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the perks of being roommates
dennis whitaker x fem!chubby!R1!reader
18+ mdni
original ask <3 | ao3
summary: dennis is not only your boyfriend, but your roommate, and your destressor. shenanigans ensue.
word count: 3k
contains: fluff & smut. trinity/dennis/reader roommate agenda. stress & upset from a bad day at the pitt. softdom!dennis, whiny!reader. *fingering/fingers in mouth, kitchen sex, getting caught. *no use of y/n
a/n: here you go anon 💝 ;) ignore me using plotlines from ER to storybuild i was doug rossing the reader and exodusing the hospital HA
—————————— ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊——————————
Living with Trinity and Dennis used to be difficult before Garcia came into the picture. Now you practically lived in an apartment with your boyfriend and kept Trinity’s stuff for safe keeping. But you couldn’t complain– at least you got time alone. That was really all you wanted anyway.
Starting your rotations at PTMC would have been terrifying if you didn’t get stuck with the group you follow now. On your first day, you came in off a terrible experience at Mercy upstate, and when you met the other R1s and fourth-year med students, they seemed to be familiar with each other. You were the odd man out. But Dennis was, too. While Mel reconnected with Samira and Trinity struck gold with Perlah and Princess– not to mention Victoria's parents literally being on the upstairs payroll– you two were the only ones who hadn’t made a connection. Well, some might say that your floundering was the connection. You hit it off in your first hour, and have been inseparable since.
The year was hard on both of you during the transition from student to resident. You were intent on specializing in pediatric emergency medicine while Dennis had his sights set on being attending chief, just like Robby. Outside of the traumas, Dennis followed Robby for teaching, and you used each spare second to pick up younger patients and build on your study.
You were working on an experimental treatment study that gave kids power over how they treated their pain– letting them choose their dosage, their care, their desired results. Children were more honest when they were trusted, you found, and it was all being done in the hopes of drawing attention not only to the sheer volume of peds cases that came through the ER, but the necessity of having a pediatric resident on at all times, and possibly even a pediatric attending physician. So, you and Dennis technically weren’t so different… Either way, it was a mountain of effort.
Even though he didn’t have the same academic drive to make change, Dennis admired you helplessly. He thought you were a genius, an angel-doctor, someone who they should give awards to for how sweet you were with children and how devoted to improving patient care you could be. You made him want to be a better agent of change, not just a good doctor.
While it took twelve months to get the hang of the place, you and Dennis were finally doing well. As a pair, you got accepted into the residency program at PTMC and were finally getting paid. You went in on a shitty downtown apartment with Trinity, hoping to save money by carpooling and splitting rent. And you were hopelessly, disgustingly in love.
At first, Trinity couldn’t stand you two. It was easy enough to ignore at work, because in order to stay focused you and Dennis decided to be neutral around the hospital. It made your lives easier and avoided any potential teasing or prying, especially from the nurses, who were dead set on sniffing out everyone’s business. But the second you guys were off the clock, he had his arms wrapped around your waist and he was steering you, petting you, kissing you; it made her sick sometimes. The lip smacking, the little giggles. Sometimes she would purposely get a ride home with Mel just to beat you to the apartment and lock the door, if only to preserve her peace for a few measly minutes. The frustrated banging on the wood was better than hearing you guys canoodle.
But once Trinity got together with Garcia, her frustrations were far and few between… and hard to even see anymore. She was never home. The girl had started keeping clothes and scrubs at Garcia’s place, and if she did come back, it was to do laundry or eat the fridge. So, you and Dennis finally had peace and quiet. After those long days in the emergency department full of staring eyes and stress and death, you could come home to each other and soak up the softness of each other’s silence. Like tonight.
It had been a particularly hard one– nearly seventeen hours on the clock. There was some freak toxic spill in a factory across town, and over twenty patients had come in with chemical burns and gashes from slipping and falling down stairs onto machinery. Hazmat came and closed off half the emergency wing, and everyone had to be cleared from quarantine and hosed down in the frigid air before coming or going. It was torture. Dennis drove home in his truck, the both of you soaked to the skin in paper-thin sterile scrubs, starving and shivering.
You stumbled through the apartment door, dead on your feet. Dennis took your bag and trotted off to drop the belongings in the bedroom, while you veered into the kitchen, yawning and shaking out the shivers as you yanked the refrigerator open.
“God,” you pouted, “We forgot to go shopping again.”
The soft patter of footsteps echoed down the hall, and a strong pair of arms wrapped around your middle. Dennis tucked his chin over your shoulder, squeezing your tummy. “I can call the Chinese place. They’re 24/7, right?”
“Think so,” you grumbled, rubbing your eyes. “I’m just hungry. And tired. And annoyed.”
“Anything else?” Dennis laughed, the rumble soothing your spine. You spun in his arms and faced him, leaning back against the counter and moping.
The apartment was a mess. The kitchen hadn’t been cleaned in days. There were clothes and shoes littering the living room, and Santos had a pile of papers covering the coffee table. Your research scattered the work desk by the bookshelf. It just felt like you never had time to catch up anymore, to take two seconds to clean up; when you got a day off, you slept through it on Dennis’ chest or your sad and forgotten pillow, just in case it would be another week before you got the chance. As you looked around, you felt the overwhelm of it all rushing back, and you dropped your head on his shoulder.
Dennis sighed softly and pressed a few smooches to your hairline. “I can see your wheels turning.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?”
“Bee, I lived on a farm. I’m used to the mess.”
You managed a tiny smile at the name, nodding to yourself. He was right. It could always be worse. You could still be living in the med student dorms, where the showers were riddled with mildew and your roommate slept with her boyfriend all night, forcing you to get no sleep. At least you had this privacy, and this man in front of you who ensured you kept it.
“I’ll call in an order.”
You sighed quietly as he pulled away and wandered back to the bedroom to grab his phone. For all the things he admired about you, you admired that about him: his ability to let things roll off, to take the good and leave the bad. You let everything affect you, but he never failed to have a good sense about him. He was way too wise, and it was why patients adored him. That and maybe his warm eyes, or his gorgeous, crooked smile, or the way he said “ma’am” and “surely” with that midwestern charm.
You rooted through the medicine cabinet to grab some acetaminophen as you listened to the dull babbling of Dennis on the phone, and you rested against the counter as you took the pills dry. Your feet ached, the black work shoes worn down from any support they once offered. You were still cold from the wet roots of your hair. You were in a miserable mood, and the apartment was lonely without his warmth. You closed your eyes and tried to take your mind off it all, and that was when you felt hands scooping you off your feet.
“Oof– Dennie!” You squeaked, wrapping your arms around his neck in case he dropped you.
Dennis grinned and hoisted your legs around his hips, bracing you against his chest. The pads of his fingers dimpled the soft, bunching skin of your thighs. “Yes?”
“Why am I being handled like a ragdoll?”
“Because you flail, and it’s cute.”
“That’s not a good enough reason,” you laughed, and he readjusted so his palms could cradle you dubiously close to the spot where your legs jointed to your ass. “I think you just wanted to squeeze me.”
“That, too,” he hummed, kissing your cheek.
“Put me down,” you mumbled, nosing his jaw.
“Why?”
“I’m heavy.”
“You are not,” Dennis scoffed, giving you a comical look of offense.
“Yes I am! Come on,”
“No,” he frowned, and he squeezed the underside of your legs to drive the point home. “You’re lighter than a hay bale.”
“I really don’t think that’s possible.”
Dennis narrowed his gaze playfully and slid you onto the kitchen counter, caging you in. You huffed at the relief of being put down and ruffled his hair, to which he shook the mess out like a dog.
“Did you get me an egg roll?”
“You’re not heavy,” he interjected.
“Okay, I’m not heavy.”
“Good. Correct,” he confirmed, and with a tiny glint in his eye, Dennis slid his palms up your legs and sides, caressing the spots where you curved and rolled. The farmboy was quick to trap you in a soft, unassuming kiss, and you melted on the faux marble, coiling around him once again.
