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peachesofteal · 3 months

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Simple Math / Part Ten

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 5.4k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Masturbation, dirty (self) talk, brief daddy kink. This fic contains mature themes. Domestic violence. Grooming. Feelings of fear and anxiety. Nurse!reader. Kissing. Lots of dialogue. Bun considers making a friend. Penny is cute. Flirting. Touching. Comfort. Bun refers to herself as "heavy". Simon is Simon. POV switch. Dinner date.

“I’m Philip.”

The handsome brunette smiles, grabbing onto your hand. You blink, trying to understand, trying to make it make sense, when he prompts you with a teasing grin. “This is the part where you tell me your name, sweet thing.”

Oh. You stumble over it, tongue tied into a million knots, sweat from the Texas sun beating down your back, sweat slicking your shirt to your skin.

He’s still holding your hand, and you’re standing there with wide, doe eyes, shell shocked.

He’s… so handsome. And older. Older, and handsome. Polished type, with good teeth and good hair. He looks like he just stepped off the golf course.

Why is he talking to you?

He glances down at your drink.

“You even old enough to be drinkin’ that?”

“I-“ You’re terrible at lying, and like he can read it on your face, he chuckles.

“You live around here?”

“I go to Rice.”

“A bit young for college, aren’t you?”

“I just turned eighteen!” You’ve heard it a million times. You’re too young to understand something, or know something, or do something. You don’t get the way the world works yet. You’re not an adult.

He holds his hands up. “I’m sorry. I bet you’re one of the really smart girls that make all us men look like Neanderthals.” Your face heats.

“N-no. I just… I graduated early. I’m not a know it all.” You defend yourself, desperate to create distance from the usual stereotype, the way most people see you. The way boys see you.

Too smart. Face buried in a book. Awkward and stiff. Uncool.

He traces you from head to toe, appreciative gaze grazing over the swell of your hips, the generous curve of your ass. “I didn’t think you were. Too mature for that, I bet.” He croons, and your knees go weak.

“Y-yeah. A lot of people say I’m really mature.”

Two things compete for your attention when you open your eyes.

One: there is a soft, lovely song playing downstairs, something spring-like and sweet, vibrant without being too loud.

Two: the house smells like pancakes.

You check your phone, shocked to see you’ve slept for yet another 12 hours. There’s a text from Nia, and a text from your boss.

>You have a lot of time accrued. Take as much as you need.

That settles that, you guess.

There are also text messages in the group chat, one from Simon, and one from Johnny, coming in only a few minutes ago.

Simon: >Penny gets pancakes on Saturday mornings. They’ll be plenty, come down and eat when you’re ready.

Johnny: >I’m missing all the good stuff.

You stretch, cautiously, wiggling fingers and toes, spreading your limbs as far as you can without pushing it too much. You’re sore, uncomfortably so, and still exhausted, but if you stay in bed any longer, you’ll rot.

In the kitchen, Simon holds Penny and a mixing bowl, alternating hands to get a whisk through the batter while humming to his daughter on her hip.

You stop dead in your tracks.

He’s… he’s not wearing the mask.

You stare at his face, his whole, naked face for the first time, taking in the broad jaw, every shiny white scar, and his (twice, if you had to guess) healed broken nose. He’s handsome, differently from Johnny but no less striking, and you can’t look away, stunned by his raw, depthless and rugged beauty. Penny’s leg has kicked up the hem of his shirt, exposing his midsection, and the flash of skin there feels like a scandal, something you shouldn’t be seeing but cannot get enough of. He looks nothing like you expected and yet… everything you hoped for.

“Morning.” Pen tucks her face into his chest shyly, peeking out from the corner of her eye, curious and cute. “Can you say good morning to bunny?” He bounces her a little, and she giggles.

"Bunny." She says quietly, and Simon laughs.

“That’s right. Good job.” After a second of silence, you try to ask him about the missing mask, but the question gets confused on your tongue, and what comes out instead is clumsy and stunted.

“Your mask.” You cringe, immediately. It’s the first thing that slips loose, insensitive, and uncouth. “I uh, I’m sorry, I’m just… surprised?” you falter, and makes it worse. You think about trying to run back upstairs, hightailing it for the hills when he smiles, and points to the empty stool at the kitchen counter with a batter covered whisk.

“Sit.” There’s already a stack piled high, plain, and ones with big, juicy blueberries. Your favorite.

“So, pancakes every Saturday?”

“Mhmm.” He settles Penny in her highchair to your left, and pulls an already cooled pancake from the stack, cutting it up into little, tiny pieces with a child’s knife and fork. “Pen and her Da,” he pads some butter across the top of his handiwork, grabbing her sippy cup and filling it with milk. “Have pancakes every Saturday when he’s home. It’s their favorite. Right?” He points at her, “your favorite?” and taps his middle finger to his chin, others outward, straight up. “Your favorite?” Signing?

“Are you teaching her sign?”

“Trying to. Pen’s birth mum is deaf. It’s important to us, that she’s able to connect with her when the time comes. Plus, my hearing is shot. So is Johnny’s. It’s a great way for her to communicate with us.” He strokes some fingers through her curls, and she doesn’t even look up, too busy shoveling as much pancake into her mouth as she can. You have a million questions now, curiosities bubbling to the surface, about Pen’s mum, about her life, about how she came to be their child. All too rude, and too invasive to ask. “Or, to use when she’s feeling sassy and can’t find the words. That happens, too.”

“She’s what…sixteen months?” You watch her intently, unable to not smile when she cheeses at her dad with a mouthful of food, even though your tender skin stings with the movement.

“Yeah. Top percentiles in a lot of things for her age. Said her first word before she was one.” He’s rich with pride, a deep well of love shining in his eyes, and you force your own down to the plate, stifling the ache bleeding from your heart.

“Of course she is.” Penny holds pieces of sticky, syrupy pancake with both hands, attacking them with vigor, smearing her cheeks purple with the squished blueberries.

You need to eat something, but your brain is buzzing, unnatural discomfort stretching long in the back of your mind.

What’re you doing? Sitting here eating pancakes like everything is normal? Like everything’s okay?

Everything is not okay.

You drift, back to your apartment, back the venom of Phillip, the hands around your neck, the twist of your shoulder, back slamming into the wall. You can still feel him, still hear him, these memories like all the others, your body beaten on the floor, mind nearly broken. Trying to shift away from the hot end of a cigarette, screaming for help, running through a-

A hand covers yours.

He coaxes the fork from your fingers, metal vibrating within flesh.

“I think… I think I should go back to bed.” You whisper.

“Are you tired?”

“No… yeah. I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to run away, you know.” He flips a pancake onto your plate from the stack. “Just because you were somewhere else for a little bit.” Your cheeks burn. “We’ve got a pretty nice couch in the living room though, if you want some time alone and don’t feel too keen on the stairs.” Saturday morning pancakes and curling up on the couch? It sounds so nice, so normal, and must show on your face, because he chuckles. “Help yourself. You might have to share the TV though, in a bit. We watch baby Einstein on Saturdays, and she’ll need some entertaining for a minute while I get ready.” Your lips twist, an entire hearth lighting up in the bottom of your heart.

“Alright.”

Baby Einstein is as enthralling as you thought it would be, though Penny disagrees. She stares at the screen, wide eyed, open mouthed, sippy cup long forgotten, and even Simon struggles to get her attention after returning from getting dressed.

You force your eyes away from the strain of his thighs in blue jeans.

“We’re goin’ down to the hospital.” He tells you, pulling her upward over the back of the couch and rubbing his nose through her curls. It’s still… weird, to see his whole face. To clearly watch his expressions, sublime bliss pushing his mouth upward whenever he looks at his daughter. “Want to come?”

“I can’t, not if I’m taking time off. It… looks bad to admin. I can probably go in at night but, during the day is just a recipe for disaster.”

“Of course.” He looks around, for what you don’t know, shoulders tensing, then relaxing. “Well, you’ve got the remote. And my number. Are you… going to be, okay? Alone?”

Say yes.

You can’t. All you can do… is nod.

“Okay well if you’re not. Just call.” You nod again, getting to your feet. Once you’re standing, you’re out of place, flailing in their living room, about to be here alone, with your memories, your poisoned mind.

What’re you doing? You’ve ruined everything. Broken all your rules.

“We can stay.” Simon steps close, hand grazing the middle of your back, and you shake your head.

“No, no- I… I’m sorry.”

“You don’t-“

“Yes, I do.” Your voice shakes, and you slam your eyes shut. You can’t do this. “I shouldn’t be here. I’m putting you in danger, and I… I’m putting myself in danger and I’m being so- so stupid, Simon.” His gaze is heavy, serious, and he steps around you, sliding Penny into her bounce seat, turning it to face baby Einstein.

“Listen to me.” As he returns, he reaches, carefully pulling you close, close enough you’re nearly in his chest, timing the rise and fall of his diaphragm. “We are safe, you are safe, sweetheart. ‘m not going to let anything happen to you, or Penny, or any of us. Alright?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Tell me.” You almost laugh, but something comes over you instead, something delirious and desperate. You lean into him, letting him hold you, hand smoothing over the back of your head. “You can tell me. You can trust us. We’ll take care of you.”

God, you want to. You want to so bad it aches, burns a ravenous fire in your heart. You want tell him, let them in. Tell them everything.

“Bun.” He murmurs, bringing you back, a finger under your chin.

“I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t. It’s… it’s too much.”

“It’s alright.” He soothes, but doesn’t pull away, and you’re drawn in like a magnet, rising to the balls of your feet, stuck in a trance, luring you closer.

He meets your halfway.

And then-

He’s kissing you, plush lips on yours, pancakes and fresh laundry and stained-glass windows of sanctuary on his tongue.

You’re standing in the sun, in the trance of another spell.

It’s a mouthful of butterscotch and maple. Sweet, delicious breakfast in bed, lazy Saturday mornings and whispered, tender words. It’s life unlike your own, a home, the promise of a love not fractioned, chipped away, or strangled… but multiplied, magnified. His touch is painfully gentle, slow and easy, encouraging you to follow his lead, carefully constructing a tiny universe to disappear to, where shadow cannot touch. A fantasy, cocoon of stars, ambrosial and sacrosanct, an escape from the hell nipping at your heels, the hell chasing you through your dreaming and waking hours.

The anxious hum radiating through every cell in your body flatlines.

The girl in the mirror weeps.

Everything goes silent. Your breathing slows. Your hands fall to the side, listless and stunned.

Penny grunts. The moment shatters.

You can only stare with wide, terrified eyes.

“Johnny.” It’s the first word out of your mouth, the only thing you can conjure. “I’m sorry, I don’t know… I’m sorry.” Johnny. Johnny’s not here. How can he kiss you when his partner isn’t here? His heart will be broken, you’re destroying their family, you’re-

“I kissed you, bunny. Nothin’ to be sorry about.” Simon hums, still holding your face. “Johnny’s okay. He’ll be a bit jealous he didn’t get one too, but he won’t be upset.”

“How?” the question squeaks, and he takes your hand, tugging you towards the couch, settling you back into the cushions, easily guiding you with deft hands. He's so careful, so gentle, the touch of a man who raises a daughter, who loves his partner, adroit and nimble, anticipating movement before it happens.

“After Penny goes down tonight, let’s have a drink. Or some late dinner. We can talk, and I’ll answer as many of your questions as I can. How’s that sound?” He strokes a thumb across the apple of your cheek. Talking can’t hurt, can it?

“O-okay. Yeah.” You try to shrug, pain lancing through your shoulder, and you try to smother your wince. He frowns.

“I want you to get some rest today.” A small grin creeps across your face.

“You always tell people what to do?” He nods, solemn.

“It’s my job. Takin’ care of you lot is an added bonus.” He breezes by the grouping of you with his family, like it’s a normal thing, rubbing circles in your palm. “Let’s get you comfortable.”

“I can-“

“I’m here. Let me help.” You don’t say anything at first. Can’t say anything, can’t formulate a response that encompasses everything you’re thinking and feeling, stuck on the mile high wall that is your fear and denial, afraid to jump. Afraid to fall.

He doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask you to respond, He just… settles you, cautiously arranging the pillows to support your injuries, lets you sit there atop the wall, staring down at the ground where they wait. Patiently. He rubs your back and your good shoulder until you’re drifting away in heady, hazy dream world, unable to stir when he slips free, tucking the blankets in around you, and pressing another long, lingering kiss to your brow.

You wake in a panic to the doorbell ringing. Your heart races, and you’re up off the couch, tucked around a corner of the hall, hiding, in a blink, even though your shoulder and neck scream at the sudden change of position.

Breathe. You’re losing it. Philip wouldn’t ring a doorbell.

The door clicks open.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice echoes to where you’re still curled around the hallway, back pressed flat, eyes closed. “Hello? Anyone home?” Who is that?

You peek, like a child. Peering around to see a familiar woman with grocery bags in her hands, depositing them on the kitchen counter.

She spots you immediately.

“Hi!” She’s grinning, pretty and bright, pulling a carton of milk from a brown paper bag and putting it in the fridge. “I’m Lou. Sorry, did I scare you? I tried to ‘announce’ myself.” She makes bunny ears with her fingers before and after the word announce, with half of an eye roll. “John’s always telling me I have to when I come over. Can’t be giving anyone surprises, and I knew you were here. Just wasn’t sure if you’d be up for visitors. Sorry if I gave you a fright.”

“No, I…” you trail off, readjusting, giving her your name. She nods and smiles again. “I remember you. In front of the elevator that day.”

“Yeah, that was me.” She’s earnest in her focus, beaming at you, almost like she’s excited.

“You look a little different out of your cute scrubs.” That gives you a small laugh, and you smile honestly at her, flattered.

“Thanks.”

“Sorry if I’m disturbing you.”

“Oh no, you’re not. I was just… I’m fine.” She pulls a flat of eggs free and stacks them next to a colorful pile of produce.

“I do the store runs for Simon right now. It’s too much, with Johnny in hospital and taking care of Pen. We’ve been trying to lighten his load.” Guilt twists. And here you are, adding onto it.

“That’s very nice of you.” She waves it off.

“They’ve kept my husband alive a million times over. It’s the least I can do.”

“Right… they… work together?”

“Simon is semi-retired but yeah. They’re in a global task force. It’s the four of them. Have you met Kyle yet?”

“Oh, yeah. At the hospital one day.”

“Best guy, really.” Her clothes swish, warm and sweet aura practically glowing.

“Yeah, he was really nice.” She rests her hands on her hips and looks you over.

“You okay?” This woman is direct. She's got a no nonsense approach, and through intense, there's true ardor in her, passion and care.

“Yeah, I’m just… still recovering.” You don’t know what she knows, not sure what they’ve told her or John, so you’re not sure how much, or what even, to say.

“Simon told us, about you being mugged. I’m so sorry, it’s just awful.” She’s sincere in her sympathy, big brown eyes sad and considerate.

“It’s okay, thank you. I’m okay.”

“If you need anything, I’m always around. Or if you want to talk to another girl that isn’t a toddler.” It’s an olive branch of friendship, you realize, or the beginnings of, and you’re startled, considering it, wondering if it would be so bad… to have a friend.

“Thank you.” She gives you her number, and you tap it in, shooting her a text with your name.

“You should sit.”

“I can help with these.”

“No, no. No offense, but you look half asleep. I’ve got it.” You laugh even though it hurts, awkward half shrug with good shoulder, and agree.

“Yeah, I’m still recovering. It’s been slow.”

“I’m sure.” You sit at the counter, watching her organize the fridge with scary efficiency. “I’ll be out of your hair in a minute. Just had to drop these off.”

“Oh, you’re fine.” It’s nice. You’re nice. She feels safe, the proximity to Simon and Johnny naturally leading you to feel comfortable, knowing she’s welcomed by them, she’s a part of their life. It makes you feel more at ease, and you try to convey it without getting tangled up in awkward words.

You don’t know how. Not really sure how to make genuine friends anymore, so you just sit there and watch, listening to her talk, enjoying how she rambles a little bit, laughing at herself.

When she says goodbye at the door, she promises to text you the next time she’s coming by, so you’re not surprised, and you linger there, watching her go, wondering if it’s real, surprisingly mourning the loss of companionship already.

“Johnny misses you.” The ice in Simon’s rocks glass clinks together as he sips his bourbon, corner of his mouth lifting in a partial smirk. “Not too fond of his new nurse, I’m afraid. Think he’s spoiled now.”

“How is he?” You’re on the edge of your seat for an update, but not wanting to pry too much. It’s a delicate line, one where you don’t know on which side to stand.

“Good. Wrist fracture is nearly healed, so he’ll be able to start on crutches soon. Once he does, he’ll be doing physical therapy for most of his day, and ready to come home. Should be soon.” He really smiles now, and you mirror it, unable to deny the infectious bloom of happiness spreading from him to you.

