out for dinner later, or cook you something nice. Whatever will make you happier. He’s mulling it over, taking a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, when an employee walks in.

“Is there anything I can do to help either of you?” she asks politely.

“No, thank you,” he says. “Is it okay that I’m in here?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Is it alright if I smoke in here?”

“Of course. There’s an ashtray right over in the corner. Let us know if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

He lights the cigarette once she’s gone, listening to the soft music playing overhead. And, a little above that, the sound of fabric and hangers shifting. He didn’t really get a good look at anything you picked out; he never really does, until it’s on you. That’s when it looks best, anyway.

Aki lets his mind wander as he smokes. He can hear you undressing as you take off another set, and he can conjure an image to match. He knows exactly what it looks like when you take your clothes off; it’s something he’s seen over and over, something that’s become familiar to him over the years.

But the image is still so provocative — something to indulge in, something to get lost in. A little fantasy: straps dropping, fabric falling slack to expose bare skin, the curves of your body. He’s seen them countless times over, but that doesn’t matter; as far as he’s concerned, this love is still brand new. He’s a man who finds novelty in comfort and familiarity. He’s a man who values every moment with you; he’ll treat every practiced experience as if it’s the very first time it’s being done, or the very last. He gives every moment the attention and adoration it deserves.

He sits in the dim light, fantasizing, as he listens to you dress and undress.

It’s not long before he’s smoked his cigarette down. As he rises, wandering over to the ashtray, Aki’s thinking about quitting the habit. He puts the cigarette out and looks absently at the sets of lingerie hanging on the rack near the doorway, slipping a piece of mint gum into his mouth.

You’ve never hassled him about the cigarettes, but now that he’s left the Bureau, and now that he’s at a job where his stress is more manageable, he’s made it a point to smoke less. They’re not good for his health, and he wants more time. Time to do as much as possible, for you and with you.

He’ll wean off of them enough to quit soon, he thinks, focusing on the mint spreading on his tongue.

“Aki?”

He walks back over, stopping outside the door to your fitting room.

“How’s it going?”

“Great,” you respond from behind the door, “but I need a little bit of help.”

“What do you need? Should I get someone?”

“Don’t be silly. I just need help with the zipper. I can’t reach it.”

He hears the door unlock; it opens slightly, and your face pops into view.

“Okay,” he says. “Turn around. But make it quick. I don’t want them to think we’re up to something suspicious.”

His voice is stern, but he smiles when you spin to expose the zipper on your back to him.

“Us, up to something suspicious?” you say with mock incredulity. “My boyfriend would never dare do something suspicious in the fitting rooms.”

He snorts a little. He’s thinking that it’s a little odd for a lingerie brand to design something you wouldn’t be able to put on by yourself. But considering the placement of the zipper, you definitely should be able to zip it up without help, which means you just called him over to help because you wanted to.

He doesn’t mind; he never minds helping you. So he pulls the delicate fabric closed, guiding the zipper up with light hands. You spin when it’s done, turning back around to face him; he keeps his eyes up, fixing them on your face instead of on the lingerie. Half out of politeness, and half because he wants to be surprised when the two of you get home.

The dim light makes it a little easier to ignore what you’re wearing. So does the fact that he’s so much taller than you, looking down at you from this close. But his eyes wander for a fraction of a second, and he finds himself stealing a glimpse anyway.

A glimpse of black mesh. Thin, delicate, and perfectly tailored to your body.

Aki clenches his jaw, mint gum caught between his teeth — he shouldn’t have looked. He meets your eyes, watches mischief bloom in them.

My boyfriend would never do something suspicious in the fitting rooms, you’d said.

He doesn’t know if he agrees. Especially not now.

You cock your head to the side. “Or would you?”

“I guess I haven’t given it much thought,” he says, breathy.

It’s true. It’s not that he’s a saint; he was just fantasizing about undressing you a few moments ago. He’s dying to take you home and see you in your new lingerie just so he can take you out of it. But he’s never really outright thought about bending you over and making you moan in the middle of a fitting room.

Until now. And now, that’s all he’s thinking about.

Aki loves having you at home; he’ll fuck you in the same bed, on the same sheets, and hit the same spots over and over because he knows exactly which ones make you cum. It’ll never get old, not for him.

But right now, he’s thinking of something different.

Skipping the intermediary steps. Fucking you right here. Right now. No checkout, no ride home, no waiting.

That’s what’s on his mind when your hand darts out from inside the fitting room, balling up in the front of his shirt. You tug him quickly into the stall with you, swinging the door shut behind him and locking it.

“What are you doing?” he chides under his breath. “I shouldn’t be in here.”

You pout, feign innocence. “I just want to know what you think about the lingerie, since you’re the one buying it for me.”

He’s silent for a second, chewing his gum while he looks down at your face. You blink upward, batting your eyelashes.

He narrows his eyes. “You’re not being subtle at all. What if the employees notice I’m gone—”

“Don’t be so nervous. It’s not a big deal. All you’re doing is giving me your opinion, right? Please?”

Please. He melts whenever you beg.

And it’s not like he’d ever really say no to you. Not when you ask so nicely, not when you give him that look. And especially not when you take a couple of small steps backward to showcase your body for him. Just far enough back with the height difference, bringing yourself to the perfect spot. The perfect angle for him to see you in the lingerie.

“My opinion…?”

He wants to talk, but he’s so busy looking; his eyes are everywhere on the mesh, taking in every detail of it, and every detail of you that he can see underneath. He always wants to give you all of his attention, but now you’ve really got it.

“I think…”

He thinks that every single thing you put on looks perfect on you, but that this somehow tops everything else. It’s a little simple, but that’s the trick of it — like an understated picture frame, it lets him appreciate the beauty of the image it encompasses. And, like a frame, it’s snug on your body. Hugs you just right. A perfect fit — clinging to your curves, accentuating every single one.

But what’s really getting to him is the fact that he can see slightly through the black mesh. Just barely. All he can see is a hint of what’s underneath. The faintest view of your tits, and your thong.

He thinks that view might drive him crazy. Because it’s not enough. There’s some trick to the lingerie; there’s something about it that’s making him feel like he’s never really seen you before. He feels the need to uncover you and really see what’s hidden underneath.

But with the way he’s feeling right now, he doesn’t even think it’ll be enough to just see you. He’ll have to touch you. Feel you. Taste you.

“Well?” you ask, expectant. “What do you think?”

Aki thinks that he shouldn’t want you so much right here, in the middle of the mall, but —

“Baby, I think…”

He thinks that he really, really wants to fuck you. He wants to fuck you so much that he’s already hard just from standing here looking at you.

His feverish thoughts are interrupted by the approaching clack of heels on glossed tile, and of soft laughter. He raises his eyes to yours, watches them widen, listening to the voices entering the fitting room.

For a moment, he thinks it must be employees — that there’ll be a knock on the door at any moment, and he’ll have to pacify angry workers annoyed by his antics.

But instead, he hears doors to other stalls in the fitting room opening, then closing over the soft music playing overhead. The sound of metal hangers clanging, of clothing rustling. There’s conversation, too. Voices raised a little, so they carry between stalls. Two friends, he thinks, with relief. Just two friends trying things on.