Dennis grunted softly as he pressed close to the counter and wrapped his arms around your back, sneaking his fingers under your scrubs. Your mouths worked in tandem as he drew patterns down your spine with one hand and kneaded the pudge of your tummy with the other, making you squirm.
“Just been so stressed,” you mumbled, trailing your kisses down his neck.
“I know, honeybee,” he panted, nipping your ear and pressing you against the cabinets.
“You always make it better,” you confided, tugging sluggishly at his shirt.
“Come here.”
The air settled softly over the room as you two gave into the urge. It wasn’t a tense moment, not even a worked-up one. It was just like letting a breath out. His hands were so welcome on your hot skin as he freed your legs from the chafing prison of those hazmat-issued scrubs. Your mouth was so grateful for the traces of soap on his collarbone as you nibbled and suckled on the meat of his chest, caressing the ridges of the abs that formed in secrecy over the last year of hauling patients and volunteering at the shelters and community farms after hours. It was a simple exchange of love between two people who have been leaning on each other for over a year, and who simply didn’t want to function without their counterpart. The mesh of passion in a quiet little safe place.
Dennis tucked his thumb under the cotton lip of your panties, sinking the pad into the wet heat between your folds. He sought the throbbing nub that required his attention. You choked on a moan as your back straightened out, and you curled your fingers in his hair, breathing the air of his mouth as he began to encircle it.
“I’m sorry you had a bad day,” he murmured, prodding softly at your clit, smearing the mess over your mound.
“You had one, too,” you wheezed.
“Yeah, but I’m not upset,” he purred, giving you a little nip and kitten lick at the juncture of your neck and jaw. His palm adjusted to let his greedy fingers tuck under the cloth, and you grunted as he cupped your cunt. “I hate seeing my girl so drained. You’re too pretty… too smart for that.”
“Dennie,” you moaned.
“Yeah? Right there?” Dennis asked as he sunk two fingers past your entrance, feeling the pulse of your needy walls like a heartbeat around his knuckles. “Oh, baby… you’re so wet, sweetheart.”
“S’all your fault,” you whimpered, grinding gently onto his palm.
Dennis hooked an arm behind your hips to help angle you forward, and he crooked his fingers inside your cunt, grinning as the familiar squelch gargled around the digits. Your face twisted with need, and he began to gently thrust, pressing the heel of his palm to your clit and working out circles.
“That’s it, honeybee, come on– just take what you want,” he cooed, giving you every opportunity to rock against his fingers and use him up. “My little bee, yeah? You like it when I’m sweet.”
“Yeah,” you agreed, breathless and dizzy with pleasure. His hands should be exhausted from all the work he did on those trauma patients, but he made no show of it. The man’s fingers petted your g-spot like it deserved a treat.
“You’re so pretty, baby, did I tell you today?” Dennis whispered, attaching his mouth to your neck. You felt the scrape of his teeth. “So, so pretty.”
“Dennieee,” you begged, feeling the heat building in your gut. The combination of his pressure on your bud and fingers stroking your walls was enough, but the words made it impossible to hold out.
“Gonna cum, honeybee? Yeah? You can, don’t worry, baby. Come for me, let me see your face.”
Dennis always had that tone when you got desperate. Easy, gentle, as if you were a spooked horse. There was no fighting off the butterflies as they flitted happily around your spinning, floating orgasm, making you shiver and twitch as he wrought a crashing wave of pleasure down on your body. You moaned hoarsely and clung to the corded muscle of his arms, bucking into his palm and babbling weak, “Ah, ah, ah…”s.
Dennis smiled against the curve of your neck and pulled his fingers free, sliding them between your lips and exploring the hot slick of your tongue. He watched your pouty lips close around them and suck, and his cock twitched in his pants. “That’s it. Good girl, honey.”
You flushed from the praise, body buzzing and shaking with stimulation. You reached down to cup his erection. Dennis tensed and hooked his fingers over your teeth, biting the inside of his cheek. “Jesus, baby.”
“You need it, too,” you pleaded, gently palming him, watching his cheeks burn and his lips part.
“Fuck,” he moaned, and you tugged the string on the scrub bottoms free so he could shimmy them down.
Dennis was not one to get greedy often, but it was so hard not to let the urge overcome him when you watched him with those bog doe eyes and begged to be fucked. Your legs wobbled like a calf as he dragged you to the edge of the counter and lined himself up, gliding the head of his cock through your folds to coat the pink, hungry skin in the residual slick. The two of you let out a freakish, synced sigh, and he pressed the tip in with impatience. He was met with no resistance– your cunt stretched dutifully for him, and soon enough he was grunting like an animal, pinning your hips to the counter and watching your breasts bounce from the force.
Your knees hitched around his hips as the deep, eager force of his length speared you, and you lolled your head back against the cabinets, clawing at the edge of the counter. “Dennie, baby, please, please…”
“You feel so good, baby,” he whined, thrusting harder, watching the creamy rings start to form around the base of his cock. “Fuck. Such a sweet girl, honeybee, such a good girl!”
“S-so… so…”
He chuckled weakly as you lost your train of thought. He thought you were pretty without fail, but there was something to you when he had you at the mercy of your own pleasure. You seemed to glow, skin shimmering with sweat, all your bountiful curves twisting and turning with marshmallow torque. He gasped hungrily as he dug his nails into the fat of your thighs and moaned, “So fucking beautiful… God, could just squeeze you ‘til you pop.”
The heat wrapping around your womb in vines was pernicious and unrelenting. You licked up a stray droplet of drool from his chin as he pounded into you, and you threaded your fingers into his hair, dragging him into a sloppy, wonderful kiss. Dennis’ lashes mingled with yours as you swirled your tongue past his lips, jolting with every thrust, milking him to his breaking point. The heat between your bodies was overwhelming, and it was so good, so deep–
“Hello? Guys, I’m home–”
The apartment door swung open, and Trinity was ambushed by the sight of Dennis fucking you like a jackrabbit on the kitchen counter, your scrubs pushed up over your tits and his pants at his ankles. The poor girl covered her eyes and swallowed a spontaneous upchuck reflex. “What the actual fuck?!”
Dennis didn’t stop, he only slowed. A mortified expression crossed his face as he begged, “Get out!”
“Yeah, no fucking shit!”
The door slammed, and Trinity could be heard barking and grumbling down the hall. Maybe Garcia had to cancel their plans tonight. Maybe God had planned to embarrass you. It didn’t matter now, though, because Dennis was spurred on by the intrusion, and he pumped into you hard enough to burst. The two of you fell into a messy fit of laughter and lost, climactic whimpers as his hips stuttered and warm, thick ropes clung to your insides.
“Shit,” you wheezed, “She’s gonna kill us.”
“It’s our apartment, too,” he grinned, kissing your chin and resting his heavy forehead in the dip of your shoulder.
“Yeah,” you flushed. “Maybe you should go get her.”
Dennis lifted his head again and slipped two fingers into your mouth, shutting you up with drooping, sated eyes. “Just shut up and stop worrying about everything, honeybee… yeah?”
You could explode all over again. It was that stupid farmer’s voice. All the adrenaline and weight of the day dissipated again as you hummed around his fingers, a tiny “mhm.”
Dennis sighed happily and tugged you close again, feeling his cock jump inside your heat, and he kissed your cheek. “That’s my girl.”
Trinity could wait– he had to make sure you were tended to first. The explanation and the possible rent redaction could be handled later. Preferably clothed.
Less Is Not More || Mingi x Plussize!Reader
When you try a new diet to help with bloating and accidentally drop a pound or two, Mingi reacts like it’s a national emergency, determined to protect every inch of the body he adores while you laugh at his dramatic devotion.
REQUEST from my 200 follower celebration
The kitchen was quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the soft scrape of a spoon against ceramic.
You leaned against the counter, swirling something green and suspiciously healthy around in a bowl. Mingi stood across from you, arms folded, tall frame practically looming over the island as he stared at your lunch like it had personally offended him.
