#I just don’t know how to bring this up to where it won’t make you uncomfortable and you’ll actually acknowledge these feelings
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WHEREVER YOU WANNA GO, THAT’S FINE WITH ME — MEGUMI FUSHIGURO
cw mentioned/talks about death but not like… in a serious way 😭 this whole thing is very unserious and stupid it’s just a thought i couldn’t get out of my head, megumi being… megumi, f2l but what’s new, also inspired by some clip from a tv show i’ve seen on tt but idk the name of it, if you do pls let me know
you ask megumi you make one of those marriage pacts with you—that if neither of you are married by thirty-five, you two will get married to each other—and he just hums for a moment before asking, “do you think i’ll be better suited for marriage at thirty-five?”
“what? n—i don’t know? maybe? it just seems like an appropriate age to get married if you’re not already, that’s all,” you explain.
more humming. he blinks, “i don’t think i’ll be all that different at thirty-five.”
“well, that’s concerning,” you joke, “you’re supposed to change—grow a little bit as a person and all that, megumi. even you are capable of it.”
“i won’t want anything different out of a marriage at thirty-five than i would right now,” he corrects you, then turns to you, and with all seriousness demands, “so, state your stipulations. what do you want from me, let’s figure out of this is gonna work now.”
you scoff, and cross your arms. “what do i want from you? that’s not how a marriage works.”
“that’s how this friendship already works.”
you say, megumi does; he pushes it than he should have, you say to stop, and eventually he does, and the cycle continues. he’s always stubborn, and sacrificing himself beyond necessity, and you’re always pulling his ear for it.
“okay. fine,” you settle, straightening your posture, “i want a house. three bedrooms, so nobara and yuuji don’t have to bicker about sharing when they stay over.”
megumi considers it, then counters with, “four. gojo needs a bedroom, too. one floor, i don’t like stairs.”
“where the fuck are we going to find a one-level four-bedroom house? i don’t want to live in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere.”
“we’ll find one,” he shrugs, doesn’t flinch when he promises: “or i’ll have one made for us. next: vacations.”
“twice per year. somewhere tropical, and somewhere metropolitan.”
“i don’t like the beach.”
“then you don’t have to go on the beach.”
“you’re responsible for me if i burn.”
“i’m responsible for you either way, i’m your wife,” you taunt, “pets, next. i want dogs. two. maybe three. and a bunny.”
“no bunnies, they’re too much work.”
“but i want a bunny, megumi.”
“you won’t have time for a bunny,” he rolls his eyes, “and you’re gonna get pissed when it chews up the expensive couch you’re gonna make me buy, and takes a shit in the expensive fruit bowl you’re gonna con gojo out of. no bunnies.”
you pout and frown, but megumi doesn’t budge: “no bunnies.”
you sigh, “no bunnies, but i want the dogs.”
“i didn’t say no to the dogs. unless you want a golden, then i’m not raising that.”
“why not? we already have yuuji.”
“exactly, we already have yuuji.”
“fine. i want a king sized bed. the really big, oversized ones you get in america.”
“done. children?”
“you want children?”
megumi shrugs, but you swear there’s a dust of pink on his cheeks, “maybe. maybe not. if i did, no more than two.”
and suddenly you can’t help but feel heat in your own face, hot with the image of two tiny megumis running around.
“that’s fine with me. maybe kids, but no more than two,” you cough, “i want one of those heated driveways for the house.”
“i’ll have it built. i’ll clean and do laundry and take out the trash if you cook.”
“what about days i don’t cook?”
“then i’ll do that, too,” megumi nods, “anything else?”
“yes. if i die first, you can remarry, but you visit my grave at least twice a year, and bring peonies. and that picture of me from prom where i look really good.”
“no.”
you stop. you blink. “what do you mean ‘no?’ you wouldn’t visit my grave?—kinda cruel considering i birthed your up-to-two future children and raised your dogs.”
“i won’t remarry. and i don’t want you to if i die first,” he corrects you, again, “and there’s no dying first and leaving me behind, i’m going with you.”
he doesn’t leave room for debate in his declarations: won’t, don’t; not wouldn’t, shouldn’t, couldn’t—you have to pinch yourself to stop chasing the rabbit of temptation running through your mind.
“i don’t… think you get to decide that,” you chuckle.
“of course i do,” megumi grins, uncrosses his legs and leans over. he reaches a hand to the back of your head and pushes it forward until your foreheads meet gently; and as if the affection wasn’t shocking enough, he continues, “where you go, i go. that’s marriage, right?”
he widens his smile a bit, before letting you go, leaning back into his seat again with crossed arms like nothing happened, and you’re left staring, blinking, breathing shallowly like prey that narrowly escaped being caught.
you don’t speak, so megumi does, “i have one more thing.”
and slowly, you unthaw enough to let out a questioning hum. megumi tilts his head before telling you, “i want your last name.”
“what? you—you would change your name?” you stutter, “but fushiguro is so pretty! and it’s your mom’s name, so few people get their mother’s names.”
“yeah. this way, our up-to-two children get their mother’s names, too.”
“i—okay… yeah, i guess they do,” you gape, then pout, “wait, what if i wanted to be mrs. fushiguro?”
“tough luck,” he grins, “you get everything else.”
you get me, instead, is what’s left unsaid.
“okay, fine. sounds like a deal to me.”
“great. we can’t have a spring wedding because gojo and toji will sneeze obnoxiously loudly, and we can’t have a summer wedding because the anniversary will conflict with our tropical vacation, and nobara will kill us if it’s too close to her birthday,” he says, standing up from the couch to head to the kitchen, “so i’ll see you at the courthouse in september.”
you nod reflexively, sinking back into the couch with a satisfied smile. it’s a while before your brain processes his words, and when it finally does, you spring up in a fluster, “october? megumi, i said when when we’re thirty-five and if neither of us are already married! megumi? megumi fushiguro, come back here!”