Maybe he should leave now, while they’re in the stalls. The coast is clear; he can slip out before anyone else comes in and wait in the seating area for you to finish up.

But now that he’s in here with you — now that you’re right in front of him, wearing that, looking at him like that, eyes needy and expectant — he has absolutely no intention of leaving you all alone.

Aki puts a finger to his lips. Sh.

You nod — pliant, expectant, awaiting instruction.

Aki doesn’t mind when you order him around a little, but when it comes to things like this, he’s always in control.

He steps forward, closes the distance until you’re just inches apart. Close enough to rest his hands on your waist. He feels the mesh under his palms, the warmth of your body right beneath that. He always finds you so small. The way you tremble slightly beneath his hands. The way your eyes always look a little desperate. A little lost.

So he guides you — steps forward, with his hands squeezing your waist. And you yield to him, pacing backward.

You always follow his instructions, always respond to his cues, even if they’re nonverbal. It’s not that he’s hard on you; he’s never forceful, never imposing or mean, because he doesn’t need to be. He understands how to command people — how to be firm and instruct. He can make you listen, even when he’s not saying anything at all.

In the silence, he guides you backward. Not far. Just a little, just until you’re close enough to the mirror behind you. Every wall on every side is a mirror; you’re surrounded by your reflections, but he wants you to see yourself up close. So he twists you by the waist, and you turn obediently — facing away from him, and toward the mirror.

He leans forward to loop his arms around your waist and rest his chin on your shoulder. Eyes on your reflection — tender, like his touch. He tilts his head, places a light kiss on your cheek, before he speaks into your ear. In a soft murmur, he picks up the conversation where it left off, because he’ll never leave a question of yours left unanswered.

“I think you look perfect,” he says. “Look at you.”

You drop your head back and rest it on his shoulder, looking up at him as you bring a hand up to the back of his neck. He breaks his gaze away from your reflection and looks down, meeting your eyes.

“Do you really think so?” you say — just a whisper, just loud enough for him to barely hear it over the sound of the music and the voices coming from the other stalls.

You’re being coy, but what you want is crystal clear. From the slight hitch in your breath, from the pleading look in your eyes. The squeeze of your hand on the back of his neck. The action is soft, but somehow, the urgency in it is still so apparent. Maybe it’s just that he knows you so well.

“I do,” he murmurs under his breath, “I really do.”

This is new to him; this is different. He’s never really been adventurous, never needed much to feel fulfilled. He likes lazy, slow sex on lazy, slow evenings — he likes making you cum as the sun goes down, over and over, until your eyes get heavy.

This is a different type of want than what he usually feels for you in the evenings. It’s a new type of want, to match the new heat radiating from your body, warming the mesh. The look on your face is a little more urgent than usual. And he’s weak for it.

But then again, he’s always a little weak for you. For all the little things that you do. You can hook him with the smallest actions. So when you start to rub your hand over the back of his neck, soft and slow, that’s all it takes. He’s gone.

“I thought it might be too simple,” you whisper up to him, heavy lashes fluttering, “I thought maybe you might not like it.”

“I love it, baby. Do you like it?”

“Mhm.” The response is heavy, breathy, accompanied by a contented nod.

“Good. That’s what matters most.”

“But you think it looks nice?”

You’re always a little needy, always wanting for affection. But on some level, he lives for it — for reassuring you over and over, for telling and showing you how much he loves you. As many times as it takes, in as many ways as he can.

“Of course I do,” he murmurs. “You make it look so good. Don’t you believe me?”

He tightens his arms around your waist as he speaks, pulling you backward. Until your bodies are flush, and he feels you shuddering in his arms. He shudders, too, at the pressure of your ass pressed up against his dick, and the heat of your skin seeping through the fabric separating the two of you. The warmth feels good. Makes him even harder.

“See? I want you so much, baby. You know that, right?”

Another sleepy, quiet nod. Underneath the perfume-scented lingerie, you smell familiar. You smell just like him, just like home — the clean, faint scent of lingering detergent on linen. It’s a comforting smell.

Masked by the unfamiliar. He likes the mixture of scents, the newness of the combination. He dips his head down again to place a kiss on your jaw, and inhales the smell of you until he feels hazy.

“Do you want to…” he starts.

Aki’s never been one to say things he doesn’t mean; he’s intentional with his words. But, as he pulls your body tighter against his, and as he listens to your breaths go shaky when he does, he finds that his next words come out breathy and insincere.

“...Do you want to check out and head home?”

For once, he presents an offer without the intention to follow through. But your eyes are heavy and pleading, and your hand is squeezing at the back of his neck, and it seems to him that you don’t intend to leave any time soon, either.

“Head home?” you murmur.

If he really wanted to go home, he’d wait to touch you. But he can’t help it; he finds himself loosening his hands from around your waist to run them, lightly, up and down your sides. What he really wants is to touch you all over, but he holds back at least this much — keeping his hands where they are, skimming them gently over the fabric.

“Yeah.”

He wraps one hand around your throat — doesn’t squeeze, just holds it lightly as he scatters little kisses all over the side of your face. On your cheek, on your temple, on your ear, before he murmurs into it, lazily,

“Tell me what you want, baby. So I can pay for it. So we can go home.”

“What I want…?”

Your whisper is so quiet that he can barely hear it, but he can feel the neediness in it. The desperation.

“...I want you here,” you admit.

He’s overtaken by the urge to give you anything you want, wherever you want it.

“Even with other people in here?” he asks.

You nod.

He knows this is risky, that he should probably be more hesitant, that he probably isn’t thinking straight, but if he’s honest…

“I want you, too,” he says.

Hands on your waist again, he squeezes softly as he trails little kisses down the side of your neck, all the way to your exposed shoulder.

“Can we?”

You don’t have to plead with him so desperately; he’ll give you whatever you want. He’s already slipping his fingers under the thin straps on your shoulders and pulling them down, watching the neckline of the lingerie loosen slightly.

“Can you keep quiet if we do this here?” he asks.

You nod.

“Alright, baby,” he says under his breath, “then let’s do this here.”

He brings his hands to your chest. They’re big, compared to you — long fingers spanning over soft flesh, running lightly over the fabric. He doesn’t apply any pressure, doesn’t squeeze; he just feels the shape of your tits under the mesh, the warmth of your skin, as he talks into your ear.

Quiet and low, barely more than a whisper. A soft drone meant for no one else but you.

“Look in the mirror and watch. Look how pretty you are.”

You look up at your reflection, obedient but bashful. He finds it almost funny that after all these years, you’re still so demure. You still get embarrassed, as if he hasn’t seen you time and time again. But maybe it makes sense, for the two of you. Because he still treats every time like the first.

But Aki understands that this time is different. It is a first, in a way. And he just wants to make you feel safe and comfortable, so he can make you feel good.

“It’s just me,” he says. “It’s okay. Just focus.”

When your expression relaxes a little, he applies a little more pressure. He lets himself feel more as he rubs your tits through the lingerie; he squeezes the flesh, just a little, and you sigh in response. Your heartbeat is insistent under his fingertips. A familiar rhythm, a comfortable one — just a little faster than usual.