“And his liver?”

“No complications. Grafts for his burn are in great shape. Hip is the trickiest part.”

“Yeah, they take a lot longer to heal, but I’m sure he’ll do a great job of it, just like everything else.”

“Thanks to you.” You sip your wine, citrusy peach and passionfruit coating your tongue. It’s a nice bottle, and you were surprised when Simon brought it home, bag of takeaway in one arm, Penny in the other.

“No.” Your cheeks heat. “I was just there. You guys did the hard work.”

“Wouldn’t have made it without you though. Think I would’ve lost it. Him too.”

“You would’ve been fine.” You brush it off, and he shakes his head.

“You’re too modest.” He drains his pour, uncapping the bottle on the coffee table between you and refilling it halfway. Glass on glass chimes, and you sink deeper into the couch, relaxing, tucking your knees up until you’re half curled into a ball, wine glass cradled between your palms.

“So…”

“I told you; you can ask me whatever you like.” You knew this was the case, but hesitance is still brimming in your heart, uneasy feelings festering beneath your skin, burning question shoving to the surface.

“Did you tell Johnny we kissed?”

“I did.”

“Was he upset?”

“Only because he feels like he’s missing out. I told him we’d make it up to him.” Fire enflames your skin. We?

“And by we you mean… us. Together. Like… the three of us.”

“I do.” The girl in the mirror screams. She doesn’t understand, why you continue to act against her better judgement. Why you’re entertaining something so, so dangerous, something so stupid.

“Simon, I… I can’t.”

“You keep saying that but look where you are, bun.” He motions to the table, takeaway cartons scattered across the top, half empty bottle of wine, his bourbon, and a baby monitor. It looks like a nice night in, a simple, sweet life, not even close to being your own.

Still, the girl in mirror combats. Still.

“This isn’t… this isn’t a thing it’s just… we’re hanging out. I’m not going to be here forever, I’m looking for a place and I-“ His face changes, flicker of shadow fading across his brow before being chased away by the sunlight in his eyes. You thought he'd be easier to read, without the mask, imagined you'd be able to place his expressions but you're just as confused and lost as ever.

“Slow down. There’s no need to look for a place to live.”

“W-what?” The wine has made you a little slow, a little sleepy, and you blink through the stupor.

“You’re still healing, sweetheart, and I know you're scared. I’ve known since the first day you stepped into Johnny’s room.”

“No.” You shake your head. Pain fizzles, numbed by alcohol, and your head swims.

“I know you weren’t mugged.” How? “I know you’re running from someone.” Oh god. The urge to get to your feet and bolt washes over you like a wave.

“I- I’m not.” The lie is bare-boned, pathetically unconvincing, and you know it. He knows it too; you can tell by the look on his face.

“You’re not ready to tell me, that’s fine. I’m patient. But you won’t be going anywhere if I don’t know you’re safe. And right now, to me, it doesn’t seem like you’re safe.” The pale yellow of your wine shines in the low lights of the living room, and you get lost in it, swirling around in his words, trying to put them together and pick them apart, desperate to understand what he means.

“Are you… are you saying you won’t let me leave?” You gulp. It’s a ridiculous conclusion, but the first one you jump to.

And in that, you know you’re giving too much away.

His face softens, and he reaches, pulling your free hand into his own, petting some sort of sequence into your skin.

“Of course not, sweetheart. I’d never, ever force you to do something you didn’t want to do. But I do want you to stay, here with us. Where we can keep you safe, take care of you.”

“I don’t need-“

“I know you don’t. I know you take care of yourself just fine.” The indignant roar in the back of your mind settles. “But I’d love an opportunity to do it instead.”

“Simon…”

“Did you know the cells in our body hold onto trauma? They carry imprints of traumatic events. It can change your biology, the way you function.” He squeezes your hand. “It’s hard to realize… that it’s not normal, the way you might be, the way you think, or do things, when you’re carrying the physical memory of terrible things.” He’s not talking about you. There’s a fleeting flash of sadness in his eyes, ghosts circling the drain around his irises, and your heart aches. “We can help you. I don’t know who you’re hiding from, but I can guess what they’ve done- look at me.” You force your eyes back to him, and he cups your cheek. “You do not have to be afraid here. You are safe with me, with us. I know you don’t believe it, and I’ll tell you as many times you need, but it will never not be true. We can help you.”

“You don’t know… you don’t know what you’re saying.” Your denial is steadfast. They cannot possibly understand.

A small seed of light blooms under darkness. It’s the sun, struggling to break free, trying to drag you into its warm, golden rays. It tugs and tugs, clawing towards you, illuminating the path forward.

The words come out before the girl in the mirror can stop them.

“You don’t know him. He’s sick and… powerful. He’s a monster but he’s smart, has connections, has ways of doing things that… I don’t even know. He’d kill you.” You clap your hand over your mouth in shock, surprised at yourself. It’s the most you’ve said about Philip in years.

You expect pushback. Expect Simon to flinch, or cower, or have good sense… a rational reaction to being told someone might try to hurt him.

He smiles instead, settling back on his side of the couch.

“I’d just have to get to him first, then.” Is he… is he? Simon watches you, reaches into your brains to peer inside, rooting around in your head. The way he looks at you, like he knows everything you’re feeling, can see what you're thinking, makes you shiver, makes you feel like you’re a tiny mouse in the shadow of a mountain. He sighs. “Give us a chance.”

“A chance?”

“A chance, to know you. Let us in, let us try. Stay here, with us, spend time with me and Johnny and Pen. No strings attached. If you decide it’s not for you… we’ll understand.”

No strings attached.

You could pick up and leave if you wanted. If you had to.

What’re you doing?

“How does it work? Would we all…” you trail off, confused.

“Date?” Simon finishes gently. “Yes.”

“So, you guys are… bi?” He chuckles.

“Yes, sweetheart. We’re bi.”

“Is this… a thing? Something you guys do?”

“We’ve never taken another partner before, no.” Your eyes widen. “You’re our first.” You don’t know why, but knowing is exhilarating and terrifying, all at the same time. You’re their first.

He’s talking about it like it’s already happened.

Fatigue settles in around you, thick fog of it draping over your shoulders and clouding your head.

“I… I don’t know.” You stifle a yawn. “I need to think.” He abandons his perch for one next to you, pulling your wine glass free and setting it on the table.

“Tired?” His fingers sweep over your cheek, skin warming under his touch.

“Mhmm.” You mumble, sleepily. Your head is very heavy, suddenly, hard to hold up.

“Alright.” He stands, bending to slide an arm under your knees, the other supporting your back in one fluid movement.

“What are you doing?” You squeak, grabbing onto him as he rises, lifting you into his chest at full height. Panic floods your nervous system, fevered tone pitching into a plea. “Put me down! I’m too heavy. Please, I’m too heavy, you can’t-“

“I’ve lifted a car off a teammate before.” He tells you, the thick of his body beneath your ear vibrating. “And I’ve dug Johnny out of a collapsed concrete wall. I’m made to pick things up, bunny. Heavy or not.” He holds you right there, all the way up the stairs, down the hall to the guest room, before settling you back on your feet, big hands around your waist for balance. Your back is to his chest now, and his nose drifts across the top of your head, slow path of his fingers stroking down your hip. “Alright?” He asks, and you nod, throat too dry to speak.

He squeezes. You stifle a gasp, resist the urge to press your thighs together.

It’s been so long since you’ve been touched, since anyone has handled you with reverence, with affection. You almost don’t recognize it.

His hand drifts, slipping between your thigh and cheek. “This okay?” He murmurs, and you manage a rough yes, word sticky and thick in your throat. Yes. Yes, don’t stop. A fingertip strokes along the crease there, back and forth, before trailing upward. He takes as much of your flesh in his palm as he can, squeezing again, caressing, mouth skimming along your neck.

“Oh.” you breathe. The room is warm, barely lit by the bedside lamp, and you burn in the dark, sensations sparking alive that have long laid dormant.

The girl in the mirror curses you.

“Need help getting to bed?”

“N-no.” Yes! “I’m… fine.” His lips touch your cheek, then your ear, breath blowing over you, firm, solid warm mass at your back exhaling shakily.

“Get some sleep.” He steps away, but not before he swings, slowly, softly, into the pillow plush of your ass. It’s a gentle tap, but the fire between your legs roars. “Goodnight, bun.”

“G-goodnight.”

Simon's got his sweatpants and boxers off before he's even fully in the bathroom, running right into the shower, hand wrapped around his throbbing cock as the water flicks on. It's not hot enough, but he doesn't even notice, cock heavy in his grip, tip already smeared wet with pre-come.

"Fuck, bunny." He grits, trying to stay quiet but unable to hold his tongue.

He's awful, for this. Awful for doing this after you've had such an emotional night. Awful for touching you when you're still healing, awful for grabbing a handful of your ass and imagining sliding his dick through the space between those cheeks. He can't stop, strokes himself long, squeezing the base and pulling up and back as he imagines you on all fours, perfect globe perked up in the air for him, his cock sinking into your soaking wet pussy as you moan. He knows you would make the prettiest sounds for them, sweet gasps and cries, bouncing on Johnny's cock in his lap.

"Hop like a bunny." He'd coo, and you'd whine, riding Johnny as Simon coached you until you were so close, almost there on the edge. "Show daddy how bad you want to come, little bunny."

He jerks himself harder, eyes closed, imagining the ripple of your flesh, the way you'd bounce so perfectly, how Johnny would be gripping your hips with his head tipped back, throat exposed for Simon to nip and suck a mark into.

His bunny. His boy.

His toes curl. Water streams down his back, slicking his skin, forearm burning with each stroke, imagination running wild as he gets closer and closer, thinking about you and Johnny and him together, finally, your legs spread wide in front of their faces, perfect pussy on display. He can almost hear the way you'd whisper their names, and it blinds him, fills his head with white light. He knows you're beautiful when you come, as beautiful as you are when you let your guard down and give him a real smile, as beautiful as you are everyday, so pretty and perfect, kind, even as a ghost. He imagines it, pictures it, the sight of his and Johnny's come leaking out of your hole, fingers shoving it back inside, marking you as theirs.

He comes with your name on his lips, a strangled whisper, painting the tile with himself.

He falls asleep with a new addition in their bed, on top of Johny's t shirt and the baby monitor... there's now a long sleeved tee, plucked from your dirty laundry this morning as he was getting ready to leave. It smells like you, something he wishes he could bottle, and he holds it close, tied in tandem with Johnny's, curled in his arms on top of the pillow.

#simple math #peaches writes #ghoap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #simon riley #john mactavish #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #ghost x soap #if you saw my technical difficulty earlier no you didn't!

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awearywritersworld · 10 months

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gratitude

gojo satoru x reader summary: gojo wakes up early one morning, suddenly aware that he can't live without you. w/c: .5k tags/warnings: fluff. gn!reader. a/n: happy jjk day!!! masterlist check out my latest work for gojo here

gojo satoru is something of a stranger to gratitude, but can anyone really blame him? he was born with unmatched strength, unaccustomed to the blood, sweat, and tears many people shed to gain even a fraction of the power he possesses.

he's the son of one of the wealthiest clans in japan, so he's never gone to bed hungry, nor has he ever had to wear a pair of shoes that were past their prime. he's also blessed with good looks, always flaunting the kind of smile that makes people turn their heads.

now, that's not to say he's never felt thankful in his life. quite the contrary. he was thankful when nanami returned to jujutsu tech and when yuuji came back to life even after sukuna ripped out his heart. hell, he was thankful for the kid at the bakery who served him a particularly exquisite lemon loaf last week.

but he's never felt true gratitude. you know, the kind you experience when you're given something you can't possibly live without. the kind that moves you, shakes you to the core.

that is, until he's laying in bed beside you, already awake as the sun begins to kiss the morning sky. his eyes trail over your face in the pale blue light of dawn, taking great pains to commit every little detail to memory.

it's then that he feels it, gratitude that seeps into his bones and fills him with relief, hope, and elation all at once. gratitude that changes him as a person, because how could he exist without you? without the soft curve of your nose, without the fullness of your lips, without those cute little snores that let him know you're still sleeping peacefully?

you're laying on your stomach, your back exposed and the sheet bunched around your waist. he traces each divot of your spine with a careful and loving touch, acutely aware that there isn't a thing in the world that could possibly compare to the feeling of your skin against his own.

"'toru? what're you doing awake?" you ask groggily, pulling him from his thoughts.

"hmph.. can't sleep 'cause you're such a blanket hog."

"yeah? are you sure you're not just staring at me again, all googly eyed and creepy?" you pop one eye open to discern the look on his face.

"i've got no idea what you're talking about," he asserts, pulling you against his chest in an attempt to obscure his guilty grin.

you've already seen it though. "i think you're delusional or something, you should get some more sleep."

you feel his chest shift, a breath of a laugh passing his nose. "yeah, you're probably right."

you hum, satisfied with his answer, then tangle your legs with his and close your eyes. "i love you."

gojo has taken a lot of things for granted in his life, he's smart enough to know that, but those three words? from your lips? he'll be grateful for them until the end of time.

"i love you, too."

taglist: @torusmochi @moonmalice

#m!writes #gojo #gojo x reader #gojo imagines #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagines #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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submalevolentgrace · 1 year

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Hi! I'm very interested in attempting to write a disabled character (not for this blog, I assure, for an book I'm writing) in which the story doesn't fetishize/objectify her prosthetic limb. I'm in many writing circles and have been for a long while, but I've never seen this issue brought to light which I realise is a very important one. I have much to change in my thought process, and thank you for bringing this issue to attention.

I'm curious, and I apologise if this has been asked before, but what sort of design could you see for a functional prosthetic that doesn't go for a plainly aesthetic appearance, or is soully to please others? I do note that you said prosthetics are generally... not that helpful. So is there a way that it could be? Or do you think it would always generally be better to not use a prosthetic, as its mostly for aesthetic purposes, as you said?

I apologise if this ask is too outright or anything, and I don't mean to intrude. Thank you for your time and have a beautiful day!

okay, i want to answer this as in depth as possible, because whenever i talk about having a prosthesis, someone will always tag some variation of "#writing reference" and i do wonder what message they're taking away, and i want to get as much of my experience out as possible to maybe help shape how this is all portrayed in the future. and yeah… this is gonna be one of those rambly smg posts that the expand feature was invented for, so i'll start with the very abridged TL;DR:

if you're writing a character with an upper limb prosthesis; don't. arm amputees are unicorn level rare even compared to leg amputees, and i've never interacted with or even heard of an upper limb amputee that regularly uses a prosthesis, let alone relies on one. fiction has lied to you for the sake of cool aesthetics, don't repeat the cycle. more in depth writing advice including nuance and "but i waaaant to" will follow.

that said, grab your donning parachute and let's get started...

context for everyone involved: i am an upper limb amputee that rants a lot about how prostheses suck, i lost my right hand roughly five years ago at roughly the age of 30 after a very rough decline in health… it was pretty rough. this question is being asked in the context of a previous rant post of mine, and i checked that the ask is about an upper limb prosthesis in particular.

the situation regarding the usefulness of lower limb prostheses is totally different; i am definitely no expert, but by all accounts, prosthetic legs are incredibly useful for many people. getting a good leg can be absolutely life changing and more or less necessary for day to day life for some; mostly because infrastructure and society is just so fucking hostile to wheelchair users. being able to walk - at the cost of pressure sores and rashes and increased residual limb pain - is a preferable option to many people than being unable to fit through a doorway or in a bathroom stall or find out that the key to unlock the only elevator is in the admin office up three flights of stairs (true story).

but upper limb prostheses… see, the thing is, hands are incredibly complex organs that rely on a lot of immediate haptic feedback to work at all. hand dexterity is all about control, you need fine granular movements of the digits yes, but you also need the subtle sensations of pressure and proprioception in order to adjust your movements on the fly. i speak from experience, in the years leading up to the full loss of my hand, i was slowly losing function of it, usually swinging between numbness that made it clumsy at best, or screaming overstimulation from moving it at all resulting in unpredictable spasms… and let me tell you, a half working hand is infuriating to try and deal with. you can never know if you have a good grip on something or if it's slipping because of the wrong amount of pressure, and there's only so many smashed bottles of pickles on the floor before you give up using it all together… so amputation wasn't a great loss there, i had time to adapt.

a prosthetic hand of any kind has all of those issues and more. they're heavy and bulky, the cosmetic faux fingers or gripping claw have crude movement at best, and there's zero feedback (put a pin in this). 100% of the time you're using a prosthetic hand you have to keep your eyes on the grip and visually guesstimate whether or not the thing you're carrying is held tight enough but not too tight, that is if your "heavy duty" prosthesis can even support the weight without the servos disengaging or the wrist attachment socket just busting loose. i dropped a whippersnipper on my foot last week when my socket couldn't take the weight and i think that was the final straw in me desperately trying to prove to myself that there is a single task my prosthesis actually helps with.

