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motherofagony · 5 months

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FIRE WALK - one shot

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: au, no outbreak!joel x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni word count: 6.5k summary: a chance encounter at a motel has you crossing paths with a stranger in a blue t-shirt. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), very brief references to past non-con encounters (not with joel, no details just shitty men in general), soft!joel, alcohol, mentions of family trauma and ab*se, unprotected piv, fingering, oral (f + m receiving), A Scene With a Belt™, slight mentions of reader's clothing but no physical descriptions otherwise, love as consumption and women as fruit a/n: this was a brain-worm of a one shot, so i had to press pause on AHFE and get it out. consider it a dirty love letter to strangers with stories in shitty motels. and i have to give the biggest thank-you to @iamskyereads for stepping in and offering to be my beta reader in the final hour. she was so unbelievably thorough and thoughtful and kind. i owe you big.

New-age boogeymen hang two-way mirrors and jiggle motel door handles with broken hangers.

That’s what the news says.

August licks an unforgiving line of heat up your back, and cutoff denim and halter tops do nothing but give the sun more skin to burn.

It’s sweltering, brutal as an Arizona summer is, and The Palms Motel promises a pool and a mini bar on their dirty marquee. You’ll take what you can get, can’t really afford to be picky with fifty dollars in your pocket, but at least maybe you’ll live like royalty tonight.

Some guy you met — Tom, Tim, Jim, whoever — pulls his convertible up to the front office. Your knees knock together over the speed bump, cartilage kissing bone.

It’s the closest you’ve ever come close to a chauffeur, but the chauffeur you see in movies doesn’t usually take liberties with trying to work his grease-speckled mechanic hand up the passenger’s shirt.

You met him at a gas station in Tucson, thumbing your way from northern Texas to put as much distance between you and your whiskey-breathed dad as you could. He’d torn your clothes apart at the seams with his eyes when he spotted you in the parking lot, swimming in blood-infested waters with sharp, sharp teeth.

There was no plan, no directions penned and cities circled on a folded map, just glass in your hair and a final straw.

He asked if you could buy him some booze — revoked license, baby, y’know how that goes — and you shouldn’t have, but when he flashed a leather wallet thick with cash, you knew you’d be stupid not to.

You hid behind a shelf inside the gas station while he idled in the parking lot and plucked a fifty from the wad, stuffing it deep in your bag. You grabbed some shitty malt-something from a fridge along with a 6-pack, flashing the slack-jawed cashier a wink.

He didn’t try to hide the eye contact with your tits, but neither do most men. Sometimes you milk it in your favor, sometimes it just makes your lunch rise to the back of your throat.

And when you’re by yourself, it’s hot iron, ready to strike. A doe in their headlights, a buck with a nice rack. Skipping through the center of their bullseye.

You bought a little palm-sized bottle for yourself and tucked it safely next to the stolen cash in the abyss of your purse. These tiny cons got you by, made power surge deep in your belly. It made loneliness feel worth it, knowing you had an upper hand to lean on if you were ever in a bind.

He bitched about inflation when you came out with less than was reasonable for the amount you spent, and you just shrugged. Not your cash, not your problem.

You bartered for a ride to the nearest motel, and now Tom-Tim-Jim is asking you over the purr of the engine if you need company for the night.

If you were feeling a little more you, you might’ve taken him up on it. Maybe he would’ve even paid for the room, maybe he wouldn’t get angry like your dad does. Maybe he’d be able to fuck you without hitting you.

You’re good at diffusing the temper in most men, can touch them in ways that make them grit their teeth, can be a good girl and go fetch.

But you’re not in the mood to bend, to give someone’s son — someone’s husband with a tan line around their ring finger — a place to wipe their shoes on. You don’t feel like wiping their dirt, your mascara from your eyes and saying thank you while they zip up their pants.

And you sure as fuck don’t fancy being on a milk carton.

“I’m alright, sugar. Thanks for the ride,” you say, dipping your chin to peer over your sunglasses. “I know where to find you, don’t worry.”

Yeah fuckin’ right.

He doesn’t try to conceal his disappointment, just sucks his teeth and squeezes at the exposed skin of your thigh. His way of saying goodbye to something he could’ve dripped sweat on, came in too early. You think your flesh might rot off in chunks.

You open the door and swing your legs out in a way that’s a little too eager.

Tom-Tim-Jim waves solemnly with two fingers up and two bent, and then he’s gone in an aggressive rev.

The motel might’ve been a kitschy dream in its heyday. It’s not a total dump; more of a vintage skeleton of washed-out pink and umbrellas that’ve been ripped by weather and overuse. There are a million faded emblems of cartoonish palm trees. It’s almost endearing how tragic it is.

You can tell that it was popular and swarming with tourists at one time — there are dusty, water-stained pamphlets lining the wall next to the front desk that brag Named one of Arizona’s top destinations in 1996!

A mounted fan whirs and oscillates, but it might as well be someone blowing hot breath down your neck.

There’s a tired woman holding down the fort at the desk with a name tag that claims Brenda, and she looks surprised to see you. You figure most customers are stopping in for a night’s rest on the way to somewhere more important, their final destination. But you don’t look like you have anywhere better to be.

“Hey, honey,” Brenda trickles, laced with an accent that’s more New Orleans than Arizona. “Need a room?”

“Yeah, just for the night,” you say, fishing out your wallet with confidence that doesn’t meet your eyes. “How much?”

“Forty-five a night, ‘less you wanna upgrade to the honeymoon suite.” She looks somewhere over your shoulder.

That’s nearly everything you have, but it sounds a lot like tomorrow’s problem. At least you’ll be safe tonight from the prowling stares of nighttime predators, and the leftover change will give you a decent vending machine dinner.

“Just a normal room’s fine,” you smile, sliding over the crumpled, stolen fifty.

Brenda types busily on the keyboard, asking for your name but nothing else. And when she hands you a plastic keycard, you finally relax your shoulders. Untangle the nerves in your lower back that are choking one another.

Room 17, it reads. Your oasis awaits!

You thank her, spin on your heel, and immediately bump chest to chest with something hard.

You’re eye level with a worn, cornflower blue t-shirt, ringed with a light stain of sweat at the collar. They’re grasping both of your arms to steady you, and you’re snagging the gaze of a tousled man with a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Watch where you’re goin’,” he murmurs, but it isn’t reprimanding or mean like you’re used to, just sickly sweet and Texan. Syrupy in a way that drips right down between your legs.

You don’t remember seeing anyone else in the lot when you’d pulled up. And the stealth of him entering soundlessly behind you sends a jolt of electricity up your spine, the clench of something that would be fear if it were any other stranger.

But he doesn’t look at you with intent to devour or to claim. Just eyes you like you’re anyone else. An equal. The bare minimum, but rare and shiny nonetheless.

“Sorry,” you breathe, and he’s releasing you a little too quickly for your liking. Leaving brands on the creases of where your forearms meet upper and elbow.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

So you don’t.

You brush past him on the way out, a polite nod. And that’s that.

The heat is the kind that feels hotter, unbearable when paired with the shrill sing of cicadas. An endless buzzing that you think might be the sun sizzling on the concrete. If you stood in one place for too long, your flip flops might very well melt you in place.

Your room key clicks to unlock Room 17, and you push the door open to a heavy, humid space that smells vaguely of mold. You’re so grateful for the privacy that you can’t even bring yourself to wrinkle your nose.

Flip flops discarded, your toes sink into shag carpet — a dirty luxury that makes you moan. It’s only been two days since you left home, fled home, but it beats sleeping with one eye open on a bus stop bench.

You up-end your leather bag, dumping all of its contents onto the bed. Cigarettes, some loose film canisters, your toothbrush, a lighter. There wasn’t much time to pack, nothing worth bringing, and the less, the better. Nothing to weigh you down if you had to dip at a moment’s notice.

It takes you only a couple minutes and a light sheen of sweat to realize that the A/C is busted. Smothered, you try to crack open a window in the bathroom, but it’s no cooler than the hell you’re standing in.

When you let Brenda know, she just shrugs with an apologetic kind of half-smile.

“Most of ‘em are out these days, honey,” she says, and you decide then that it’s a small price to pay. “We got someone comin’ to look at it next week.”

You shoot her a smile, figure that she’s had enough rotten backtalk in her day. You scoop a set of flamingo-themed matches from the bowl on the counter and turn around, only to see a familiar blue shirt waiting his turn.

His eyes try not to roam, but he’s giving you a nod and stepping up without hesitation, asking Brenda for extra towels.

The way that she titters and blushes, you’d think he’d asked if he could spit in her mouth.

It irritates you, and you can’t say why.

The door chimes behind you as it closes, and you linger, striking a match and lighting a cigarette. When he emerges, a stack of towels so high it’s hitting his chin, you step in stride on the walk back. Tracing his footsteps, catching up with his shadow.

“You followin’ me?” you quip, a cigarette dangling from your mouth. The cherry ignites on every breath, smoke erupting in tendrils that hug each word.

He answers with a laugh, turns and squints back at you with one eye. Almost as if he was expecting you to ask.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? Could say the same to you.”

You stop in front of 17, hand over your brow to shield from the sun that’s winding its way down, getting ready to tuck itself in for the night. There’s nothing that touches your tongue that doesn’t sound exactly like a fuck yes. So you don’t say anything.

“Enjoy your sauna,” he chuckles over his shoulder, passing you with his towels on the way to Room 20.

—

Led Zeppelin filters out through the radio, half-static, half-electric. Your legs are crossed in the air behind you, and you’re posted up face down on the bed, kicking along to the beat while you flip through whatever Cosmopolitan someone left behind in a drawer.

Someone raps a few times on the door, and if it’s a repairman, they’re getting their fucking dick sucked.

You army-roll off the flowery duvet, abandoning a how-to on finding your g-spot, and you peer through the peephole.

Your breath hitches on a soft swear.

When you open the door, you see Blue T-Shirt standing there, skin creasing around his eyes slyly. An unopened beer hangs and swings from his restless fingers. He offers it up wordlessly, the butt of it pointed at you.

It’s ice-cold and slippery to the touch, erupting goosebumps on your forearm. Saliva coats your tongue, and you don’t think it’s the thirst for alcohol, but maybe the tall drink of water.

“Um… thanks?”

“Figured you’d either be dead by now or parched,” he says smugly, and it’s velvet to your ears.

“Oh. Yeah, thanks. I got the fan to work at least,” you mutter, jerking your thumb vaguely behind you.

“Listen, uh —”

He’s rubbing the nape of his neck, and you catch the way the network of muscles flex from his elbow to the seam of his armpit. He looks like he’s in pain, struggling with the fit of a puzzle piece into something rough and jagged.

Something he shouldn’t be trying but has to see it through, exhaust it until it’s definite one way or the other.

You just squint, sucking in the corner of your lip between your teeth. You nearly grin, but it’s much more fun to watch than to connect the dots for him.

“A/C works in my room, so ‘f you wanted to… y’know,” he trails off, not even sure in his own offer. “No pressure. It’s hot as hell outside, don’t want you t’get heat stroke ‘f I can help it.”

This kind of approval you like. This kind that sizzles girl-honey between your legs, winning it from a man that’s playing to earn, not to cheat.

“I try not to make a habit out of going into motel rooms of guys I don’t know the names of,” you harp sweetly. But it might as well be a done-deal.

“D’you make a habit outta accepting beers from ‘em?”

You smile. Typically, yes.

“Joel.”

His hand shoots out, strong and suggestive. Fingers like alligator teeth that’ll grip you, hold you under until you thrash.

And you pluck your cigarettes and gifted liquor bottle from the bed, arms full when you carry them down to Joel’s room.

—

You’re sprawled on the full-size bed next to his, head propped up on hand propped up on elbow.

You’ve been trading your little fist of bourbon back and forth, swapping stories in the same way. Somehow, you fall into it easy like old friends, and it’s nice to follow someone’s lead instead of keeping one step, three, seven steps ahead. Arm outstretched to the door knob, feet ready to break into a run at the change in tone, blackening of pupils.

Without meaning to, you’ve wordlessly agreed that the person in possession of the bottle has the proverbial mic, and they swig to help with details and theatrics. It’s counter-productive in flow, but it makes you laugh when Joel exaggerates the story he’s telling on purpose, reaching out to pass it back and suddenly yanking it back, remembering a shade of gray or a funny expression.

Your knuckles keep zapping each other, brushing a little longer than the time before. There’s no numbness to consensual touch.

Joel’s mid-40s. From Texas, like you. He came to visit his daughter Sarah at college, says she’s growin’ up too fast, doesn’t need her old man anymore. It’s a thrill to see someone talk about their own flesh with love, admiration for who she is and who she’s becoming. You find yourself leaning in, enraptured that there are no IOUs or fine-print that you know to come with a parent’s love.

Mentions of his stubborn brother Tommy who he works with and who just can’t stop getting into trouble. The unspoken guilt that maybe he could be the one to keep him out of jail if he tried harder. It doesn’t work that way, and you tell him so.

You tell him about your dad when he asks about your life, your story, and you don’t know why you do but maybe you know exactly why. No one ever gets close enough to ask, so it comes leaking out of the corners of your mouth.

You’ve never told anyone, not even your diary, not even the guidance counselor who slipped a note to your fifth grade teacher and pulled you out of class. Shaky fingers, shaky limbs when they asked if they could roll up your sleeves just to see and you said no.

Crying because you knew your dad wouldn’t let you go back. Not to school, not to your friends.

You omit the nitty-gritty details, but Joel gets the gist. Swigs his share of the liquor a little too angrily with tight lips. Not like your dad does, but you don’t miss the irony of it all.

He holds anger for you, on behalf of you. It simmers as he listens to you in patient silence, coming to a boil at the bad parts when he gets up and starts walking lines in the shitty carpet. Pretending to look outside in interest at his truck parked at the end of the lot, but gripping the curtains until you can see every expanse of bone in his hand.

You don’t need this from him. It’s a hurt you’ve wedged between the pages of a book and doused in flames of acceptance long ago. But it spreads from your toes to your ears, the burn of someone feeling like this. For someone like you.

He finally settles down in an armchair by the window, a funny corduroy thing that would probably light up under a blacklight on one of those crime shows. Legs parted, a warm stare on the way you take up space on the bed. Facing him comfortably, your vision buzzing around the edges. A loose smile shared as if this room was meant for the two of you all along.

“So, what’s your plan?” Joel’s humming, his words getting lost in an echo of the bottle neck.