“What is that?” he asked, eyes narrowing.
“Yogurt. With flaxseed. And some stuff that’s supposed to help with bloating.” You popped a spoonful into your mouth and shrugged. “It’s not that serious.”
He didn’t respond right away. He was staring at you instead now. Not in a dreamy way. In a calculating way.
You squinted at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
He stepped closer. Too close. His hands landed on your waist automatically, thumbs pressing into the soft curve of your stomach like he was checking for structural damage.
“You look smaller.”
You blinked. “What?”
“You do.” His brows pulled together, genuine concern settling into his expression. “Your waist. And here.” His large hands slid over your hips, squeezing gently like he needed confirmation. “And here.”
You burst out laughing.
He looked betrayed. “Why are you laughing? This is serious.”
“It is not serious,” you said between giggles. “I told you, I’m just trying to not feel bloated all the time. That’s it.”
“You’ve lost weight.”
“I dropped like a pound. Maybe two.”
His eyes widened like you’d just confessed to something catastrophic.
“Two pounds?” he repeated, horrified.
You clutched the counter to steady yourself because his tone was so dramatic it was unreal. “Mingi, it’s water weight.”
He paced a single step away from you, tall body moving restlessly. “No. No, this diet is suspicious. We need to stop it.”
“We?”
“Yes. We are a team. If you’re losing weight, I’m involved.”
You laughed again, louder this time. “Why are you acting like this is a tragedy?”
He stopped pacing and turned to you, hands on his hips. Even annoyed, he was pretty. Tall, broad shoulders, hair falling into his eyes as he looked at you like you’d committed a crime.
“Because,” he said slowly, stepping back into your space, “I love you exactly how you are.”
“I’m still exactly how I am.”
“But smaller.”
“Barely.”
His hands slid back around you, wrapping fully around your waist this time. He bent slightly so his chin could rest on top of your head, engulfing you in warmth. You could feel the tension in him, even if you found the whole thing hilarious.
“You don’t need to change anything,” he muttered into your hair.
“I’m not changing. I just don’t want to feel like a balloon after I eat.”
“Then we fix the bloating without shrinking you.”
You leaned back enough to look up at him. “Shrinking me?”
“Yes.” He looked genuinely distressed. “Do you know how perfect you are? How am I supposed to function if you start disappearing?”
You snorted. “I’m not disappearing.”
He pulled back just enough to cup your face in both hands. His palms were warm, thumbs brushing your cheeks as his gaze softened.
“I love this,” he said quietly, sliding one hand down to squeeze your hip. “And this. And this.” His hand trailed over your stomach, firm but reverent. “I love how you feel. I love how soft you are. I love how I can hold you and there’s so much of you to hold.”
You raised an eyebrow, amused. “So much of me?”
He nodded firmly. “Yes. I’m tall. I need space to grab. And you are perfect for me.”
You shook your head, smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m serious.” His voice dropped, still affectionate but more intense. “When I wrap my arms around you, I feel calm. When you sit on my lap, I feel grounded. When you lay on top of me, I feel like the luckiest man alive. Why would I want less of that?”
Your smile softened, but there was no insecurity there. Just warmth.
“It’s not about wanting less,” you said gently. “It’s about wanting to feel comfortable.”
He exhaled, shoulders relaxing slightly.
“Fine,” he said after a moment. “Comfort is allowed. But if this yogurt steals even three pounds, I’m fighting it.”
You laughed again and leaned forward to steal a quick kiss.
“I promise,” you said against his lips, “I’m not going anywhere.”
He kissed you back, slow and lingering, hands settling possessively at your hips again like he needed reassurance.
“Good,” he murmured when he pulled away. Then he immediately went back on his tangent, eyes lighting up as he looked at you like you were art. “Because your thighs? Incredible. Your hips? Life changing. Your stomach? I literally think about it daily. And don’t get me started on—”
“Mingi,” you cut in, laughing as you covered his mouth with your hand.
He kissed your palm.
“I just love your body,” he said, softer now but still absolutely sure. “Exactly like this. However it is. It’s yours. And I’m obsessed.”
You leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his waist, cheek pressing against his chest.
“Drama king,” you muttered fondly.
He held you tighter.
“If loving you loudly is dramatic,” he said, resting his chin on your head again, “then I’ll be dramatic forever.”
You leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his waist, cheek pressing against his chest.
“Drama king,” you muttered fondly.
He held you tighter.
“If loving you loudly is dramatic,” he said, resting his chin on your head again, “then I’ll be dramatic forever.”
The kitchen felt smaller suddenly. The hum of the fridge faded to white noise.
His heartbeat was steady under your ear, until it wasn’t.
You felt the subtle shift first: the way his fingers flexed against your lower back, spreading wider, pressing you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. His breath hitched, just once, barely audible, but it was enough.
You tilted your head back to look at him.
Mingi was already watching you.
Not calculating anymore. Not distressed.
Something darker and hungrier had settled behind his eyes. The kind of look that made your stomach flip even when you tried to play it cool.
His thumb traced a slow, deliberate circle over the dip of your waist, right where he’d been “checking” earlier. Then it slid lower. Not far. Just enough to hook under the hem of your shirt and graze bare skin.
Your breath caught.
He felt it. You knew he did, because the corner of his mouth curled, slow and knowing.
“You said you’re not going anywhere,” he murmured, voice rougher now, quieter, like the words were only for the small space between your mouths.
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
His other hand came up to cradle the back of your neck. Long fingers threaded into your hair, tilting your face exactly where he wanted it. He didn’t kiss you yet. He just held you there, close enough that every exhale brushed your lips, close enough that you could feel the heat rolling off him in waves.
“Then stay right here,” he said, almost a growl, “while I remind you why I’m never letting even one more inch of you disappear.”
His thumb pressed into the soft flesh just above your hip bone, firm, possessive, reverent all at once. Your knees threatened to forget how gravity worked.
“Mingi—”
He finally closed the distance.
Not gentle.
Not rushed either.
Deep. Slow. Devouring. Like he was trying to prove something with every slide of his tongue, every scrape of teeth against your bottom lip. One hand stayed locked at your nape while the other dragged down the length of your spine. His palm flattened over the small of your back, arching you into him until you gasped against his mouth.
He swallowed the sound.
When he pulled back, just enough to breathe, his forehead rested against yours. His pupils were blown wide. His chest rose and fell too fast.
“I love every fucking curve,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “Every soft place I can grip. Every spot that makes you shiver when I touch it.” His hand flexed on your hip, squeezing once, hard enough to leave the memory of his fingers. “Don’t ever think I’d survive you getting smaller. I wouldn’t.”
Your hands fisted in his shirt, trying to anchor yourself.
He kissed you again, shorter this time, but somehow more dangerous. A promise instead of a plea.
Then he stepped back.
Just one step.
Far enough that you felt the sudden absence of him like a physical thing.
But not far enough to miss the way he dragged his gaze down your body, slow, shameless, starving, like he was already mapping out exactly where he’d put his mouth next.
He reached behind him without looking, blindly grabbing your forgotten yogurt bowl off the counter.
He held it up between you like evidence.
“This,” he said, voice low and rough-edged, “is allowed to stay. But only if it stops trying to take you from me.”
He set it down again, harder than necessary.
Then he stepped back into your space, towering, crowding, until your back met the edge of the counter and there was nowhere left to go.
His hands found your thighs.
Lifted.
Set you on the counter in one smooth motion like you weighed nothing to him.
He stepped between your knees. His palms slid up the outside of your legs until his thumbs pressed into the crease where thigh met hip.
“Tell me you’re keeping all of this,” he whispered against your jaw, lips brushing skin, breath hot. “Tell me I still get to worship every part of you tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that.”
Your fingers dug into his shoulders.
“I’m keeping it,” you managed, voice unsteady. “All of it.”
He exhaled against your throat, half relief, half victory.
Then he kissed the pulse point there. Open-mouthed. Slow. Deliberate.