this is usually where fully two handed people start talking about bleeding edge DARPA tech, and how we just need to invest more,research more, develop more. better tech, more tech, neural integration, more more more. okay i promise the writing advice is coming! for starters on tech, my experience is already with a mid-to-high end ottobock terminal device: i've got a myoelectric nerve-signal operated proportional control heavy duty greifer; about the only upgrade left for me to get would be a rotating wrist joint if i could coflex. it's not military, it's not "rockclimber that owns a prosthetic company", but it's quality tech. it still fucking sucks. secondly, that high level military tech exists primary for PR purposes so they can say they treat their discarded casualties well, "we can rebuild him, we have the technology" style. every war vet i've read about or heard from that's been gifted that high level tech also abandons it for the same reasons; it's imprecise, there's no feedback (or the haptic interface has to be fully recalibrated every time they put it on), but mostly they're more capable without one.

okay, the transhumanist ableds say (i should know, i used to be one), what if we did more ~research and development~ and got that neural feedback working? then we could have fireproof superhumanly strong robot arms to fix up everyone! here's where i take out that pin we put up before and i tell you that a class of prosthetic arms/hands already exists that has perfect proportional control, fine motor control, and physics perfect pressure feedback piped directly into the patients' existing sensory systems! they're called body-powered prostheses, and they were invented in like the 1600s. you strap a whole bunch of stuff to your arm and shoulders shoulders, and control the operation of the terminal device and elbow through cable tension by flexing your shoulders. they do take a considerable amount of training to operate - though hell i spent 18 months training to use my myo - but based on everything i've read, body-powered prostheses are the best option if you're an upper limb amputee and absolutely need a second hand for some reason.

but they don't look cool and futuristic, and according to my prosthetist, most people give up on using them too. we all give up on our prostheses, no matter the type. my rehab OT was impressed i lasted the 18 months of my training. towards the end, they even asked if the clinic director could drop in to one of my sessions to see my progress; he expressed genuine amazement at me casually using my bulky robot claw to use a brush and dustpan, and made an offhanded (hah) comment about what someone can achieve "if they stick it out to the end", implying it was somewhat of a rarity for me to have done so. several years on, and yesterday i wedged the dustpan between my ankles to sweep up into it, awkward but exponentially less effort than putting my dusty robot arm on. which, by the way, is a whole thing. look up some videos, they're all awful to don. i don't actually know the official technical name of what my clinic calls a "parachute" but it's a bitch to use! have you ever tried to pull back with your arm whilst also pushing it forwards at the same time, and simultaneously lean in to and away from an external force pulling on you? that's how you get a myo socket on.

bare with me, i promise writing advice is coming, and i promise it's more than the tl;dr. but. remember when i said a half working hand is infuriating to deal with? any prosthesis, from fancy myo tech to pirate-era body powered, will only ever be half as good as a working hand, and being juuuust within capability to do something but not quite able to is maddening! but you know what works way better than a half working hand? no hand at all. using whatever residual/vestigial limb you have - whatever "stump" you have, i hate that word - is pretty much always better than trying to use a prosthesis. i can use the inside of my elbow to grip and carry things, i can use the nub of my arm to apply pressure to hold things, open doors, use a computer mouse, turn on taps and lights, if i put a glove over it i can use it to prep for cooking. i have full proprioception and pressure feedback with skin contact, i don't think i've ever dropped and broken anything from my elbow, unlike countless things slipped from my greifer - which, by the way, absolutely will start clenching as tight as it can if i get even slightly too sweaty around the electrodes, which has both broken things i'm holding and also injured me, because surprise surprise but servo operated robot claws have pinch points on them right near the "emergency disengage" lever for some reason!

but i am exponentially more capable without it on than with it. no, i'm not fully independent, i rely on housemates and loved ones to help me out with some tasks that simply just need two handed dexterity, but none of those tasks are things a prosthesis makes me able to do anyway. i used to imagine my prosthesis would be like a bra; a bit awkward and uncomfortable, but i'd wear it throughout the day because it's helpful and take it off in the evening to decompress. in reality it's actually exactly like a bra: an absolute bitch to put on one handed, unbearably uncomfortable because it never sits right, ugly af unless you're a millionaire, and absolutely useless except for the fact that i get gawked at and judged by strangers if i leave the house without it on.

and if you really want to discover how far "no hand is better than a half working hand" goes, brace yourself, and look up the patient's stories (not medical system stories) of people that have had hand transplants. the first man to receive one hated it, he was promised a return to normal function, and what he got was a nightmare worse than being one handed; he wanted it removed again but the doctors refused because it would undermine their grand achievement of the first hand transplant. the doctors and society wanted him to be fixed, they wanted him to be normal, they wanted him to be abled. they failed. they made him less able to do things, denied his autonomy, and left him with someone else's hand slowly rotting on him, prioritising the idea of "scientific progress" and "two hands good" over the physical health, mental health, and ability to function of this man.

he's not alone; every story from the patients' perspective about hand transplants that i've read goes this way, including a woman who was born quad limb different and was promised hands would improve her life, pressured into a double hand transplant, only to find herself after the surgery essentially experiencing disability for the first time ever, because she had lived her whole life getting by just fine with her 'underdeveloped' limbs, but half working hands are worse than useless. you can try to find these stories yourself, but i'm not going looking for sources on any of these cases, because if you look back through enough of my posts you'll get a glimpse of the horrors and abuses that i too was put through by doctors who prioritised trying to "fix" me at any cost, rather than providing me the best quality of life, and in turn traumatised me and left me more broken than any loss of limb on its own could. dear goddess, i promise the writing advice is coming.

so. why do upper limb prostheses exist at all? if they're so terrible and useless, what is their function? i want to borrow something someone else left in the tags of a previous rant here, from someone who i believe works in prosthetics and/or rehab, cleaned up and anonymised at their request:

"upper limb functions are wildly more complex than: 1) bear weight static, and 2) bear weight moving. but every single upper limb amputee i know has a fancy expensive prosthetic just gathering dust in the closet because there is literally nothing it can do like a few years of adjustment and if needed non-dominant hand retraining can't do. the existence of forquarter prosthetics to begin with is just kind of silly and useless and entirely to make OTHER people feel comfortable, especially considering they universally are UNcomfortable for the amputee. i hate the notion that as soon as you get the amputation the prosthetic is The Thing That Will Fix You And Make You Feel Normal again because it universally isn't! but every forequarter person i know had like this ideal of Being Fixed By Magic Prosthetic that they were then obviously wildly disappointed by and had to do yet another grieving process with, versus if the dominant narrative were just one of: yeah. it'll take time, there is no magic fix."

and i think that really nails down what the actual purpose of upper limb prostheses is: they're not for the user, they're for the sake of other people. and not just their comfort when looking at our bodies, although based on the pressure for both amputees and people born limb different to get functionless cosmetic plastic hands, there is a lot of that. but it's not just that.

i fully believe that the reason prosthetic hands exists is to comfort the fears of the two handed. "don't worry", they say, "we can fix you again. you don't have to fear becoming Disabled, you don't have to worry about adapting or your life changing. we can make you Normal™ again."

you would not believe the number of people that have approached me to shower me with pity, to tell me how horrific my life is, how they can't imagine it. people have told me, apropos of nothing, that they'd kill themselves if they lost a hand. indirectly, that my life isn't worth living. unless, of course, i happen to be wearing my cool as fuck looking robot prosthesis! then they tell me how wonderful it is, how lucky i am, how glad they are that we have the technology to fix me. that's what a prosthetic hand says, what all the happy fishing photos on limbs4life posters at the rehab clinic say: don't worry, we can fix you. that's what the bleeding edge DARPA flexi-whatever fully articulated neuro-feedback hands say: don't worry if you get IED'd while hunting civilians for us to drone bomb, if you get hurt, we will fix you, we will fix the fuck out of you, we will motherfucking adam jensen you into a cool as fuck cyborg that your son will idolise; come on boys, don't you wanna enlist just for the chance at being as cool as this? join the bomb squad for a ticket to the upgrade lottery.

and so we arrive at fiction. as much as his dialogue options protest, adam jensen loves his robot arms, they punch through walls, turn into fucking swords! they make him the most special man in the world. what would he do without them? learn to cope? grieve? practice acceptance? take up poetry? just, be disabled? there's no power fantasy for ableds in that.

in fact, can you think of a single fictional character that's an upper limb amputee that's, well, just an amputee? they all have robot arms. not realistic prostheses, not medical devices; robot arms. sleek or bulky, top of the line or broken down self built, steampunk or nanomachines or magitech automail; they're never without them. never just an amputee. never born limb different either! there's always that element of tragedy to overcome, always suffering and misery porn, always focus on the pain and the helplessness without the absolutely vital robot arm that makes them Normal and Whole. the closest amputee example i can think of is furiosa from mad max, who iirc fucking punches max in the face with her residual limb like a motherfucking badass! i can barely lean on mine wrong and she punches a guy! but she still apparently needs a dieselpunk robot hand to drive a truck, something you can do one handed so easily most drivers don't even notice they're doing it! please don't, by the way

and so many disabled fans love to point to robot armed characters as disability representation; the winter soldier, luke skywalker, edward elric, misty knight, that genderswapped furry girl from ratchet and clank, jet cowboybebop, finn the human, and yes, adam jensen…. these are all characters that someone disabled i know has told me they love because they "represent disabled bodies"…. and i know nobody wants to hear this, because i've been screamed at for saying it before, but… they do not. they are not disabled, functionally or within fiction. they are either perfectly able bodied Normal people with chrome paint on an arm, or tortured misery porn we are supposed to pity and feel lucky we're not them. sometimes both!

also you ever notice how it's basically always arms? lower limb amputations are orders of magnitude more common than upper, my prosthetist said i was probably only the 4th or 5th upper limb she'd worked with in her career, with literally hundreds of lower limb fits. but fiction doesn't seem to reflect that, huh? or any other part of the reality of disability. it's always cool as fuck robot arms, never cool as fuck wheelchairs or crutches or dialysis machines or colostomy bags. a fair few "i was blind but now i can see with Robot Eyes and also infrared and xray" around, which again, plays into that "we can fix you and make you cooler" propaganda.

by the way, up above when i was describing body powered arms, if you wondered to yourself why i went with a myoelectric one instead when i clearly believe body powered is better… yeah. i am not immune to propaganda! i too wanted to be cool as fuck. i spent years with deteriorating function in my hand for reasons that are still unknown, was misdiagnosed and medically neglected to the point that removing my hand seemed to be the only option left to offer some relief, and even that was a clusterfuck that left me worse than ever… of course i wanted to believe in the power and prestige of a cool robot arm that fiction promised me.

but fiction promises fantastical lies. and so.

we get to the writing advice portion of the novella that is this post. you asked for advice on how to write a disabled character with an upper limb prosthesis. you've read the tl;dr, you've read everything above i assume, you know i don't want you to do it. the obvious twist is that it's been writing advice all along, me trying to share my perspective on what it's like being an amp with a robot arm and how shitty it is, implying how almost any fully realised and realistic character that's missing an upper limb would give up on a prosthesis at all. you can already tell that every value judgement in me says "don't give her a prosthesis, no matter how functional or cool you make it. don't try to make the tech better to justify it, just let her be one armed, one handed. just let her be disabled, but not helpless. let her show off her elbow or underarm carry strength. let her love interest appreciate how soft and squishy her residual limb is in a moment of tenderness. let her natural disabled body be respected and valued."

but that's a personal value judgement from me, and you are the author of your own work. i know it's trite to say, but you are! even the act of deferring to someone with lived experience in the hope of doing a better job at representation is a value judgement, a good choice in my opinion, but one you needn't necessarily take. maybe you do want to write a character that has a cool as fuck unrealistic robot arm as a power fantasy, or a comfort blanket… i did.

i've been slowly writing my own probably terrible scifi epic for over a decade now, and when my arm was giving me hell back then, i'd take great comfort in this fantasy of my protagonist with her chunky robot arm, the terrible traumatic suffering of her loss, overcoming, the power and ability her advanced prosthesis gives her over others, that she alone has access to, because others are not willing to make the sacrifices required. inspiration porn. awful stuff to me now, but empowering to me then. as i grew and gained direct experience, i slowly reimagined her, rewrote her, ship of theseus'd her into an entirely new character; a reflection of me now, bitter at the whole thing, spiteful that her natural flesh arm evokes fear and distrust, but unwilling to suffer the pain and frustration of her unnatural prosthesis just to make others comfortable and respect her as "whole", however artificial that whole is. and as with the ship of theseus being two ships, once i realised the transformation, i re-added the old protagonist back in whole cloth as a separate character; proud of her robot arm and its power, but in new context, as a foil and antagonist, an in-universe military prosthesis propaganda figure to reflect how i now feel characters like her exist to us, the readers.

i'm not just sharing that as egotistical self promotion, but to highlight that, even if i sit here begging you all up and down not to write characters with robot arms for how bad and unrealistic they are; there's still something genuine and true that their inclusion can say. the great thing about the story that you're writing is that only you can write it, as they say. but i whole heartedly believe that to write to your best, you have to be aware of what you're writing and why. as tempting as it is to feel these characters form naturally in us and therefore we're averse to changing traits about them that feel organic and self evident; as authors we have omnipotent control over the text, every trait and detail is a reflection on us, so we'd sure as hell better understand why we're choosing to write a character with this trait. because anything you write without being aware of intent will take on its own meaning in the space between.

and on that note, if i don't say this, i'm leaving it to be inferred: i definitely don't want to appear to come down on the side of saying "you cannot write an amputee unless you are one", because we are rarer than single young bisexual unicorns! and it would be a tragedy if anyone read through all this and then turned away in fear, deciding to never write an amputee character (with or without robot arm) because they feel they can't do it justice… believe me, no matter what anyone says, some hack writer somewhere is going to keep writing adam jensens and winter soldiers. don't let them be the only voices in fiction! just try to do your best.

so my ultimate advice on the topic of writing a character with a prosthetic limb is to ask yourself one question in two different frameworks, and meditate on what you feel the answer is:

why does she have a prosthesis?

from a doylelist perspective as the kids say, as an author with omnipotent control, why are you choosing to write about this topic? why are you choosing to give this trait to this character? what does it say about how you view ability and disability, what makes a person normal, and what our society values? will you let her be in her natural body? or will you give her a prosthesis, force her to wear it by authorial fiat, or author her a meaningful reason to choose to? if yes, be sure you know; why did you give her a prosthesis?

and from a wastonian perspective, diegetically, inside the story, why does she choose to wear a prosthesis? what does it say about her inner character, and how she interacts with the world? how does she feel about doing it, is she prideful and loves the attention she gets, or does she resent whatever necessitates its use? how do people in this world view ability and disability, what does this society value? and above all, whatever the answer to these questions, whether or not she uses a prosthesis or is badass without one, how does she deal with the eternal freezing cold that every amputee ever feels constantly in their residual limb and why does nobody make a heat pack that fits over a nub without drafty gaps???

i can't outright tell you how to write a good upper limb amputee, but if you at least know why you're writing one and for what purpose, you're on track to write the best character that you can. that's the best advice i can give… other than, like, this whole rambly mess.

and, as a reward for reading this far, please have a very blurry cryptid photo of my cat doing his old man sit:

#prosthesis #prosthetic #disability #ableism

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nereidprinc3ss · 15 days

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andromeda | (dybmn? bonus)

a bonus vignette from spencer's POV. we find out how he really feels about reader. takes place the day before the argument at the bar.

note: this is not part six! takes place between parts four and five.

series masterlist

18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, semi-graphic descriptions of sexual fantasies, some angst, you're not actually present, mention of alcohol, very vague discussions of murdery stuff bc he's supposed to be working, sassy spencer makes an appearance a/n: for all my angels who said they wanted a snippet of spencer's POV! i'm sorry if i'm overdoing it with this story or clogging the spencer tags, i'm just having a lot of fun! i hope you enjoy or that this may be clears some things up for you, pls lmk your thoughts:) ily!!!

Spencer is incessantly drumming the particle board table underneath his fingers.

The polymer veneer is one of his least favorite textures—he hates the grain of it and if he were to accidentally scratch the table with his nails he knows it would make the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

But of all the things he’s worried about, that ranks very low on the list.

He’s got a lot of mental tabs open all the time—and the tabs, he can deal with. It’s when he starts trying to operate with multiple windows that he begins to struggle. His brain, while it is a very fine tuned sort of computer, only has one monitor. Unfortunately, no human (except for the ones who’ve had their brain hemispheres surgically split) is immune to the inevitable pitfalls of multitasking. By dividing his mental energy between you and his job, he’s really fucking up his job. But he also thinks he really fucked up with you on that phone call the other night and for being as logical as he is he can’t seem to make that feel unimportant—even though he’s disgusted with himself for it because there are literally people dying.