He’s aching behind you as he listens to your sighs heighten. Your pulse is starting to race. If he had less self-restraint, maybe he’d grind forward and rub his dick up against you to relieve some of the growing tension. But he’s a giver above all else, and even if everything about this experience is new, his goal isn’t. This time, like any other, is all about you.

But maybe he’s a little more selfish than he’d like to admit, because Aki gets off most on making you feel good.

So he stays right where he is, getting harder and harder as you sigh and shudder under his fingertips. You watch your reflection as he touches you; he meets your pleading eyes in the mirror, in wonderment at how desperate you always are — as if he wouldn’t give you everything in the world at the drop of a hat.

Reassuring you is easy. He’ll never get tired of it. He talks sweetly into your ear as he rubs your tits through the mesh, praising you like it’s second nature, because every word is true.

You look so pretty, sweetheart. You make this look so good. You make every single thing you put on look amazing.

I won’t ever get enough of you.

You’re starting to squirm a little in his palms. Heavy breaths hitching, back arching slightly, pressing your ass back against his dick. There’s just the slightest tremor in his voice this time.

You’re so perfect, baby. I always wonder how I got so lucky.

Your nipples are hard under the mesh. He teases them, feels you shudder each time he runs his fingers over them. You’re antsy, desperate, in need. He knows you like the back of his hand — when you want more, need more, and he’ll give it to you every single time.

Can I see more of you?

You nod hazily, give him permission. So he brings his long fingers to the neckline of the lingerie and pulls it down. He takes his time, stretches the flexible fabric until it’s resting under your tits, and your chest is exposed to him.

He loves this — dressing you up just to undress you. He’ll buy you all the little things you want, just to see how pretty you look when you put them on, and how much prettier you look when he takes them off of you. It’s his favorite thing in the world: revealing what’s his, over and over and over. He’ll unwrap the same present a thousand times, and it’ll never get old, because the gift under the paper is always the thing he wants most in the world.

Aki brings his fingers to his mouth and licks his fingertips, getting them slick with spit before bringing them back to your chest. He plays with your tits in the dim light — squeezing, rubbing, fingers on your nipples, tweaking softly.

He can hear several other people moving around in the other stalls, but right now it’s just you and him, and your little audience of reflections. His doppelganger in the mirror, and yours, embarrassment on your face giving way to pleasure as you start to whimper.

“Quiet,” he chides softly. “You don’t want to get caught, do you?”

You shake your head.

He skims his hands down the front of the mesh. Down your stomach first, then down further. The lingerie rides up high, and he doesn’t get very far past the apex of your thighs before his fingers slip over the bottom hem. And then he’s running his hands down your bare thighs, and your breaths are catching in your throat.

“Stay quiet for me, and I’ll keep touching you.”

His fingers trail all the way down your bare thighs, then back up again, slowly; he feels the goosebumps rise on your skin the further up he goes. Up and up, until his fingers reach the bottom hem again. This time, he slips them underneath it.

He raises his gaze as he starts to hike the bottom of your lingerie upward, looking at you in the mirror to watch your expression while he murmurs in your ear —

See how pretty you are, baby? Do you want to show me some more?

Another nod, more desperation in your eyes, your pulse racing faster as he reveals more of you. He pulls the bottom hem up slowly until the lingerie is bunched up around your waist, and he can see your bare skin, broken up just by the little thong you’re wearing.

Your own thong. Something familiar to go along with the newness of the lingerie. Aki knows that thong; it’s one of his favorites. He’s taken it off of you countless times. So he knows the feeling of the fabric even before he starts to run his fingers over it. He knows what kind of faces you’ll make when he touches you through your panties even before he sees your mouth drop open in the mirror.

He knows that look on your face so well — sleepy, needy pleasure familiar to him from slow mornings and slow evenings. The same sweet fuck-me eyes you give him as always. It’s just that this time, there’s a little more of a thrill in them. Because this time, it’s not just the two of you.

There are people all around. Constant movement, constant little noises of hangers shifting, and the constant fear that someone might hear. But he knows, from the look on your face, and from how wet your panties are under his fingers, that you like that constant thrill.

It works you up. You’re even more desperate than usual, so he only teases you a little bit. Just a few slow circles over your clit through your panties before he hooks his fingers under the damp fabric and pulls it to the side, with his eyes on your pussy in the mirror.

There’s a new sound — another set of footsteps entering the dressing room.

With his lips brushing against your ear, he asks, Do you still want to do this?

But he’s already anticipating the response, already hooking one arm around your waist to keep you pulled tightly against him before you even whisper yes. He runs his tongue over his fingers again, getting them wet before he brings them to your clit.

Do you like it when I play with you in public, baby?

Yes. So much.

He presses his fingertips against the wet flesh of your pussy. Soft, tight circles — he rubs your clit with your body held tight to him, listening to you sigh shakily.

So much. He can tell, watching your euphoric expression in the mirror, feeling you get wetter under his fingertips. Your body’s so familiar to him; after years and years of this, he knows just how to touch you to make you feel best. He knows what spots make you cum hard, and what spots make you cum quick.

But this is different. It’s building up quicker and harder than usual; you’re almost there already — breathing hard, eyelashes fluttering, hand grasping at the back of his neck. You’re sensitive, close, tightening up under his grasp more and more with each circle he rubs into you, until all of your muscles are tense.

He always loves looking at you, but there’s something special about watching your face right before you fall apart on his fingers.

“Don’t hold back, baby,” he murmurs. “Let it go.”

Like all you were waiting for was his instruction, that does it. As soon as he feels your clit start to pulse under his fingertips, he’s barring his arm across your chest, hand darting up to your mouth to muffle a whimper right as it starts to spill from your lips.

Watching you cum makes him even harder. So does feeling you, rubbing you through it until it’s done.

And when it’s done — when your thighs are trembling, and your legs are a second away from going weak — he lets go of your mouth to wrap his arm around your waist. He walks you a few paces forward, brings you close enough to the mirror so you can grab onto the bar that runs the length of the mirrored walls. It’s meant for hanging clothes, but it works just as well to rest your weight on as you catch your breath.

He puts a hand next to yours — leans his weight on the bar as he rubs your back with the other hand. He presses a soft kiss to your neck, before he asks,

Are you tired, baby?

The question is loaded and familiar. It’s one he always asks you on the evenings he makes you cum over and over, when your eyes are drooping but he still has more to give. On evenings like that, your answer is, almost always,

Not yet. I want you. I want…

Aki likes it when you want things from him, because he has so much to give. If he had it his way, he’d fuck you for hours and hours, make you cum as many times as your body can take. And he’s lucky, because you usually do let him do what he wants, for as long as he wants. Satisfy you until he’s satisfied.

Not yet, you’re mumbling. I want you inside. I want you to fuck me.

He wants it just as much as you do. Probably even more. His dick is aching, confined by the fabric of his pants, and it’s leaking all over his thigh. He fully intends to give you every single thing you want, but he’s not going to fuck you just yet.

“Let me get you ready first.”

An obedient nod. Sleepy eyes awaiting guidance in the mirror. He starts with a big hand on the small of your back, and gives you the instructions you’re waiting for in a low murmur.