You don’t have one. Can’t have one when you have nowhere to go but gone.

It stretches on and on between you — a mouth opened and closed too many times on possibilities. If you admit to it, you end up with pity or an upper hand dealt to a stranger. You can’t afford to owe anyone a favor, nor can you front the cost of needing one.

But you’re so tired.

“Dunno. I’ll figure it out.”

“You got enough time for that?”

And you know what he means. Enough time in the motel, enough time before you’re a thief at wit’s end, doing anything for survival. He doesn’t need to ask to know you don’t have a destination, some relative waiting for you in a California dream.

You’ve excused yourself to the bathroom, soft radio bleeding in under the door, arms braced on the sink, all glossy eyes.

You want him, bad. But he won’t make the first move, won’t take advantage of what isn’t his and what others before him took without asking. You’re a pawn, entitled to the first move. The rejection would kill you, but not knowing would be worse.

He could hold you soft, give you something to think about when tomorrow rips you both in opposite directions.

When you pull open the door, Joel’s frozen in mid-stride towards you, like he’s just made up his mind about something.

He straightens but he’s still. Afraid of moving too fast, saying too much, scaring you into flight. Out of the unlocked cage of his room — something he did on purpose, because he doesn’t expect anything from you and wants you to know he doesn’t.

You meet him in his dusty shag quicksand. You take his wrist in your hand, kiss the thrum of life in the dip where veins meet palm. An offering.

Joel looks like he’s in pain, like what you’re doing is excruciating and thorny. The front of his jeans strains. He’s searching you for any hesitation, any obligation because he did something kind. He knows what currency you feel the need to pay in, and this isn’t that.

“Please,” you whisper simply. And he nods, accepting, succumbing.

There’s a careful meeting of lips, wanting to do it the right way, in the right order. When you push your tongue in, used to the pace of animals, he just holds your face and slows you down. It’s languid, his mouth showing you what sweet and gentle can taste like. Your tongues take their time, and your hands slip beneath the hem of his shirt, all ribbed muscle with a sprinkling of hair.

He shudders against the lightness of your feather-fingers.

Joel’s hands are peeling your shirt off, his thumbs resting to press against pillowy hips. He’s not letting your lips go, something like impatience stirring in you.

Doesn’t he want to fuck you hard? Fuck you fast and selfish?

Isn’t there a catch?

He’s taking his shirt off now, up and over. Carved by Michaelangelo, thrown up on a ceiling in a library book you read once. You’re touching him in reverence, but not letting yourself learn too much of him.

His eyes are molten. Joel walks you back to the edge of the bed, scratchy quilt tickling your thighs when you fall back on it. You start to pose yourself, angles that make you look more desirable, pliable. But he’s not paying attention to that, just unbuttoning your shorts, kissing the jut of every curve and permeating down to the bone, punching out a soft groan when he slides the denim off and sees the shining ambrosia that’s waiting.

He’s kneeling, tugging you down to meet his waiting mouth. And you’re just breathless, flinching when he pulls you apart, guiding your legs over his shoulders and wasting no time devouring you. Your legs, his bib.

Joel’s tongue flicks through the shell of you, teasing you in alternates of quick and slow, starving and full. It feels like a slice of heaven.

You pitch out a tangled gasp, hands instinctively moving to knot in his hair. Anything to hold onto, a different kind of grounding.

“So wet f’me,” he vibrates lowly into you, all husk. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

He sinks a middle finger into you, and you’re keening, hips canting and unable to stay glued to the mattress. You feel him smile against your cunt, just pressing his forearm across your lower half to keep you still.

Joel’s twisting and working into you, onto you, and you’re so fucking close from just this — a tiptoeing to the edge that grows longer, more erratic in stride. He sucks your clit — pulsing sensitive, so swollen — into his mouth and grazes it with the tip of his tongue just so. Baring his incisors and closing around you in a delicious scrape like a Venus flytrap taking its meal.

You think you see God behind the flutter of your eyes.

You’re close enough to warn him, to rasp it out in the symphony of moans. His free hand reaches up to roll your peaked nipple between his forefinger and thumb, and he stretches you with an added ring finger. You’re writhing. Possessed.

He’s watching you through thick lashes. Letting your heels dig into his shoulders as the drenched sounds of you fill the room.

“Joel, please — I’m gonna —”

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he just murmurs.

You feel that little pull at your navel.

And you’re tipping in a freefall, seeing stars. You clench down around his fingers, fingers that are still pumping against that spongy spot deep inside you. Your arousal gushes, wet and sticky against the scrape of his beard. He laps you up, the sight making heat creep up your chest and wrap around your neck.

When he lifts his head, he’s high on it. Pupils dilated like tiny, round moons. Your orgasm glistens on him, smeared over lips and chin. The fur of a peach peeled back far enough to sink teeth into.

It’s fucking filthy.

Joel places open-mouthed kisses from your hip up to the center of your breasts, a trail of your orgasm shiny on your skin in perfect, sloppy Os. His breath meets your throat where he nips at you, and you don’t have time to drag in a breath before you’re tasting the saltiness of yourself on his tongue.

Your fingers fumble on his belt, practiced with years of releasing the tension on the metal prongs, the slithering sound whooshing from the loops of pants. You’re good at it, like you used to be good at gymnastics until your mom stopped getting out of bed to drive you.

There was always a little gold for contorting your body.

He detaches from you unwillingly, putting all of his weight on his knees and shins as he straddles the space of your thighs.

You’re pulling yourself up in a sitting position, pushing denim and boxers down past his hips. Letting his cock spring free, the head a dark pink and beaded with precum. You swipe the flat of your tongue against it, peeking up at him while you soak up the taste of it.

When you push the length of him into your mouth, ridged hard with veins, Joel tips his head back, chin to the ceiling. He groans something brutish yet helpless, cradling the back of your head. You’re seated in the driver’s seat, all control.

It’s new, different.

But then he’s moving his hips back, pulling himself from your mouth, wiping the saliva from your chin with a steady thumb.

“Don’t need t’do that,” Joel whispers hoarsely. “Not ‘f you don’t want to.”

Confused, you knit your brows. He laughs darkly, shaking his head.

“Didn’t mean it like that, it’s — it feels fuckin’ good,” he says, awestruck. “Would just rather make you feel good instead.”

Oh.

He doesn’t wait for an answer or a negotiation. The rest of his clothes pool on the floor in a pile, and he’s climbing back over you, an anchor or a buoy in a storm.

He lines himself up at the seam of you, puffy and so wet from before, nudging the tip of his cock at your warm center. A thumb coaxing the bud at the apex of you in lazy circles.

Joel’s sliding in slowly by each inch, filling you full until there’s nothing left and his patch of hair prickles the pearl of your clit. All you can do is whine and tense around him.

He’s resting tentative hands on either side of your face, indenting the weak mattress with handprints. He groans, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t give in when you try to rock against him.

“This alright?”

You’ve forgotten how to do anything, hoping that digging your fingertips into his forearms is communication enough.

“I’m gonna need a yes, baby.”

You feel around in the dark for the tether back to your body, and it jerks you like a marionette, giving him a nod.

“Yes. Fuck.”

That’s enough. He’s rewarding you with a roll of his hips, and you feel like you’re on fire. It’s a stuttering, painfully slow pace at first, his mouth so close to your ear that every grunt is amplified. But it evolves into something eager, unsatiated, snapping up into you with a relentless sort of fucking.

He’s hitting that place so deep within you, letting you unravel and grow hoarse from the moans tearing their way up your throat. That pressure is roiling, the kind that you get only when you touch yourself but intensified by a million.

It just feels so right, because there’s nothing to prove.

You’re ships passing in the night, strangers making a pit-stop on the way to nowhere. There’s no backstory, no history to make mention of. No shame in the morning when he inevitably rolls over and pretends to be asleep, and you scrub off the smell of him with your provided travel-size shampoo.

It’s not love, but it might be the closest you ever get.

The glow of him above you, a deity with his face screwed in agony. Chasing after you when he feels the tightening of your cunt, the easy glide of every thrust that tells him you’re close.

Then, you’re snapping like a rubber band. Gushing in a dripping mess that trickles to where your ass meets thigh. Crying without tears, overstimulated but blissful. Joel is quick to follow, like he’s been waiting his turn.

He’s trembling, emptying inside you in a warm flood. Groaning low and beautiful, gripping your hips to keep you flush to him.

When pulls out, tearing himself away, he’s slinging an arm over his eyes on the pillow beside yours. One hand on your leg to make sure you don’t go anywhere.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him mutter.

At some point you drift off, his arm draped over you. You open a bleary eye to a neon 2:49AM that casts a halo over the nightstand. Joel’s tucked you in, the thin duvet snug up to your shoulder. He’s not snoring but not not snoring, just breath getting caught in his throat in a satisfied, well-spent way.

It’s all too much, too pure to be real.

Before you let yourself change your mind, you slink out from under the warmth of your generous stranger. You step in your shorts one foot at a time, tugging them up gelatin legs too springy from coiling and uncoiling.

You promise yourself that you’ll take just one mental picture as a keepsake, and it’s this. A sleepy Joel who will be well on his way to a second cup of coffee on the way out of Arizona, maybe even nursing a little headache behind his right eye. And he’ll remember an apparition of some girl he fucked in a motel. The touristy thing to do, a sight to see.

He might even tell Tommy, say you were a crazy little thing with too much baggage, but it was fun to stay up past his bedtime.

You don’t mean to do it, really you don’t, but you flip through his wallet that lays innocently on top of the TV.

If you take a little something, that’ll turn this into another one of your stories that you tell your kids born from a loveless marriage somewhere in the crevices of a future from now. It won’t pull on the tendons of your heart.

And it won’t mean anything. You won’t let it.

—

The next morning, there’s a soft knock at the door, and it’s probably housekeeping kicking you out for overstaying your welcome. Time to turn down the bed for the next lost soul. You imagine Joel’s long gone, hopped in his truck and back to a reality you’ll never meet him in.

Your fingers are slow to gather up your purse, and you’re shoving your toothbrush in from its place on the sink.

“I’ll be out in a second!” you yell in a voice that reeks of years of diner-flavored customer service.

More persistent knocking that borders on pounding. It shakes the chain in the deadbolt.

You’re yanking open the door, and there’s Joel, white shirt and jeans. And it isn’t that cushion of admiration from last night, no greeting with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Just a wolf coming to claim his continental breakfast.

Fuck.

You try to shut the door, suddenly too ashamed of what you’ve done, and to someone undeserving. Someone that showed you kindness, empathy.

But his boot catches the door before it can close, and he’s inside, slicing through the space between you. It’s not quite anger, but it’s shadowy. Sardonic.

Your shoulder blades kiss the cheap wallpaper.

“You’re real funny, y’know that?” he starts, and he’s smiling but not really.

Shrinking small, so small that maybe you’ll disappear.

There’s a tick of silence. His thumb skates to your collarbone and then to the hollow at the base of your throat. He wants to squeeze but he doesn’t, his fingers wrapping loosely around the column to fix you there. Heat creeps up the back of your neck into your hairline.

The instinct to flinch bubbles up against your joints, but you can’t bring yourself to.

“Y’think you can fuck me,” he muses, disgustingly deadpan, “‘n steal from me.”

Dread weighs heavy like lead in your stomach. You can’t stop yourself from shaking your head, still playing dumb.

He bristles at that, thunderous. You both know it’s a lie; you’re a hundred dollars richer than you were last night. His fingers briefly flex around you in a way that you’ve seen before, and horror hits a fever pitch in you.

Tears prick your eyes, and you’re putting your palms on his chest and shoving, but he doesn’t give. Unstoppable force meets immovable object, and all that.

It’s not so much the blaring punctuation in a sentence, the ticking of dynamite ready to blow. He’s confronting you with proximity, with your own dishonesty. Wanting to shake you and tell you that it doesn’t have to be this way.

Joel just leans in closer, almost grazing noses. You try to breathe around the lump of panic.

“The hell’s the matter with you?”

It’s disbelief, it’s hurt. In the same way, it’s understanding, incredulous. It’s him stepping back and loosening the hold around your neck like no one’s ever done; it’s softening and imploring.

He’s shoving his hands in his pockets, guilty and recoiling. Sorry he could even make himself look like one of them — a forced penance in the flesh.

There’s no answer that can justify what you did. Nothing simple about nothing personal. But truly… that’s all it was. A pie wafting steam on an open windowsill. Something to make you feel better about the void he’d leave.

“‘F you needed money, you coulda just asked.”

He’s disappointed, desperate. In a tone that really says, I would’ve done anything you wanted.

A dam inside you gives, crumbling deep at the foundation and knocking the walls down around you. Words don’t come, but you shove your hand in blind into your bag, pulling out the loose bill and extending it.

Joel sees the regretful offering and your heart with x-ray vision. That you think of yourself as a doll, less valuable without her box. Used without tags. Free to a good home.

He shakes his head, the softness of a keep it barely peeking out of his mouth.

You’re skinning yourself raw, wanting another way out but having none. With half a mind to say that the next night could come with fangs.

You feel the stab of relief, and shame. So much shame.

Like a soothsayer, he foresees the coldness of a bench, the shrinking of you into the safety of an alley.

You drop to your knees in exaltation, thinking you know what’ll fix this. You can’t see through the watercolor blur of your tears, but you touch his belt with fingers that are cold to the tips.

But Joel knows what you’re doing, shaking his head no no no.

He won’t let you do it like this. He drags you up gently by the elbows. Pulls you into his chest, says stop stop stop. Kisses your hair, then your lips. You cry until he can taste the tears, until the front of his shirt is damp.

“I’m sorry,” you rasp out roughly. “I’m so sorry.”

He tells you to never say sorry to him again.

—

Joel pays for a room for two more nights, but only one — his with the working A/C.

You move your toothbrush and your bag over to Room 20.

You go to the pool, swimming laps around him in a tank top and your cherry-embroidered underwear, squealing and splashing in a flail when he swims underneath your legs and stands up to hold you on his tan shoulders.

Sunscreen streaks greasy on your stomach when you lay out together on the loungers after. Joel likes a cat-nap with his face under a towel, grumpy and tired from the sun. But he never snaps at you, never gets impatient when you ask too many questions while he’s dozing off.

You learn the pinched expression he makes just before he comes. That his right palm has hundreds of lines you can see best by lamplight. He misses the noise of Sarah in his house, of sharing the coffee pot with someone. He doesn’t like the small piling of toast crumbs left only by him on the kitchen table.