Someone knocks on the open conference room door—he looks up, skimming his lips over his fist.

“What’s up?” he says too quickly upon seeing Emily’s mildly concerned face peering in on him.

Her mouth bridges into a sort of nonchalant frown and her brows kick up.

“Just… checking in. Haven’t heard from you all morning.”

“Yeah, the, uh—the geo-profile. I’m still… I’m still working it out.”

It’s not like he’s ever been phenomenal with his syntax in a social sense, but Spencer is certainly aware he’s doing even worse than usual right now.

“Okay. Uh… is there anything in particular stumping you, or…?”

“Nope. Just not enough information. But I’m—I’m going to keep trying.”

“Alright. Got your phone handy?”

It’s an odd question—of course he has his phone handy. He’s been doing this job longer than Emily has. How else would he communicate with the rest of the team? He bristles.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

Emily shakes her head. She’s always been particularly good at reading his moods.

“You’re not under attack, Reid. I was just asking.”

Just as he’s about to say, why would you assume I’m not prepared for my job, he manages to swerve away and stifle the words with his fist. Instead he looks back down at his copy of the map and nods. In reality, he truly isn’t prepared for his job today. The reason he has his phone so close, fully charged and at top volume is because he’s worried he’ll miss a call from you.

Emily says something else, and he hums in response, and then she’s gone.

He shouldn’t be reading into your reticence this much. It’s not like you just sit by the phone all day, eagerly awaiting a call or text from him (like he does you). You have a life. You’re busy. And even if you are intentionally dodging his texts, he can’t entirely fault you for it. Spencer knows he’s clingy. He knows he’s overbearing. It’s part of why he panicked the other night and told you the whole humiliating story about Elle. Because he can’t ever just be cool and he felt the need to explain himself.

But the problem was, and is, that he doesn’t know how much longer he can go without saying those three words that fucked him over all those years ago.

So he’d danced around them. Applied them to someone else to try and avoid outright professing his all-consuming love for you over the phone. However you feel, Spencer has to assume he feels more. Spencer always has to assume he feels more because he usually does and it’s gotten him into trouble before. And now he’s pretty sure he was exactly right, as often is the case, because you didn’t tell him he was mistaken and you’d clammed up and you haven’t talked to him since and he’s not supposed to be reading into it this much.

Three victims killed and dumped within a 6 mile radius of the first victim plus one victim killed and dumped 23.8 miles away. That doesn’t make any fucking sense. Fuck this guy.

Spencer decides the problem is that he needs more caffeine.

Or possibly, if he were a different kind of man—copious amounts of alcohol.

So he stows his phone in a pocket and asks the first person he sees where the coffee machine is.

“Looks like you found it earlier,” the woman says, glancing pointedly down at his mostly empty mug. A playful smirk tugs at pinkish-brownish lips. She’s pretty, he realizes distantly. But he registers it the same way he’d take note of the model of a car, or the species of a bird, or the kind of shoes someone is wearing. It doesn’t actually interest him. It’s just part of processing his environment. “I can show you to it?”

He doesn’t have the heart or energy to explain that someone else brought him his cup earlier and he’s not flirting with her.

“If you could just point me in the right direction…?”

She laughs, short and dry, before she’s pointing down a hall.

“Kitchenette down there and to the left.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, already walking away without sparing her a second glance.

She’s the kind of woman he would have paid a lot more attention to before you came along. Not that he’d ever sleep with someone on the job (not since he was 25, anyway), but if he’d met her under any other circumstances he probably would have cared more about the way her pupils dilated and her eyes had widened slightly and she’d adjusted her posture and all the other small things people do when they’re attracted to someone else. 30 year old Spencer might have slept with her. 27 year old Spencer definitely would have slept with her. Current Spencer obsessively pines for a woman who is already his girlfriend and whom he has yet to sleep with at all far too much to think about other women like that.

But god, does he think about you like that.

His feet carry him down the dim, carpeted hallway but really it took barely a nudge and he’s thinking about you like that. At work. As he’s pouring himself coffee.

Spencer is confident in the fact that if anyone were to look at him right now, they’d never guess he’s running clips of you in his mind like a dirty supercut. Because he’s just pouring coffee. That’s one good thing about having all those tabs open all the time. He can toggle between them quickly. He has enough going on in the background that people look at him and all they can tell is that he’s thinking hard about lots of things. Some of them just happen to be the way you look when you’re naked on his bed, skin shining and glazed eyes sleepy, parted lips higher in color than usual and catching your breath. Some of them happen to be your hair brushing his stomach before he gathers it back for you. Some of them happen to be the way your thighs feel on either side of his face, or how you stretch around his fingers, or how you might feel when you stretch around his—

He hisses as hot coffee overflows from the mug and burns his hand.

Maybe he’s not as calm and collected as he thought.

But on top of all the other things he’s dealing with, having been so close to actually sleeping with you the other night is really fucking with his head. Even if he tells himself he wouldn't have done it, he knows himself better than that. He's too familiar with the effect you have on his judgement.

“Found it okay?”

Spencer looks down, surprised to see the woman from earlier sitting at her desk and watching him as he quickly passes by on his way back to the conference room. Her legs are crossed. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and a flouncy sort of blouse which seems impractical for working in an FBI field office. Maybe she notices his eye catching on her figure and misguidedly swivels her chair to give him a better look. But all he’s noticing is that it doesn’t look like yours. Now he’s picturing the curve of your hip dripping in silk after that first night at Rossi’s. How your waist and your stomach feel when he slides his hands over you. This woman—she might as well not even be here for all he’s actually seeing her.

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

Then he’s gone. Very briefly he acknowledges that he should feel sorry for so obviously brushing her off, but he doesn’t care even close to enough. He sets the coffee down on the table and rounds to the board where one of several maps is taped. On autopilot he draws lines between dump sites because one of the background tabs had deduced, while he was busy watching you like porn, that the distance between dump sites form the beginnings of the constellation Orion with some mathematical precision that’s too exacting to be coincidental. Orion’s Belt plus the most recent victim. Betelgeuse.

There are ten formally named stars that make up Orion. He marks all of them, but circles the transposed coordinates of Bellatrix, Saiph, Rigel and Meissa as the next most likely dump sites. Most probably it will be Orion’s head. They’re all in wooded areas. He calls Garcia. Garcia will call Emily, wherever she is. If the unsub sticks to pattern, which they always do, they have until midnight. It’s trite, really. Predictable, like people always are. Far too quickly he drinks half the cup of scalding coffee and retraces his steps through the office to find the bathroom.

It’s empty. The fluorescent lights hum. Spencer washes his hands with cold water and presses still wet fingers to his eyes. You’re waiting for him behind the black of his lids.

At first you would whine, and he would kiss you and you’d moan into his mouth and say his name when he opened you up as far as you would go. The air would be thick and warm with sex and vanilla perfume. Afterwards he’d take care of you and buy new sheets for his bed in your favorite color even if they didn’t match the walls and there would be nothing you’d want for that he couldn’t give to you ever again.

But.

That’s all contingent.

No matter how often he fantasizes about it, no matter in how much detail, and regardless of how often those details change wildly, one thing always stays the same.

The shape of your lips, swollen from kissing, bending around five or six vowels and only two consonants (it seems odd that there are only two consonants in I love you), sometimes before you start, sometimes in the middle or right at the peak—but always there, always moving in slow motion—and always silent.

In real life, they’d be aloud. It’s why his fantasies aren’t good enough. It’s why he can’t stop fantasizing about it. That’s the only part that really matters to him. The rest varies.

Not because having sex with you doesn’t matter—it matters so much he almost shatters his molars whenever he starts picturing it around other people. But because Spencer can’t have sex with you until you love him.

And he worries that you can’t love him until you have sex with him.

The last time he thought that about a person, it didn’t turn out well.

Maybe there is some magic number. Some amount of times you need to have sex with someone before they’ll love you back.

If there is, he knows for a fact it’s more than 32.

And he also knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he cannot have loveless sex with you thirty three times while he waits to find out.

Not again.

But he's going to hold out as long as he possibly can until you say it because he so badly wants you to love him back. He'll let the weight of every ignored text, every reminder that you don't feel that way about him, hang from his shoulders until he collapses. And then he'll probably try to get back up.

Recycled paper towels scratch against his skin. He dries his face and hands and throws them crumpled into the trash can.

Outside the restroom, he pulls out his phone. For safety reasons and paranoia disguised as professionalism, you’re not his lock screen. It’s a photo of the Andromeda Galaxy. Whatever distance lies between you and Spencer, it could always be greater. No matter where you are in the world, you will always be the same 2.537 million light years away from Andromeda that he is.

It makes Orion feel much closer. You, too.

He sends you a text—the third message in a row.

The distance between blue bubbles feels like light years.

I’ll be home tomorrow. I miss you.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

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wintfleur · 8 months

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ꔫ clingy lover and sunrises

°. — pairings ( lando norris x fem! reader )

°. — summary ( what’s better than watching the sunrise with your pretty boyfriend? )

°. — details ( g; fluff. w; kissing. wc; 3k )

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( this is totally based off this tiktok, I watched it and fell even more in love with lando, didn’t even know that was possible. I’m not fully happy with the ending, i feel like it’s rushed. But I do hope you enjoy it! Cant wait to write more of lando, I have a longer lando fic in the works! I think soon I’ll open my requests )

You were lying in bed waiting for your boyfriend to get out of the shower and join you in bed, when you saw the TikTok. You were a resident and happily lived on LandoTok or whatever it was called. You loved watching all the edits of your boyfriend the fans would tag you in, the captions were always so creative. It was also hilarious seeing all the replies you would get when you would comment on them, sometimes you would even tag Lando, that's when it really got fun.

You were doing your daily Tik Tok scroll checking all the edits you were tagged in, liking and commenting on a few that were of you and Lando. You stopped on a TikTok, a smile forming on your sleepy face when you hear his voice. You weren't familiar with the video they were clipping, listening to him say that he sleeps in more and doesn't see the sunset much, makes your eyes widen with an idea. What your boyfriend said was true, he really did sleep in a lot. Wouldn't it be romantic to watch the sunrise with him? You think with a smile.

You click onto the comments and your smile widens when you see all the comments, most of them being about how good he looks, he did really look good. You giggle when you see a comment saying “I mean can you blame him for being tired, I would be too if y/n was my gf ;)” oh god you loved Lando’s fans.

“What are you giggling about?” Your boyfriend's teasing tone brought you out of your trance of looking through the comments. You hear the satisfying click of you turning off your phone and you look up just in time to see your boyfriend walking out of the bathroom and jumping into the bed and laying on his stomach next to you. You set your phone on the bedside table and bring your hand to play with his newly blow-dried hair. Lando lets out a hum of appreciation at your touch.

“Your fans are pretty funny” you whisper as you move to lay on your side, facing him. Lando opens his eyes and breaks out into a smile when the two of you lock eyes. He also moves to lay on his side, he brings one of his hands up to grab yours that was still playing with his hair. You watch as he brings your hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on your palm before he brings it under his chin, snuggling it.

“Will you tell me about it tomorrow? I can't keep my eyes open” Lando's sleepy voice makes you want to squeeze him, he's just so adorable. You move your hand that Lando isn't clinging to and move some of his hair from his face. Your eyes looking over your boyfriend's face, watching as his eyes flutter close and his face snuggle closer to his pillow.

“Yeah, I'll tell you all about it” you tell him with a smile, your mind thinking about your idea for tomorrow. You make a move to sit up, but you halt your movement when you feel Lando pull you back, you look to see him giving you a frown. “Where are you going?”

“I'm just going to turn off the light” You giggle quietly, sleepy Lando was absolutely adorable. Lando lets out a huff before letting go of you, you get out of bed and walk over to the wall and turn off the light switch, quickly rushing back into bed and getting under the sheets. Turning your head to face Lando when he lets out a chuckle.

“It's so cute how you still get scared that a monster is going to grab your feet from under the bed” Lando laughs as he scoots closer to you and wraps his arm around your midsection, resting his head next to yours. You look at him, the moonlight peeking through the curtains illuminated his face just enough for you to see him, he was so beautiful. You softly nudge him with your hip before saying “So do you.”

“Goodnight baby” Lando mumbles and snuggles closer to you after he lets out a tired chuckle from your words, he was so close that you could feel his breath on your neck. You let out a hum and close your eyes, the sound of his soft breaths lulling you to sleep. “Goodnight Lan”

You were used to waking up early, so you had no problem waking up at 6 am, 25 minutes before the sunrise. Thinking about your plan last night you thought it would be super easy to do, completely forgetting one thing. Your clingy boyfriend. When you woke up the first thing you noticed was the soft breaths of your boyfriend on your neck and the tight grip he had on your waist, your legs intertwined. If you weren't so determined to have a sweet morning with Lando, you would have closed your eyes and went back to sleep, enjoying your boyfriend's touch.

So, you ignored the voice in your head telling you to stay in bed in Lando's arms, and you carefully and slowly detach yourself from him and get out of bed. You have to stop yourself from leaning down and softly peppering your boyfriend's face in kisses when you see the sleepy pout on his lips. You grab your phone off the bedside table before quietly walking out of your room, surprised that you didn't wake him up.

You quietly hum to a tune that has been stuck in your head as you walk through your apartment. You turn on the light switch to the kitchen before setting your phone on the counter and walking over to the pantry to pull out some ingredients. You moved across your kitchen quietly, being careful not to make too much sound and wake up Lando, and before you knew it you had two hot mugs in your hands. One hot chocolate for you, and one hot tea for Lando.

Your sock covered feet softly padded against the hallway of your apartment as you walked slowly, careful not to spill any of the drinks and careful not to drop your phone that was squeezed between your armpit. When you walk into your room your eyes immediately go to your bed, where you see Lando holding onto your pillow, his legs all sprawled out and still asleep. You carefully set the two mugs on your bedside table, along with your phone before sitting at the side of your bed, facing your sleeping boyfriend.

“Lando love, it's time to wake up” You spoke sweetly as you brought your hand up to his hair, softly playing with his curls, being careful not to get your fingers stuck in his messy hair. You only get a reaction from him a few moments later when he lets out a tired groan and nuzzles his face into your pillow, a muffled no passing through his lips. You can't help but giggle at his cuteness.

“Lando please, i want to show you something” You continue to play with his hair, your thumb softly caressing his cheekbone, luring him out of his sleepy state. Lando lets out another tired groan as he rolls onto his back, his right hand moving from under the pillow to rest on your bare thigh. You watch as he flutters his eyes open, blinking a few times to get the tired out of his eyes.

Lando yawns before looking up at you with a small smirk, his morning voice deep “Say please again.”

“Please get up my love” you sweet talk with a smile, leaning down and peppering his cheek and jaw in soft doting kisses. Lando smiles and closes his eyes, a tired chuckle escaping his lips at the feeling of your lips on his face. He moves his hand that was at his side and his hand that was on your thigh and wraps them around your waist. Pulling you down against him. You let out a surprised giggle at the sudden pull. Your face flush against his neck.

“Only because you asked so nicely” Lando whispers as he kisses the crown of your head, one of his hands moving up to play with your hair. You knew you had to get up, and you knew the longer you snuggled with Lando; the harder it would be to get him up. But his arms were so comfy, he was so warm and smelt nice, you nuzzled your face into his neck for a few moments, closing your eyes and just relishing in the feeling of being so close to your lover. But the smell of your hot chocolate reminds you of your mission, you place a soft kiss on his neck before sitting up, trying to detach yourself from your clingy boyfriend.

“No, it's too early, come back to bed” your sleepy boyfriend whined as he watched you get off the bed and walk over to the balcony you had in your room, pulling back the long white curtains and unlocking the balcony doors before opening them. The cool breeze of the early air nips at your bare legs and sends a chill down your spine. The smell of the ocean hits your nose, and the sound of the waves fill your room.

Lando lays on his side and sits up on his elbow, his eyes not leaving yours. The moonlight was still shining, and you looked absolutely beautiful under it. So beautiful that he just wanted to grab you by the waist and pull you back to bed, showing you how much he loves you. But he noticed the determined look in your eyes and was thoroughly curious on why you woke him up so early and why you're so happy, so he stopped himself from doing so.

You feel Lando's stare on your back, your lower, lower back. You roll your eyes with a smile before turning to face him, you watch as his eyes shoot up to your face, an innocent smile appearing on his lips once he realizes he was caught staring at your ass. You walked over to your bed and sat on the edge, crossing your legs. Lando sat up and leaned back against the headboard when he watched you pick up his favorite mug and hold it out for him.