And everything after that…
faded to black.
Masterlist Taglist
@atetheluck @foppishitudinality @imbaebi @wanna-plan-world-domination @navydotz
very indulgent of myself frankly but saw your keys x curvy!reader and i work in marketing so how about coworker rivalry where keys may have said something bitchy in passing to a coworker about how ditzy the marketing department is and reader heard it so now there’s tension but keys has BEEN crushing on her and now he can’t figure out why she’s avoiding him (and being bitchy back ofc!)
Office Politics
Warnings: 18+ MDNI; language; degrading language, lil verbal harassment (Antwan sux :( ), body image issues (light); self-conscious talk (light); smut (oral, p in v, motorbo'iiin, office sex, praise yadda yadda); Keys x curvy!reader
I fuckin' love this, thank you nony you're my hero.
YOU stood in front of the bathroom mirror at Soonami, adjusting your blouse and suddenly feeling like it and the little pencil skirt combo you felt so confident in last night were suffocating you now. Your usual go to was a nice flowy linen pant or a soft and comfy cardigan, anything breathable and non-confining so you could focus on your work and not how bad you wanted to take your outfit off at the end of the day.
But today was different -- it required hard lines, sharp edges, no-nonsense, no coziness. You'd just gotten the head of marketing position last week, and it was your turn to run your first meeting with the developers of Free City, a stupid, senseless, shoot-em-up video game that you had to try to make people want to buy.
Sales had been dipping down in the weeks prior to you getting the job, and even though you did desperately want the position for some time now, it did feel a bit like you were the sacrificial lamb. Now you get to explain to a room full of semi-toxic, egotistical, artistic, and unfortunately, brilliant men why their game was slowly dying.
Why? It was boring. It was stale, nothing was changing or evolving or worth consumers time. You'd played a few hours a night over the past few weeks, and it was the same thing every time. Looting, punching, shooting; wash, rinse, repeat. They haven't put out any new items, collaborations, events, or anything in months.
That's what you were suggesting to them today. A revamp of their image, a new campaign, something creative and interesting to give you a jumping off point so you could do your job more effectively.
Because how were you supposed to sell plain sand to a beach? You needed shells, sea glass, an ancient message in a bottle -- something dazzling and different.
You smacked the hand dryer once and let the breeze dry the rivulets of sweat gathering in your cleavage and underarms, did one final glance in the mirror to make sure you looked like the Big Bad Boss Bitch of Marketing that you were, and stormed out for your meeting.
•••
One fact you knew but failed to consider in your time prepping for this meeting, was that the CEO of the company, Antwan Hovachelik, was a massive cunthole. You couldn't finish a sentence without him arguing or interrupting with his ridiculous logic, insisting it had to be a problem with your department.
"Well, sir, I'm sure it's more convenient to say that we failed at pushing your crap out to the public than it is to say you're giving us nothing but crap in the first place, but I really think the game needs a revitalization. There's potential for another hit, but the devs need to give us something new."
There's a sputter of incredulous laughter and murmurs from the end of the table where the handful of main developers sat, arms folded and eyes boring into you.
"I'm not saying you're not a group of insanely talented developers -- truly, I think you've got incredible minds. But people have short attention spans, and the buyer needs something --"
"Okay, listen, Princess Peach." Antwan pushes up from his laughably enormous office chair and plants his palms flat on the table as the word fresh dies on your tongue. You feel your blood simmering beneath your skin, but you maintain an impassive, professional demeanor.
"We can't give the babies candy and brandy every time they go waah-waah and want something new and shiny. That costs time, money. My game is perfect. Always has been. So I think you and your team need to figure out a way to make it look enticing. That's literally what I pay you for."
"But, Antwa--"
"Lie if you gotta, but I better see sales start ticking up by next week or you're done here."
Your jaw clamps shut tight and you push back from your chair. Venomous, hateful words jump at the end of your tongue, but you bite them back.
"Thanks for your time."
As you turn to walk out, Antwan adds, "I know it's a big ass -- oh, ask! A big ask. Sorry, slip of the tongue."
Your eyes blow wide and your nose stings with emotion. Snickers and more murmurs from the end of the table draw your attention, and the devs all watch you writhing like a worm at the end of a hook, some with mouths agape and some with smug looks of amusement.
Even one guy you actually thought was better than that. Despite the warring of your departments, he was always polite in email correspondence and break room chats. He even took some of your ideas in the past and put them to use in small ways in the game without Antwan knowing so you could both avoid his red tape. But even Keys said nothing now, didn't even look you in the eye. He just watched Antwan, awaiting his next orders.
You slammed the glass door to the conference room so hard you worried for a second it might shatter. Then again, who cares if it did.
•••
KEYS drummed his fingers against the table in the conference room, trying not to seem too eager to see you. He was used to these dev-marketing meetings, knew they could get a little tense, but you brought such a calm, positive energy to the workplace that he was excited to see how you would change the vibe.
He didn't realize you'd be promptly eaten alive by Antwan and body-shamed in front of your coworkers, so he was left a little stunned as you stormed back to your department.
Two of his fellow developers giggled next to him, mentioning something about the curve of your face or the dip in your waist, things that he found so enticing but that they were now desecrating with their frat-boy sense of humor. He smacked one on the shoulder to stop him.
"Hey, Keys, what the f--"
"Antwan, that was...that was kinda harsh, don't you think? I mean, it's not a terrible idea --"
"What, you're gonna stay overtime and make all the new shit she said? Campaigns, bro? I'm not paying you for that. She can figure out the way to the break room for free coffee and donuts every single morning, she can figure out how to sell a fuckin' game to fuckin' gamers."
"Dude, you gotta stop with the --"
"With the what, Keys?" Antwan stormed over and stopped short just as his knees bumped into the arm of Keys' chair in a show of dominance. "Did I hurt your feelings, is she your wittle girlfwiend?"
"No, it's not -- she's not --"
"It's not, she's not, we're not --" Antwan mocks. "Don't fuckin' tell me how to talk in my own building. Everyone get the fuck out and make me some money."
•••
Keys just sits at his desk for the remaining few hours of the day staring at your chat bubble and wondering why he didn't have a fucking spine.
Your pitch was good. You were right about the game being stale. You looked so hot in that little skirt -- wait, no, work merit stuff only right now.
He scrubs his face in his hands, trying to will away the image of your delicious, plump thighs pressing together in that swivel chair, or how the top buttons on your ruffled blouse desperately wanted to pop open and let your breasts spill free --
"Walter, can I speak with you?"
He jumps in his desk chair, glasses clattering across his keyboard. He scrambles to put them back on, and there are those beautiful thighs, right at eye level. He quickly looks up to see your stern expression, arms folded across your chest with a heavy, fleece cardigan thrown over your blouse now. He always loved how cozy and inviting your usual wardrobe made you seem, it matched your kind, open-minded, go-with-the-flow personality so well. He often thought that just being in your orbit would be nothing but a warm, weightless glow.
"Sorry, what's that? What's up?"
You scoff, but smile politely. "I need to speak with you in my office, please. Some things I didn't get to touch on in the meeting, and I think you'd be the most helpful."
It seemed like it should have been a compliment, but there was no pleasure in your face at having to say the words. He hoped you didn't think he was on the same page as the assholes in the meeting this morning, but he couldn't really blame you if you did. He hadn't said anything in the moment, and even when he thought he was trying he couldn't be sure he actually got anything out.
He nods at you and clicks out of his computer before you see that he was staring at the tiny icon of your smile, and follows you up a floor to the marketing offices.
•••
YOU softly close the door to your office and gesture for Keys to sit on the chair across from your wooden desk. The cubicle had been so cold and bland when you got it, but within the week you'd added enough of your little touches that it felt calmer and much more inviting. You didn't use the harsh overhead lighting, instead opting for lamp lights and even some string lights over the door. You also replaced the leather, straight-back chairs with your own plushier versions so that nothing was a hindrance to your thinking process.