He learns that you apologize for wet, clean hair on his pillowcase, for laughing too loud. Things that don’t need a sorry. A collection of oversaturated manners that might take time to unlearn, but he promises to teach you.

He learns that you approach an orgasm with tentative toes in cold water, almost unbelieving that sex can give, give, give instead of take, take, take. He learns that you like the meeting of eyes when he’s buried between your legs, pushing your thighs apart to keep from suffocating. That when he does let you get on your knees for him, you know just the spot to caress with your tongue on the underside of his cock.

Joel’s belt is snaked under your stomach, across your hips, fists intertwined in the leather as he pulls you back, slams himself forward. It bites and creates indents in your flesh, and you don’t care. He gives you marks to love, to admire in your reflection, never ones that are ugly. Never ones out of hate over spilled milk.

There’s a dirty slap of skin, growing louder, competing with your moans. Your nails are tearing into the cheap sheets, and Joel’s so close but won’t come until he coaxes another out of you. A grand total of at least four by now, but you’ve lost count.

At long last, you splinter around him. Pitching off the cliff in a cry. Joel’s leaning — his chest, your back — and spilling deep, holding onto you for dear life. You hear him whimper in a strangle. Big, tough game that’s been taken down with an arrow in his chest.

Hot tears are flowing out of you, stuttering sobs close to follow, and Joel pulls out slowly. Seems to know why. And he rolls you over, into him, hand careful in slow strokes against your hair.

You’ve never been good at goodbyes. Maybe that’s what this is.

Men like to say that women like you are insane, too analytical, too tear-streaked, too conscious of the way they look when they sleep. Because waking up with your mouth open, a drying corner of drool threatening your cheek is too human, not pretty.

Sometimes women like you are dead, rotting pomegranate flesh. Long forgotten in decay on the ground when the weight became too heavy to hold yourself up. And those men pick up your seeds and shove them squelching back into places where they don’t fit.

The winters come bitter and harsh, but you’re always reborn in the spring. And without fail, you grow back fiercely into a tree reminiscent of Eden, low-hanging apples plucked and bruised and bitten into once and spit out in tart disgust.

Women like you choke men like this with your pits, strangle them with vines, poison them with berries. They can consume, but so can you.

But then, in the ripe, cool shade of summer, you’ll have a visitor like Joel that will come with a basket and a blanket and they’ll stay and read books beneath you. They’ll enjoy your fruit, you’ll drip from their mouth and dry tacky like flypaper, and they won’t be able to imagine a day before you.

They’ll collect all the pieces of you on a Tuesday morning and give you change to get a Coke after checkout. They’ll tuck you into the front seat of their truck, let you put your feet up on the dash, hand protective and calm on your thigh while the other steers you both back to Texas. A new home without shouting and bottles thrown.

And they’ll stay through every season.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us smut #the last of us au #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #fire walk #my writing #joel miller one shot #motherofagony

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notroosterbradshaw · 5 months

Text

about: just some smut to fend off jetlag. i love sleepy Bradley, I make no excuses that I feel he does his best work in the early hours of the day. This was supposed to be a drabble… it’s not anymore. Sorry.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: nsfw 18+, language, pure fluff, smut.

masterlist.

The morning after the night before when Bradley met your family for the first time, you'd flown across the world to surprise your dad for his birthday and really, it luckily coincided with Bradley's time off. When you mentioned heading home for your old man's special day that usually kicked off your family's holiday season, you almost fell out of your seat when he said maybe it was time he met the fam face-to-face, not just making small talk over FaceTime. It almost didn’t seem fair that he was subjected to meeting everyone this way, but alas… here you were the next morning, jet lag kicking in while wrapped protectively in Bradley’s strong, golden arms and washed in the relief your family fucking loved him. You weren't overly surprised.

Bradley's quiet, unassuming charm was just who your mum wanted you to end up with, he was into golf and surfing, so your dad and brothers thought he was the bee's knees. Your sister on the other hand...

You had to fend her off more than you would have liked. You were confident in your relationship with Bradley, knowing he'd never allow anything to happen. "You're coming across a little desperate," you hissed after one or two drinks, which mortified her, and she apologised, admitting she was just happy to finally get to meet the guy who'd swept you off your feet. "Yes, my feet," you reminded her. When she pointed out how possessive you sounded, you didn't deny it. But she got it and gave you space for the rest of the evening.

Ahh, sisters.

Bradley felt your body writhe in the gentlest of movements against his and he sighed. Sleep hadn’t come easy for either of you and compounded with the food and booze you’d indulged in the day before, neither of you slept much. “You okay, sweetheart?” he whispered at God-knows-what-o’clock.

“What time is it?” You asked softly.

“I dunno, baby. Sun is barely rising,” he admitted. “Can’t hear a peep in the house.”

Which was nice because yesterday was intense. Everyone was so excited to meet your new American boyfriend (fairly, it’d been about eight months, give or take with a few deployments), the incredibly handsome navy pilot whom you’d met one evening at a naval bar while travelling. You’d caught his eyes behind his sunglasses while he played the piano, the crowd around him as swept away with him as you were. The first half-smile in your direction, as he sang, had done you over in a way not one single person on the planet had before.

He'd charmed you instantly. He still charmed you constantly.

“Did you get any sleep?” you asked, biting back a yawn.

“Not really,” he peppered tender kisses into your shoulder blade and smiled into your skin as you pressed back into him, the oh-so-quiet moan made for his ears only waking him from his dreaded fog as well. “I’ll try and get a kip somewhere today. That fuckin’ flight murdered me.”

“You were happy to fly economy,” you muttered. “I know you’re used to tight quarters, but fuck Bradley. It was 15 hours."

“I know, I know I fucked up. I was looking at upgrades overnight. I’ll use my discount and stuff; we can do it flying home.”

“You sure?”

“Sue me for wanting to save a buck,” he sighed, with a tired, deep chuckle. “Flight was so full; people may as well have been sitting on the wings.”

“It’s Christmas. People travel.”

“You don't say,” he affectionately gripped your waist, rolling you to him and kissed you. “Good morning, I think," he nuzzled your nose against his and asked if you wanted some water or anything.

You shook your head, rolling back and snuggling into him as he adjusted his arms around you again, his nose buried in your hair. "I think Dad is gonna expect you for at least nine holes today."

"I think so, yeah. Grill me and make sure I'm good enough for his little girl.” He murmured and if he was honest, he was the teeniest bit nervous. He’d never really been in relationships long enough to meet families… and who would he introduce anyone to, except for Mav?

"I think you'll be fine."

"He probably wouldn't be if he knew what a deviant I've turned his smart, beautiful baby girl into.”

You giggled quietly as you could feel the soft ends of his moustache curve into a smirk against the nape of your neck. "He'd send you back on the first flight to LA."

"I would believe that," he said softly.

"I think yesterday went really well, Bradley," you confided quietly to him.

"You think? I was on my very best behaviour," he teased you.

"Yes, you were," you admitted. Not that he ever wasn't. Bradley was instilled with a remarkable set of manners. He was chivalrous and courteous to a fault, incredibly sweet and at times, pensive, even shy. Almost make believe that you were lucky enough to share his time. You wriggled back against him, and you could feel the hard-on straining through his boxer briefs. "Down, boy."

"Can't help it," he sighed. "You know what you do to me with that ass. I know what you want. You're not that transparent."

You bit back your pleased smile as his wandering hands travelled down your side, fingertips toying with the hem of his old Navy tee that was now your bed shirt. At home, you were nude sleepers. At your parents' home during the holidays? You showed decorum and respect and you both hated it, preferring skin-on-skin of the other but alas, anyone could walk in at any time.

“Have a thought about how we might be able to fuck this jetlag off…”

“Oh, yeah?” at this point, you’d do anything and with Bradley’s travel for work, you hoped maybe he might have some insight. You had planned to just power through and try not to be the world’s most exhausted asshole.

"You just move your thigh a little this way..." he murmured, his palm cupping your hamstring and you pressed back into him, grinning softly. “And I just slide up in here – ”

“Confident of you, don’t you think?”

“You’re always wet for me,” he whispered against your skin. “Unless you deny it.”

“Never…” you told him, reaching back to wrap an arm around his strong neck. “I just can't keep it down with you. Why didn’t you convince me to get the AirBnb?”

He loved how vocal you were during sex. Your moans, the hisses, the way you'd bite your lip when you were so close. That groan as you came, or the little squeal when you were too sensitive was burned into his brain as his favourite sounds in the world.

"Just lemme hold you then, it's okay, sweetheart," he grumbled. “I’ll live if you can.”

“Asshole,” you muttered as he chuckled.

“Do you want a blowjob?” You nervously offered, turning back to him and he looped your thigh over his hip and perched you above him with such little effort on his behalf - you loved how strong he was but you knew what was waiting for you, Bradley made no secret he was turned on and you loved that you were able to have him on a knife-edge at all times.

The one per cent, he’s told you once before.

You’re so sweet to him as you slowly dragged your hand into the waistband of his boxer briefs, revealing more and more skin, cock springing free, slapping against his toned, tanned Adonis belt. Long, thick and dripping with precum already and he almost blushed at how eager he was.

“I’ll never say no,” he replied, “And I know you might be uncomfortable here. Your dad is right across the hall, baby."

“But my daddy is right here…” you immediately corrected him, and he smiled darkly to himself. You didn't use that term lightly, you couldn’t nfi fed to him he had the ability to bring out your innermost feral when you least expected it and he would do his utmost to encourage it (if you were comfortable).

“Jesus,” his head was swirling, trying to keep calm and not blow his load the second you bared your tongue to him but there was absolutely nothing sweet about it. He was a preening mess when you went down on him. The night you'd told him you weren't overly experienced in blow jobs was the greatest night of his life, coaching you through what he liked and watching you perfect your generous technique time and time again.

These days, you loved giving Bradley head. He gave you confidence, he made you feel sexy and not like it was only about him on the receiving end. He’s whispered and encouraged, and when it all got too much, he told you he was close. He was neither here nor there on the whole spit or swallow thing… until you and your preference but he was never left empty-handed.

"Shh," you hissed. "Not a sound."

That one thing you did for him that absolutely made him come undone. And he'd bury his face in your pussy all day if you allowed him to show you how fucking grateful, he was for all the pleasure you presented him. Your sweet, tight wetness that he would eagerly drown himself in if you’d let him.

Your honeyed tongue delicately tasted the flawless head of his cock, lapping up the precum as Bradley's eyes rolled back into his head and his big hands reached to knot into your hair as you went to work, swirling your tongue and looking up with your big, scheming eyes, knowing you had him at his most precarious.

He was a weapon in his training, his mind and body were always primed to do what was asked of him, but you were the exception and it scared and excited him.

He could feel himself getting so close to painting the back of that beautiful mouth, and while it pained him to say it, the way your eyes softened told him he’d made the right choice. “Come on, baby, I want you.”

You gently pulled away and asked, “You don’t want me to finish?”

“No, I wanna fuck, baby. Watch you lose control.”

“Okay,” you said, your soft hand trading with your warm mouth to tenderly pump and tease him.

“Gimme a sec. I don't have condoms close,” he whispered. “They're in my luggage.”

"Just pull out, sweetheart," you enticed him, wanting to feel all of him. It was so infrequent you fucked without protection, and of course, you both preferred it that way but after a pregnancy scare (or not, neither of you was really sure) a few months back, you'd both decided to stop tempting fate and ensuring there was a stash of condoms at his place, your place... the goddamn Bronco – Bradley understood that it was your body and you didn’t want to be on the pill. A condom was the least he could do, and he knew it.

Bradley helped you move up his body and rest you above him. "Are you sure?" he kissed you, your gleaming teeth lightly stinging into his bottom lip with an affectionate nip.

“I trust you,” you told him. "Cum where you need...”

Truth be told, he wanted to cum deep, but he licked back a wet smile and he moved to his knees to pull his navy tee over your head, bearing your beautiful breasts to him, full, round, nipples begging for attention. “On your back, baby,” he urged, guiding you under him, anticipating how wet you were for him, legs splaying open unashamed. He rested the head of his cock on your weeping cunt, his fingers spreading your bare lips and sweeping your slick across your clit, fascinated by that little peep of desperation from you. Your head fell back against the pillows, bliss sweeping through you as he sweetly pressed one finger into you. “Drippin’,” he reported, pressing in another finger and his thumb rubbing tenderly against your throbbing clit. “Gonna gush for me?”

You probably would, Bradley’s ability to drag absolutely everything out of you blew your mind each time. “Need your cock. Fill me up, Bradley.”

Pushing in, one delicious inch by delicious inch, licking his full lips as your back curved to take him as deeply as possible. He buried his face in your breasts, holding one in his calloused palm, eyes fluttering closed as he traced, left wet, open-mouthed kissed and tenderly bit the other, and the groan you let you made him clamp his palm over your mouth. “You’re so wet, baby,” he stared deeply into your eyes as he evened his breath with the first few rolls of his slender hips. "But you're gonna wake your parents if you don’t control yourself."

"Let them fuckin' hear," you muttered behind your hand (you’d die if they heard you though) as he chuckled and began his ruthless assault on your senses, one thrust at a time.

"You're too good to me," Bradley reminded you in disbelief.

"All for you," you confided, as you watched the beads of sweat break across his brow as you dug your nails into his well-worked traps, willingly knowing it would leave a mark courtesy of your fresh manicure. You raised your hips to meet his deep, plunging thrusts, fucking into you strong and deep. He felt incredible, you don't think anyone had loved on you as Bradley Bradshaw could. So thorough, and never one to leave you hanging.

Too long, too sore? He'd pause and tenderly withdraw to hold you, reassuring you that it was fine, and your comfort was paramount. Too sensitive after coming too hard, he'd give you time to recover, finding other ways to bring you pleasure.

It was nice to be considered in your relationship, in your sex life especially. In the past, you'd been made to feel like a machine, if you didn't cum, partners still could, and you'd just deal with it. For a long time, that stuck with you and having someone consider you like Bradley would almost seem too good to be true at the start.

But that consideration never lapsed. He was make-believe and you fucking hoped if this man and everything he brought to you was a dream that you’d never, ever wake up.

Desperate to keep himself controlled, Bradley reached for the headboard of your old bed, gripping it for dear life as he tried so damn hard to avoid coming. He loved fucking you raw, and since birth control was completely your choice, you two had to stop playing this dangerous game. Because one day? It would beat you both.