Lean over a little bit more for me.

You yield, pliant. He guides your body forward, bending you over slightly until you’re closer to the mirror — one hand splayed out on the glass, the other clinging to the bar. His body follows yours, molds against it. His dick is pressed up against your ass again, and the warmth this time is more intense through the fabric, now that your skin is bare and running hot.

He continues to instruct — leaned over you, lips brushing against your ear, hands coming to your body to guide you.

Let me take these off.

His fingers meet the sides of your thong, dropping your panties.

Step out of them and spread your legs a little.

His hands lift the mesh lingerie where it’s fallen, bunching it higher around your waist.

Make sure this stays up. Don’t make a mess on it before I can buy it for you.

He brings one hand to your spine.

Arch your back. More.

Both hands come to your hips, squeezing softly.

Push your ass out. Further. There you go.

One hand under your stomach, pushing it gently upward.

Get up on your toes and keep your back arched. Stay right there.

He can tell you’re a little flustered; he knows this position is a little obscene — leaned up against the mirror with your back arched, your ass poked out, and your tits spilling from the cups of the lingerie. He can see the slight embarrassment in your reflection, but there’s no reason for it.

You’ve outshined him all day, he thinks; you outshine him when you’re dressed up, and when you’re undressed, too. Especially when you’re undressed, and he can see how pretty every part of you is.

“You don’t have to be shy,” he murmurs, trailing one hand down your spine, “you look so good.”

He watches your expression in the mirror as he brings his fingers between your thighs, brushing them over your pussy — feeling the slippery mess still seeping out of you from your orgasm.

A lazy kiss to your throat, words a little slurred with want — “Baby. You’re so wet.”

“I want you so much,” you whisper.

“I’m gonna make you feel good first,” he says. “Just let me taste you for a little bit. But I need you to stay quiet. Okay?”

Okay.

So he goes down — dropping to his knees behind you, bringing his face level with your ass. He can hear the shakiness in your breath; you must be even more flustered now that he’s down here. So he puts his hands on your hips and squeezes softly to reassure you.

This position really is obscene. Leaned forward, your back arched, your ass tilted up and your legs spread — it’s perfect for him to see everything. He can see your pussy from behind, and how wet everything is from your orgasm. Slippery liquid glistens and shines on your thighs, more fluid still seeping from your slit as you get wetter right in front of him.

Aki doesn’t lack self-restraint, but he thinks he’s never felt this much temptation in his life. Looking at the little hole dripping in front of his face, he runs his tongue over his lip, feeling like a starved man looking at a buffet. He’s so hard. He brings one hand to his thigh and squeezes his dick through his pants, but it doesn’t provide him with any kind of relief. He’s dying to be inside of you.

But Aki always takes care of you, always takes his time, always gets your body ready.

He licks the fingers of his right hand with his left still resting on your hip. When his fingers are wet, lubricated with his spit, he gives your hip a soft squeeze — a little warning to tell you he’s starting.

He reaches his right hand around to the front of your body. From behind, he keeps his eyes fixed on your entrance as his slick fingers find your puffy clit and start to rub. You’re quiet, just like he told you to be, but he can see your body responding from where he is. He watches your pussy flutter while he plays with your clit.

His dick aches, but he keeps rubbing, keeps watching — sees more liquid ooze from your slit right in front of his face. And he thinks, licking his lips, that he should really help clean you up.

So he lets go of your hip, frees his left hand to reach around your body too, barring his arm over your thighs. He pulls your ass back against him, moves his head forward, sticking his tongue out as he buries his face between your thighs from behind.

You squirm slightly, but he keeps his arm tight over your thighs, fingers of his other hand still rubbing tight circles on your clit. Everything’s wet, hot, slick — smells like you, tastes like you; you go to his head and make his dick throb, more addicting than nicotine.

He licks up the sweet, slippery mess leaking from your entrance, feeling your thighs tremble when his tongue skims over your pussy. He’s soft on you — fingers gentle on your clit, tongue light. He knows how to make you cum without being forceful. But your body is greedier for him than usual, and when he starts to apply a little pressure with his tongue on your entrance, it parts easily around him. So he tastes the inside of your pussy while he rubs your clit, walls seeping onto his tongue, wet and soft.

He listens; his hearing is so focused on you that the little sounds in the dressing room fade away. But still, you’re so quiet that he can just barely hear your breaths. But now that his tongue is inside your pussy, he can hear them get a little heavier. He knows you’re struggling to stay quiet, but you’re doing so well. You barely make a sound even when he starts to fuck you with his tongue — pushing it deeper and deeper, feeling your walls stretch while he rubs your clit.

But you’re getting needy, and he thinks you’ll start to whimper soon. You reach back, tangling your hand in his hair to push his face in further. He can taste you getting wetter, feel you arching your back more to give his tongue easier access.

He wants to make you feel even better than this. He wants to stretch you out on more than just his tongue, to open you up around his fingers, to make you cum again and get you even wetter. You’re already soaked, but he always makes sure you’re dripping wet before he fucks you, because he knows that’s when it’ll feel best for you.

He pulls away for a moment, licking the slick from his mouth as he puts his hands on your hips. He adjusts you, bends you over a little more, so he has easier access to your pussy. And he’s about to put his fingers inside of you when he pauses, with his eyes fixed on your ass.

He feels another urge overtaking him, and he doesn’t bother to fight it; he just rests his hands on your ass, squeezing it slightly while he thinks about how much he wants to please you. He’ll make you feel good in as many ways as he can. He’ll play with as many parts of you as he can — run his tongue all over your most sensitive spots.

Like this one, he thinks, digging his fingers into the flesh of your ass and spreading you open.

This is obscene. Bent over with your ass right in his face, his hands holding you open to expose your tight little hole — you look so good. He wants to look at you for longer, but he doesn’t want to embarrass you too much. So he leans forward again, burying his face for a second time, this time in your ass.

You tremble, trying halfheartedly to squirm away as soon as he runs his tongue over the rim of your ass. He knows he’s flustering you; that’s not his intention — he just wants to make you cum. He’d reassure you verbally if he could, but he doesn’t want his words to carry. So he settles for pulling you gently back against his face and rubbing your thighs as he licks circles over the tight muscle.

He feels you relax a little, so he keeps going, tongue circling your ass as he listens to your breaths hitch. You’re always so sensitive back here, but he wants to give you more. So he keeps his face buried where it is while he places his hands on you again. His right comes around to the front of your body to play with your clit; he brings his left a little under his chin — back to the entrance of your pussy.

He brushes his fingers over your slit while he eats you. You’re even wetter than before; you always like it when he plays with your ass and your clit at the same time. You always get so wet, just like you are now. Your slit oozes liquid all over his fingers, and he gathers that wetness up, sliding his fingers over your pussy until they’re slick and coated in you.

When they’re lubricated enough, he gives them to you — sinking his middle finger into your pussy first, slowly, pushing it in to the knuckle. And when you’ve adjusted to that one, he pushes his ring finger in beside it, feeling your insides weep and flutter.

You always respond so well to his fingers, always want them so much.