Now, if only there were a way to replace the cold, callous men in the department below you with your own plushier versions. Wouldn't that be nice?
You sit on one of your legs as best you're able in this damn skirt, and take a sip from your paper coffee cup. Keys anxiously rubs his hands over his denim-clad thighs and lets his eyes wander around the room, never once lingering on you.
Probably worried he'd bust out laughing.
You shake away the negative thoughts and pull out some graphics and spreadsheets you had prepared but didn't get a chance to go over.
"So, I wanted to go over this plan I had for the marketing meeting, if that's okay? I know it's not really the development team's priority, but --"
He holds his hand out to take the papers from you, and your fingers brush. You swear you see blush creeping up his shirt collar, but maybe it's just because you keep it pretty warm in here.
"I don't want to set your guys back or make more work for you, but look -- if you guys did just a one week campaign, it would only take this many extra man hours, but it would result in this big of a pay off."
You lean across your desk, tracing the lines of the graphs in his hands with the tip of a pencil as you explain the data. He nods, flipping through them with interest.
"No, yeah, this is really good. Definitely doable, and cost to benefit is great, I mean -- this is a fantastic idea."
He looks up at you beaming, and you feel warmth spreading across your own chest and face. He seems to sense it, eyes falling straight to the gorge of cleavage staring at him from you leaning so far desk. You quickly pull your cardigan over yourself and he immediately starts scanning the pages again, though he wasn't actually reading any of it. When he looks up to speak, his eyes are closed.
"Look, I wanted to also apologize to you. For the meeting this morning, for Antwan and -- that was really fucked up, pardon my French. I tried to talk to him after, but he's...he's just really a huge prick. There's no if's, and's, or but's about that. But you didn't deserve that, and so I'm sorry."
He talked to Antwan? I mean, even if he didn't have a huge breakthrough with him, he tried? That was really not something you did around here, Antwan fires people for a lot less.
"Th-thanks, Keys. It, uh...it really fucking sucked, pardon my French." You both laugh quietly under your breath. "But I'm used to it, unfortunately, so it's fine. Water off a duck's back, right?"
"Used to it?"
Oh, this was absolutely not a conversation that needed to happen between you and one of the dreaded game devs, was it? Opening up about how you've been fat-shamed since you were in middle school, and that it really doesn't bother you anymore, even though it kind of does sometimes when it hits in just the right sore spot?
Keys is looking at you with such genuine concern, that the words just seem to fall free from your lips without much thought.
"I mean, yeah. I'm not unaware that I'm a...bigger girl, Keys. I'm the one that buys the clothes and looks in the mirror every day. I've learned to love myself and feel good in my skin, but it's taken a long time, so yeah -- I've heard it all, I try to ignore it most of the time, but today it just kinda stung a little."
Your words break his heart, but somehow you're still smiling through them. He doesn't know it's because if you drop this mask right now, you might end up a useless, blubbering mess for the rest of the day, and you can't afford that. He reaches across the desk and puts a hand over one of yours. You don't pull away.
"It's ridiculous. And bullshit. And for what it's worth, I think your body is --" He stops himself, pulling his hand away and looking at you with panic. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I don't -- I shouldn't have, this isn't --" He's scrambling, standing from his chair, turning to leave, before you hold a hand out to him.
"Wait! You can say it."
He stands in the middle of your office, reading your body language and trying to analyze where this situation should go. Always the computer-coding brain with Keys. He says nothing, and you nod at him, breath starting to quicken in your lungs.
"I... I'd like you to say it, please. Keys."
He hears the shutter in your voice and the corner of his mouth turns up just a smidge. He turns and walks to your door and your shoulders slump, thinking he's chickened out or pulled your leg completely. Instead, he clicks the lock on your office door with his thumb and looks back at you over his shoulder.
"That okay? I don't want anyone interrupting this important meeting of the minds, you know?"
A huge grin splits your face, Keys marvels at the curve of your cheeks and the small dimple in one of them, and you nod.
"Right, sure. So you were telling me...your uh, your thoughts on my body, weren't you?"
He clears his throat and straightens his shoulders, suddenly growing stern and professional.
"That's right, I wanted to talk to you about the physical qualities I find so appealing about you, if you have the time?"
"Oh, is it a long list? I'm...kinda swamped."
He tsks, and adds, "No, I think you should clear your schedule for this one. Could take awhile, I don't wanna miss anything."
He's walking closer, testing the waters with how far it's going to go. Truth was, you've had a crush on Keys since you met him as an apprentice over a year ago, you just never thought he'd appreciate an approach from someone in dreaded marketing.
"A-ah. Right. Sure, then. You -- you have the floor."
He smirks, nodding and grabbing one of the blankets from a stack you keep in a cubby on the back wall.
"The floor is an excellent idea."
You feel yourself go cold all over, goosebumps prickling at your arms and calves.
"You -- wait, you really want me to get down there? On the floor? And what, lay there like a beached whale?"
His face falls and he crosses over to your share, taking your hands and crouching.
"If you don't want people to say shit like that about you, you don't either. You're not a beached whale, Jesus. Now c'mon...I'm trying to be sexy."
That brings a genuine laugh out of you, and you rise out of your chair standing chest to chest with him now. He skims his hands up your fleece-lined arms, then slips them inside the sleeves and slides it down, tracing the skin of your arm along the way.
"I really like this outfit today. Know what I was thinking about when you came and got me from my desk?"
Your breath hitches in your throat, and all that comes out is, "Hm?"
"I was thinking of how tight it hugs you, and how I didn't have to imagine what you looked like under your cardigans. I can see all your curves, and these buttons --" He slips one of the top buttons on your blouse through the eyelet and it releases readily from the strain. He grins as your ears grow hotter, already fingering the next button. "-- they looked like they wanted to pop right open. I was kinda hoping they would."
"Keys..." His eyes bounce between yours as you bite your lower lip, nodding for him to continue.
He unbuttons your top to wear it's tucked into your skirt and tugs it away, marveling at the sight of your plentiful breasts swelling over the tops of your bra cups. He sighs, almost in relief.
"God, they're perfect. Holy shit. Can I touch you?"
You nod and push your chest out further, and Keys hands are impossibly warm and gentle over the thin fabric of your bra. He can feel your nipples peak under the brush of his thumbs, and he can't keep himself from planting a mouth over one and nipping it gently between his teeth. You inhale through your teeth, and as a little smirk starts to form on his lips you tangle your fingers in his hair and smoosh his face into the pillowy valley of your tits.
He lets out a low, surprised moan and snakes his arms around your waist, nuzzling deeper and relishing in the soft warmth of your skin. Suddenly you feel them fall heavy and free against your torso, and you realize that he's unhooked your bra (which was impressive considering how many hooks he had to undo and you still didn't notice). Keys takes them in his hands as much as he's able and gently bounces them.
"Yep, these are perfectly adequate for our purposes, Miss. Keep up the good work here."
You roll your eyes and push at his shoulder, and his smile is sweet and bright. Then he reaches for your hands and guides you around the desk to the blankets. He gestures for you to lay back, so you awkwardly lower yourself in your skirt and heels, cradling your exposed chest in your arms to keep them from flopping dramatically all over the place.
"Sorry, I --"
"Stop. Let go, let me see."
It takes a second for the confidence to build, but the stern, lustful tone in Keys' voice convinces you to go for it. You let go and lean back on your arms, breasts falling away towards your sides with gravity. His eyes watch them sway and he absently strokes his straining cock under his jeans.
"What else, Keys?" You ask in a husky voice, feeling your own desire coating your thighs as they rub together beneath your skirt.
"God, it's all just -- fucking perfect, you're perfect." He scans your body from top to bottom and nods at your legs.
"Can you spread them for me?"
"Should I take this off--?"
"No, leave it. I uh -- I like how your thighs look squeezed in it. So thick, and -- Christ, I need to slow down."