"I need to cum, Bradley," you whined to him as he nodded, chewing his lower lip, and putting your delicate fingers in your mouth, not losing his rhythm. He knew. He knew how close you were.

"Lemme see you touch yourself, baby. Get those fingers - " he gasped as you clenched around him. "Get 'em nice and wet and play with that sweet, tight pussy. Lemme see you fall apart.”

Before, language like that would embarrass you, but with Bradley, it only spurred you on. It was incredible the ways he’d helped you grow and mature as a friend, partner and lover. As instructed, and in the low early morning light, Bradley’s breath hitched, watching you touch yourself and you couldn’t help it, the beat of his cock against your g-spot, your fingers pressing rough circles into your clit and you started to come.

“Yes, baby. Yes,” he urged, moving his mouth to your ear, whispering his sweet encouragement. “You feel so good, just a little mo – ” he forced his mouth against yours, kissing your pleasure to him, to keep the noise down. He wrapped his hand under your hip, lifting your waist to push harder into you as you trembled below him, your pussy clutching his cock, spasming as he shuddered against your lips. “Yes, baby.”

“Jesus, Bradley, fuck me,” you begged as his hips speed up like a piston, thrusting hard into your swollen, sensitive pussy, his hand clutching yours away from your strained clit and pressing intensely in your place, hoping to drag your orgasm out and as you fell, lifeless, back against the squishy pillows, pussy pulsating, Bradley grunted low he was coming and after his final few thrusts, he quickly withdrew and unloaded, stroking himself until he was spent, pearly ribbons of cum decorating your belly and breasts.

He collapsed beside you, taking your cheeks in his face and kissing you wildly. “I love you. I love you, baby,” he kissed you again, and though you were spent, you returned his affections, because truly… you loved Bradley Bradshaw with your entire being. It was going to take a lot to change that. “Are you okay?” he asked, chest still heaving as he breathed, his pointer finger tracing through the mess he made on you.

“I’m good, sweetheart,” you assured him as he gave you one last, final kiss.

“Think that helped with your jetlag?” he teased.

“Makes me want another round,” you admitted as he chuckled and raised an eyebrow.

“Of course you do,” he pressed a kiss into your pulse and lifted his lips back to yours, holding you close and just like horny teenagers, enjoying making out for a few moments in the afterglow. “Where’s that shirt gone?” he asked, peering over the side of the bed, and cleaning you up. “Jackson Pollack painting here.”

“Be less proud,” you told him as he snorted.

“Yes, ma’am,” he pressed another kiss to your lips. “Sure you’re okay?”

“Perfect, but let me go pee,” you whispered as Bradley kissed you long and deep, he nodded into the kiss but was not quite ready to leave you leave him.

“Go, clean up, baby,” he helped you up from the bed, your legs precarious and meandering like Bambi. “Careful,” he sighed, wistfully. But he knew it already, you were thoroughly fucked, just how he liked it.

A few hours later and thankfully, a few more hours of sleep, your alarm woke you, the sun much higher in the sky and the heat of the day starting to rise. You’d showered and told him to come down when he was ready, you’d help your Mum with some brekky.

“You want eggs?”

“Anything,” Bradley admitted. “Famished.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” you cupped his face in your palms and kissed him lightly. “Don’t rush.”

“Okay,” he gave a small grin but didn’t much feel like lingering. After a quick shower, he dressed, annoyed he didn't pack any golf gear, at minimum the shoes that you gave him grief for every time he wore them, but maybe he'd treat himself and buy some at the course today. He rifled through his bag, clutching the velvet box in his palm tightly, convinced more than ever that this was real, this was happening and soon, he'd hope to have you wearing his mother's engagement ring too.

Slapping on his CVN-71 cap, he knew you went a bit feral when he perched it backward. May as well leave you with good thoughts while he was out and about, asking your old man for your hand on the golf course. And if it went badly, it was also something to identify him when the authorities found him if your dad said no.

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sturniololoco · 2 months

Note

Sinceeee you said you needed more requests; I was wondering if you could write a Matt x fem reader. The idea being, y/n isn’t having a good Valentine’s Day just because of life, (her potential period), stress from YouTube and more. And she comes home to find her shared bed covered with Valentine’s Day related gifts. Snacks, plushies, flowers, the whole 9 yards. And it is nothing but cute and fluffy all around (I am severally single and I love the fluffy fics more than anything)

Be My Valentine?

Matt S. x fem reader

Warnings: Kissing, lovey-dovey stuff, fluuuuuuff, etc.

Note: I kinda altered this a bit since I got so many different requests for this one, but I hope you enjoy it!

y/n's POV

Valentine's Day is always supposed to be about showing how much you love and appreciate the friends, family, and potential lovers in your life.

Not working a 15-hour shift at IHOP since one of our waitresses called out. Not to mention I'm on my period, and finding time to change out a tampon while on the clock is harder than you think.

The amount of heart-shaped pancakes with whipped cream and sliced strawberries is insane.

Not to mention the horrible tip job. I've barely made 10 bucks in tips, and I've been here since four o'clock this morning!

The rush had finally slowed and I was cleaning the tables, scrubbing fast so I could go put all the dirty silverware in the sink before our next rush.

y/n! Get outta here, your shifts done!" My jackass of a boss yelled at me from his office.

"Finally..." I sighed under my breath, grabbing my purse and keys from the back, then slowly dragging myself to my car.

I practically threw my purse into the passenger's side seat, then climbed in myself. I rested my head against my steering wheel for a solid 5 minutes before starting the car up and backing out of the parking lot.

I walked into the house I shared with my boyfriend Matt and his brothers, but for the first time in forever, the house was silent.

I put my keys, purse, and apron on the kitchen island before walking to Matt and I's room, in desperate need of climbing into bed beside my boyfriend.

I rounded the corner and slowly opened the bedroom door so as not to wake Matt.

But what I saw made my jaw drop and my heart flutter.

matt was awake, sitting next to a beautiful display of Valentine's gifts. There was a beautiful bouquet of red and pink roses, a box of chocolates, a card, and a little basket full of different makeup products you've been wishing for.

You felt little tears of joy well up in your eyes as Matt's adorable little voice said,

"Happy Valentine's Day baby!" He held his arms out, displaying his beautiful work to me.

I quickly recovered from my state of shock, running over to him and wrapping my arms around his neck in a bone crushing hug, knocking him back down on the bad.

He chucked as I excidedly sqeeled,

"Thankyouthankyouthank!" I kissed him all over his face, showing how my gratitude was filling my body.

He quicly grabbed my hands and held them, giving them a squeeze.

"So, I have a question." He said, his voice getting serious.

My smile dropped at his tone, but lit back up again as he smiled and said,

"Will you be my Valentine?"

Just some cute little fluff for this special day! Happy V-day y'all, I love you!

@idkwhosnyla @babypat08 @eyelessdemon00 @christopherowensturniolo @sturnsxx @freshloveforthefit @matty443355 @sleepysturnss @emeraldgreenbeautiesstu @sunsetsturniolos @hoesturniolo @x4nd3rsukz @chr1sgirl4life @sstvrnioloo @sturns-posts @chrisstopherfilmed @kylasrealityx @zoeysturnioloooooo @comet235 @islaasblog @sturnioloblogs @defnotayonna @mattsleftnipple03 @thematthewlover @mattsaq @idkhowtosleep

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #sturniolo imagine #nick sturniolo #sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #mathew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x you #nick sturniolo x reader

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exhuastedpigeon · 2 months

Text

Buddie Hiatus Fic Recs - Day 1 Fics posted between May 15 - June 15

This is the first of probably 9 rec lists that I'm hoping to put out before the 911 premier! Each list will cover a month, starting with the day of the finale and wrapping up the day before the premier.

0-5k wedding bells by renecdote / @renecdote Gen | 1.9 In which Buck and Eddie plan a wedding.

You Should've Just Kissed Me by chronicallystendan / @chronicallystendan Teen | 2.3k Set after the Poker Date Night, Buck overhears Eddie talking about being set up on a date and wonders aloud why Eddie doesn't just explain that he's already in a relationship - with Buck.

let me see them tan lines by 42hrb Teen | 2.8k Four times the 118 notices Eddie Diaz's ring tan line and one time he was wearing a ring.

The Toothbrush Correlation by MidnightJen Gen | 3.1k ‘A toothbrush?’ Hen repeated dubiously, eyebrows high and tone extremely dubious.

‘A toothbrush,’ Eddie confirmed.

The one where Buck has Celiac Disease by buddiefication (pumpkincreamcoldbrew) / @911onabc Gen || 3.3k Buck has celiac disease. He’s also in love with his best friend. His best friend who has a girlfriend. Somehow, these things keep colliding.

Love is stored in the kitchen by toomanybats / @buckstummy Explicit | 3.6k Eddie loses his mind on a Wednesday morning. The thing is that Buck has been around a lot more lately. Like a lot more. Like twenty four hours a day more, his whole apartment building is being fumigated, apparently. The problem is that it’s been like, two entire weeks, and Eddie is only a mere mortal.

take my hand (knot your fingers through mine) by rainbow_nerds, ransomdrysdale / @rainbow-nerdss Teen | 4.1 what 6x18 could've been, pre-relationship

all i ever wanted was a life in your shape by tuckergreeen / @henwilsonmd Gen | 4.3k Pre-relationship | Buck buys a new couch, and a few other things that happen after the bridge collapse.

you'll feel the rush of it all by oklahoma / @malewifediaz Explicit | 4.7k Buck convinces Eddie to fuck him while they're on the clock at the station—even if it’s just the tip. To nobody's surprise, Eddie folds easily.

5k-10k please don't take this feeling (if I wanted to, I'd be alright) by rowan_wood / @transboybuckley Gen | 5.1k Double Dates, getting together, love confessions

totally not interrupting. at all. by magicisrealforme Gen | 5.2k Maddie's bored and misses her brother so she decides to drop by. She didn't expect to see Eddie there.

ring the bells by thelikesofus / @the-likesofus Gen | 5.3k Buck starts frequenting a coffee shop near the firehouse in hopes of running into the beautiful man whose coffee he mistakenly drank.

mark me like a bloodstain by MonsterRae1 / @monsterrae1 Mature | 6k In a universe were your soulmarks appear when your soulmate is badly injured, Buck think's his died, until his best friend gets shot in front of him and he finaly figures out it was Eddie all along.

not all of us are heroes (not all of us are brave) by withmeornotatall / @chronicowboy Gen | 6k buck and natalia break up, eddie decides to introduce his girlfriend to his son, christopher knows way too much, and the 118's wine night has never been quite so eventful

to feel the need of your touch by honestlydarkprincess / @honestlydarkprincess Explicit | 7.5k The one where Buck is touchstarved and desperate for Eddie. They fuck but it's also really sweet.

10k + right in front of your eyes by rainbow_nerds / @rainbow-nerdss Teen | 15.2k Buck offers to fake-date Eddie so Pepa will stop setting him up on dates.

very time we stop talking (the universe starts screaming) by withmeornotatall / @chronicowboy Mature | 21.9k buck gets reckless, eddie gets angry, they talk in all the wrong ways, and the universe decides to intervene

let's build this house (into a home, baby) by withmeornotatal / @chronicowboy Explicit | 24k.4 Neighbours AU, slow burn, Different first meeting, getting together

i owe you a black eye and 2 kisses by colonoscopys / @colonoscopys Explicit | 29.3k Four weeks later, Buck completes his first mission. Ft Nurse Buck and Mob member Eddie

today i live for a single drop of you by Underhung_Aura / @eddiebabygirldiaz Explicit | 38.9 Five times Buck dreams about sucking Eddie's cock and the one time he actually gets to do it.

let the world have its way with you by fleetinghearts / @shitouttabuck Explicit | 54.4k a bucket list that’s really about buck needing to make a change and an eddie who’s ready to do anything to see him fall in love with life again. it takes some crossing off for eddie to realize—the thing at the top of the list in his own heart? it’s been right here all along.

when it's you i'm with (everything goes quiet) by withoutthetiger / @rewritetheending Explicit | 56.2k Eddie can't speak after he and Christopher are in an accident, but somehow he asks Buck to stay while he recovers. Buck can't imagine wanting to be anywhere else, and even in the silence that lingers between them, they both find a way to say everything.

wishing to be the friction by ipretendtobesane / @useramor Explicit | 97.2k the straight eddie friends with benefits fic

#Buddie #Buddie fic recs #rec list #buddie fic #911

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flowerandblood · 4 months

Text

» The Bliss «

[ Slytherin ✦ Aemond x Gryffindor ✦ female ]

[ warnings: fingering, smut, angst, orgasm denial ]

» Green Snake, Red Lion Special Chapter «

Solren is very stressed before her Potions exam. Aemond decides to make sure his girlfriend relaxes a bit.

This work was created as part of a series The Christmas Drabbles which will consist of ten drabbles taking place after the events of some of my favorite fanfictions. Each of them is concerned with one feeling that dominates the characters at a given moment. This is my little gift to all my fans.

Word counter: 928

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

✦✦✦✦✦

"I can't do it. It's too complicated." She muttered in despair, tilting her head back, which landed on his shoulder, her boyfriend sighed heavily, impatient, embracing her tightly, pressing his cheek against her temple.

They were both sitting in the library, taking advantage of the evening to study for their Potions exam, and sat on the floor between the bookcases, away from the others, holding a textbook in front of them. Snape required that, by some miracle, they learn the list of 20 ingredients for the Burning Dread decoction and the order in which they should be added to the cauldron.

"Try again. It's really logical. Look, you can't add the basilisk venom before you add the bat wings because it will make a jelly, not a liquor." He said calmly pointing his finger at point 15 of 32 in the order of preparing the concoction, and she sighed heavily, feeling everything stirring in her head.

She closed her eyes, letting him embrace her more tightly, feeling that she was tired and drowsy after hours of quidditch practice and only wished she could return to her dormitory and go to sleep.

"I don't want to do this anymore." She mumbled and heard him let out a quiet breath, his hand from the textbook went up her thigh, under her skirt, touching her naked body under her long socks. She shuddered and swallowed loudly.

"We're going to try one last time. Hm?" He hummed, and she felt her heart begin to pound faster as the tips of his fingers traveled slowly higher, to the material of her panties, pressing gently against her womanhood.

"− A-Aemond − what are you −" She gasped, looking apprehensively at the other students sitting at tables in the distance, absorbed in their reading and quiet conversations.