Over the years, he’s learned to give them to you liberally. Whenever you need them, sometimes before you even have to ask. He likes to give them to you in the mornings on his days off — an agreed-upon habit. He almost always wakes up before you; he lets you sleep in until the sun starts to shine brightly through the curtains. Then he pulls you close, plays with you lazily while you’re still half-asleep, rubbing your clit until you’re wet enough for him to slip his fingers inside.

He fucks you with them, soft and slow, until your eyelashes flutter open. On those mornings, you wake up moaning, body tight, cumming on his fingers. He always fucks you with them again afterward — makes you cum twice before the day even really starts. And it’s not hard, because you love his fingers, get so wet on his fingers, always tell him that they’re so long, they hit all the right spots, they feel so good inside.

You can’t tell him how good they feel right now, because you have to stay quiet, but he can feel your body responding as he glides them in and out of your pussy. He’s used to getting you wet on his fingers, but he doesn’t think he’s ever felt you drip this much. He keeps servicing those three little spots at once — tongue swiping over your ass, fingers fucking your pussy, hand rubbing soft circles on your clit — and you’re falling apart for him, liquid seeping out of your slit and oozing down his palm.

He can feel the pleasure rising in your body at all three points. You’re close — clit swelling, ass twitching under his tongue, pussy getting tight — and he’s euphoric. Just from making you feel good, just from getting you almost there.

But almost isn’t enough; he wants to make you cum again, so he pushes his fingers deep, rotating them to face them downward. From this angle, when he curls them, they graze over the little spot that makes your legs shake.

He peeks to the side, looking hazily into the adjacent mirror, so he can see the pleasure mounting on your face as he fucks you with slightly curled fingers. He watches you bring your own hand to your mouth to cover it. You’re doing your best to keep yourself quiet. He knows it’s hard, can hear your muffled breaths heightening, but you’re doing so well.

It makes his dick ache, watching the pleasure in your reflection, feeling it in your body — walls drenching his fingers, squeezing them tight. You’re close. And he’s getting a little greedy, prodding at your ass until the muscle gives and lets him slip his tongue inside.

All of your muscles go tense when he starts to fuck your ass with his tongue. He sees your orgasm coming in the mirror right before it starts. Your eyes roll back; the tiniest whimper escapes from behind your hand, and then your muscles start to convulse — your ass twitching around his tongue as he fucks it, your pussy contracting and oozing cum onto his curling fingers, your clit twitching while he rubs it.

He makes it last, splitting his attention equally between all three spots, rubbing and licking and fucking all the pleasure out of you until you’re spent, shaky legs going weak.

He stands just in time to catch you — pressing up against you from behind and wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you up. The mirror is still a little foggy from the warmth of your heavy breaths; he offers your reflection a soft, amused smile. And now that he’s up close, he can finally lean down to talk into your ear.

I’ve got you, baby, just stay quiet.

You nod obediently, with one hand still gripping the bar in front of you as you turn your head back to look up at him. Your other hand comes up behind his head, pulling his face down to yours. He bends to give you what you want — lips meeting in a sloppy, lazy kiss, your tongue pushing into his mouth.

The taste of you still lingers with the flavor of mint in his mouth. He shares it with you, lets you lick it up. The feeling of your tongue on his makes him harder, more urgent; he pushes his body up against yours, pressing you into the bar in front of you.

“I want you,” you murmur into his mouth.

“You want me inside? With all these people in here?”

He already knows what you’re going to say before you say it.

“Yeah. I want you to fuck me.”

You’re ready for him — he’s gotten you there, stretched out and dripping wet — and he’s ready for you; he’s been ready for so long that he’s aching. But he doesn’t want to pull away yet, so he keeps his mouth on yours, kisses you deep as he moves his hips back, giving himself enough space to fumble with his zipper and pull it down. Movements hurried, he drops his waistband around his hips, just far down enough to take his dick out.

He’s throbbing, so hard it hurts, tongue chasing yours while he jerks the slick precum down his dick and gets the shaft wet. Breaths catch when he gets closer — yours, his — and you shift to give him easier access.

He runs the tip of his dick over your pussy first to get it wet. And when it’s slick enough, he adjusts behind you, kissing you deeper as he positions it. He feels your entrance on the tip; it’s wet, dripping and stretched enough to suck him in as soon as he gets close. He’s going to give you all of his dick — you feel too good not to — but you’re being too loud. He’s barely sunken in at all when you start to whimper into his mouth.

The noises are tiny, but they’re still too loud. He pulls away immediately, and his right hand darts around to close tightly over your mouth. Your lips are still wet from the kiss; his linger right next to your ear as he scolds you under his breath.

“Be quiet, baby. Or someone’s gonna hear. And then I’ll have to stop.”

But he’s not stopping; he’s leaning you further over the bar in front of you, keeping his right hand on your mouth while he splays his left out on the mirror in front of you. He rests his weight there as he nudges his dick further inside. He doesn’t think he could stop now even if someone were to hear; it’s too warm, wet, and tight, and it feels so good. You’re so soft inside, and he’s so hard, watching your eyelashes flutter in the mirror.

There’s another whimper, but this one’s softer, muffled by his palm.

“You’re gonna stay quiet for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs.

He sinks in further, feeling your breaths get hotter and quicker against his palm. But he takes it nice and slow, so he can feel every little ridge inside of you as you encompass him. He made sure to get you ready, made sure to stretch you out around his fingers, but you’re still so tight, squeezing all the precum out of his dick.

He could let it go if he wanted; he could let your tight walls squeeze all the cum out of him, too. It feels so good that he’d pump you full of it right now if you asked him for it. But you’re enjoying it, and he’s going to make it last; he could spend forever just like this — watching your eyes roll back, muffling your whimpers as he buries his dick further inside, teasing you softly.

You want it deeper, baby? You like it when I fuck you in public? You want me to make you cum with all these people around?

More little whimpers against his palm, more of his dick buried inside of your pussy.

Look how pretty you are when you take it, baby.

A little praise goes a long way. You like to receive it; he loves to give it.

He has countless things to say. You taste so good, you look so good, watching you take my dick makes me so hard. I want to see you cum again, you always look so pretty when you cum.

Your eyebrows furrow up in the mirror; he pushes the rest of the way in and rests there for a second with his dick throbbing, buried deep. He lets out a shaky breath and watches the mirror fog up, just for a second, before he really starts to fuck you.

In and out, slow, trying to keep his own breaths quiet as he watches your face contort. He fucks it deep, glides in and back out over and over, watching your eyes roll back. He gives you a steady pace, the kind of rhythm that always makes you cum. He keeps fucking you even when he hears more footsteps, more people entering the dressing room — even when he thinks he should stop, because the two of you could get caught at any moment.

But he can feel you tightening up. He knows you’re close, and he’s wrapped up in it, too focused on making you cum again to stop. So he doesn’t.

The dressing room is full of people, and he’s still fucking you.

But all he cares about right now is you; he couldn’t care less about anyone else, especially not when he has you like this — how could he? The pleasure’s all over your face in the mirror, and he can’t stop until he’s watching you spill over again. Everything else is inconsequential as long as you’re feeling good.