“So, are you going to tell me why we're up so early?” Lando asked you with a sweet smile after he took a small sip of the tea. Your mug of hot chocolate warmed your hands and soothed your body as you swallowed it. The cold breeze chills your room faster than you expected. Lando notices goosebumps on your bare legs and uses the hand that wasn't holding his mug, to cover your legs with the blanket.

“I saw this tik Tok about you last night” You start as you set your mug back on the side table, licking your lips. Lando raises his eyebrow as he takes another sip of his tea, curious on where this was going to go. There was no way he could guess what the tik Tok would be about.

“You were saying how you sleep in more so you don’t get to watch the sunrise, so I thought that maybe we could watch the sunrise together” You finally confessed your plan, your hands playing with the blanket covering your lower half. It was silent for a few moments, besides the distant sound of the ocean and you watched as a big smile spread on your boyfriend's lips, him setting down his mug too.

“Fuck you’re so cute” Lando cooed as he stopped leaning against the headboard, sitting up so he could be closer to you. He took your hands that were playing with the blanket and intertwined his fingers with yours, his eyes not leaving yours. You could see a faint blush forming on his face, but Lando couldn't help it. He loved when you planned cute things like this, it made him feel so loved.

Lando leaned closer to you and softly pecked your lips quickly before saying “I would love to watch the sunrise with you baby.”

You smiled widely and leaned closer to him, unlacing one of your hands with his and cupping his cheek. Softly caressing his cheek with your thumb before you close your eyes and sealing your lips in a kiss. Lando eagerly kissed you back, his hand that was holding yours moves to hold onto your waist, pulling you closer to him. You took charge of the kiss, finding yourself getting lost in the taste of your boyfriend's lips.

It took everything in him to pull away from the kiss, breathing heavy against your lips as he whispered, “If you keep kissing me like that, we’re going to miss the sunrise.”

The bashful smile you give him in response makes him giggle and softly kiss the tip of your nose before saying “c'mon, let's get comfy.”

After another cold chill came through the open balcony doors, the two of you decided that it would be better to stay in bed and watch, instead of sitting on your balcony. After a few minutes of trying to find the best position and many giggles, you finally found the perfect position.

“This is nice” Lando spoke quietly as he glanced down at you, before looking back at the changing color sky, the orange slowly peeking through. Lando sat in the middle of the bed while you sat between his legs, leaning your head back against his chest and cuddling one of his arms to your chest. His other arm at his side, his hand absentmindedly caressing the skin of your side, under your (his) shirt.

“What, being behind me?” You responded in a playful tone.

“My favorite place to be,” Lando says in a flirty tone, leaving a wet kiss on the side of your forehead. You smile and tilt your head to look up at him, the sunrise rises, and an orange glow appears on his face. He was so pretty; you could stare at him forever. Lando felt your stare and looked down at you, a shy smile appearing when he saw how you looked at him. With so much love.

“You're supposed to be watching the sunrise, not me baby” Lando teases you playfully, nudging you softly with his leg. He was silently praying that you couldn't feel or hear how fast his heart was beating, it wasn't fair how flustered you could make him.

“I can't help that I have such a pretty boyfriend,” you replied, copying Lando’s flirty tone from earlier. You could feel his beating heartbeat against your chest, the rhythmic beat was comforting. Your fingers were absentmindedly tracing random patterns on his arm, your focus was on the changing color sky. It was so peaceful; the smell and the sound of the ocean was soothing. And the warmth of being held by Lando made it even better.

Lando didn't reply, his eyes were on the sky and the ocean. It was a beautiful sight, a sight he definitely would want to see again, preferably with you in his arms again. He didn't think that he would find watching the sunrise so enjoyable, but he was pretty sure the reason why was his pretty girlfriend that was in his arms, and the fact that you planned this.

“We should do this again” Lando whispered, his hand on your hip rising to caress the skin of your stomach, smirking to himself when he felt the goosebumps appear on your skin from his touch. He loved how reactive you were to his touch, but to be fair he was the same way with your touch.

“Tomorrow?” You ask him, tilting your head to look up at him, a teasing smile on your lips. You already knew his answer, your boyfriend loved his sleep. And seeing by the way he nervously giggles and bites his lips; you knew you were right.

“Uhh, maybe the day after?”

“Okay, the day after” you say between your own laughter, tilting your body a little so you could face him more. Lando’s hold on your midsection tightens and he pulls you closer to his chest. Lando’s attention on the sky quickly changes when he sees the smile on your face, you look so happy. He couldn't look away, he watched as you rested your head on his chest, you were still staring at the now ending sunrise, the light from the sun creating an orange glow on your face. He smiled when he noticed you playing with his bracelets, a habit that you had picked up on the few years you have been together.

“I love you” Lando whispers in your ear, his tone full of love. You look away from the now blue sky to your boyfriend, locking eyes with the most beautiful eyes you've ever seen. You smile and let go of his wrist, bringing your hand up to cup his cheek. Lando can see the look in your eyes, so he leans down and captures your lips in a soft kiss, you pour all of your love into that kiss, wanting him to feel it all.

Lando hesitantly pulls away, resting his forehead on yours as you both try to catch your breath from the kiss. You open your eyes and look up at him, your thumb gently touching his bottom lip causes him to open his eyes and look down at you.

“I love you more” You whisper back, a smile on your lips. Lando breaks out into a smile and wraps both of his arms around your waist and laying back, causing you to lay on top of him. A surprised yelp escapes past your parted lips at the fast movement and Lando can't stop the laughter from spilling from his, when he hears the cute sound. You hide your face in his chest in embarrassment, but when you hear Lando let out a snort you are quick to join him in laughter.

And in that moment of the two of you cuddling and laughing at each other, you silently thanked that TikTok. Because they created a memory that you would never forget.

°. — taglist ( @iloveyou3000morgan )

#﹕─┈ roro’s works #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 #formula one #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris #ln4 #lando norris imagine #lando norris fluff #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x you #f1 x you

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whipped-for-kpop-fics · 8 days

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Seventeen & recording booth blowjobs

🎧Who; Seventeen (individually) x gender-neutral reader 🎧What; Smut headcanon 🎧Wordcount; 1.8k 🎧Warnings; oral(mostly male receiving but mentions of reader receiving too), some dom members, some sub members, some degradation in Seungkwan's(i don't do degradation in any way usually so uh be nice to me about how it's written okay i am babie), Kwan's also a bit of a mean dom, profanity, cheol and wonwoo's deep ass voices and growls(i am not okay), minor choking in Vernon's, teasing, mentions of edging, mentions of begging, i think that's it? let me know if i missed anything

Minors do NOT interact. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in the bio.

-2024 Masterlist-

A/N- I said "imagine sucking his dick while he's trying to record vocals so he's got to try and not react at all" then the idea quickly progressed and took over my mind thanks to @wonuvs & @ourdawnishotterthanourday so here we have it, my thoughts on how each of the svt members would react to a recording booth blowjob. Also tagging @kwanisms just for the Seungkwan one 💖 enjoy it, sweetheart 😘

🎧Seungcheol🎧 This man was born to get his dick sucked in a recording booth. He lives for his kind of shit and is as cocky and confident as you'd expect Choi Seungcheol to be. He'll have a hand in your hair the entire time to guide your pace so he at least has a semblance of a chance of getting his lines recorded. And he manages but his voice is all low and rough and he growls more than usual. Would not even surprise me if he makes you stay there on your knees while he checks the recording before returning and says it's your turn. He'll put the headphones on your ears, playing the recording of his low voice on repeat then get to his knees for you

🎧Jeonghan🎧 100% tries to act like he's just agreeing for you. No, of course, he doesn't think it's mind-numbingly hot having you on your knees with your mouth open in wait as soon as he's got the headphones on[sarcasm]. He'll try to tease you with his cock, tapping it on your lolled tongue with a smirk but it's really just an attempt to give himself a chance to gain his mental stability back. It doesn't work. He forgets the lyrics constantly and can't focus enough to even read them once he pulls them up on his phone. Does not manage to finish recording and gives up. Lets you suck him dry then takes you home to fuck and nap

🎧Joshua🎧 Honestly, he's not entirely sold on the idea. This dude is into some shit but getting his dick sucked while his mouth is next to a microphone and knowing others will listen to this later? Yeah, your sex life is for you two. However, he won't entirely dismiss it and will let you get on your knees for him when he's done recording, or part way through, so he's not right next to the mic but still close enough that there's a risk of getting caught. But then he'll check the recording after and if there's even the slightest hint of what just happened, he'll delete it and try to rerecord if he has time, without you in the booth this time of course. If he doesn't have time to record, the demon will just pretend he doesn't know what happened with an innocent "Oh, it's not there? I pressed the record button, right, babe?" pulling you into the lie smoothing.

🎧Junhui🎧 He'll be randomly giggling throughout because he doesn't know how else to react but he loves every second of it and keeps darting his bright eyes between the mic & lyrics and your face. He doesn't say anything to you during and he actually succeeds in biting back most of his moans(the ones he doesn't manage to stop he disguises with coughing which makes you try not to laugh, which sets him off giggling again) and will keep petting your head to silently tell you how good you're being for him

🎧Soonyoung🎧 The poor baby just cannot handle it, he's so fucking turned on by it all. Non-stop whimpering and stammering on his lines. He tries his best though, bless him, keeps tapping out to catch his breath and record, though inevitably keeps looking at you as he records until he's whining and you know what that means, so you lean back in and he rushes out appreciative thank yous while his head tips back and his eyes close. Finishes quicker than he ever has, not the recording but in your mouth. He literally can't step into that booth for months without popping a boner

🎧Wonwoo🎧 This man loves this kind of shit. He's half hard the second you suggest in and dragging you eagerly into the booth the next. Will stop to kiss you breathless first though, to show how appreciative he is of you. He'll be semi-focused on his lines and like Seungcheol, Wonwoo's voice is so unfairly fucking low for this and he drags his syllables so much, but luckily he's recording a slower rap anyway so it fits the style better than the original plan. Afterwards, when you both listen to the recording, he jokes that you should step into the booth with him more often (it's not entirely a joke though)

🎧Jihoon🎧 He'd try so hard and want to seem in control but he would not last long before telling you to sit still and let him fuck your mouth. He'll have endless praises as he stares down at you, fingers brushing over your cheeks and jaw tenderly in juxtaposition to how he roughly pistons his cock into your eager, sloppy mouth. He'll send you the recording clip later that night as well and suggests he fucks you in there next time. Recording booth sex becomes pretty regular for the two of you after that and opens up a whole world of kinky Jihoon tbh

🎧Seokmin🎧 He'll try so hard to keep his voice steady but he's overwhelmed and doesn't really know what to do with himself or his hands so you'll have to be patient with him and put his hands where you want them. Afterwards, he'll be a shy blushy mess, but so sated and smiley and will likely make up some excuse to go home so that he can return the favour because Seokmin is all for orgasm equality (even if the man will spend hours with his head between your thighs until you physically can't move from the amount of powerful orgasms he always gives you)

🎧Mingyu🎧 He'll be all giggly at first with excitement and nerves. He'll do his best to not let your mouth on his cock distract him but he'll lose his mind and start moaning into the mic without shame, with both hands on your head begging you to not stop yet letting you take the lead and go at your own pace, even if it's driving him crazy. But that's okay because he fucking loves it, loves having you in control of his pleasure as he has no choice but to take whatever the fuck you deem suitable in the moment even if it's nothing, or a lot

🎧Minghao🎧 You'd think he'd be the most in control but ha, no. Minghao is a giant exhibitionist(and voyeur tbh) and this shit is right up his alley. Though he will still be cautious in the way that he won't do it if anyone he doesn't trust, AKA anyone but the other Seventeen members, will have the chance to hear the recording. He may even check with Jihoon first and get his consent to try this out and Jihoon will agree so long as Minghao agrees to save the file with a certain symbol so Jihoon knows to not listen to that version. Hao will kind of be feral from the beginning, you're barely in the booth and he's pulling you into a heavy makeout before urging you to your knees as he pulls the headphones on. He doesn't even attempt to do his lines and just groans and talks pure filth to you with his slender fingers in your hair. He'll only record his lines once he's cum…the first time. He'll be hard again in no time and this time, he'll press you chest first against the wall and fuck you from behind, one hand on the back of your neck or gripping your hair and the other tight on your hip

🎧Seungkwan🎧 Part of me wants to say Seungkwan would not be into this at all. But the other part of me thinks he'd be really into it. I think it depends on what kind of mood you catch him in. But on the days you catch him in the right mood, I think he'd be a little mean about it "you want my cock so badly, huh, couldn't even wait until I'm done working? My desperate little cockslut." Teases you with his length, rubbing the tip over your lips and maybe even slapping your cheek a little with a filthy smirk on his face while you whine wordlessly, mouth still obediently open "You look so pretty, baby, drooling all over yourself for me. Do you want it? Want my cock in that greedy mouth of yours?" will make you beg and plead until you've got tears in your eyes before he slowly feeds his length into your mouth. "Now sit still and let me use your dirty little mouth like a good slut" might even cum on your face if he's feeling extra mean

🎧Vernon🎧 Unless he's going to be the one to deal with the recording afterwards, Vernon wouldn't even entertain this. I think he's very much a hugely private guy where his sex life is concerned, so he wouldn't want anyone to hear that. But if he knows for certain only he will hear the recording or that he can get to it quick enough to remove it and keep to himself, this guy will be so fucking into it. Full on talking dirty to you in between his lines with no adjustment to his volume while putting his hand on your throat to feel his cock and make you choke on him a little in the way you both love. He won't rush it either, he'll make you move slowly on his cock with a lazy smirk on his face as he watches you with his dark gaze "just like that, baby, keep going" drags it out in a way that teases you both because Vernon does love to be teased and edged even when he's in charge of the pace

🎧Chan🎧 I think Chan would be into it but he also takes his work seriously and doesn't want to disappoint anyone so he'll have a hand in your hair gripping lightly ready to pull you away the second he notices anyone enter the studio. Though he also can't help but keep pulling you closer while rolling his hips forward with low moans that rumble through his chest and up his throat. Like Jeonghan, he'll forget his lines multiple times and that's when he'll reluctantly pull you off and breathlessly ask to stop at least until he's finished this line. If you agree, he'll press a grateful little sweet kiss on your lips and go into serious idol mode to nail the lines before taking you elsewhere to finish this in private. If you refuse, whew, prepare for him to go whiney and desperate very quickly because he knows you're not in the mindset to let him just be and he loves it, loves it when you dom him. He'll forget all about the recording at this point so you'll have to remind him and if he cums before he's done recording? Yeah, he's not getting that song recorded today, baby will just be all cute and want nothing more than to tuck up against you and get you off in return

A/N- The funniest thing is I'm just imagining Jihoon having to listen to all of this afterwards. Poor guy needs a raise and a hard drink after hearing his members getting their dicks sucked <3

If you have any suggestions about these NSFW headcanons for me to write, don't be shy to send them in via ask! I'm not always in the mindset to write smutty things but I'll get to them when the inspiration/mood strikes!

Also don't be shy to let me know what you thought of this! And please reblog if you enjoyed reading, likes are lovely but they don't help spread a writer's work for others to read and (hopefully) enjoy as much as you did, but reblogs do!

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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folkwhoredoll · 2 months

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library affections - rafe cameron x fem!reader

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

synopsis: there are two things that you love in this world; rafe and books

word count: 0.9k

warnings/tags: none, just fluff with sweet boyfriend!rafe

a/n: hi everyone! i don't think i can ever thank you all enough for your support in all of my works :< tbh i did not expect to gain so much interaction because this blog is still relatively new but here you all are and i appreciate each and every one of you <3 this fic is another fluff boyfriend!rafe fic (is it obvious that i like fluff so much lmao) and i've written this a while ago. i hope you'll like this one! if you have a request or prompt in mind, feel free to send me a message. happy reading!

masterlist

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Being a regular visitor at the Camerons' estate has familiarized you with every corner of the house. Now, you have memorized every room and decoration, immediately spotting whatever is newly added. The Camerons didn't mind your presence, with your family being a close friend of theirs. Thus, it was no surprise that you ended up dating the one and only son of Ward Cameron.

With his father and stepmother often occupied and his sisters frequently out with friends, you and Rafe usually find yourselves with the house to yourselves, save for the occasional presence of the household staff. Yet, you've never minded.

Today follows a similar pattern. Ward left for a morning meeting, Wheezie went to school, and Sarah departed at noon to join John B's group. Surprisingly, even Rafe isn't home, having agreed to a golf outing with Topper and Kelce. Although he initially invited you to join, you declined, preferring to avoid the "boy talk" and the scorching sun. Thus, you find yourself waiting for Rafe in the living room, idly scrolling through your phone.

It's been around two in the afternoon when you got bored, sighing and deciding to stand up to walk around the house. Your feet already know where you're going when you face the familiar entrance to the Camerons' Library.