"− be quiet − what needs to be done first? −" He asked, pushing the material of her underwear aside with his nubs, running his fingers over her hot, bare skin, sighing contentedly when he met her sticky wetness. She pressed her lips together, writhing before him as he collected it and began to spread it, in circular, slow motions brushing her clit.

"− I − cut up the fruit of the toadstool, a-add a few spikes of holly and pour this over the decoction of − of − ah −" She mumbled, feeling that with her good answer she was rewarded with a firmer, more determined pressure of his nubs between her folds, they dug into her skin with a quiet click of her moisture, his lips placing gentle, butterfly kisses on her neck.

"− keep going − a decoction of what? −" He murmured lowly, she felt him throbbing behind her, his cock hidden in his trousers pressed against her buttocks in front of him.

"− of − of a decoction of dandelion, whale oil and bat's eye − then − mghmm − p-please −" She mewled, involuntarily spreading her legs wider, looking dreamily ahead, praying that no one would come into this alley for some book. She trembled when she felt his free hand from the textbook in her lap move under the material of her jumper, clamping down on her bare breast, his thumb playing with her nipple.

"− come on, baby − you can do it − focus −" He exhaled, bucking his hips behind her, rubbing against her buttocks, all hard, she felt a pleasant twitching inside her when his fingers speed up, teasing and squeezing her bud, she swallowed loudly, finding it increasingly difficult to form complete sentences.

"− a-and then you have to add bat wings − basilisk venom and − and boil that for two hours before the − the − Aemond −" She babbled out feeling him suddenly slide his finger inside her, with a loud, embarrassing wet click of her juices teasing a point inside her from where she had lost the desire to talk about potions altogether.

"− Aemond − no more − I don't want to −" She whimpered pleadingly, moving her hips in the motion of his hand, fucking herself with his fingers, his nubs pulling and squeezing her nipple, he knew she loved it, shudders of pleasure went through her from it.

"− you're so close, little one − come on, we're almost there −" He whispered in her ear in a trembling voice, holding her body so close to him, rubbing against her from behind so hard that she wondered if he was about to cum in his trousers.

"− before the − uh − before the water evaporates and − and you add the powder of the bones − bones − of the goat? −" She gasped out and he chuckled, not slowing down as she felt her walls clench and suck his fingers deeper inside her.

"− ram − and what else? −" He murmured, and she swallowed loudly, reaching back to grab his hair with her hand, feeling that familiar heat and tickle in her lower belly, knowing what it meant.

"− and − and dried − dried − frog legs − oh − oh, fuck, Aemond − fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck −" She cried out quietly in front of him, throwing her head back, he covered her mouth with his hand, the other still held between her thighs, a wave of wonderful pleasure and relief spread through her body, she felt the stress and horror leave her completely, leaving only bliss.

"− good girl − see, it wasn't that difficult, was it? − now we're sure you'll remember everything perfectly −"

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

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hevansent · 3 months

Text

Rough day?

☆♡ ☆♡ ☆♡ ☆♡ ☆

••••••••••••••••••••

Bill Kaulitz x fem reader

context: after a long day your boyfriend helps you relax

warnings: fingering, overstimulation, head (f receiving)

☆♡

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

She had just gotten home after a frustrating day. Nothing was working in her favor and she just wanted to relax. She got through her front door and walked up to her room. When she got there, she threw her bag down and started a much needed warm shower. She sighs as the water seeps into her skin and relaxes her tense body. After a hour, she turns the shower off and walks back into her room. She applies her favorite sweet scent lotion and dresses herself in a tank top with matching cheeky, but comfy and cute panties. She sits at her vanity and applies a sheet mask, providing a cooling sensation to her warm skin and sending her deeper into relaxation. With her eyes closed she gently brushed through her wet hair. She stood up and walked to her record player, playing her favorite record. She discarded the mask and laid on her bed, not bothering to get under the soft covers. She sighed and opened her flip phone to text her boyfriend.

What r u doing?

She typed into the phone and sat it down, waiting for his response. Not too long after he replied.

Im just hanging with the band.

Why?

Nothing.. just miss you.

Im coming over

Doors unlocked

She smiles softly and closes her phone. Her body turned to face the wall while she combed her fingers through her hair.

15 minutes later she hears the front door close and steps coming up the stairs and near her bedroom. The door opened quietly, but she remained facing the wall.

She fell hands wrap around her waist and turned her on her back. Bills hair was down and hung loosely. His eyes admired her, scanning over her delicate body. Her tank top, adorned with a pattern of cherries, clinging to her breast as her wet, cold hair left her nipples hard. The fabric rode up her waist and the brim off her matching panties fitted to her hips.

“You are gorgeous.” He smiled down at her and tucked hair away from her face. “How was your day?” He placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

“It was alright.” She frowned slightly and pulled him down into a hug.

Bill pulled back to look at her face and bit his cheek. “Rough day?” She just nods and pulls him back in. “I missed you.” He kissed her plump lips and she mumbled in agreement.

Bill moves his hand from her waist and traced the outline of her breast instead. He pulls back to look at her face one last time, before capturing her in a deep and passionate kiss.

His hand wanders down her side and grips the hem of her panties while his free hand cups her breast, his thumb teasingly brushing over her nipple. “Can i make you feel better, baby?” He said as he kissed his way down to her neck.

“Yes, please.” She tilted her head and threaded her hand into his hair. He obliged, kissing down her body until he was stopped at her heat.

Bill gently pulled her panties down and parted her thighs. He licks a long strip along her sensitive slick, causing her to gasp. One hand played with her breast while the other kneaded her plush thighs.

His tongue darted in her, savoring the taste of her arousal. She whined and her hips bucked into his face. He took this as a sign of her wanting more, so he pressed the pads of his fingers to her entrance.

Bill's tongue delves deeper into her soaking wet core, lapping up her juices as he begins to suckle on her clit. His fingers search for her g-spot, pulling sweet moans from her as he continues to feast on her sweet nectar.

“Mm bill. I’m close.” She arches her back as he curls his fingers, grazing her g-stop deliciously.

Feeling her body respond to his ministrations, Bill increases the pressure of his fingers against her g-spot while sucking harder on her clit. His tongue flicks over the sensitive bundle of nerves, intently driving her closer to climax.

She gasp and moans while Bill watches her beautiful body whither with ecstasy. Bill continues to devour her wetness, his tongue dancing across her sensitive flesh. He groans in satisfaction as he feels her body tense and shudder underneath him.

“Bill I-“ She’s cut off by a choked moan as her orgasm washes over her. Her cunt clenches and pulses around his slender fingers.

He pulls away momentarily, his fingers stationed inside her. Bill tongue swirls around his lips as he savors the taste of her, watching her chest heave.

Sensing her desire for him to continue, Bill bends down and takes her into his mouth once more. He swirls his tongue around her clit, causing another wave of pleasure to wash over her, already sending her into her second orgasm, but that doesn’t stop him.

“Oh fuck- Bill. Thats enough.” She tries pulling his face away but it was to no avail. Resisting her attempt to pull away, Bill continues his assault on her senses. He moves his tongue in a rapid, rhythmic motion against her clit, determined to bring her to yet another orgasm. She gasps sharply while his pussy drunk tongue fucks her to another orgasm.

Feeling her cum again, Bill moans in satisfaction. He increases the intensity of his tongue's movements, determined to push her to her limits.

“Bill, you can stop.” Her hand reaches down and grabs his wrist, halting his movements. Feeling her hand on his wrist, Bill reluctantly pulls away from her heat. His eyes are full of lust and power as he stares up at her, resting his face against her plush thighs with an innocent flash covering his half lidded eyes. He was ready for her next command and at her whim.

“You’re so pretty baby.” Her hand cups his exposed cheek while her free arm props herself up. His heart skips a beat as she calls him pretty, his breath hitching in his throat. His face flushes with a mixture of arousal and vulnerability as he looks up at her, kissing her hand and thigh, his eyes locking onto hers.

“You look so sweet down there.” A smile paints her face and she caresses his cheek affectionately.

A small smile tugs at the corners of Bill’s mouth as he looks up at her. His eyes sparkle with a strange mix of innocence and mischief, and mischievous he was. Suddenly he curled his fingers in her, causing her to gasp, but he held his innocent gaze.

“Bill-“ She yelped and threw her head back as his fingers abused her insides, driving her to yet another intense orgasm.

Bill removes his fingers from her and pops them in his mouth, moaning in satisfactory, licking all her juices from them. He lowered his head to meet her aching and spent cunt, licking her glaze clean.

Bill finishes and pulls her panties back over her ankles and snapping them to her hips. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and comes back up the her face, placing a gentle kiss on her lips. She can taste herself and she smiles.

“Thank you.” Her eyes were heavy and her breathing started to steady. She placed a hand on the side of his head and played with his hair.

“I love you.” He relaxed against her and kissed her neck affectionately.

“I love you too, baby.” She kissed his forehead and rubbed his back.

#bill kaulitz smut #bill kaulitz imagines #bill kaulitz x reader #tokio hotel #Spotify

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armysantiny · 9 months

Text

22:15 – 정국 (Jungkook)

P: Jungkook x male reader | G: timestamp, smut | Inc: tattooist!Jungkook, sub!Jungkook, dom!reader, petnames, teasing, orgasm denial, Jk's hands being restricted, implied multiple orgasms, filth tbh, I took 'every second, every minute, every hour' and ran with it lmao | Wc: 223 | W: slight D/s dynamic, restriction, orgasm denial,, desc. of pleasure almost being painful (consensually ofc) | R: 18+

Min’s notes: I blame a mf named Jeon Jungkook singing Seven for this ^-^

Sweat drips down Jungkook’s forehead, his head thrown back as he tries to ground himself on y/n’s bed. His head is spinning – how long have the two of them been at this? How long did y/n want to keep this up? All manner of moans and whines slip out of his mouth, only encouraging y/n to keep up his loving torture on Jungkook’s cock. There’s not much Jungkook can do to make it stop; his hands restricted above his head and leaving him exposed and entirely at y/n’s mercy.

“F— fuck, y/n, baby…” The tattooist cries, unable to stop squirming the longer y/n refuses to stop. He’s so close but anymore and Jungkook might just lose his mind. He’s going to start coming dry at this rate. Y/n simply blinks, looking to his boyfriend as his hands just…stop. Jungkook panics, bucking his hips into the younger man’s now still hand, desperately seeking the pleasure that’s keeping him on the edge of pain and holding him there.

“What is it bunny? Do you want me to stop? It is too much for you?” Y/n taunts, tracing circles onto the writhing man’s tip. He huffs, “and here I thought you had stamina~. What was it you said? Every second? Every minute? Every hour?”

Perhaps Jungkook regrets riling y/n up over text.

Perhaps not.

Definitely not.

Networks: @kwritersworld, @kdiarynet, @ultkpopnetwork, @whipped-kpop-creators, @hybenet, @bangtanarmynet, @btscreatorscorner

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading! Consider reblogging, leaving some feedback or donating to my kofi!

Taglist: @teeztheflag, @jeonqquk, @mikailo666, @iiindigocheesecake, @xavi-in-kpopland, @marxenash , @tinystarstay | Taglist form

#Writer Elf Minnie #kwritersworldnet #kdiarynet #ultkpop #wkcnet #hybenet #bangtanarmynet #btscreatorscorner #bts #jeon jungkook #bts smut #jeon jungkook smut #bts x male reader #jungkook x male reader #bts timestamp #jungkook timestamp #bts hard hours #jungkook hard hours

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butchdiaz · 10 months

Text

baby’s first 911 fic!!!!

i wish i said it better (poker fake dating spec 3 months late, 12k)

It’s 7am and Eddie needs to go home. The last 24 hours were non-stop. No big calls, but a million small ones, spread out just far enough to lull him into a false sense of relaxation, barely having time to lay his head on the pillow before the alarm blared through the station. He’s dead on his feet. He has to take a shower, maybe a power nap if he’s lucky, relieve Carla and take Chris to school in a little over an hour. Eddie needs to go home.

He parks outside Buck's loft shortly after 7:15, head reeling, replaying his conversation with Hen right before leaving the station on a loop.

“I'm just sick of it.” Eddie lets out a breath and bangs his head against the locker that he shares with Buck.

Eddie has been on three dates this week, and it feels like enough for a lifetime. How do people do this for months? For years? He feels a little silly giving up after a week after making such a big deal of putting himself back out there, but maybe he's just not meant for this. The revolving door of women.

“Sick of what?” Hen asks gently.

“The – the small talk and the not knowing what they like and the uncertainty and the thinking twelve steps ahead because there’s no way I'm bringing anyone less than perfect into Chris's life so as soon as one thing is off I'm checked out and I have to smile and nod my way through the rest of the night and,” Eddie sighs, feeling suddenly much older than thirty one, “It's exhausting.”

“Haven't you only been on, like, three dates?” Hen raises an accusing eyebrow. It's a statement with a question mark on the end.

“Shut up.”

“I'm just saying, there are a lot of amazing women in LA. It seems kind of unfair to write off all of them after three dates.”

Eddie sighs, tries to imagine sitting across the dinner table from a woman and wanting to take her home. It’s a blank in his mind. A blurry supercut of perfect women and perfect conversation that never leads to anything more.

He can picture the alternative, though. Coming home to Chris and Buck playing video games on the couch, squeezing in beside them with a beer, listening to their fond banter – exactly like he’s done after cutting every date short this week.

It's easy. No small talk, no pretense, no body on high alert for red flags.

“I'm not writing off all women,” he grumbles, “I just need a break.”

“From dating? Or from women?” Hen asks, a thoughtful expression on her face. Eddie doesn't like that face. It means she knows something.

“Uh,” Eddie stutters, feeling suddenly like he's caught in a trap, “Aren't they the same thing?”

Hen shrugs, “They could be.”

Yeah, definitely a trap. Hen closes her locker, and swings her bag onto her shoulder, taking a second to choose her next words with care.

“Have you considered,” she says, “that it's not the dating that's the problem?”

“Um,” Eddie replies eloquently once more, feeling lost. Hen sighs, looking at him like he can't grasp basic math.

“Maybe it's the dating women, Eddie. Maybe that's the problem.”

And, oh. Hen thinks he should date–oh.

He just stands there, LAFD jacket hanging loosely off one shoulder, mouth slightly agape like a fish out of water. Hen turns to go, taking one last look back at Eddie from the doorway.