He flexes his hands and shakes his head, lowering himself down to his knees and positioning himself at your feet. Carefully he slides off your heels and runs his hands along the length of your legs, pushing your skirt up rather than down to bunch at the dip in your waist. Your knees try to close together on instinct, not used to being so exposed in broad daylight and in your fucking office, but Keys just gently places a hand on either one and waits for them to open for him.
As they slowly butterfly, he smiles and coos, "Perfect. That's it. Please for the love of God, tell me if I need to stop, but I'd really love to taste you."
Oh, is my steak too juicy? Lobster too buttery? Hottest nerd on the planet wants to lick my pussy?
"Please, yes." It comes out a lot needier than you anticipate. Keys doesn't mind one bit.
"Thank you." He groans as he leans between your thighs and grips the plump flesh behind your knees, hoisting them up and out to spread you wider for him.
He gives you a devilish peek from over his glasses before he burrows his tongue between your folds, eyes fluttering closed at the taste of you.
"Oh my god..." He grumbles, then repeats his slow, torturous lick. "You even taste sweet."
He watches the sway of your tits with every jagged breath you take as you watch him thrust his tongue into your tight, wet core. His nose perfectly toys with your clit.
"Oh, fuck, Keys." You reach between your legs, spreading wide on their own now, and grip his hair again. He moans in approval, muffled by your pussy, and continues to lavish you with his mouth.
His ministrations have you coming undone in minutes, and your thighs close around his ears out of your control. You buck and grind into his face, and he thinks that this would be a beautiful way to go if he never got pulled back up for air, but he wanted to see your face while you were cumming so he sat back up and gave your flanks a hearty smack.
"Another strong performance from marketing, kudos."
"Oh my god, Keys. That was all the devs this time, I'm putting you in for a raise."
"I'm honored." He prowls over you, face hovering over yours, glasses smudged and fogged, and you realize you haven't even kissed yet.
You slide his glasses off, placing them gingerly beside you, and softly stroke his cheek. He leans into the touch, kissing the palm of your hand.
"I'm really, really honored." He repeats, not as a joke this time but a sincere sentiment. You pull him down closer and he kisses your lips slowly and reverently. You taste yourself on him and feel your stomach flip and your pussy walls clench, wanting to be filled.
"Keys...would you fuck me?"
He kisses down the soft line of your jaw and behind your ear, mumbling something dejectedly about not having a condom.
"...I have an IUD."
The feverish pace at which he undresses startles a laugh out of you, and you barely get to soak in his own body, but you like what you see -- a dusting of chest hair leading to a happy trail, and his signature freckles and moles dotting the rest of his body as well. He carefully peels away his tented boxers and your jaw drops at the heavy girth he's packing.
It's always the nerds.
He pumps himself in his hand, dragging his thumb over the tip and spreading his slickness over the head. You spread your legs, fingers dipping down to circle your clit in time with his languid strokes.
"Would you be on top?" He asks, neck starting to strain as he holds himself back from cumming at just the sight of you splayed out on the floor.
You roll your eyes and sit up on your hands.
"Okay, now you just have a death wish. I'll crush you, you tiny man." You gesture at his lean frame and he scoffs, not loving the word tiny to be thrown around while he's standing there stroking his cock (even though you both knew he was anything but).
"Don't be such a drama queen."
You have a small leather love seat on the back wall of your office for when you want to stretch your legs out and work on your laptop. He sits on it in the center, legs spread wide, and pats his lap expectantly.
"C'mon. Giddy-up cowgirl."
After you pick your jaw up off the floor, you feel a smirk twist at the corner of your mouth. You roll onto your hands and knees, and instead of walking you crawl to him across your office floor. His eyes go dark. He holds a hand up quickly to stop you, then turns it over so his palm faces up and gives you the gimme gesture with his fingers.
"Glasses please? Toss em? I don't wanna miss this."
You tongue your cheek and underhand the glasses onto the empty seat beside him, and he immediately settles them into the bridge of his nose.
With a flourish of his hand, he says, "Continue," and he watches enraptured as you come to him like a predator hunting her prey. Your claws dig into his tense thighs, and you can't help but taste the underside of his cock as it lays proudly against his stomach.
His head lolls back, and you stand to settle your knees on either side of his hips. You pinch his chin before you fully put your weight on his lap, and he looks at you with half-lidded eyes.
"Keys...um, if it's too much, just say -- I understand."
His brows furrow as he traces the curves of your back with his hands.
"Why're you still worried about that with me?"
You swallow nervously, shaking your head to try and will away the mild embarrassment.
"I've just been with guys that...don't like this. Me on top. Because I'm...heavier. Than them."
He blinks slowly, not believing what he's hearing. Well, yeah actually. Guys were mostly assholes, so...yeah. Some of them probably would say some ridiculous shit like that.
"That sounds like a weak man. Because I can't wait to watch these bounce in my face while I fuck up into you."
He tugs you down gently, burying his face in your chest again and planting hot, open-mouthed kisses on your sternum. You whimper and tentatively settle your weight until you're fully seated on his lap. You wait for a groan or a tap-out, anything to indicate you were right and this was too much for him.
Instead you feel his hand reach between you both as he lines up the head of his cock at your entrance and slides into you. The stretch is so intense, and the angle has him hitting you so deep while his pelvis brushes your sensitive clit in rhythm with your circling hips.
"Fuck, yes. Oh my god, you're so tight. Jesus, I'm not gonna last very long with you squeezing me like this."
You languorously roll your pussy over his rigid length again, both of you sighing deeply at how full and warm and fucking heavenly you feel together.
"Then you better make it count, Keys."
You lean in to kiss his lips, and he links his arms behind your lower back to pin you against him before he starts rutting up into your soaked cunt. You start to cry out, but bite his shoulder to stifle it. His lips are right at the shell of your ear, whispering the filthiest praises.
"Goddamn, baby, that's so good. That's right, you like it when you're getting fucked? Like me fucking you? Oh, god, you are so fucking good to me. Thank you, thank you, fuck --"
The tight rubbing of skin on your swollen clit and the ferocity of his thick cock dragging through your walls has you cumming a second time with ease. He feels you dripping down his sack onto the leather of the couch, and milking him from within.
"Yes, that's it, oh my god. Oh, I'm gonna cum -- I can--?"
"Yes, please, cum inside me, Keys. Yes, yes!"
His hot release fills you up and dribbles out from where you both are still connected. You sit there, panting into each other's mouths and lazily peppering the other with kisses.
You help tidy each other up with what you have in the office and try to look semi-put-together again before returning to the work day.
Because it's still a fucking work day.
He stops at your door and turns to look at you, settled back down into your chair behind your desk. You share a smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and he gives you a small wink. He opens the door.
"...And if I didn't get my point across, I'll just have to come back and go over it all again sometime, but I'm swamped, okay? I gotta get back downstairs."
He closes the door and grins at you through the window as he passes by to go towards the elevators. Someone from a cubicle in the floor scurries over and knocks after he leaves. She peeks inside when you tell her to come in.
"Oh my gosh, were the devs giving you shit again?"
You bite back a smile and nod sympathetically.
"Yeah, they just really like rubbing it in, y'know?"
"Ridiculous. I have half a mind to go up there and chew them out myself."
"Aww, don't worry about it. I can handle him."
summer breeze | eddie munson 18+
wrote a drabble cus im just thinking about drugdealer!eddie at a party (ones that hes tired of going to) to sell and make money, but you take him completely off of his game once he notices you.
drugdealer!eddie x plus sized!fem!reader
warnings: 18+ only! minors do not interact or get BLOCKED. pwp (sorta), eddie and reader are both in their early twenties (eddie is a year or two older than reader), flirting, p in v (protected pls wrap it up!), fingering, mentions of oral (fem receiving), descriptions of feminine fat bodies, itsyyy bit of body issues (reader isn't insecure just aware of her body), very light choking if you squint, dirty talk (i think hes filthy here), body worship, use of pretty girl, daddy, baby, sweetheart, etc lmk if i missed something.
please do not forget to read and educate yourself on the genocide in gaza! please do your daily clicks and donate to families in need for sudan, congo and palestine + more. https://arab.org/ scroll down on my page for resources and posts about palestine! it will always be free palestine and boycotting the show stranger things as there are three raging zionists on set! no longer taking requests for stranger things or tlou!
arab.org aims to empower every person & every organization to do Good.