This room is your most loved spot in the whole estate, apart from Rafe's room. The vast shelves of bright book covers from different times always amaze you. If you could, you'd live in this room. Rafe has found you exploring this library countless times; even his sisters know it's the first place to check when you're not around the house.

Quickly scanning the shelves for a book, you settled upon a fantasy fiction novel, clutching the book as you made your way to a couch by the window. The first few chapters had you hooked immediately, eyes rapidly passing through every word as you moved chapter by chapter. The book was so good that it blanked your other senses, making you jump when you suddenly heard Rafe's voice.

"I knew you'd be here." He smirked, still in his golfing outfit, as he stood over you.

"Hi, Rafe." You smiled up at him, putting the book down on your lap. "How's golfing?"

Rafe plopped beside you, stretching his legs and putting an arm around your shoulder. "It was good. I got bored with Top's whining about his break-up with Sarah, so I left."

You chuckled when you saw his eyes roll, a dramatic sigh escaping his lips. "They were together for a long time. You can't blame him."

"I guess." He shrugged before flashing you a flirty grin. "But I also want to spend time with my girl."

You snorted. "Yeah, okay."

"What? I do! I feel guilty about leaving you here alone." He defended.

"I don't mind, Rafe." You spoke.

"Hm. I bet you don't. But still."

You raised your brows, silently urging him to explain what he meant.

"I just mean that you were too distracted by that book, baby. I could've been an intruder, but you wouldn't even know. What is that about anyway?"

Your eyes lit up at his question; you've always loved speaking about the books you've read. And Rafe loved hearing you talk, even if he's mostly confused.

"I just started reading it, so I don't really know what it's about yet, but there's this girl, and she has electricity powers!" You started excitedly.

Rafe listened intently. He couldn't help but feel affection for you, marveling at how your eyes sparkled with passion for the story. Despite the chaotic world outside, at this moment, it was just the two of you, surrounded by the tranquility of the library.

As you continued to talk, Rafe's mind wandered, reflecting on how much you meant to him. You were the one person who could effortlessly penetrate his tough exterior, revealing the softer, more vulnerable side of him that he often kept hidden from the world. He felt at ease with you, free to be himself without fear of judgment or ridicule.

Lost in his thoughts, Rafe reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You paused mid-sentence, startled by the sudden touch, before leaning into his hand, relishing the warmth of his touch.

"Hey, what's wrong?" you asked, concern lacing your voice as you noticed the distant look in his eyes.

Rafe shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "Nothing, I'm just... happy. Happy to be here with you."

A soft blush colored your cheeks as you met his gaze, feeling the warmth spread through your chest. At that moment, surrounded by the scent of old books and the soft glow of sunlight filtering through the window, you couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

Leaning in, Rafe pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment before pulling away. "I love you," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with sincerity.

"I love you too," you replied, your heart swelling with emotion as you returned his affectionate gaze.

With a contented sigh, Rafe settled back against the couch, pulling you closer until you were nestled against his side. Together, you sat in comfortable silence, basking in the simple pleasure of each other's company.

At that moment, surrounded by the familiar comforts of the library, you knew that no matter what the future held, as long as you had each other, everything would be okay.

#drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x y/n

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chiriwritesstuff · 5 months

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The Girl in IT - 1. The Night Shift

A Boss! Joel Miller x IT Specialist F! Reader AU

Chapter Rating: E (18+, MDNI)

Chapter Preview: "Well, it was a virus, and as I looked into the problem, I had to explore every avenue to ensure I pinpointed the issue, you know, for my report to Tess. I went into your history to see if it might have been a site that caused you to have the virus. I may have casually peeked into a few files to ensure they weren’t corrupted…” you admit, “…and I might have stumbled upon-" your eyebrows raise in embarrassment, "Something personal." “Something personal?” He questions, his brows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t have anything personal… oh, shit.” His eyes widen as the realization dawns on him, hands covering his face as he groans in embarrassment. "Look, about my internet history... and the list-" You slowly nod and bite your lip, mostly to hide your own embarrassment. “… yeah. Um, it was quite... informative about your... sexual preferences.”

Chapter Warnings and Tags: No Outbreak! Joel Miller, Mentions of intended smut towards the reader, Boss x Employee Relationship, Virgin Reader, All of the yearning, Joel Miller is a silly flirt, A small-ish age gap, Joel is too forward for his own good, Tess is a boss (and should not be fucked with - or you get the horns).

Word Count: 5.6K

A/N: Well, hello there!

I honestly have no idea where this idea of a (somewhat crack) fic came from, but I had an idea and I ran with it! A lot of the character development came from my own anxieties of feeling behind in life, and if you feel that way too, I feel you! Don't worry, I promise it won't always feel like this. Time is just that- time, and it's never too late to follow your dreams! I believe in you!

To: [email protected]

Fr: [email protected]

Subject: I think I have a Virus?

12:50 AM (10 min ago)

Hey Sugar,

I know it's late, but my computer fritzed out an hour ago (a shit ton of pop-ups) and I have that presentation with The H Hotel tomorrow morning. Well, do you think you could do me a solid and help me... not have any more of those darn pop-ups? I called the number that popped up asking if I needed assistance with the virus and they asked for my credit card information but they haven't replied back.

Shit, was that a scam? Fuck. I should call Amex.

Anyway, do you think you can help me get out of this bind, Sugar? I'll be forever and eternally grateful. If you don't, well... I'm sure Tess will rip me a new one, and I would like to not have a Servopoulos-level meltdown at 9 in the morning. Not after last time. Sorry about having to be a part of that, Sugar. At least Maria was able to pay for your dry cleaning and get you a new shirt? You should have let me check your chest for burns, I sure as hell wouldn't want scalding hot coffee being thrown in my direction either. Shit. Not check your chest as in checking out your... breasts, just the burn site. Yeah. That's what I meant.

(Also, sorry for emailing you last minute. Shit. I'm desperate, baby.)

Thanks,

Joel Miller

Owner and CEO, Miller Construction Group

(512) 123-4567

To:[email protected]

Fr: [email protected]

Subject: RE: I think I have a Virus?

1 AM (0 seconds ago)

Good Evening Mr. Miller,

I got your request and will work on it shortly. I can't make any promises, but I will try to get you out of your "bind".

Don't worry about that thing with Tess. She was rightfully upset, and I just so happened to be caught in the line of fire. If it had to be one of us, I am glad it was me being pelted with boiling hot coffee, and not you in front of your clients. You didn't have to have Maria buy me a blouse from Neiman Marcus, nothing a little tide-to-go can't fix, right? Also, I knew what you meant about my chest, and I didn't think you wanted to look at my... breasts. Let's not refer to any of my body parts moving forward.

Also, I am not completely comfortable with the terms of endearment that you continuously call me, Sir. Please refer to me by my actual name, these emails are monitored by Tess and I would not like to be scalded with hot coffee again for a little misunderstanding.

Please let me know if you have any other pressing questions or concerns.

Goodnight!

IT Specialist 0926,

IT Department, Miller Construction Group

(512) 765-4321

"Ok Bubbles, let's see what mess Mr. Miller got himself into this time."

Settling by your coffee table, you access your remote portal and insert your portable SSD, initiating various programs to gain entry into your boss's laptop. Securing your hair in a messy top bun with a claw clip, you find yourself biting your bottom lip in concentration. Simultaneously, you switch on your TV, finding solace in the ambient noise that fills your dimly lit apartment—a space shared with Sir Bubbles, your British Shorthair companion since your college days. There's a marathon of Criminal Minds airing on TBS, Spencer Reid's adorable face on screen as he rattles off another theory for why the unsub was an abuse victim by his prostitute mother. You turn the volume down a bit, drowning out his voice.

It's near silent in the little shoebox you call home, the only decent place you were able to afford with your meager savings- after slaving away as a Geek Squad IT Specialist for the majority of your twenties at the Best Buy down the road from your parent's house. Despite graduating with your MIS at the University of Texas - Dallas, finding a decent job in your industry was brutal, and, honestly, quite embarrassing after receiving 30-plus rejection emails in a span of a year. Downtrodden and desperate for a job, you settled on working at Best Buy temporarily, but by the time you hit your mid-30s, it's been eight years working for barely minimum wage, and absolutely nothing to show for it.

"Do you remember those sweet Miller boys who fixed our roof ten years ago?" your mother asks during a Sunday dinner six months ago, sliding a boat of gravy your way as you absentmindedly drizzle it over your mashed potatoes. "I ran into the older one... Joeseph? James? He owns his own company now with his brother, quite the feat, right? They're working on that hotel down the road... anyway, Josh-"

"Joel," you correct her, nudging the over-steamed carrots around your plate. "I think his name was Joel, Mama."

"Yes, Joel," your mother dismissively waves her hands. "Well, I told him about how you were on the job hunt, you know, with your master's and all. Oh, remember when you used to have that silly little crush on him? He's grown to be quite the looker, you know? Anyway, he told me that they were looking for someone to replace their old IT person—apparently, they retired—"

"Mom," you groan, "get to the point."

"Well," she grins conspiratorially, "he wants you to apply, baby. He remembers you and your little crush, and he said he could never forget someone as cute as you. If you're as good as I claimed you were, well... the job's practically yours!"

Your fork slips from your grasp, the metallic clang against porcelain causing Bubbles to leap in surprise, hissing at you in irritation. "Wait, what?" you blurt out, your eyes wide with a mix of shock and confusion.

Your mother beams at your reaction, seemingly pleased with the bombshell she just dropped. "I told him all about your IT skills and how you practically run the technology world from your bedroom. He seemed really interested, sweetie. And, well, it wouldn't hurt to at least consider it, right?"

You sit there, a swirl of thoughts and emotions whirling in your mind. The unexpected twist of Joel Miller, the older Miller boy you once had a crush on, remembering you and possibly offering you a job—it's surreal. Bubbles, having recovered from the earlier disturbance, casually resumes licking his paw, completely uninterested in the familial drama.

"I... I don't know, Mom," you stammer, trying to process this unexpected turn of events. "I mean, working for the Millers? It's a bit... complicated."

She leans in, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "Sweetheart, this could be a fantastic opportunity. And who knows, maybe that little crush of yours could turn into something more... professional, of course." She cuts into her meatloaf, humming in contentment as she chews. "Oh, and Sweetie? Wear the red sweater with your pleated skirt, with something other than those sneakers. You're turning thirty-six in September; you can at least do yourself a favor and start dressing your age for once! I'm sure Joel would appreciate it!" she winks at you as your father grunts in displeasure, rolling his eyes, muttering "meddler" under his breath.

"Mom, it was just a crush from a decade ago. Besides, mixing work and personal feelings is never a good idea."

She chuckles, reaching across the table to pat your hand. "Well, think about it, okay? Joel seemed genuinely interested in having you on the team. It's worth exploring, don't you think?"

A wink, a handshake, and six months later, you find yourself on-call indefinitely, catering to Mr. Miller's every technological whim and folly. It's not a bad job, you reason — getting paid triple what you made at Best Buy, monitoring everyone's browsing history in the office, and fielding the incessant IT requests Mr. Miller sends your way- which was often. Way too often.

[My laptop won't turn on.] Did you charge it? Try doing that first.

[Why does the volume not work on my Zoom calls?] Did you make sure that you're not on mute or that your computer volume is up? Check that first.

[Since when did we put a parental blocker on the internet?] It was per Tess, who said that employees should be working instead of looking up anti-feminist manifestos on Reddit. I apologize for the inconvenience, Mr. Miller. [Oh, well shit. Do you think you could unblock it for me? I am... having a hard time accessing my... bank account.] I mean- I could, but I would have to run it by Tess first. [Do you think you could... for me? It'll be our little secret, Sugar. Don't worry about Tess, I'll handle her.] Sure, Mr. Miller... Right. Our little secret. [Sugar, for the last time, it's Joel. Besides, I thought we were past having a silly little crush on me, you've grown into a... rather nice young woman. Please, call me Joel.] Uh, sure Mr. Miller.

You are broken from your silent reverie by the unmistakable ding, ding, ding of the pop-ups Joel- Mr. Miller - you correct yourself, mentioned in his email. You scoff, biting into a piece of beef jerky. Typing in a command, the pop-ups halt, the black screen granting you developer access popping up as you run diagnostic after diagnostic trying to catch the little sucker - a virus, as Mr. Miller claimed - in the act of corrupting your poor boss' laptop once again. There you are, you little shit, you mutter under your breath as you furiously type in more commands, eradicating Mr. Miller's bane of existence for good (or so you hope).

After running what felt like the tenth diagnostic of the night and downing three cups of coffee for the last three hours, the dawn of a new day streaks through the sheer curtains against your window. With bated breath, you restart Joel's system once more, closing your eyes until the familiar chime of Windows 11 booting up reaches your ears.

Please, please, please for fucks sake... no more pop-ups...

Joel's home screen pops up in an instant, the photo of him and his two girls smiling back at you as you breathe in a sigh of relief. "Fuck yes! Finally!" you silently exclaim, a drawn-out yawn and a deep stretch escaping your body as you settle your laptop on your couch. "Okay, let's just run a few programs and check a few documents to make sure they're not corrupted and then I can finally hit the sack..." you squint at the digital clock of your microwave, "and sleep for an hour before I have to get ready for work," you groan, eyeing the jar of Cafe Bustelo in the distance. Yep. No sleep for me, you think bitterly. Another night, another one of Mr. Miller's computer meltdowns...

Your eyes scan his desktop, opening up the PowerPoint file he needs for his presentation. It opens up with a slight lag, something you can optimize later but you breathe out another sigh of relief anyway. You check his internet browsing history, his late-night extensive porn viewing not a surprise to you anymore as you snort at the ridiculousness of it all. At least it's not as bad and kinky as Tommy's browsing history, you tell yourself, because you'll never quite get used to all of the roleplay porn he watches religiously, you think. Closing out of Google Chrome, You scan his desktop for a random Word doc for you to open, not checking its title as you double-click on the first one that you see, slightly hidden by the Recycle Bin icon to the bottom right. Wants? What kind of a file name is that?

The Word doc pops open, and it seems to be a running list of random things. You blearily scan the line items, your eyes widening in shock as you read on.

Fuck her against my office door as I cover her mouth to muffle her screams.

Spoil her with a shopping spree at Neiman's with my Amex black card.

Fulfill my breeding fantasy by convincing her to get off of her Birth Control (do you think she's on one?)

Fuck her from behind against Tess' desk (serves her right)

You quickly exit out of the document, pushing your laptop away as if it were cursed. You look at the document title once more.

Wants.

What the fuck was this? Who is he talking about? you ponder, the guilt of your negligence weighing on you like a weight tied to your ankles as you sink into the depths of the Atlantic. You shut your laptop for good measure, covering it up with your quilt as you shake your head in disbelief.

What the fuck did I just read?

“Mr. Miller? Do you have a moment?”

You knock on the office door once more for good measure, standing timidly as you try to occupy yourself by smoothing out your dress - sensible, a decent length, work appropriate, you think to yourself. You try to not occupy the idle time of waiting for your boss, Joel Miller, one half of Miller Construction- and the thing you found while remote logging onto his computer last night - I think I have a virus, his email stated - only to stumble upon something rather telling and personal - but he was your boss, and you were a professional, and you weren’t going to think about the list…

Kiss her in the rain.

Make love in my truck as she rides me.

Bend her over my desk and take her from behind.

Marathon sex

Eat her out as she works at her desk.

No, Joel was unequivocally your boss—older than you by at least a decade (and maybe a few more years, give or take), and the document titled "Wants" was clearly personal, likely intended for someone else, and certainly not meant to be seen by anyone, especially not an overly curious IT specialist like you. No, you reckon that this list was meant for someone else in the office - someone beautiful, sexy, and confident— someone decidedly who isn't you. Certainly not for someone who dresses like she’s still in college, who only recently began living on her own in a shoebox of an apartment (if you can call it that) after living with her parents for the majority of her adult life, and who barely has her life together. It’s pathetic, being a woman of a certain age and with nothing to show for it, still painfully single, nothing substantial to your name, only getting your life together now while everyone around you has done everything right. I feel so behind in life, you think to yourself. Who would want someone so pathetic as me?

It’s not like it’s a crime to have wants, you think to yourself. Everyone has them, including you, you reason. So what if you just so happen to stumble upon your boss's deepest (and somewhat depraved) desires? Doesn’t everyone have a bucket list of their desires written somewhere? So what if your older, attractive boss with his Gen X tendencies has it typed out on his work computer? It’s not like he meant for you to open up the Word doc, right?