And it’s clear that you are; your eyes are tearing up, your pussy’s dripping on his dick, and your breaths keep rising — tiny gasps into his palm. His own voice is breathy, uneven, wavering with the rhythm of his thrusts.

Shh - quiet - you okay, baby?

You’re nodding, but he always picks up on desperation, always knows when you need more of anything. You never have to say a word. Not that you could, with his hand pressed over your mouth; but he’s already seen your hands grasping desperately at the little bar in front of you. He’s already felt the way you’re tilting your ass up so he can hit deeper.

He’s been fucking you deep. But slow. Slow enough that he doesn’t have to worry about making too much noise. And you’ll cum if he keeps going just like this; he can feel your pussy getting tighter and wetter around his dick, and he knows you’re close. But he’s already resolved to give you more.

Wanna cum again for me, baby?

He picks up the pace a little bit, instructs you again.

Rub your clit for me.

You obey, removing one shaky hand from the bar to reach between your thighs. He watches — eyes on your pussy in the mirror, feeling your hot breaths pick up against his palm as you start to pant, smearing wetness over your clit.

Just like that. Keep going.

He fucks you a little harder, a little deeper, watching your face while you rub your clit.

Keep going until you cum.

Your eyes rolled back, your tits spilling out of the lingerie, the flesh of them rippling each time he buries his dick in you.

You’re so pretty.

He keeps you pulled back on his dick, hand tight on your mouth while you touch yourself. He’s struggling to keep his own breathing quiet. It feels too good — you’re squeezing him so tight, getting so wet that you’re making a mess all over the base of his dick.

Come on, baby, I know you want to cum.

His voice comes out halfway between a whisper and a groan. Almost too loud. Your panting is turning into soft moaning against his hand as he gives it to you harder.

Quiet, quiet. Be quiet.

He tightens his hand around your mouth, fucking you deep until your walls start to tense up around him again. And then all it takes is one more instruction murmured down to you, hurried and breathless.

There you go, cum on me, baby. Stay quiet.

That’s all it takes to send you over for the third time. Your insides are a slippery mess, wet and puffy as you spill over into your third orgasm. He can feel the intensity of it, every single contraction of your pussy around his dick as your walls grip him over and over. It feels so good inside of you, but it’d feel even better if he fucked you full.

You want my cum?

A slurred reply from behind his palm; he can barely make it out, but he knows the answer is yes. He pumps you full almost every time, fucks it deep — he feels like it’s a waste if he’s not giving you every drop.

He’s a giver, after all; so he gives it to you like he always does. You’re still cumming around him when he takes a shaky breath, pulls you tightly back against him, and lets the pleasure take over. He fucks you full in the middle of the dressing room, rides his orgasm out while you ride yours out, with people all around — deep thrusts, burying his dick all the way inside, so each spurt fills your contracting pussy up.

He spills every drop into you, lets each twitch of your walls suck the cum out of him until he’s empty, and both of you are slumping forward onto the bar, breathing hard.

He keeps his hand over your mouth until he feels your breaths slow. Then he uncovers it, tugging the neckline of your lingerie up to cover your chest. There’s a pause, a moment as you both study each other sleepily in the mirror.

“You okay, baby?” he slurs finally, skimming his hand up and down your stomach.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Better than okay.”

He smiles a little, leaning down to place a kiss on your temple.

He’s listening, hearing someone’s footsteps as they exit the dressing room. There’s still the sound of hangers shifting, zippers being undone, clothing rustling. But it’s quieter than before. Less sounds above the music. People must be filtering out slowly, and he hasn’t heard anyone new enter in a while. A lull, he thinks.

He’ll wait in here a little while longer, and slip out whenever the coast is clear. But for now, he doesn’t mind cooling down with you; he finds it pleasant to just look at your reflection as his heartbeat slows.

“Do you think anyone heard?” you whisper.

“It doesn’t seem like it.”

“I guess I was wrong when I said you’d never do something suspicious in the dressing rooms.”

He smiles. “Look at you. It was kind of hard not to.”

“Do you like the lingerie that much?”

“Of course I do. We didn’t make a mess on it, did we?”

“I don’t think so,” you say, looking downward to inspect the fabric. “I made sure to hold it up.”

He’s relieved. It’d be a nightmare to try to explain any kind of mess to the cashier.

“Good,” he whispers. “It’d be awkward to check out otherwise.”

You frown suddenly. “You bought me way too much today. This is the last thing.”

He smiles lazily. “You don’t want to shop anymore, then?”

You shake your head. “Let’s spend the rest of the night in. We can put on a movie for everyone.”

He drops his chin onto your shoulder again. “Okay. What do you want for dinner?”

“You’re already thinking about that?”

His smile is mild. “I haven’t had the time to cook a proper meal for you in a while.”

“You do too much for me,” you complain.

There’s no such thing as too much, Aki thinks. Only just enough. No matter how much he does for you, he’ll always wish he could do more.

“Let’s go home.”

#writey cherub (csm) #aki x reader #aki hayakawa x reader #csm x reader #csm smut #aki smut

[heartbreakercupcake]

🎶Hey Ladies When your man wanna get buckwild Just go back and Hit 'Em Up Style Put your hands on his cash And spend it to the last dime For all the hard times 🎶

I did some more crossover AU art of my two favorite moms, I love them and they would be friends~ They just out here having a good time

My twitter

the pic without the background under read more

#my art #debbie grayson #rei todoroki #invincible #my hero academia #boko no hero academia #MHA #BNHA #shopping #shopping spree

[1000roughdrafts]

The (almost) Perfect Crime: Chapter Three

Warnings: language, alcoholism, violence (kind of) and threats of violence

Word Count: 1.4K

A/N: This one is Dean’s POV, and as a reminder, this is an AU where Dean and Sam are not brothers, not related and don’t even really know each other that well. This was supposed to come out earlier today but I had a weird day and didn't schedule it I'm sorry

Masterlist

Chapter Two

Detective Dean Campbell parked his personal vehicle on the street a block down from the Golden Egg, just barely concealed behind a deteriorating fence. He glanced at his watch to note the time his subject entered the bar, and slouched back in the seat. He poured the remainder of his coffee into his mouth, scrunching his face as the undissolved sugar grates its way down his throat among the now cold brew. Clearing his throat, he glanced at his watch again, and then at the street as people came and went.

God, you stick out like a sore thumb, Dean, he thinks, sinking into the seat a little more. Figuring he had a little time before that scum of a man came back out anyway, he could use the distraction of flipping through the file he kept locked away until he was off the company dime.

The other detectives were sure he was off his rocker just for mentioning a distaste for Portland’s favorite lawyer, Sam Winchester. But those same assholes were on board when his hunch proved true about the judge that was accepting bribes. It wasn’t as high profile as a case like Sam’s would be, but damn, it really showed Dean that he just can’t trust anyone.

He’d been given an ultimatum by the director; he could either stand down, or step down. Except Dean’s never been one to let someone stand in the way of what’s right, no matter who they are or what power they hold. His investigation was just going to have to stay a secret until he’d gathered enough evidence to sway the DA into pursuing a case.