“Just something to think about,” she says, that damn twinkle in her eye, knowing that she’s caught him, hook, line and sinker, “if you never have.”

read more on ao3

tagging the homies <3

@911onabc @useramor @translasso @lucydonato @anxieteandbiscuits @danielsousa @ilostyou @jamietarts @anirudhpisharody @janesbennet @try-set-me-on-fire @carryingbears @saltedbutr @rivermp3 @diazly @goldenbcnes @roy-kents @poughkeepsies

#HI BE NICE TO ME IM SCARED #i hate sharing my writing gonna throw up #rbs + kudos + comments are so so so appreciated :')#911 #911 fic #buddie #abby is making #my fic

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buckysdior · 9 months

Text

okokok but now i’m thinking about new york!reader coming to chicago. and maybe they’re like visiting or moving here or something but it’s late at the bear, the kitchen is closed, the staff is sitting around, drinks in hand. you’re telling them all about your time with carmy in new york and while he pretends to hate it, really he loves having the one good piece of his old life here.

you were telling the bodega story. you love the bodega story. but you were telling it in what carmen called your radio voice. the voice you use professionally, the one that smooths out the bumps and cuts of how you naturally talk, no influences of your city or your culture. he loves hearing you talk and would do it for hours, radio voice or not (though he would prefer not).

he also knows that you’re a few drinks in and if he gets you the slightest bit passionate, it’ll jump out.

“—and carmy, poor thing, is looking at this sandwich so confused.”

“you said it was a philly cheesesteak!” he argues, beer bottle pointed at you.

“i said it was like new york’s version of a philly cheesesteak,” you counter with your bottle mirrored to his.

there it is. that emphasized ‘o’ in new york and clipped ‘k’s. the unedited version of you that was his home away from home.

“it was on a roll!”

“yeah, because a chopped cheese should be on a fuckin’ roll. also, the name has the word ‘chopped’ in it, ergo the meat is chopped up,” you’re gesticulating with the beer bottle in your hand and carmy just waves you off with a small smile. he’s missed this so much.

you sigh dramatically and lean over to tina on your right, “i swear ta’ god, when i first met carmy it was like watchin’ a baby deer learn ta’ walk. he was clueless!”

there’s laughter and richie elbows him as a silent tease, your version of carmen so different from theirs. he playfully counters, but he knows there’s some truth in it. “hey, i wasn’t that clueless.”

“babe, you paid 15 bucks at a fuckin’ halal cart,” you deadpan making eye contact with him, “it should only be like $8, max.”

“alright, alright, fuck off,” he resigns with a light tone, knowing you two could, and already have, banter about this all night.

you laugh and then you continue the rest of the bodega story—cat and all—with your voice sitting at it’s natural register and cadence.

and carmy just hopes this piece of new york stays with him forever.

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto fluff #i wrote this on my phone but like do u see the vision?#okay slay i have a lot of thoughts about this #not proofed and my english is reallll bad today sorry

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sokovianheadtilt · 11 months

Text

Arrival

Bucky Barnes x black!reader

Summary: Bucky and Y/N prepare for the arrival of their babies

Warnings: Childbirth, inaccurate medical proceedings (it’s 4 am i don’t feel like researching my bad)

A/N: The Barnes family is GROWING, i love this au so much omg. anything for domestic Bucky Barnes <3

Word Count: 1.2k

SERIES MASTERLIST

With Y/N being almost 9 months pregnant and knowing that twins never come on their actual due date, Bucky was freaking out a bit. He spent every day checking to ensure every bag was packed, the car was ready, and that you were comfortable. But when you shook him awake, telling him that your water broke, he was panicking. He quickly jumped out of bed, pulling on a shirt and sweatpants before taking you to the car. He ran back inside to grab Logan who cutely asked “Baby sisters are coming?”

Bucky couldn’t believe he was going to be a dad again. Yes, again. Just because he became Logan’s father when the boy was 5, doesn’t mean he’s going to see the birth of the twins as his first time being a father. Just because his little girls were biologically his doesn’t mean his little boy isn’t his. He did his best to reassure Logan that nothing would change between them when the girls arrived, that’d he would love him just the same. He dropped Logan off at Steve’s house before taking you both to the hospital. The nurses got you situated and now you had to play the waiting game.

Hour 3 - 4 centimeters dilated

Y/N was laying in her bed as Bucky sat next to her bed, holding her hand “How long were you in labor with Logan for?” he asked “6 hours. I walked my way to the hospital and just slid out of me after that” you told him. Every year you told Logan about the day he was born, leaving out the part where Brock basically forced you to go by yourself (a/n my mom does this for me every year and i love it). Bucky’s eyes widened at that information “You walked to the hospital?! God I hate that prick, wanna fucking choke him out” he muttered as you giggled “It’s fine baby. I clearly got him out right? Now we have an adorable 6-year-old running around” Bucky smiled softly at the mention of his son “Yeah we do” he kissed the back of your hand.

Hour 6 - 6 centimeters dilated

Y/N groaned and threw her head back against the hospital before looking down at her belly “It cannot be that comfortable in there. I know you want to meet us. Do you know how you can do that? By getting out of me” she huffed as Bucky held back a laugh “They’ll be here soon doll. We can’t force them out” he reasoned with you as you whined “I know but they make me huge and I’m tired of them using my bladder as a kickball” you pouted with Bucky standing up to kiss your head “Just a little longer”

Hour 10 - 7 centimeters dilated

The nurse suggested walking around the hospital floor to help speed up the process a bit and you would do anything to get these girls out of you. Bucky held your hand as he walked beside you. “Babe help me get my mind off this, talk to me about something” you suggested as Bucky thought for a moment “What’s your dream wedding?” he asked and you looked at him with a small smile “Well, when I was younger I always thought I would make everything pink” she giggled “It seemed perfect in my head, but now…I don’t know. My last wedding wasn’t anything special. Just a ride to the courthouse because Brock didn’t want to pay for a wedding. Got a little white dress from target and made the biggest mistake of my life. The only good thing that man gave me was Logan and he’s barely getting any credit for that. I’m not sure what I would want my dream wedding to be yet, but when I figure it out I’ll let you know” you looked up at him as Bucky kissed your cheek “Whatever you want, it’s yours” he smiled softly, a fond look overtaking his eyes

“I love you so much Buck”

“I love you too”

Hour 15 - 9 centimeters dilated

You were about to cry you were so frustrated. You were almost at the finish line but it felt so far away and you were losing hope that your twins were coming anytime soon. Bucky did his best to keep your spirits up with his words of encouragement. “It’s okay pretty girl, we’ll meet them soon. They just like being this close with their mama” he told you. “But I wanna hold them” you cried “I want them out of me and in my arms. Oh- what if they have your eyes? Or my eyes? Aw they’re gonna be beautiful” Bucky chuckled “Of course they will darling” he caressed your cheek “Just a little longer, you got this, my strong girl”

Hour 18 - 10 centimeters dilated

When the doctor confirmed that you were fully dilated and ready to push, you started to panic a bit. You’ve given birth before but to twins? What if something goes wrong? What if they take even longer to come out? You looked over at Bucky and whimpered a bit “I’m scared” you admitted to him and he went to cup your face in his hands “You can do this. They’re finally ready to come. And all of this is going to be so worth it when we’re looking at our little princesses right?” he told you as you nodded and took a deep breath and started to push when you were told.

Hour 20

After pushing for what felt like forever, you finally gave birth to Aurora and Arabella Barnes. You’ve always wanted to do the stereotypical twins have the same first letter with their names and plus you found the names pretty adorable. You were holding Aurora and Bucky was holding Arabella. They were fast asleep and swaddled in their blankets with little baby hats on their head and they were the most perfect little things you’ve ever seen, along with their brother of course.

They haven’t opened their eyes yet and you knew they would barely be able to see anything but you wanted to see what their eyes would look like. They had Bucky’s nose, your lips, little chin dimples, they were perfect. You looked up at Bucky and saw that he was crying “Aw babe…” you smiled at him and he looked over at you “I just..oh my god” he sniffled a bit “Look at ‘em. They’re our babies” you giggled “Yeah they are honey”

You looked back down at Aurora and saw she opened her eyes and gasped at what you saw “Bucky, Bucky! Look at her eyes” you grinned and teared up as you saw that she had one blue eye…and one brown eye. “Oh my god” he whispered “Whoa…” “I know!” you giggled and leaned down to kiss her nose “Hi pretty girl, I’m your mama. I’m so glad you and your sister are finally here” you said to her, watching Aurora as she squirmed a little.

Your full attention was on her you almost didn’t hear Bucky’s gasp. “Doll, guess who just opened their eyes?” your eyes widened as he brought Arabella closer to you and saw that her eyes were the same as her sisters. “Our baby girls” you looked up at him and leaned up to kiss him, happy that you both walked in as a family of three, leaving as a family of five.

#sokovianheadtilt #my little love au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barnes x pregnant reader #dad!bucky barnes #bucky barnes #black!reader #female!reader

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eviesaurusrex · 1 year

Note

“15. finding excuses to be alone with each other” With Bucky Barnes 🥰

I always do this too but then I get really nervous when it actually happens 😂

I never did that, but it sounds so bloody sweet. I hope you like with what I came up!

Bucky Barnes x (implied) Stark!Reader (sorry)

warnings: fluff, maybe some anxiety and intrusive thoughts by our baby boy, short mention of mind-reading abilities

word count: 1.5k

***

The team—consisting of Steve, Sam, Natasha, Clint, and Bucky—had just returned from their mission in the snowy depths of Poland, still partially in their tactical gear, heavy duffle bags thrown over their shoulders or tiredly carried in their hands. Bucky felt as if he could sleep for hours if he hit the bed any time soon, and even thought the nightmares wouldn’t plague him as much as they usually used to, but he couldn’t fool himself that much. Instead, he dreaded the return to the empty bedroom he called his ever since joining his best friend and being out of rehab. He would much more prefer it if he could grab one of the books neatly stacked on the bookshelf—the only furniture, other than his closet, really in constant use—and make himself comfortable in the lounge or in the labs with…—

As the thought struck him, not really out of the blue because he was constantly thinking about her, Bucky stopped in his tracks and made Sam almost run into him on his way to his own room on their shared floor. “What the…? Could you please not randomly stop in front of my face?!” The brooding soldier didn’t even spare a glance at the complaining man in his back, who got on his nerves on a daily basis and let the duffle bag fall from his left shoulder as if suddenly pummeled by almost excruciating pain.

Steve had turned at the commotion in his back, eyes swiftly moving over the two men he considered his closest friends, before taking Bucky in, who now had even grabbed the base of his freshly crafted metal arm and let his shoulder slowly but steadily rotate. “You alright, Buck?” The brunet felt awful for worrying Steve in such a matter, knowing how the blond tended to be the mother hen of the entire group, always looking out for each and everyone, but he couldn’t help himself. So, he shrugged with the unharmed shoulder, fingers still closed around the metal covered by the rigid fabric of his combat jacket. “Not sure. Felt it earlier too. Probably should get that checked out,” Bucky muttered and attempted to gather the bag from the floor, but Steve was fast to stop him. “I got this, pal. Go and let someone take a look at it, but I need their approval to let you back in the field.”

With that, the blond soldier grabbed his bag and continued his way while Sam threw him a suspicious look as he walked past him, following the whispering and gossiping rest. He didn’t bother to listen in on them and instead turned back to where he came from and entered the labs next to the landing pad with the best view over the lake after a swipe of his keycard. The music, which had played until the glass door opened in front of him, stopped as soon as he stepped into the spacious room, equipped with the best of the best—at least, he assumed it because he didn’t know a single thing by name or function in his line of sight.

Tranquility found its way into his constantly working and often haunted mind, letting the tension in his shoulders disappear like snow at the sight of spring’s first sunshine, and he finally was able to take a deep breath, even before his eyes found a messy mop of hair peeking between screens and equipment.

“If you think you need to drag me out for another unnecessary father-daughter lunch date, you can immediately turn on the spot and move your ass out of here agai—…”

Her sentence ended as she looked up and saw him standing in the middle of her sacred space instead of her father. Bucky could see how her eyes widened a fraction, only a second, before a radiant smile crept onto her already pretty face. “James,” YN greeted him with the same tone she always used when talking to him—always so incredibly soft as if he was something precious she needed to protect. He didn’t think he was or that he even deserved an ounce of her kindness and gentleness, but he couldn’t keep his distance either.

“Hey, doll.” The nickname had started to slip naturally some time ago, but gladly, YN never seemed to hold any objections against it. Quite the opposite because he could always hear her heartbeat increasing while her cheeks blushed adorably. He could witness it just now, and that made him smile the first genuine smile since going on that mission. “What can I do for you? Is everything alright?” He remembered again with what excuse he had found his way into her presence and nodded, shame practically swirling in his body. “Uhm… I think something isn’t right with-with the arm,” Bucky managed to get out and felt even more ashamed at the sight of worry creeping up into her mesmerizing eyes, which had captured him since she first had laid them on him. “Oh, fuck. Okay, okay. We’ll get this fixed, yeah? I’m so sorry if it hurts or if the mission was at risk or if it troubled you or—…”

YN only stopped her rambling apology the moment she had reached him, and Bucky had gotten a soft hold of her hand. “It’s alright, doll. Really. Everyone came back without a scratch.” Except for your mind, the voice inside his head tauntingly whispered, but her touch was fast to silence it again. “Well, okay. Still, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you wear it without running some last tests after the transport from Wakanda.” The soldier followed her lead and tenderly squeezed her fingers, still entangled with his, as he sat on the chair she pulled out for him. “Actually, it’s nothing major. Probably have to still get used to it.”

It was a masterpiece she had crafted for him with the assistance of Shuri and the Wakandan materials, reminding him once more why he didn’t deserve this woman.

Her soft hands helped him out of his combat gear, leaving him with a bare chest in her labs, making him almost regret it. Bucky never liked it when she saw the many ugly scars and the deformed tissue that once was his left shoulder. But the moment her gentle fingers started to trace along the edge of his new arm where it was connected to the new prosthetic head, those thoughts almost entirely vanished, and his mind was only able to capture every angle and every expression of her face as she started to do her work.