You knew he was single. You also knew that he had kids, at least two—Sarah, his eldest, was the head of HR, and Ellie, his adoptive younger daughter, an apprentice working under Tommy, the other half of Miller Construction—a serial flirt who asked you about your dating life in your interview a few months back. No, you didn’t think about your boss and the sheer mass of man that he was, that he smelled like cedar and sandalwood, that he winks when he tells you good morning as you pass him in the parking lot while stumbling out of your less-than-impressive shitty Corolla. You also didn’t take note that he drinks his coffee black with a sprinkle of sugar—the one in the brown packet—or that he eats in his office instead of the employee lounge because he’s a messy eater. The deep red blush trailing down his neck as Tommy scolded him about his lack of table manners during a company-mandated team-building day wasn't proof enough of that.

There wasn’t a ring on that tell-tale finger, not even a tan line, no photographs of another woman on his desk—besides his daughters, of course. Not that you were looking. Tommy had his wife Maria come down to the office often enough; wouldn’t Joel be the same with his own?

Miller Construction prided itself on being a family-run company, with Joel and Tommy at the helm and their best friend Tess as VP—more the boss than the actual Miller brothers. While Joel and Tommy preferred the hands-on work on-site, Tess ruled over the office with an iron fist. No one dared to cross her.

"You've got one job, and one job only," she declared during your office tour. "Make sure no one spends the majority of their shift watching porn, and keep Joel from messing up his computer with his boomer-isms. We can't afford to keep replacing a laptop every six months."

"Isn't he in Gen X?" you ask. "... at 56 years old, he's still considered to be in that generation, right?"

"Technically, yes," Tess replies with an exasperated sigh. "But you know what I mean. Sometimes it feels like Joel is stuck in a time warp with his 'boomer-isms.' Just keep things running smoothly here, alright?"

As the days pass, you notice an unusual trend in Joel's computer issues. It seems that every time his laptop malfunctions, it coincides with a spike in suspicious internet activity. It doesn't take a genius to connect the dots, and you can't help but shake your head at the irony of it all.

After a particularly eventful morning filled with more than the usual technical hiccups, you decide it's time to address the elephant in the room. You knock on Joel's office door, half-expecting him to be engrossed in some spreadsheet or construction plans.

It's not like you have to tell him about your snooping - he would be none the wiser judging by the way he was so technologically inept - you weren't about to tell him that the reason for the virus on the computer was because he was looking at some rather specific porn - boss fucks unsuspecting secretary from behind- his internet history had listed, nor did he probably think that his computer is being monitored, including his internet browsing history- company policy, as stated on the employee handbook that every employee of Miller Construction signs on the day of their official hiring- nor does he think that it sends reports to her at the end of the day.

You don't think about how the sudden uptick of his secretary porn viewing increased since a week after your hiring. It's just a coincidence, right?

“Mr. Miller?” You call out once more. “It’s about your IT request last night? I have an update?”

“Yeah? Sorry! Come on in!” you hear from behind the door, accompanied by the frantic shuffle of papers and a silent curse. You take a deep breath as your hand turns the doorknob. Silently, you shut the door behind you, offering a small smile as you smooth out the skirt of your dress once more.

You fidget in place in front of the door as Joel—Mr. Miller—in his green flannel and dark jeans slung just right—it really should be criminal, looking this ruggedly handsome for someone his age, you think—as he ungraciously flops onto his desk chair, motioning for you to take the seat in front of him as he clears his throat nervously. “Take a seat.”

You situate yourself in front of him, refusing to meet his eyes as you fiddle with your hands on your lap, wondering why he, out of all people, would be nervous. It's not like he stumbled upon something so... intimate. You are a professional, and you were only doing your job, you tell yourself like a mantra, trying to ground yourself. What's the worst that could happen? It's not like he would fire you over your accidental snooping, right? You nod to yourself. “So…”

“So…” he replies, Adam’s apple bobbing as he takes a drink of his coffee. “Thank you for taking a look at my computer last night.” He begins, smiling at you. “I know that it was late, and I’m willing to compensate your time by giving you time and a half…”

“Oh,” you nervously reply, shifting in your seat. “No, Mr. Miller—”

“Joel.”

“What?”

He shakes his head. “Please. We’re all family here. Call me Joel. Mr. Miller is my father for fuck's sake—”

“Right,” you chuckle. “Sure. Joel. Listen, you don’t need to compensate me for last night, let alone give me the overtime rate—”

“I emailed you at midnight; surely you were already busy, or I probably irritated your husband—”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” you mumble solemnly, “there’s no husband, just me and my cat-“

He barks at that, the laugh so loud it makes you jump in your seat. He gives you a look, almost as if he was relieved with that bit of information. “Well, disturbing your cat, then-“

"Oh," you reply casually, waving your hands in dismissal. "I'm sure Sir Bubbles didn't mind... and I don't sleep much, really—"

"Oh?" He straightens himself, his face serious. "Is it because of all of my requests? Shit. My girls give me such a hard time about not being with the times, I'm not really interested in technology— So no husband? Boyfriend, then?"

"Uh, no," you reply quickly, not eager to delve into the details of your lackluster love life. You clear your throat, adopting a professional demeanor. "Joel, as you're aware—or maybe not," you chuckle nervously, "I receive reports of all employee internet histories at the end of the day. Being the sole IT specialist on your payroll—perks of the job, outlined in my duties—I keep an eye out for any... irregularities."

"Irregularities?" he replies, his demeanor shifting into something resembling guilt. "What are you trying to get at?" he presses.

"Well, I monitor employee computer usage to make sure that they're not... distracted from their work," you reply. "Tess was explicit about not having any employees using company time for any unnecessary personal... dalliances."

Joel gives you a hard look. "Dalliances?"

"Yes, dalliances. Tess told me it was an issue before, with employees browsing social media and visiting questionable Reddit threads?"

"I don't follow," Joel replies. "You gotta spell it out for me, Sugar. What does that have to do with my request last night? I had a late night at the office, and after... checking my emails," he gulps, "I suddenly get bombarded with these pop-up things, so much that I just... unplugged my laptop... and, well-"

How is he so oblivious about this? You bite your cheek in frustration, not knowing how to get to the point without having to spell it out for him that you caught him browsing porn last night, secretary porn at that, and although it's highly inappropriate, you hardly think he was watching it because of Gladys, his actual secretary, who is old enough to be his mother. Not unless he has some weird mommy kink...

Unable to endure the suspense any longer, you decide to rip the bandaid off as soon as possible. “I’m sorry!” You exclaim, “I didn't mean to look at your browsing history, I mean, I had to, but only because I had to find the reason why a virus got on your computer, but that is not the point! I had to open a file to make sure it wasn't corrupted, and I swear, I didn't mean to open it!"

“Open what, sweetheart?” he smiles at you, leaning forward towards you.

"Well, it was a virus, and as I looked into the problem, I had to explore every avenue to ensure I pinpointed the issue, you know, for my report to Tess. I went into your history to see if it might have been a site that caused you to have the virus. I may have casually peeked into a few files to ensure they weren’t corrupted…” you admit, “…and I might have stumbled upon-" your eyebrows raise in embarrassment, "Something personal."

“Something personal?” He questions, his brows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t have anything personal… oh, shit.” His eyes widen as the realization dawns on him, hands covering his face as he groans in embarrassment. "Look, about my internet history... and the list-"

You slowly nod and bite your lip, mostly to hide your own embarrassment. “… yeah. Um, it was quite... informative about your... sexual preferences.”

Joel visibly pales at your confession. He adjusts his collar, unbuttoning the second button as if he were being strangled by your scrutiny. “I just want to let you know", he starts, looking you in the eye with an unreadable expression. "I respect you as a woman, and Tommy, fuck, he wouldn’t let it go, with all that teasing about you being exactly my type and all, and well, your mother did remind me about your little crush on me back then-“ he rubs his hands through his hair as he rambles on, “… and I know that this looks bad, with you being my employee and all-“

“Wait, what?” You cut him off, a confused look on your face. “What do you mean? I mean, they're your personal preferences, and the list, well, I'm sure whoever you're writing about must be some woman, not that it's any of my business-”

“Fuck. You didn’t read all of it?”

“No!” You exclaim, practically jumping out of your seat. “I quickly closed it once I realized the nature of the document…”

“Well.” He stands up suddenly, pacing behind his desk. “I wrote that drunkenly one night after the company dinner, you know, the one when you wore that dress… do you remember?”

“Yes,” you reply breathily, “… the night where-“

You vividly recall that night. It was a dinner at the recently completed new hotel project. After a few glasses of wine and an impulsive, rather expensive purchase at Nordstrom.com a week prior, you endured most of the evening in an uncomfortably tight and overly revealing dress—a poor choice for a company party, for fucks sake. You believed Joel approached you at the end of the night out of sheer pity, not because—

“Well… after seeing you in that dress, and how stunning you looked in it, sitting by yourself, biting your lip in a way that makes me-“ he stops himself, giving you a small smile. “I was drunk, and I was thinking… I was contemplating how, if I were to have you, if you, by some miracle of fate… were interested, that I would do things right, you know? That if I had a second chance at… I would do it right. Treat you right.”

“You do know I’m not a secretary, let alone your secretary,” you roll your eyes. “I’m in IT… the only person in IT actually, and you’re not the first person I caught looking at questionable porn…”

Joel bristles at that. “Shit. Let me guess… Tommy?”

That gets a small smile out of you. “I can neither confirm nor deny, but… he’s partial towards a certain porn actress, and let’s just say he is really in love with women who looks like his wife.”

He smiles. "Shit, I thought I was being obvious enough, being that Tommy has teased me about it enough... I thought you knew. I know you work with computers, Sugar. I’m not completely senile, and I know Tess has been on a warpath about people getting their rocks off at work, I figured you would look at all of my… perusing.”

You're left stunned, your mind racing to process what Joel just revealed. It's not the revelation about his desires that leaves you speechless, but the unexpected admission of his feelings toward you. Your mind flashes back to the list, the desires that seemed so out of reach for someone like you. You never thought Joel would be harboring any feelings for you, let alone express them so openly.

"I... I had no idea," you stammer, still grappling with the revelation. "I thought that list was for someone else, someone... not me."

Joel walks around the desk, his eyes never leaving yours. "You thought wrong, sweetheart. I've been trying to drop hints, but I guess I've been subtler than I thought."

A myriad of emotions wash over you — confusion, surprise, and a hint of something you can't quite place. The professional boundary between boss and employee seems to blur, and you find yourself in uncharted territory.

"But," he continues, "I get it. I'm your boss, and this is complicated. I didn't want to put you in an awkward position. I should've been more direct."

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "Joel, it's not about being direct or indirect. This is just... unexpected. I never thought someone like you would... feel that way about someone like me."

He reaches out, gently lifting your chin so you meet his gaze. "Someone like me? What does that even mean, darlin'? You're intelligent and beautiful, and I've seen the way you handle your work. I've noticed you, and I can't help how I feel."

A mixture of vulnerability and sincerity in his eyes makes it hard to doubt his words. You start to consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, your insecurities have clouded your perception.

"I don't want to pressure you, and I understand if you're not comfortable with this. I just needed you to know. The last thing I want is for things to be awkward at work," he says, his thumb gently caressing your cheek.

You take a moment to absorb everything. Joel's revelation, your preconceptions, and the unexpected turn of events. The office, once a familiar space, now feels like uncharted territory.

"I need time to process this," you finally say. "It's a lot to take in, Joel. I never expected... any of this."

He nods understandingly, his hand dropping to his side. "Take all the time you need. I'll respect whatever decision you make. And hey, if you're not interested, we can go back to being boss and employee, like nothing happened."

You manage a small smile, appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood. "I'll... let you know. Just give me some time, okay?"

"Of course," he says, moving back toward his desk. "And, for what it's worth, I meant every word on that list. Whether it's a rain kiss or making love in my truck, I want it all with you."

You nod, silently acknowledging his sincerity. As you leave his office, you can't help but wonder how a routine IT request led to such a revelation. The office dynamics have shifted, and you find yourself navigating uncharted waters, unsure of where this unexpected revelation will lead.

As you walk away from Joel's office, a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts consumes your mind. The revelation about Joel's feelings for you is a shock, but it's not the only thing echoing in your head. The list of desires he had penned down only magnifies your own insecurities. The voice in your mind grows louder, whispering that you're not the woman he deserves—too much of a mess, too behind in life, and certainly not beautiful enough for someone like him. The echoes of your perceived inadequacies replay like a broken record, drowning out the possibility that someone could genuinely see something valuable in you. You glance at your reflection in the office window, critiquing every imperfection, every perceived flaw. The dress that seemed sensible before now feels like a sad attempt to disguise what you believe is a lack of style or grace. The weight of self-doubt becomes an invisible burden, and you can't shake the feeling that you're not enough, that you may never be enough for someone like Joel.

As you grapple with your internal struggles, a small spark of defiance begins to flicker within you. Perhaps it's time to challenge those self-limiting beliefs, to be bolder than your insecurities allow. Joel's admission has opened a door you never expected, and you find yourself at a crossroads. Despite the echoes of doubt, a newfound courage whispers that maybe, just maybe, you can be more than what you perceive.

Embracing this sudden surge of determination, you make a decision. Instead of letting fear dictate your actions, you choose to confront the uncertainties head-on. Swallowing the apprehension that threatens to hold you back, you turn on your heel and head back to Joel's office. The faint thud of your own heartbeat echoes in your ears as you push open the door.

"Joel," you say, your voice steadier than you anticipated. "I've been thinking about what you said, and I need you to clarify something for me."

He looks up from his desk, curiosity etched across his features. "Sure, what's on your mind?"

You take a deep breath, suppressing the self-doubt that still lingers. "Is that list something you genuinely desire with me, or was it just a drunken fantasy?"

Joel's eyes lock onto yours, a mix of surprise and sincerity in his gaze. "Every word of it is something I want with you. Why?"

A daring smile plays on your lips as you respond, "Then let's not leave it as a list, Joel. Let's see how many of those desires we can turn into reality."

The room seems to hold its breath for a moment as Joel's expression shifts from surprise to a slow, understanding smile. The air thickens with anticipation, leaving the next steps uncertain but filled with the promise of something new and exhilarating. As you stand on the precipice of this unexpected journey, the uncharted waters of possibilities lie ahead, and you find yourself ready to take the plunge.

Taglist: @gwendibleywrites, @joeldjarin, @brittmb115

For more updates on all of my fics, please follow @chiriwritesstuffnotifs

All dividers by @saradika-graphics

#pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel the last of us #joel tlou #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #tlou hbo #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fic #the last of us #tlou #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfic

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lunarzstarz · 1 year

Note

REQUEST:

Modern eddie munson addicted to video games.

He’s online with friends all the time and paying no attention to you. You’re getting tired of it so you stale action by riding him in his gamer chair still making him play the game and keep himself unmuted. After a lil he can’t take it anymore and powers down the game abruptly, carriying you over to the bed and fucking you until you can’t walk….🤭

loved this idea so much, sorry it took so long for me to finish had writers block, but I hope you like it! thanks for the request anon <3

Pairing: Modern!Eddie Munson x AFAB!Reader

Content Warning: NSFW 18+ minors dni, handjobs, unprotected sex, PinV sex, slight dacryphilia kink? slightly proofread.

A/N: Sorry I've been gone for a little while, but I'm back and I'm working my way through requests, so feel free to ask for one. I'm also officially working on part 2 of "The No List" I don't know when it will be out though so if you want to be added to a tag list just let me know :)

Word Count: 2.4K

You stood at his door for ten minutes, if you knocked any harder it would probably fall down. You knew Eddie was home, he’d just called you thirty minutes ago, asking you to come over, you just didn’t know why he wasn’t answering the door. Before you think about knocking again, you check under the doormat and of course there was the spare key.

Unlocking it and stepping inside you can already hear Eddie shouting at someone and that already tells you everything. You roll your eyes and shut the door behind you “Eds!” you call trying to announce your arrival, but nothing. Heading to the bedroom, there he was sitting at the desk, back to you.

He had his headset on, eyes focused on his screen, still unaware of your presence. “Eddie!” you try again stepping closer a hand reaching out to tap his shoulder, he flinches.

His gaze tears away for a split second to see who it was “Shit, you scared me” he gives you a smile.

“Hello to you too” you return the smile and lean down to kiss him, but you’re met with his cheekbone when his head snaps back to the screen.

“Shit!” he shouts, killing yet another creature in one of his stupid video games, one you had got him and immediately regret buying.

“Hey, when are you gonna get off?” you ask, but your voice falls on deaf ears as he continues to pay attention to whoever is on the other side of the mic. “Eddie!” you give him a shove and his head snaps back to you.

“Yeah, yeah sorry I’ll be off as soon as I finish this round, I promise” he rushed, immediately going back to the game without giving you a chance to protest.