“Fuck,” he growled, slamming a hand on the steering wheel. His eyes were going cross-eyed combing through the same papers over and over as they looked for something, anything that would just jump out and help him solve this. He needed a break, badly, but anytime he took his eyes off the pictures and documents he could still see them like they were imprinted on the back of his eyelids.

A knock at the window startled him into dropping the papers into his lap. Looking through the window was Sam with a smug smile.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Dean said, forcing all of his strength into opening the door to slam it against Sam.

Lazily holding his hands in the air, Sam laughed. “Easy officer,” he said. Pointing at the Impala with a tilted head, he added, “you tailing me now, Campbell?” With a cocked head.

Dean rolled his eyes and stepped out, “the world doesn’t revolve around you, Winchester. I thought I’d stop by for a drink,” he said with a poised smile.

“Really?” Sam scoffed, “kind of looks like you’ve been following me,” he said. Making a pouting face, he said, “you’re a cop, Dean-o, don’t embarrass yourself like this.”

“Detective,” he clarified, “and I’m off duty… as I said, getting a drink.”

Sam nodded his head with the words, “which makes what you’re doing a crime, detective,” he chuckled, “you realize that right?” He looked around at the now nearly vacant street, “out in the open and all.” His laugh deepened as he turned to walk away, but after a few steps, he turned to face Dean. “You know, I could teach you a thing or two about staying hidden,” he smirked, “off the record, I swear,” he said, palms held up with a smug grin.

It took nearly everything in Dean not to hit him right then. He clenched his teeth and spoke through them, “over my dead body, Winchester.”

Sam tilted his head and tsked, “now, careful what you wish for, Dean-o,” he said, turning again to walk away.

“Your girlfriend know what you’re really up to when you’re ‘working’?” Dean called out.

Whirling around, Sam glanced at the bar and then back at Dean through squinted eyes before marching towards him.

“That wouldn’t be a threat, now, would it?” He said through his teeth while jabbing a finger into Dean’s chest.

Dean held his head high, and shrugged. “I know that I would never hurt her,” he said, then sucked air in through his teeth, “but could the same be said for you?” He let the air out and shook his head, “well, I’m sure we’ll all just be a lot happier when you’re behind bars,” he said, and in a harsher tone, added, “where you belong.”

Sam laughed, mocking Dean, “you can’t even get one detective on your side, let alone the DA, but yeah, go ahead and try your luck. See what happens.”

Dean rolled his eyes and let Sam walk away. He was nearly shaking with anger from just the thought of yet another day where Sam walks free, but if he wanted to get anywhere in his investigation, he’d need to get some sleep and grub.

—

The last thing Dean expected was to see Y/N sitting at a table on the balcony of the Golden Egg. He sat in a booth near the doors to eat and could see her through the glass with a woman he didn’t recognize. Y/N’s hair was tied up and for a lot of the conversation, which he wasn’t able to hear, she had her eyebrows raised and she sat very close to the table. Her drink was almost untouched and her leg was bouncing rapidly.

It felt weird for him to be so close to her, especially after the interaction he’d just had with her boyfriend. He ate his burger quickly as he snuck glances at her. If it weren’t for her long sleeves, and pants he’d have scanned her skin for bruises or marks.

Pulling cash from his wallet, he chugged the drink as he stood up. He threw the cash onto the table as he set the glass down and looked at Y/N one last time before turning to leave.

As he walked out, he wondered what side Sam showed her. It was hard to imagine that Sam treated her well. As he’d been tracking him for a while, he was well aware that they’d been together for the better part of three years. Hell, they even live together, and he hoped for Y/N’s sake that Sam was a good actor, because he knew that Y/N didn’t deserve to be with a guy like him. Hell, no one deserved that.

He thought about her the entire way home. The idea that she was so close to danger while being none the wiser really worked his nerves. He decided at that moment that nothing would get in the way of him building a case against Sam.

Pulling the Impala into the parking lot of his apartment complex, Dean wondered if sleep would escape him again like it had been for months. He jogged to his apartment and went straight for the beer in his fridge. His shoes came off only second to popping the top off and taking a sip of his sleep aid. It had become part of his routine; work on the clock for ten hours, then off the clock for anywhere from five to seven hours, drink a few or maybe several beers, and sleep (or try to sleep) for four hours, and that was if he was lucky.

PermaTags<3 @waywardblueshun @81mysteriouslyme @drakelover78 @soab1967 @shutupandfeedmethings @pollywantacracker666 @sonnierae26 @obsessed5sosfreak @tlovescoffee @noodledoodlebug @hobby27 @cluz1babe @emptycanvasposts @suckmyapplejacks @sigrunsavestheday @flamencodiva

That night, luck wasn’t on his side as he would get about two and a half hours, spending most of it tossing and turning.

Chapter Four

Dean <3 @akshi8278 @squirrelnotsam @laxe-from-outer-space @ellewritesfix05 @lyarr24 @mrspeacem1nusone @idksupernaturl @fandom-princess-forevermore @stoneyggirl

Sam <3 @fangirlxwritesx67 @immafangirlmess

The Almost Perfect Crime <3 @princessmisery666 @momowinchester @sizekinkshawty @deandreamernp

*Names in bold have not been tagging for a while, if you see your url please let me know if I need to fix it :D*

Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know via a comment, like or reblog if you’re enjoying this so far! Feedback really helps to motivate me in writing more, good or constructive <3

#the almost perfect crime #supernatural crime au #supernatural au fan fics #supernatural fan fics #supernatural fan fiction #dark!fic #murder mystery #angst #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean x you slow burn #sam x reader #sam x you #sam x y/n #death #crimeboss!sam x you #crimeboss!sam x reader #crimeboss!sam x y/n #detective!dean x you #detective!dean x reader #detective!dean x y/n #you x detective!dean #supernatural #supernatural au #supernatural au x you #supernatural au x reader #supernatural au x y/n #supernatural dean #supernatural sam

[tokisguitarpick]

balcony

characters: Pickles the Drummer x Reader

length: 1700+ words

listen this is really self indulgent but pickles’ back story hits me on a personal level. tried to phrase the mom self in a way that even someone with a good mom could see themselves in the reader but s/o to bitches who’s moms stress them out, we see you

You sighed, holding your own hand and staring up at the night sky, sat on top of Mordhaus. About three months into your employment, you had found the perfect place for lunch breaks, sneaking out with a joint mid-shift, anything. Up the emergency ladder, around the smokestacks, and over a large generator, there was a tiny balcony that no one seemed to know about and it was one of your favorite spots on the whole ship. And tonight, you needed it for the clarity it gave you. 

Nails bitten to the quick, you had spent a couple of hours pacing in your bedroom before making your way up here to sit in the peace and quiet and really just be alone.

“Doode, what ahre you doin’ up ‘ere?” Your eyes closed. Of course.

It’s not that you would normally mind Pickles for company. In fact, quite the opposite. Something about the drummer drew you to him and between his chill demeanor and frequent offers of hits off his joint, he was typically your favorite band member. But tonight, any company felt like more energy than you had to spend.

But it was your job to spend energy entertaining, safeguarding, and checking on Dethklok so you fixed your face into a neutral expression and replied, “I like to come up here when I need some fresh air.” 