“It looks good, great even. Almost… perfect.” Her whispering voice sounded as if YN was in a trance as her eyes wandered over every inch of his shoulder and the arm now resting in her hands, making him feel every single touch. “How’s the haptic feedback? Can you still feel…this?” He tried to look, but with a laugh, YN stopped him from moving his head by cupping his chin with her fingers. “No, don’t look. That’s not how those questions work. Your brain would tell you you feel something even if it’s not the case,” she grinned while Bucky thought his heart would explode every second at the even closer proximity of their faces.

At least he knew he wasn’t the only one realizing it, and a grin started to tuck at his lips. “Again. Do you feel this?” YN started to trace indecipherable patterns on his arm’s black and gold-infused vibranium, letting shiver after shiver run down his spine. “I never was good at guessing letters written on me,” the soldier mumbled, eyes almost entirely closed, imagining the sight of her fingertips tracing his arm wrapped around her middle in the morning light. “That’s okay.” Her words were just as quiet as his, and the sudden feel of her soft, warm lips pressing a gentle kiss to his temple made him gasp for air like some kind of unkissed boy whose crush took the first step in their own hands. His eyes shot open, and Bucky was faced with YN’s face and a tender smile playing around her lips. “You could’ve told me that nothing really was amiss, you know? I’m the last person who’d judge. I thought we already went past that.”

Swallowing, Bucky shrugged his shoulders and took the black shirt out of her hands after YN had handed it to him. “Steve said he would need your approval so I thought… No, wait. I didn’t really think. I’m… Shit, I’m sorry, doll.” Now he felt even worse than upon entering her safe space and bothering her with his nonsense, but as both her hands cupped his neck, he couldn’t hold back and wrapped his hands around her tiny-seeming wrists. “You never need to apolgize for coming here, James. I love your company. You’d never be a bother or a hassle or a nuisance, so stop thinking that.”

His eyes widened at that last comment, and YN shrugged, an embarrassed expression settling on her face. “It’s harder for me to shut your or anyone’s thoughts out when they trip into that direction. Sorry for prying and invading, and—…”

He shut her up by taking a leap of faith and kissed her.

***

Send me prompts!

#elle’s askbox #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes x stark!reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #james barnes x reader #james barnes x fem!reader #james barnes x female!reader #james barnes fic #james barnes fanfic #james barnes fanfiction #james barnes fluff #prompt writing #prompt request

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klausysworld · 1 year

Note

Klaus telling reader not to cum but she does and then he makes her cum the whole night😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

Touch

Klaus had been slowly edging me for what felt like hours, his fingers were still curling into my g-spot perfectly. Tears were slipping down my face as i sobbed through my moans. His body was hovering over my own, his chest almost on mine as he squeezed my throat lightly. My legs were bent at the knee and up at my sides while i tightened around his three fingers in a desperate need to release

“oh love, i wish you could see how gorgeous you look right now” he muttered with a kiss to my lips lightly

“k-klaus please just- oh just let me-“ i couldn’t get out enough words without cutting myself off with moans and whines

“let you cum? not yet sweetheart, just keep behaving and you’ll get a reward okay? just keep being my good girl” i didn’t try to stop the sob that left my throat as the tension inside me burned to snap

“i c-cant” he shushed me with another squeeze to my throat

“yes you can baby, you can” he whispered while his fingers pumped faster. My hands moved to his hair and i pulled his head down to my neck

“please” i whimpered as he sucked my skin, letting his sharp teeth scrape over it. His fingers somehow moved faster, and i couldn’t stop the way my legs shook, the way i was tightening so repeatedly, the way the tension was snapping

“do not” he growled but i was already over the edge, a long drawn out moan left my lips as i felt my body slowly relax, his fingers left my aching cunt while i sighed and my eyes closed in contentment though it didn’t last long as his chest rumbled against mine and he pulled my face to his by my throat, my legs moved limply as he dragged me to sit on my knees

“i’m sorry” i breathed and he tutted

“don’t lie” he muttered as he brought his fingers to my mouth. He pushed them past my lips making me swallow around them, i look up at him through my lashes as i swirled my tongue around them before slowly pulling away

“i’ll make it up to you” i whispered reaching out to touch his pants but his hand was already gripping my wrist

“no no, you want to cum, you’ll get to cum. Spread your legs, you’re going to ride my face for the next 15 minutes and we’re going to see how many times you come undone” i hesitantly shifted my knees apart so his head could fit inbetween. He set a timer on his phone as he pulled me over his face, i hovered over him as i let my hands rest on his chest

“don’t be shy now love, you want to cum, do you not?” i swallowed nervously as i slowly brought myself lower, feeling his hot breath against my bare pussy

“i didn’t mean to upset you” i uttered

“that’s why you’re going to be good for me now, aren’t you love? no complaining?” he asked as he gave a small lick go my clit making me jolt and him grab my hips pulling me down

“press the timer” he mumbled, as soon as i clicked start his hot mouth was in me, his lips around my clit and his tongue flicking in different directions. I desperately tried to keep still but the contact against my already overstimulated clit had my hips bucking and his grip tightening. I wasn’t sure what to do with my hands as they pressed onto his chest, normally they’d be in his hair and i’d be underneath him

“oh god” i rasped while grinding my core to his mouth, such a magical mouth

the loud hum he emitted while sucking at my clit had me crying out once again, my walls fluttering around air and my nails digging into his skin. His clever tongue was quick go tease my already abused entrance making me yelp and raise my hips away from him

“sweetheart, sit down” he muttered lightly pulling me down by my waist

“it’s too much” i whispered

“i know, but you want to be good don’t you? now sit or i’ll have to add another five minutes to the clock” i breathed out heavily as i timidly brought myself back to his eager mouth. This time he slowly traced my little hole with his tongue before sucking ever so lightly. I could feel his nose swipe against my aching clit.

i breathed slowly, eyes closed and i brought my hands further down his body, now on his abs, down to his stomach, lightly skimming over his crotch, which was only covered my his boxers so i could feel his hardness. I leant down and rested my forehead on his abdomen, my hands now crunching up the sheets.

I rolled my hips once his tongue was inside me, already exploring as he pleased while groaning into me, vibrations shooting through me back to the coil that was beginning to rebuild. I pressed my lips to his abs a few times to keep myself quieter than i knew i would be.

Heat was back on my clit as he sucked harshly, flicking and swiping at the puffy sphere. I moaned loudly feeling the coil ready to come undone as i clenched repeatedly

“Nik” i whimpered

“you don’t have to ask” he muttered, still diving he tongue in and out of me as i chocked a cry as came all over his face

“just another eleven minutes sweetheart” he mumbled while lapping at my thighs. His mouth didn’t leave me for a second as he continued to torture my swollen clit

“can i touch you too?” i asked weakly, lifting my head to see the tent in his pants

“no baby, not today” he murmured as he pulled me closer, arms wrapped around my waist to keep me down

“just feel love, let it happen” he whispered as a finger slipped inside of me, tears ran down my face making me put my head back down and attempting to relax my body. Every part of me was on fire, my mind clouding over as i just focused on him. It was as though his lips were touching my entire body. My cunt throbbed against his clever tongue, licking and swiping. i barely noticed another finger curling within me. His teeth just grazing me while i cried into his skin. The pleasure was overwhelming, edged for hours and then cumming twice in 5 minutes. Another quickly approaching.

“do it love” he murmured as i screamed silently while gushing around his fingers again. His mouth cleaning me again.

I hesitantly glanced at the phone to see we still had just under 7 minutes left. I shook my head while shaking ontop of him

“no more nik, no more” i whispered desperately but he just kissed my clit again, it now stung through the pleasure making me such in a breath

“one more and you can have a break” he muttered kissing me again

“promise?”

“i promise my love” and with that two fingers were pumping inside of me at an inhuman speed, loud uncontrolled moans echoing through the room and his blunt teeth lightly nibbling around my clit while he sucked. My entire body rocked back and forward, my nerves buzzing and legs spasming. I gushed over him again, though while he was cleaning me, his nose nudged my clit making me release again with a sob.

“sh sh sh, it’s okay” he whispered lightly dragging his tongue up my soaked thighs, along my fold, i couldn’t stop from cumming again when he touched my clit

“oh love, okay, okay” he slid out from under me, lifting my body up from his and pulling me to his body

“i’m just going to wipe your thighs, we’ll stop for a bit okay” he whispered while gently rubbing my skin with a warm towel. I leaned my head against his shoulder while he whispered words of encouragement to me

“how about, you take a little power nap, in half an hour or so i wake you at and we can go again?” i nodded as much as my body would let me

“will i get to touch you?” i uttered

“you will” he laughed with a kiss to my head

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helplesslypurple77 · 6 months

Text

Day 7-Atsushi/Fukuzawa with kinks Aphrodisiacs and Praise kink

Notes: Really Rare Pair lol. I dunno, it's fun(I'm a multishipper). ALSO DID YOU GUYS KNOW THAT BENTO’S IN JAPAN COST LIKE 3-5 BUCKS? I'M SO JEALOUS THEIR LIKE 15$ HERE!

It was a relatively peaceful evening at the Agency. And that was because he was the only one here. Atsushi doubted that it would be this quiet if they all had not abandoned him alone to do paperwork and went off on missions. Well, besides Dazai. No one knew where he was. They had their guesses. Kunikida had guessed, ‘off somewhere slacking off as usual,’ Ranpo had simply said ‘woman’ and Yosano and Kenji had guessed suicide attempt. Kyouka hadn't weighed in, and neither had Tanzaki and Naomi, but that was because they hadn't been there. Atsushi was sure that if they had been there, they would have had their own opinions.

But anyway, everyone was out and Atsushi was demoted to doing paperwork all day long in his loneliness. It wasn't too bad in all honesty. It was quiet, and the sun was just burning the horizon with orange and yellows. It was peaceful. The wind was gentle and smelled faintly of something sweet, and a street musician was playing faintly in the background. Atsushi was the only one here, as far as he knew. And he had gotten through a substantial amount of the work he had been avoiding, and he had secretly raided Ranpo’s snack drawer(although based on how it wasnt locked like it usually was, Atsushi wouldn't be surprised if the man left it open for him as an apology).

Atsushi leaned back in his chair, stretching. He might as well go to the corner store and get some dinner, maybe replace a few of Ranpo’s snacks while he was at it. The wind caressed his face as he closed the door behind him, tossing his hair gently around, letting the longer strands tickle his cheeks. It was a good temperature, not too cold and not too warm and the sun splashed a pretty sunset over the horizon. Golden hour light highlighted the world, casting it in a brilliant ethereal glow. It was nice to get out of the office for a minute, to walk through the streets, busy with people on their way home from work, and simply stretch for a minute.

He's turning the corner to the supermarket when he spots it, the cute little bento shop right next door, with a big red ‘buy one get one free!’ sign, and he’s never really been one to resist a good sale. The bell tinkles as he enters the shop, the only other customer, a giggly couple in the corner, barely pay him mind as he walks to the counter. The woman working the register smiles brightly at him.

“Hi cutie, what can I getcha?” Atsushi can't help the red that scrawled across his cheeks, he’s still not used to compliments. The woman is pretty too, and while these days Atsushi’s type is a little different, he can at least admit she’s pretty. Dazai would probably ask her for double suicide. “Um, I'll take the Katsu Bento please!” The woman, whose name tag reads Akiko nods, tapping away at the register with her long acrylic nails. “Oh yeah!” Akiko looks up. “We're actually offering a discount right now. If you try our new pickles we give 50% off! What do ya think, sweety?” Atsushi’s nodding before he can even think properly. “I'll take it. I also saw you guys have a buy one get one free deal right now?” Akiko nods, smiling. “Yep, so you want two Katsu bento’s with the new pickles. That’ll be 200¥.” Atsushi hands over the coins with a smile, and the woman slides his bentos across the counter. She tosses him a wink as he leaves. “Enjoy baby.”

The bell tinkles as he leaves, the breeze welcomes him back into the dusk. The sun has sunk a little more, but still peaks over the horizon, as if it longs to stay for one more hour. Birds chirp and leaves spin through the air and a little girl runs past him, chasing a runaway balloon. The afternoon is perfect, but almost two perfect and Atsushi’s almost waiting for Akutagawa to jump out of the shadows and threaten him with a few amputated limbs. But he makes it all the way back to the Agency without any notable accidents.

The Agency is no longer empty when he gets back, the president is sitting on the brown leather couch by the door, flipping through a book. And Atsushi hates how his heart speeds up a little bit when he sees him. He looks unfairly dignified and attractive as he flips through his book, looking up and meeting Atsushi’s eyes. “There you are, Atsushi, I was wondering where you had gone off two.” Atsushi pointedly ignores his flushed cheeks and speeds up heart rate and holds up the to-go bag. “Went out to grab some dinner. Would you like one sir? I have an extra bento.” The President closes his book with a nod. “I would like one, thank you.”

◈◈◈

The bento Atsushi hands him is lovely, with one side of rice with a rather generous piece of Katsu sliced across it. There are three different types of sides, including a lovely cucumber salad, a pickled leaf that looks a bit like perilla, and a little mochi for dessert. He gratefully takes the chopsticks Atsushi hands him, giving the boy a grateful smile. The little flush on his face is charming. “This looks delicious, Atsushi. Tell me how much I owe you.” Atsushi unwraps his own chopsticks, a bashful little smile curved across his face. “Oh don't worry about it, it was a buy one get one free deal. They also gave me a 50% off discount if I tried their new pickles.” He uses a chopstick to pick one of the leaves out, taking a bite. “Oh, these are good.” Fukuzawa takes a bite of one and finds he does not care for the taste at all. It has a distinctly mint like flavor, but strangely not and because of the pickling, kind of bitter. He scoops his into Atsushi’s bento. Atsushi sends him a grateful little smile.

The rest of the Bento is delicious, and Fukuzawa digs in as they talk. “You know Atsushi.” Fukuzawa starts out, “You have been doing exceptionally well with your jobs lately.” The flush that takes his cheeks is adorable, and Fukuzawa can't help the thought, exceptionally cute. The boy has always been susceptible to praise. “You don't have to say that, Sir.” Fukuzawa shakes his head. “No, I mean it. And your suggestion to team up with the mafia proved a very good one.” And, although he won't say this part, he likely would have not thought of it himself, or even if he had, he would have disregarded the thought. He didn't want to think too hard about the reason he even thought properly about it in the first place. The boy smiles bashfully at the praise, his whole body practically singing with joy, his ears and tail flicking happily—

Wait, a tail and ears? Fukuzawa looks again, just in case he hallucinates in his old age. Sure enough, two ears have sprouted on the boy's head, and a tail flicks behind him, wagging slightly. Fukuzawa frowns. While it's admittedly kind of adorable, and his hands are itching to stroke the soft white fur, he should probably tell him. But he really doesn't want to. Atsushi is sure to put them away then, and they're just so cute! Fukuzawa really, really wants to pet them, maybe run his hands through Atsushi’s soft hair while he’s at it.