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i definitely see eddie munson being the one that's invited to the party to make money, find customers, manage to provide the entire party with weed and other drugs people wanted. maybe he's not the most fun, given he was burnt out after his teen years from doing crazy shit like trying pills and psychedelics to skipping class to drive two towns over, drinking and partying to make up for a life time.
he's not there to necessarily party. he's there to make money, drink, and observe. he doesn't even really miss the partying, or the people. since he was the plug, it was only ever about business. how much can someone get, what can they get, for what price, thanks, have a good night. he didn't get much socialization done in his life right now, so his best bet was to just watch.
he took his place on the couch, somewhere in the clouded area of the living room of whoever's house he's in right now. it was almost deja vu for him.
eddie would be SUCH an observer. quiet, listening and watching to everyone and everything since he was always in the corner unless he was needed. so when his eyes scanned the room after taking a puff of his blunt, it wasn't odd that his eyes latched onto you first.
you were wearing your usual, tube top, fishnet and jean shorts that rode up your ass and hugged the dips of your hips and waist. i think eddie tried to stop looking at you, especially when you saw him staring from your spot where you poured yourself another drink. but even you catching him didn't make him have any shame.
he was checking you out unabashedly. he was staring at the way your tits squeezed against the fabric of the tube top, how your tummy poked out of your shorts because they squeezed into your curves, how the fishnets had holes in some spots on your legs probably from stretching over the width of your thighs.
i think eddie would definitely try to make a move on you, his confidence wasn't lost on him, but he would wait. and while he would wait, he would think about touching you, talking to you, maybe even talking you through it.
he was a freak.
he waited until you finally decided to dance with a few of your friends, getting up from his spot and mixing in between the bodies to get next to you. eddie wasn't a dancer. not in these settings, even he surprised himself.
the obsession was mutual. your hands couldn't stop touching him as you two danced, whispering little things in each other's ears.
"you're really fucking pretty, you know that? like, insanely pretty. i couldn't stop looking at you from across the room." his voice was all you heard even when the music tried to drown it out, he was the only one you could listen to.
"eddie right?" you asked in his ear and your voice was even sweeter than he thought. he just nodded and let his hands fall onto your hips.
"you think i'm pretty?" you asked, your eyes fluttering up at him and biting your lip.
eddie only put his hands on your waist and squeezed, pulling you into him and smiling as you both danced together. putting your hands on his chest as he moved his hands to the lower part of your back and dipping his finger tips into your shorts, he leaned down and whispered in your ear,
"more than pretty. can't even focus on my job when you're right there in front of me just begging for me to come and take you away."
your eyes flutters again, this time with your lips parted and small hitch in your throat.
it was the same expression you had that night, upstairs in the guest room as everyone partied below you when he pushed his fingers inside of your heat.
"oh, ooh baby," he would say as he watched your cunt suck his fingers in, coating him in your juices and making a mess over his hand.
"i-i'm, eddie, oh my god eddie," you groaned, jean shorts discarded and panties moved to the side as he played with your cunt.
his hands ripped the fishnets between your thighs, letting his fingers spread the thick of your cunt and press his finger pads onto the glistening pearl that made you flutter your eyes shut.
it was the same expression you gave when he pushed his length into your sopping heat, and grabbed onto every inch of skin he could. once he entered you after making you cum on his fingers, he got eager.
eddie pulled your top down and let your tits free, becoming even more obsessed you might end up having to put a restraining order on him. it turned out, eddie was a tit man. he played with your tits as he slid in and out of you, squeezing your pebbled nipples and teasing them. sucking on his fingers just to play with your nipples, grabbing your tits and pushing them together to watch them bounce as he fucked you.
he was in love.
you didn't know eddie much, but he took his time with you. even when the party seemed to get even more rowdy, he only fucked into you harder. his hips snapping against your thighs, now calves on his shoulders as he quickly grabbed a pillow and slid it under the small of your back.
"my fucking god, sweetheart, look at you," he said, slipping back into you and adding a stretch that added to your pleasure, "even fuckin' prettier like this, you know that? goddamn, i'm gonna fucking get addicted to this pussy,"
the wind had been knocked out of you, breathless and scrambling for something to say but without missing a beat eddie ran his fingers through his hair and grabbed your ankles, spreading your legs wide beside him to see you open for him.
"i, i, daddy please, i can't, too much, can't breathe," you could feel his cock in your throat, punching into you and making your legs twitch at his lace.
"just like that, pretty girl, hold yourself open like that, be good for daddy." he groaned, sitting on his knees to slide back into your gaping hole as you placed your hands on the back of your thighs.
"there we go, so fuckin' good, so pretty," he whispered to himself, watching as tears ruined your perfect makeup and sweat collected on your forehead and chest. you were ruined, aching and throbbing, still begging for him even when he was giving you what you wanted.
"please, please, so fucking good s' so fucking big," you said, out of breath as he moved to your liking.
he couldn't fuck you like that for long, not when he was watching the weight of your tits bounce and move to the rhythm of his thrusts, not when you begged for him, not when he looked at the way your legs pressed against your stomach that was so soft and round for him—now becoming his favorite part to touch as he lifts himself from his knees and putting his weight into your waist.
he got a good grip like this, you thought, feeling how his hands molded into the skin you bashed for so long just to fuck you deeper and more relentlessly.
it was when someone knocked on the door, asking for eddie, (after your second orgasm) when he decided to flip the two of you over so that his back was now against the random headboard of the bed and your thighs sat on top of his.
you were positioned at his tip, most of him sliding out after your orgasm pushed him out. you couldn't help but feel yourself drip onto his length as you looked at the state of him, hearing the man call for his friend outside of the door, and watching as eddie got lost in your curves and softness.
"fucking hell. goddamnit, look at you," he breathed, hands moving all over you, "this will never leave my mind. i'm telling you right now. gonna be thinking about this for fucking ever, thinking about this pretty fucking body on me,"
he was touching everything, all over you, squeezing parts of you you'd never though you'd let anyone see. kissing the stretch marks and moles and the extra flab of your arms and leaning you back to kiss the width of your tummy.
"sit down on me, baby, please, let me have it, let daddy have it, i've been real good for you, baby," he begged, whined, pressing the side of his face into your tits and gently suckling on the skin.
he was growing tiresome, feeling your hole clench around his weeping, red tip that ached for you. eddie didn't even realize he could throb this hard for anyone, or that he even wanted anyone as bad as he wanted you when he saw you. he didn't even know he could last as long as he did, not with you being right in front of him begging for him to fuck you.
you were beautiful, you had something about you that he couldn't take his eyes off of, something he knew he wasn't going to stop thinking about even if he tried.
"but, they're asking for you," you whimpered, fingers dragging through eddie's hair and fingernails scraping his scalp as he groped your tits and sucked on them. "the party, you have customers,"
he leaves kisses when he speaks again.
"the fuck does that matter, hm? as far as i'm concerned," he said and leaned back, watching the way your cunt looked so he could remember every detail. how juicy your cunt was, how he could palm it and rub your clit at the same time, how well your cunt wrapped around his cock when he gave everything for you to take,
"i got the prettiest, juiciest fucking pussy i've ever had in my fuckin' life right here about to sit on my cock, you think i'm gonna stop trying to make you cum so i can get a 20 dollar bill?" he scoffed, "absolutely fuckin' not. fuck that party. now let me fuck that pretty cunt baby, please, let me feel it again,"
he whimpered when he met your eyes, desperation for a nut especially like this, and you melted. you clenched around his tip and he winced as you slowly lowered yourself onto him. you were gasping at this point, trying to fight for air while you let your cunt take all of him until your clit was pressed against his thatch of hair.