Pickles swung himself over the generator with ease and plopped down next to you, both of you sticking your legs through the wide gaps under the balcony fencing and letting them hang down. “Oh yeah, me tooh.” As usual, the drummer brought with him the stale scent of alcohol and sweat, as well as the very pungent smell of fresh weed. “You know me, I like to be high.” Pickles chuckled at his own joke as you watched him pull a silver cigarette case from his back pocket but his laughter died on his lips when he met your gaze. “Sam’thin’ wrong?”

Your head tilted as you looked over yourself in your mind’s eye. “What do you mean?”

Slowly, Pickles raised a calloused thumb to your cheek and you felt him wipe away some wetness. Fuck. You hadn’t cried much and the cool night air had dried most of the tears as Mordhaus chugged forward but apparently, there was enough evidence left for him to find. 

“Yah knoow,” Pickles started, his eyes trained on his hand instead of meeting your own, “I’m naht really one for… talkin’ about feelin’s and shit. But ah, uh, I can listen?” His eyes were a deep, comforting shade of green, something you noticed when they finally met yours, his pierced eyebrows raising as he ended with a question. 

Your heart softened and you smiled softly, prompting a lopsided smirk from the drummer as he finally dropped his hand. He fiddled with the cigarette case in his lap until he produced a blunt and held it out for you. “So whaht’s goin’ on?”

Taking the blunt from him and then the offered lighter- a zippo with a dill pickle carved on the side-, you lit up and took a long drag before passing both back to him. The paper crackled next to you with his inhale and you stared at the sky again, breathing your hit out like a cloud in front of you. 

“My mom called.” No longer a happy notification to receive, the information turned your stomach. Ever since you had gone against her wishes and applied for the stressful, dangerous, terrifying job of being a managerial coordinator for the band Dethklok, she had turned into someone you could hardly recognize. Cold, petty, always passively asking for money and aggressively telling you how little you must care about her since you were always too busy to call her when she was free (not when you were, though. She was a busy woman and she couldn’t wait around all day just for a call). You assumed she was angry you hadn’t listened to her and was even angier that you didn’t volunteer those, frankly, sweet as hell Dethklok paychecks to appease her.

You glanced out of the corner of your eye to see Pickles make a sour face, his cheeks puffed with weed smoke. Releasing his hit with a cough, he passed the blunt and nodded. “I know that feelin’. When my mam’ calls, I send it straight tah’ voicemail.”

“Maybe I need to start doing that,” you mused quietly. Puff and pass, you moved your gaze down to watch the traffic passing on the various highways around the house.

“That bad?” Pickles asked, holding onto the blunt for a minute as he tried to fix a run in the burn. You didn’t mind, your high creeping up and the wad of anxiety in your stomach loosening. 

Turning your answer over in your mind a few times, you finally spoke when you realized you had been quiet for an embarrassingly long time. “She’s just different now. I feel like she’s not the same person I knew growing up and the person she is now… I don’t know if it’s a person I like.” You had wondered a few times if she was destined to become this woman but when memories resurfaced, you felt as though your current feelings tainted them and you weren’t sure what the truth was. “I just- I don’t know. Do you ever feel like your family would like you so much more if you just shut up and gave them all your spare cash?” 

This time, Pickles was the one who was silent for what seemed like a long time and when you finally looked up, you were surprised to see he had completely disassembled the blunt and was rolling a joint with the leftover weed on one side of the open cigarette case. It was balanced carefully on his thigh- full of a few dime bags of ground weed and spare rolling papers- but his face was angled towards you. “Uh, yeah. That’s all I feel when it comes to my family.” Bringing the joint up to his lips, he gave you a curious look, furrowing his brow. “Cahn I ask you sam’thin’?”

You nodded.

“Is yuhr mam’ hasslin’ you for money?” Lighting up with a couple of puffs, he passed the joint to you and leaned back on his palms.

That was the long and short of it from as far as you could tell, you mused. You took a deep hit, studying Pickles as you nodded again. Your high was hitting you and suddenly, the terse phone call that had been weighing on you seemed much less important than the physique of the drummer next to you. Long, deep red dreads flowed in the light evening breeze, drawing your eyes down his neck and shoulders. Almost always in a dark tank top, his muscular shoulders and arms stole the show, lithe and wirey from years of being a professional musician. God, he was hot. Sure, he was more than a little older than you, and balding just a little, and maybe unable to be sober for longer than a half hour without complaining. But otherwise, very hot. Your gaze fell to his hands, fingers with blunt nails spread to support himself, and the backs of his palms flexed with large veins.

You were only moments away from poking one when his voice broke your concentration. “Like whaht yah see?” Looking back to his face, Pickles’ smirk was now a full blown grin and he wiggled his eyebrows at you. “Wanna take a picture? It’ll last longer.”

“Sorry,” you chuckled, the heat of a blush finding your cheeks as you puffed and passed the joint, “I’m kinda stoned. Your weed is always so fucking strong.” 

Pickles broke out into nasally laughter and you couldn’t help giggling yourself in response. “That’s why I get it, only the good shit,” he replied, still chuckling. He puffed then snuffed the joint and tucked it behind his ear for safekeeping as he sat up.

Unable to get a handle on the stoned laughter coming out of you, your giggle fit continued and you leaned over, resting your forehead on his shoulder. You put a hand over your mouth as you tried to relax. Pickles shifted under you, letting your head find his collarbone as he wrapped his arm around your waist. He seemed to freeze like that and if you had been sober, you probably would’ve stayed that way, savoring the feeling of closeness with your celebrity crush in such a private moment. There were over a million Dethklok fans who would kill or die for this to happen to them.

But you were high as fuck and didn’t like how stiff the embrace felt. You shifted yourself to lean more comfortably against him without realizing it, until his hand started to fall from your side. Instantly, you grasped his wrist and brought it back to your hip, murmuring, “You’re good.” 

Pickles laughed again, squeezing you and resting his hand on your ribcage. He was so warm, you could feel his palmprint burning through the thin cotton of your sleepshirt, so close under your breast that it made you shiver. “Oh, honey, I could get you tah’ say that a hundred different ways,” he stated confidently. It made your blush burn even hotter, no matter how much you tried to ignore it. Pickles, however, cleared his throat and muttered, “Uh, not like in a sexuhal’ harassment type way, just, uh, yah know… If you were down…”

You giggled again and nodded. “I got you, I got you… I’m down.” You erupted into nervous giggles and covered your face with your hand again. Unable to believe your own gall, you were about to dismiss your words with a quick ‘I’m joking’ but Pickles moved faster, goosing your breast with a bark of laughter.

“I’ll keep thaht in mind,” he said, seemingly to himself, his hand resting once again on your torso. You couldn’t say anything, your body alight with tingles radiating from your breast and your mind slowed, so you simply nodded against him. 

Quiet for a moment, you tried to settle your breathing while Pickles relit the joint and puffed in thought. Finally speaking up, he just said, “Seriously though, Y/N, I think you need to tell your mom to go fuck herself.”

#metalocalypse #pickles the drummer #pickles the drummer x reader #guys..............idk what his accent is i sat here trying to say words like him to understand where the accent hits but idk idek