Atsushi still hasn't noticed the ears, and is happily munching away at those new pickles. He seems to really like them, it's almost charming how he chomps away happily, a little smile curved across his face. Those leaves look strangely familiar though, but Fukuzawa just can't place them…

“Um Sir? Is something wrong?” Those eyes are looking at him, and Fukuzawa realizes he's staring. He shakes his head, clearing thoughts of petting Atsushi out of his head. He really should just tell him about the ears, as much as he doesn't want to. He opens his mouth, ready to tell all, but he never gets the chance because suddenly Atsushi is gone, replaced by a huge white tiger. The change is almost instantaneous, and although Fukuzawa should be scared, he really isn't because the tiger looks less fearsome and more just adorable as it pads around the table, pouncing on the couch and laying its head in Fukuzawa’s lap. Fukuzawa almost melts, because his lap is full of giant Atsushi kitty and he just has to stroke him.

The fur is as soft as he imagined, and a deep pur rumbles out of Atsushi Kitty, the vibrations rattling him and the couch. The massive cat nuzzles his hand, almost begging for more pets. With joy, Fukuzawa obliges.

The ring of his phone cuts through the calm of the room. Atsushi Kitty’s ears flick slightly as Fukuzawa removes one hand to answer. It's Dazai.

“Yo, Boss? Is Atsushi with you?”

Fukuzawa chuckles, “Yes, in a manner of speaking.”

“Uh, ok. Well, he’s not picking up his phone.” Dazai sounds like he’s barely holding back laughter. “I forgot to tell him that he should not get the Bento’s from that place down the street.”

Fukuzawa’s blood runs cold. “Why?”

“You sound panicked.” Dazai sounds far too pleased. “Don't worry, it's nothing bad. They have a few deals and you know how Atsushi can't resist those.”

Dazai says it's nothing but ice cold panic still runs through Fukuzawa’s veins.

“Anyway, they have a new pickle that he shouldn't eat.” He hears a commotion on the line, and then Dazai’s voice is replaced by Kunikida. “President? Yes, Dazai was dallying so i'll just tell you.”

“What's wrong with the pickles?” Fuuzawa tries to steady his voice, but an embarrassing tremor is still there. Fukuzawa can almost hear Kunikida frowning through the phone. “He ate them, didn't he?”

“Yes”

Fukuzawa can hear giggling in the background, probably Dazai. Kunikida continues. “Don't worry, they aren't poisonous. I talked to the lady down the street and she said it is a new strain of catnip they’ve developed.”

The panic is gone, replaced by amusement. “I see, well that's not a problem then.”

“Well, um, you see…” Kunikida sounds almost flustered, and then he's replaced by Dazai again.

“What Kunikida is too flustered to say is that the Catnip acts as a potent aphrodisiac.” Fukuzawa almost chokes, Dazai sounds far too thrilled as he continues. “Apparently, it has no effect on humans, but most cats almost immediately go into a heat of some type.”

“But what effect will it have on Atsushi? He’s technically a tiger.” Fukuzawa is grasping at straws here, desperately trying to tamp down any inappropriate thoughts. Dazai is replaced, but with Ranpo this time.

“Hey boss, did Atsushi eat all my snacks”

“Ranpo, I don't think that's our priority right now.”

“Yeah yeah, well the aphrodisiac should have an effect on Atsushi, because of the tiger.” Fukuzawa loves his members, but seriously, he just needs information right now. Ranpo continues. “I'd guess there would be like three stages. One, cat ears and tail, two, full tiger form, and three back to human.” Fukuzawa can faintly hear rustling in the background, and a few muffled giggles.

“He’ll probably go all horny when he’s back in human form.” Ranpo chomps on something, probably some chips. “This is good for you, Boss. you can finally stop lying to yourself—

Fukuzawa hears a commotion in the background again and then Dazai is grabbing the phone. “Don't worry Prez, I'd be happy to come back and take care of him, you don't have to do any—” There’s a smack, and then the line goes dead.

Fukuzawa is frozen for a moment, truly taking in the information. Apparently, the store down the road decided to mutate a new type of Catnip, specifically for pickles? In his old age, Fukuzawa has truly stopped being surprised by most things but this one, this one almost gets him. The massive tiger on his lap purrs, nuzzling into his hand as he resumes his petting, trying to come up with a game plan for when Atsushi returns to his human form and inevitably ‘goes all horny’. He has, to his knowledge, three options. One, he could call Dazai back and have him ‘deal with it’. This option on the surface seems like a good one, but the thought of Dazai’s hands all over Atsushi makes a weird feeling start in his chest.(he knows it's jealousy, but he can't admit it, even just to himself.) Option two is to take care of it himself. And, although it's the most attractive option, that one is out of the question. He has grown much too old to be messing around like that, especially with a much younger employee.

The third option is quickly looking to be his only option, to simply wait it out and do nothing. And in the end, its the only option he really has.(In the back of his mind, Fuykuzawa prepares himself for the battle of a lifetime, because he’s not sure what's going to happen when Atsushi returns to human form, but he can certainly imagine it. Atsushi’s pretty flushed face, his lips parting in moans and whimpers, his flushed chest covered in pretty hickeys, his voice panting out that stupid appellation the boy likes to use, “Oh, Fukuzawa Sir, it feels so good. Oh oh oh—)

His phone ringtone startles Fukuzawa out of his thoughts. Atsushi’s ears flick in displeasure as Fukuzawa removes his hands, answering the call.

“Yo Prez.” Dazai sounds thrilled. “We got some info.”

“I see.” The massive tiger in his lap is purring again, and Fukuzawa almost melts into a puddle of sappy joy. Dazai chuckles.

“Apparently, you have a couple options.” Dazai says. “One, pardon my french, you fuck it out of him.” Fukuzawa clears his throat, hoping to clear his mind of all the images that conjured up. Dazai continues, sounding much too amused. “Two, ask Lucy to do it. Or three, I'm still available to come home and do it for you.”

“Can I not just wait it out?” Fukuzawa hates the green monster of jealousy that rears its ugly head at the mention of Dazai or even Lucy ‘dealing with it’.

“Nope.” Dazai replies. “Apparently if you let it go he could get seriously injured. I dunno, I wasn't listening to the specifics.”

A small silence descends upon the two men on the phone, before Dazai speaks up once more. “So Prez, can I do it?” Fukuzawa doesn't like how excited he sounds, positively gleeful. “Put Ranpo on please.”

“Yeah, yeah. You know, maybe this is good. You can finally stop lying to yourself and we at the office can stop seeing Atsushi’s abandoned little puppy eyes every time you enter the room—”

A commotion sounds on the other side of the phone, but Fukuzawa doesn't really notice because it's at this moment that the fur on the giant tiger recedes, leaving behind a sleeping boy, head still nestled on Fukuzawa’s lap.

“Yo, boss? Did Atsushi eat all my snacks? I left to drawer open as an apology for leaving him there, but i only did it because i thought he would be too polite to eat them all—”

“Ranpo, is that really our priority right now?” Fukuzawa isn't proud of how his voice shakes slightly.

“Geez, ok. Did you need something?” Fukuzawa can actively hear Ranpo’s eye roll. “Cause we were just stopping at the store to get a snack refill.”

Fukuzawa is truly tempted to roll his eyes. “Atsushi is asleep right now. How long until the aphrodisiac kicks in.”

“I dunno, maybe ten minutes.” Ranpo says. “You should probably take him back to the dorms.”

“But i don't intend—” “Yeah sure, whatever you say.” And with a beep, the line goes dead. With a sigh, Fukuzawa gently hoists a still sleeping Atsushi into his arms, and starts the trek back to the dorms.

◈◈◈

Dusk has fallen, the sun has all but vanished over the horizon and a thousand stars paint the sky, He only gets a few strange looks on the way home, but it's clear that the people of Yokohama have long since grown used to the strange happenings around the Agency building and he gets back to the dorms, and into Atsushi’s apartment with no problems. It's only once he's stepped inside, when he’s set Atsushi gently on the floor and is rummaging around for the futon when he truly asks himself what he’s planning to do once the boy wakes up. And when he’s settling Atsushi gently on the futon, and is sitting beside it, he tries his best to think of a solution, any solution besides the one that's screaming at him. But he fails, and as he stands, ready to get Dazai and live with the jealousy, he feels a hand on his Yukata, pulling him to a stop, and he meets the hazy eyes of Atsushi Nakajima, awake but not totally lucid.

Truthfully, as soon as he meets those eyes, hazy with lust and slipping, he knows he's done for. But he still holds out hope that he can at least try to resist. He can at least tell himself that he’s going to stand up and leave the boy, and call Dazai. But he’s always been a stubborn man, at least to himself, and he does his best to shake Atsushi’s hand off gently. The younger boy has pulled himself into a sitting position, and is lazily undoing his tie with one hand, the other still hooked on the hem of Fukuzawa’s Yukata. “Sir, I feel so hot.” His voice is a calculated seduction, each movement, from the flick of his wrist as he pulls his tie from his neck, to the low lidded eyes and fluttering eyelashes is precisely calculated to wear down the walls separating his good sense from his dick.

And yes, Fukuzawa knows that most of this is likely involuntary, but it still works. Too well. Fukuzawa’s green hakama falls to the floor, knocked completely from his shoulders as Atsushi tugs especially hard, and in an effort to twist away, Fukuzawa trips, sprawling to the floor with a crash. He lands on his butt, his hands catching him on the way down, and Atsushi’s on him in a flash, crawling towards him along the floor. Frukuzawa grabs his shoulders, stopping him before he can do anything drastic. And puts up his last line of defense.

“Atsushi, do you, as well as you can, consent to this?” Atsushi is undoing more and more buttons, still gazing at him with those lust blown eyes. He nods, tugging gently on the hem of Fukuzawa’s Yukata. “Yes, Sir.” That address, that darn address makes his dick twitch in his pants, coming to life with a furry. Maybe it's because of the (substantial) age gap, or maybe because it's just Atsushi, but Fukuzawa knows he will never be able to hear it the same way again.

He wants to kiss him, he wants to press his lips to Atsushi’s own and caress him gently and take his time, but he feels like he doesn't have the right to. He feels, that he already has the privilege of touching Atsushi, because even though the boy seems to hold some affection for him, he’s still his boss, and a much older man, and its natural for Atsushi, a boy who had previously had no one to rely on but himself, to develop a crush on an older source of comfort in his life. And it should be Fukuzawa’s job to gently rebuke the boy's affections, and watch him fall for more suitable people like Lucy(and not Dazai, because that green monster of jealousy is rearing its ugly head once again.) He feels almost like he’s stealing something precious, something he can never return. And so, instead of kissing Atsushi, he flips the shorter boy over, letting him lay lewdly on his stomach, his ass pointed in the air. It's much more raunchy and dirty, and much less intimate, making him much less likely to get overwhelmed by his swiftly growing feelings and say something useless.

He takes the time to properly undo his Yukata and underlayer, folding them neatly if only to prove how sane and controlled he is right now, and when he looks back, he's greeted by the sight of a mostly naked Atsushi, grinding his hips down against the futon covering. Fukuzawa can feel his dick jump to hardness, because it's quite a pretty sight. The boy is thin, a small waist tapering into surprisingly wide hips and round little butt. Usually, he would take his time, maybe gently caress the boy and press kisses to those shoulders, but he just needs to fuck the Catnip out of his system, and hopefully avoid any awkwardly intimate things like hickeys and i love you’s(if only for his own sanity and integrity as an employer).

He highly doubts the boy has lube, and so he does the next best thing. He spits in his hand, lubing up his cock the best he can, under the circumstances. He lines his cock head up with Atsushi’s hole, stopping just one more time to check.

“Are you sure Atsushi? I could call Dazai—” Atsushi takes the decision out of his hands by gripping Fukuzawa’s cock, and gently shoving the head into his hole. Atsushi’s back arches, and a whimper exits his mouth, a whimper of Fukuzawa’s name and that stupid, sensual ‘sir’. Fukuzawa isn't proud of how he shoves the rest of the way in, gripping Atsushi’s waist with a groan. It's been a long time, too long, apparently. “Feel good?” He says as he begins to move, pulling out all the way and back in, in long, slow thrusts. “Yes, ohh Sir!” Atsushi’s hands are tangled in the Futon cover, head turned to the side, hair splayed across the blue comforter in a striking contrast.

He looks heavenly and sinful and Fukuzawa doubts he’ll be able to erase the image of Atsushi beneath him for a long, long time. His moans are pretty, just as pretty as his eyes, that beautiful vertical heterochromia, those gorgeous colores, the color of the sunset sky. A sunset sky overcast with the clouds of lust and devotion. His hole is tight and pulsing, hugging Fukuzawa’s cock in a warm welcome, almost telling him to never leave, to fuck this pretty boy forever, to love this boy forever. Fukuzawa can feel himself getting sappy, because he’s a weak, sappy old man and he can't help it.

Somehow, all his protests before have vanished all at once. Maybe he’s too far gone, too enamored with the boy and his pretty body to lie to himself anymore. Maybe, he considered as he leaned down, pressing Atsushi’s body into the mattress, letting his strokes speed up as the boy moaned his name once more, maybe this really was a good thing, a blessing in disguise as his colleagues had suggested.

“Ohh oh sir, I'm cumming!” Fukuzawa gives up on not being sappy, and tangles his hands with Atsushi’s, grinding his hips deep inside the boy as he cums, letting himself go not soon after. And, as he cleans the boy up a little and pulls the futon covers over his sleepy form, he lets himself seriously consider courting Atsushi, and gives the Bento box a five star review.

(And he never did hear Sir the same way again, every time Atsushi uttered the word it reminded him of that night, and made him flush in a business meeting. )

End Notes: Also, did you know that technically, catnip counts as an aphrodisiac when promoting cat mating? Well i didn't, and i learned it when i had to do research for this fic man. Also tigers don't really respond to catnip, but now they do because I said so.(and because i made up a mutation of it)

Taglist:@mulit05ho3st4n

#bungou stray dogs #kinktober 2023 #mariannacrxss #bsd smut #helplesslypurple77kinktober #kinktober #im so tired

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