So you give in and lay on the bed, opting to mindlessly scroll through your phone as you started your long wait. It didn’t take long for you to get restless and tired of listening to him shout at the screen. You and Eddie had been seeing each other less and less lately with it being the busiest time of the year for you both, you thought finally after days of not seeing each other he’d jump at the chance to be with you, but it was clear that he had other things on his mind.

Around the twenty minute mark he cheered, winning yet another game, you listened in on his conversation “Good game…oh I don’t know my-” he turned slightly to look over at you seeing that you were still looking at your phone “Okay…one more but after that I-.”

You reached for one of his pillows and threw it at the back of his head “Eddie!” he turned, looking apologetic “You know just because you’re ignoring me, doesn’t mean I can’t hear you right?” you glare at him.

“I know, I’m sorry, look just one more game and I swear I’m all yours” he sees your unamused impression, knowing he should have just got off when you got here, he was the one to call you over after all.

“Fine, do whatever” you huff flipping over to your stomach so you didn’t have to look at him. He knew it was the wrong choice, but his friends were all calling for him down the mic, so he went back to playing.

You had two options, leave and not speak to him for the rest of the day or give him a reason to get off the game. You weren’t about to leave, not when you had waited all week to see him and spent extra time that morning getting ready just for him, so you’d just have to take matters into your own hands.

You got up and started to undress yourself, stripping down to your underwear, a set you had picked out just for Eddie, you weren’t about to let it go to waste. You crept up behind him, leaning down to place soft kisses to the side of his neck. He let out a small gasp, surprised at the feeling of your lips ghosting over his skin, but let you continue.

You stalked around him so that you were in his peripheral, he took a quick glance, then went back to the game before doing a double take. His eyes scanned your entire body, taking in the time to memorize all your soft curves, lips parted as he practically drooled over you.

He quickly muted himself “Give me two seconds, just to let them know I have to go” he rushes, but you stop him.

“No, it’s okay, keep playing, like you said you can’t just leave your team in the middle of a game, right?” you say, repeating the excuse he had used on you many times.

“But you- your- shit sweetheart you’re killing me” he reaches a hand out to run his fingers over the waistband of the lace underwear.

“Poor you” you tut, no feeling behind it, he had you waiting what felt like hours for him and now he wants to get off “I think you can wait a few minutes and finish your game, go on.”

You encourage him, he’s torn but his team is calling him, wondering why he wasn’t responding. He finally unmutes himself “Yeah, I’m here sorry” and with that he goes back to playing, this time a lot more distracted, stealing quick glances at you.

You however weren’t gonna let him get off that easy. You reach down, toying with the waistband of his sweatpants, he sends you a warning glare, but does nothing to stop you as you dip your hand into his pants. “Shit…” he gasps when you wrap your hand around his base, he was already half hard.

“You gotta be quiet, don’t want anyone hearing you now do we?” you say, smiling down at him. He shook his head and tugged his bottom lip between his teeth to help keep himself quiet, trying to focus on the game and not the feeling of you stroking his cock.

Once you were satisfied with how hard he was, you tugged on his sweatpants, signaling for him to lift his hips which he hesitantly complies to. You climb onto his lap, straddling his hips, his cock only centimeters away from your clothed cunt.

He quickly mutes himself again “What are you doing?” he asks through gritted teeth as you grind down against him.

“What? I’m not doing anything” you say, trying to act dumb as you rock your hips again. Before he can respond he can hear his friends saying they need his help “Go on.”

“You are, you’re trying to kill me” He sighs, unmuting himself again “Where are you?” he goes back to helping his teammates and you go back to grinding against him. He fights to keep his eyes from closing as you line him up with your entrance, his tip catching on it. You brace yourself, trying your best to stay quiet as you sink down on him, a small whimper passing your lips at the stretch as you seat yourself on him.

His head is thrown back as your warm walls wrap around him, squeezing him tight. You start the slow rock of your hips, it was gonna be a lot harder to not make a sound than you thought, the feeling of him pressed against that sweet spot deep inside. Eddie ground his hips up to meet yours making you double over, head resting in the crook of his neck, you covered your mouth with your hand as a quiet moan escaped.

Eddie was wearing a smug grin, your own plan had backfired, he knew you wouldn’t be able to stay composed, not while he was buried to the hilt in your cunt. One of his hands trailed down the plane of your back, coming down to cup the flesh of your ass and thighs, grabbing at anything he could get. You raised your hips and sunk back down meeting his thrusts, you bit down on his shoulder to try and suppress any sounds that threatened to escape.

Eddie was losing it, his teammate’s calls for help long forgotten, his focus now fully on you. The quiet sounds that only he could hear coming from you left him wanting to fuck you senseless. “Eddie, please…” you whined and that was it for him. He removed his headset and shut off the monitor without any explanation to his friends who were left wondering what had happened.

Both of his hands hooking under the backs of your knees “Hold on” being the only warning he gave you before he picked you up. You wrapped your arms around him, both of you still connected as he carried you over to the bed. He threw you down to start stripping himself from all his clothes.

You watched impatiently, thighs rubbing together trying to create some friction to ease the loss of his cock, but it wasn’t long until he was on you again. “You really are insatiable, you know that?” he grins down at you, grabbing himself by the base so he could slide his tip through your folds.

“Please..” you moan weakly as he taps it against your clit.

“Please what?” he knew what you wanted, he just wanted to hear you beg for it. He caught his tip on your entrance, barely pushing into you, then pulling out again. “Come on, weren’t so shy when you were riding me, bet you wanted them to hear you huh? You wanted them to hear how good my cock makes you feel?”

He slid his hands up your body, freeing you from your bra and leaning down to place open mouth kisses on your breasts. He looked up at you as he sucked one of your nipples into his mouth, that had you mewling into his touch “Come on baby, tell me what you want.”

“Want you to fuck me, please” you wrapped your legs around his waist, hands in his hair to tug him closer to you.

“Always so sweet for me” he leaned into you, your lips meeting as he guided himself into you. You whined against his lips at the contact, he didn’t waste time before thrusting into you at a fast pace, sliding over that spot only he could hit.

It didn’t take long for you to become a moaning mess. Eddie was the one to break the kiss, sucking and biting at the side of your neck instead so he could listen to all the blissed out sounds you were making. He could tell you needed more though and he would always give you what you needed.

He sat back, grabbing the backs of your legs and pressing your thighs to your stomach. You practically screamed as he started hitting you at a new angle, his pace picking up as he pounded into you.

“Fuck! Please Eddie, f-feels so good” you babbled beneath him, it only made him go faster. Deep groans escaped him, his grip becoming almost painfully tight on the back of your thighs, rings leaving imprints on your doughy flesh.

Eddie was trying not to bust his load just looking at you, the way your jaw was slack letting out the sweetest sounds every time his cock abused your g spot, the way your eyes were struggling to stay open because you wanted to watch him fuck into you. “Holy shit- so fucking wet for me sweetheart, pussy practically crying for me, just needed me to fuck you on my cock didn’t you?” he coos, now buried impossible deep in you, tip kissing your cervix.

You couldn’t even form words to respond, you nod weakly as tears began to form from the amount of pleasure he was giving you. “So fucking pretty when you cry for me, making you feel that good?” he pants, thrusts faltering slightly as he could feel his own release approaching. “Shit, squeezing me so good baby, you close?” he asks, though he could tell you were holding off for him.

It had seemed like forever since you’d last been with Eddie, you didn’t want it to be over so quickly so you’d been holding off as long as you could, but it was becoming impossible, especially when you feel his fingertips over your clit. You jolt at the sudden extra shock of pleasure “Fuck! Y-yes m’close” you reached for something to hold onto, grabbing onto his shoulders.

He used whatever energy he had to keep up his animalistic pace as he fucked you into the mattress, bringing you to the edge. “Come on baby, cum all over my cock” his words only encourage you further as you feel that coil snap and your orgasm wash over you, feeling more like it was crashing down in huge waves of pleasure.

Eddies fingers were fast on your clit as he fucked you through it, feeling you grip down on him so hard, nails scratching his flushed skin, it had him spilling inside you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck” he moaned, each word punctuated with the slam of his hips.

The room filled with nothing but your cries, his desperate moans and the lewd wet sounds of sex as you both rid out your highs. You were so fucked out you were seeing stars, your hearing going fuzzy. You feel Eddie collapse on top of you, finally letting go of your aching thighs. His chest heaving, bangs stuck to his forehead, the two of you covered in a sheet of sweat, but you were too far gone to care.

He eased out of you, peppering kisses to your chest, neck and face to bring you around again. “Still with me?” he asks, you could only hum a response back and he smile. He sits up and disappears for a moment, you wait until you feel the bed sink next to you again before finally opening your eyes to look at him.

He was staring down at you, eyes so full of admiration and love. “Here” he hands you a water, you sit against the headboard to take a few sips as he brushes the hair from your face. “Good?” he asks, hand coming down to soothe over your thighs, still trembling with the aftershocks.

“More than good” you smile up at him “Should fuck you in your game chair more often.”

He laughs, “Yeah, you should.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x afab reader #eddie munson smut #modern eddie munson #eddie munson fics #eddie munson request #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things smut #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson stranger things smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x gender neutral reader

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vettelsdarling · 5 months

Text

𝐂𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐌𝐞

Lissie note… Here’s the second winner of the poll. I stupidly duplicated him💀 but just tallied those numbers together. Also yes, I’m trying out new layouts rn so please lmk if this looks great or not<3

Summary: A photographer from the heart of NYC has been in a low-key relationship with Lando Norris for a while now…

————

Things to note:

Reader is a menace tbh

Lando and reader are separated by 2 yrs

Reader is a known photographer (just not famous yk)

————

Pairing: Lando Norris x Photographer!Fem!Reader

Warnings: None

Playlist recommendations: 𝐋𝐍𝟒, 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟💗

Taglist: @drugged-kitkat, @ophcelia, @darleneslane, @allwaysalleyway, @littlesatanicassholebitch

Twitter

yourusername

Liked by yourbestfriend and 253 others

yourusername What a great day to change my pfp on my Twitter😮‍💨

View all comments

yourbestfriend Isn’t that the camera I got you last Christmas?

yourusername Merry Christmas ig

yourbestfriend The enthusiasm🥰

yourusername WOW!?!???!!!! IT REALLY IS THE CAMERA YOU GAVE ME LAST YEAR AHHH I STILL HAVE IT CAUSE I LOVE YOU SO MUCH❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

yourbestfriend Nah now it doesn’t feel genuine😒

Liked by yourusername

landonorris

Liked by maxverstappen1 and 847,733 others

Tagged: yourusername, mclaren

landonorris What’s up 2023?🧡

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user1 The photos are better this year wtf😮‍💨

user2 He looks amazing regardless

user3 YESSS IT’S BACKKK LET’S GOO🧡🧡🧡

yourusername Ty for the tag, great working w/ you

Liked by landonorris

user4 Ty for blessing Lando’s face

user5 She’s a magician with a camera😩

user6 Danny isn’t racing this yr right?😞

user7 Yeah he isn’t😭😭😭

user8 Ugh MCLAREN WHYYY

user9 I’m manifesting🫡

user10 Actually so delulu I made a mood board consisting ONLY of Lando😃

user11 At least you’re self aware💀

Twitter

yourusername

Liked by yourbestfriend, landonorris and 373 others

Tagged: landonorris, mclaren

yourusername Tbh I feel kinda bad for knowing next to NOTHING abt f1 but I’ll just do my job and whatever to pay rent in New York🤡 Last resort is the pole (not position😞)

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yourbestfriend 💀

yourusername Are you implying I wouldn’t be a great pole dancer?🤨

yourbestfriend Honestly? Yeah🥰

yourusername Bitch.

landonorris I didn’t even realize you’d take this many pics

yourusername Welcome to your new life (I sound and look like a fucking stalker rn wtaf)

yourfriend WTF YOU NEVER SAID YOU PHOTOGRAPHED LANDO NORRIS????

yourusername Surprise!!😻

landonorris

Liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 1,194,290 others

Tagged: yourusername

landonorris Checking out the credentials🤨

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yourusername At least I’m better than you🥰

landonorris You make a fair point… it’s your job😒

user1 Bffr rn😭

user2 Wdym? it’s his designated photographer. I think she’s a part of the team cause McLaren hired her

user1 Wait really?

user2 …yeah💀

user3 The way I love this new photographer😩

user4 Yeah she’s good. She’s well known in the photography world as one of the best in nyc

user3 Wtf that’s such an honor

user5 IS THAT HER??? 10 bucks they’re dating but not telling us

user6 Nah that’s too quick💀 They JUST hired her like this year.

user7 I’m excited for her shots in Miami

user8 I’ve seen some of her stuff at her gallery. Some of it sells for more than a month’s salary

user9 Her instagram is private😔💔

user10 It’s always been😭😭😭

f1gossip

5,367 likes

f1gossip New beau, Lando?👀

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user1 HUH WHAT😃

user2 They are just friends they are just friends they are just friends

user3 stfu what is this😭

user4 That looks a lot like yourusername

user5 💀

yourusername

Liked by landonorris, yourbestfriend and 271 others

yourusername Luckily this account is private💪 Hope they don’t find my very not private Twitter💀

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yourbestfriend Good luck😭

yourusername ty, I will not need it😩

landonorris what is this Twitter you speak of🤨🤨🤨

yourusername Nothing👽

f1gossip

2,378 likes

f1gossip Looks like Lando’s girl has Twitter👀

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user1 Wtaf I love her

user2 Ever wondered she might not want it leaked💀

yourusername Oh… wow…😐

user3 OFMHSK IT’S YOU

yourusername In all my glory😮‍💨🔥

user4 I love how she’s literally just like everyone else and not some snob😭

lando.jpg

Liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1, infour and 927,382 others

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landonorris Who would’ve thought it was possible to post your own paparazzi photos?!

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yourusername Holy shit, this is revolutionary🤯

Liked by landonorris

yourusername Why don’t the media just hire me to take better pics of us🤡🤡

landonorris Ikr

user1 Nah I’m loving this

user2 They are really handing the media’s ass on a silver plate💀💀💀

user3 This is pure gold😭

user4 I thought Kika and Pierre were my fav but Lando and her just raised the bar

user5 Honestly lmao

user6 why aren’t more wags like this

user7 Publicity probs

user8 Publicity doesn't make sense because she’d fear it too..?

user7 Nah I actually don’t think she cares very much💀

user9 You guys keep doing you, this is amazing.

yourusername Hell yeah😩

Twitter

yourusername

Liked by yourbestfriend, landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 563 others

yourusername We’ve been around👯‍♀️

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yourbestfriend FUCK YEAH WE HAVE

yourusername Ugh we should travel together sometime

yourbestfriend We should

landonorris Where was my invite?

yourusername Nonexistent.

landonorris Wow. I feel so insulted.

yourusername

Liked by yourbestfriend, landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 63,278 others

Tagged: landonorris, yourbestfriend

yourusername Welcome to my Instagram, peasants. Above, you can see a little bit of everything I serve on here (and yes, I do SERVE).

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yourbestfriend Hot

yourusername I know

landonorris ❤️

yourusername tmrw is our 1 yr anniversary.

landonorris Did you think I forgot?

yourusername Yes

landonorris You’re not wrong…

user1 1 YEAR WHAT????

user2 They hid it for so long😭

user3 I’ve been waiting ages to finally gain access to her Instagram

yourusername thank you, loyal plebe.

user4 2nd pic is me during exam season❤️

user5 Literally same

user6 She’s living my dream fr

yourusername I must be very powerful, then

user7 Skin care routine???

yourusername Random shit from drugstores

user8 She’s so down to earth but classy in a funny way. How tf do I even explain her😭

yourusername I’m an enigma

user9 Lando is lucky wtf

yourusername Right?

user10 No but you and Lando compliment each other so well

yourusername Ty<3

landonorris

Liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1, carlossainz55 and 1,037,278 others

Tagged: yourusername

landonorris For a whole year, you’ve given me everything I’ve ever needed. A fun and breezy outlook on life. You’re just amazing. I love you and I didn’t forget about today❤️

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yourusername I’ll let it go for today. Only because I love you too❤️

Liked by landonorris

maxverstappen1 Congrats you guys👏

Liked by landonorris

yourbestfriend Feels like yesterday I told you how to get her attention😔

Liked by landonorris

carlossainz55 Congratulations guys, enjoy yourselves today🍾

Liked by landonorris

𝗥𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻…

𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚!

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩! (𝙄𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙣, 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨, 𝙙𝙢𝙨, 𝙤𝙧 𝙖𝙨𝙠𝙨: 𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧(𝙨) 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙚(𝙨) 𝙤𝙛 𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣.)

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#ln4 #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #f1 instagram au #formula one fanfiction #lando norris fluff #lando norris #instagram fanfic #insta au #f1 social media au #social media au #lando norris social media au #f1 fanfiction #f1 imagine #f1 x reader

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