"oh fuck, FUCK, fuck baby," he practically yelled, throwing his head back against the headboard and you couldn't help yourself. his hands were gripping your asscheeks so hard they left hand prints, pulling and spreading them apart just to leave slaps to imagine how your ass would jiggle with it.
it left him moaning even more.
your lips attached to his neck and kissed everywhere you could, licking his pale skin and sucking on his neck and chest. you left hickies where you could. the soberness in you wanted him to remember this, to be looked at so people can know someone fucked him this good and it was you.
the drunk in you just wanted to claim him as yours. let everyone know he was fucking you. and only you. or so you convinced yourself to think.
as you buried your face into his neck and suckled and licked, your cunt clenched around him and slowly you lifted your hips up, just to slam them back down and make lewd noises fill the room. his moaning was turning you on even more, knowing his was sounding fucked out like this because of you.
"eddie, yo what the fuck? i'm tryin' to get some weed man! come on!" the obnoxious voice was drowned out by eddie's moans and whimpers as you decided to speed your bouncing up.
you did it for a hot minute, rolling your hips and bouncing your ass on your knees as you took him in with every lift of your hips. he was so much more filling this way, so much more bigger and reaching places it felt like was your stomach.
"eddie, e-eddie, p-p-please, eddie," you were crying into his neck when you whined and it only made him release a guttural groan as he quickly wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your body down to his.
"eddie, what, wh-" you tried as he fixed positions, planting his feet and raising his hips before continuously slamming up into your cunt.
"oh, oh, oh my, f-fucking, mmphf, my," you really tried, to make sense of what he was doing until your mind went blank, until you felt the head of his pink cock hitting your cervix over and over again until it began to mix pleasure with pain.
it was delicious, it was everything, and yet the man was still at the door. "eddie, eddie," you moaned, sort of forgetting about everything else but the man ramming into your sore hole, you corrected yourself quickly as he fucked you harder, "daddy!"
"woah, hey, are you, are you fucking in there?? eddie!!! my man!!" the man cheered through the door but to you it was muffled.
you couldn't hear anything but the messiness of your cunt, the squelching, the groaning and crying, the moaning and whimpering, his words making you tighten around him.
"take that fucking dick, baby, take what daddy's giving you, yeah?" he growled in your ear as he kept his pace up, your tears hitting his shoulders and your whines being muffled by his chest.
"i know baby, you're taking me so well, being so good, feel so fucking good,"
"cmon baby, let me have another one, cum again for daddy,"
"next time i'm gonna bury my fucking face between those thighs and let your ride my tongue, just wanna taste my pretty girl the right way," he was breathless, and listening to you cry from his words and beg after every sweet nothing he couldn't hold it anymore.
"get it man!" again. eddie was almost getting pissed off. actually. he was pissed off.
this random man was able to hear the way you sounded just for eddie, the way you called for him and said his name, the way you cried when his cock hit your spot over and over again in this angle.
"get the fuck out of here, fuckface!" eddie screamed angrily away from your ear, only making you clench harder as he then flipped you to lay on your side.
his cock was still inside of you, only now he laid behind you in the same position and lifted your leg by the thickness of your thigh and held it there as he lifted his thigh and slipped further inside of you.
"m' the only one that should hear you like this, not him, nobody else. look at that," he says in your ear as he uses his other hand to point your head downwards to see the way his cock slammed into your cunt over and over again, barely being able to see it over your tummy, "see how she's crying for me? god i wish you could fuckin' see yourself, how fuckin' pretty you are,"
"daddy, daddy, fuck, fuck me, fuck my pussy please, make me feel good," you managed to get out as he moved his hand from your hair to your throat, forcing you to throw your head back against his.
eddie puts his chin right at the top of your head, somehow seemingly bigger than you and crowding you as he kept his pace.
"touch yourself, princess, touch that pretty little clit for daddy, daddy's gonna make you cum all over his big fucking cock, how's that sound, pretty girl? you like that?" he asks, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.
it only grows deeper when he sees your weak hand move to your messy cunt, finding your clit and rubbing firm circles into her. eddie can feel you clench and drip onto him, covering his cock in your cum and juices as you reach your climax for the third time.
you didn't know eddie. he didn't really know you. but in this moment, holding you to his chest as you leaves kisses in your hair and on your cheek sweetly, fucking you roughly and messily, palm still at your throat.
you were crying by now, tears slipping down just for eddie to dry them back up.
"i know, i can feel you baby, can feel you gettin' close for me," he boasts, his own thrusts getting sloppy and missing the rhythm as he struggles to hold his own release back.
"so good, feels so good daddy," you gasped, voice dry and strained, "gonna make, fuck fuck, baby i can't, too much,"
"uh-uh baby, what were you gonna say? gonna make you what? cum? gonna make this pretty little cunt cum all over my cock again?" eddie's balls pulled taut, fighting back his orgasm until you clenched hard one last time and yelled out.
"yes! yes! yes! make me cum, you're making me cum, i'm cumming, daddy please," you shouted, body shaking in his hold as you move your hands to grab at his wrist and try to wriggle out of his grasp, his thrusts becoming too much too fast.
"oh fuck, oh fuck, baby, fuck," he whimpered, wincing and releasing a string of moans and groans as he cums in the condom; desperately wishing he could've painted your walls. you were still shaking in his grasp, whimpering when eddie pulls out of you and moves his hands to fix your hair.
eddie moves you to lay on your back as he sits up on one arm and admires you, the lipstick smeared and eyeshadow messy, eyeliner running and your face makeup staining whatever pillows were there.
eddie wasn't the type to think he was going to call back. thats for sure. he wasn't a dating man, a 'see you more than once in a year' man. eddie was confused for the most part, not knowing where this was gonna go next depending how he went about this last part of the interaction. he especially wasn't a girl. not that girl who asked what we are on the first hook up. not the girl who day dreamed about someone when they weren't near.
he wasn't a girl. he especially wasn't that girl.
you opened your eyes to him staring with a lopsided smile, scanning over your face and chest.
"what?" you smiled, breathlessly and sleep pulling at your eyes.
he shakes his head with a small smile and drowns out the music playing from downstairs, watching you scan his face.
"so, are you gonna call me after this? when can i see you again?"
btw, your f/o isn’t bothered that you’re fat.
it’s not a bad word, and your f/o doesn’t think so either. they love you regardless, your weight isn’t a factor in terms of how much they adore you. your weight will fluctuate, but the love your f/o has for you will not.
if your thighs rub together when you walk, so much that they end up chafed and sore.
if you have a fupa and/or an apron belly, love handles or some extra pudge in general.
if you have stretch marks all over your body or just in certain places.
if you gained weight because of medication, illness or injury – or because it’s genetic.
if you had to throw out almost your entire wardrobe and buy new clothes just so you could feel comfortable leaving the house, maybe even your room.
your f/o adores you, and your weight doesn’t change that. if you want to lose weight, then your f/o will support you and make sure you keep yourself safe while on that journey. though, if you don’t want to lose weight, or can’t for any reason, they’ll stay by your side regardless.
maybe your f/o is slim, toned, muscular – or maybe they aren’t human!
that doesn’t matter.
for your f/o, only your happiness does.
read my dni byi
Are your fics safe for black readers?
Yeah, of course!! My fics are safe for all types of readers. I rarely go into physical description at all but I never get specific about it. You’ll never find me writing certain eye, hair, skin, or even nail polish color lol. Nothing like that at all.
The only descriptions I get into are that my fics are written with plus size bodies in mind. Anybody can read them!!! I’d love for everyone of all body types to be comfortable reading my fics. But they just have to be ok with coming across description words that imply a larger body. Then also whether it’s fem, gender neutral, trans, or male reader implies I use specific language about what happens in the smut but that’s always written in my Masterlist what kinda reader pov it is.
Mo’Nique as Jazmin Biltmore in Phat Girlz (2006)
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Aunties outfits was cute as hell in this movie.