#i......... need to inhale him. that's all.#you can ignore all of this i just NEEDED to get this out of my head he's SO. he's his daddy's son that's what he is#which daddy? it doesn't matter 😐 which is why he's extra terrible#this also lives in an au where megumi is like 'are u done dating other guys yet 🙄 dont u know that we're endgame'#and has never made a single romantic comment to u before in ur entire life OH i hate him#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jjk scenarios#jjk imagines#megumi fushiguro x reader#megumi x reader#megumi fluff
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the girl next door 18
Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.
Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.
Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.
This lewk but silverfox
“You know, sweetie, I was thinking,” Steve stacks the plates and gathers the utensils, “if you’re going to take those pills, I don’t think you should be alone.”
You blink and sit up, rubbing your neck. You’re not a good liar. You weren’t planning on taking them. You were just going to go home and lay down but he keeps bringing it up. Maybe he’s suspicious.
“Oh, I think I’ll be okay--”
“Look, honey, your mom’s already in the hospital. I’d hate to see you in there with her. For my peace of mind, will you stay? Just for the night. That way we can head out bright and early to get mom,” he suggests.
“Well...” you trail off, staring at the wall.
He’s being pushy but for good reason. He’s looking out for you. You’re the one going against doctor’s orders and why? Because it’s embarrassing to think it’s that bad. Depressed? No, just pathetic.
“Here, you can borrow some of my clothes,” his voice muffles as he goes into the kitchen and the plates clink in the sink. He reappears and grabs the boxes from the table, wiggling free on and peeling the flap open, “take a shower and relax. You need a good night’s sleep.”
He pulls out the insert then reaches for the doctor’s note. He pops out a tablet and holds it out to you, “says you might get lightheaded. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”
“I... It’s okay. I’ll go home to...” you bat your lashes at him and give up. He’s just as hard to argue with as your mother, although in a much different way. Your mom is stubborn and mean, but he’s concerned and you’re the one being obstinate. “Okay.”
You take the pill and stare at it. It’s so small. You probably won’t feel a thing. You shrug and grab your glass of water and swig it down, tossing the tablet in your mouth before you swallow. You gulp thickly and set down the glass.
“Right, let me get you something to sleep in. And a towel,” he says as he claps his hands.
You nod and stay at the table as he strides off. You look down at your lap, thumbs twiddling around each other. As nice as he is, you’re starting to feel like just another burden.
Before you can sink too far into self-pity, you make yourself get up. You take your glass and carry it into the kitchen. You flip on the faucet and dump what’s left of the water. You rinse out the glass and place it in the rack of the dishwasher. You do the plates next, then the cutlery. As you close the door and it clicks, you’re startled by the shadow to your left.
Where the counter extends, Steve stands on the other side. You blanch and fold your hands over your chest. You show your teeth sheepishly.
“You didn’t have to do all that,” he smiles. “You’re a guest.”
“I... I wanted to help,” you say, “um, but... I don’t know how to turn it on.”
“Leave that to me. I put the stuff in the bathroom for you. If you feel like it, you can have a bath. Help chase away the stressful day,” he offers.
“Shower’s fine,” you drop your arms and raises your shoulders, trying to make yourself smaller, “thanks.”
“No problem, sweetie,” he comes around the counter as you go to move in the opposite direction. You nearly collide and press yourself against the drawers as he grazes past you with and apology, “just... gonna finish up.”
He presses a button on the dishwasher door and you flit away. His cologne clings in your nostrils as his warmth lingers around you. Too close.
You go upstairs and shut yourself in the bathroom. It’s a little bit of solace. It’s not much but it’s space for yourself. You see the towel hung from the rack and the clothes folded on the counter. The tee shirt is grayish blue and the shorts are drawstring and stretchy.
You twist and turn the faucet, water running into the sharp-cornered tub but you can’t figure out how to get the showerhead going. You turn the water off then on. Off and on. What the heck?
“You okay in there, sweetie?” Steve calls through the door as friction rubs against the outside.
“Um, yeah,” you shut off the tub and back up. You go to the door and flick the lock back, opening it just a little. “How... I can’t get the shower...” your words jumble up with your embarrassment. How stupid. You can’t even figure that out.
“No problem,” he steps in and you back up.
He goes to the tub and flips on the water, pulling out the lever until the water flows from above. You could smack yourself. Instead ,you thank him and hug yourself. He turns and winks at you, “all good. Anything else?”
“No, I’m fine,” you assure him.
He nods and marches back to the door, turning to tap on the edge of the door, “alright, sweetie.”
He shuts the door and you go to lock it behind him. You retreat and slowly undress. The clothes you’ve been wearing since the night before are slightly musty with sweat and the stench of the hospital.
You step under the showerhead and let the temperature seep in. You lean your head back as it splashes down your chest. You stand with your eyes closed, your mind slowing and your eyelids scratchy. You feel your muscles slacken and sway just a little.
Oof. You open your eyes and steady yourself. You look around and find a bottle of woodsy-scented soap. It’ll have to do. You won’t use too much, either.
The steam forms a cloud around you. The humidity clogs in your nose and chest and swirls in your head. You’re dizzy as you slap a hand on the tile and turn off the faucet.
You stagger out. The heat of the water fogs the mirror, further setting you off kilter. You pull on the shirt and shorts then collect your own clothes. You leave the towel on the rod and lean into the door as you unlock it.
You trip out into the hall and wander along, for a moment, forgetting where you are. You enter the bedroom with the purple bedspread and dump the armful on the dresser. You stumble and sit on the edge of the bed. You slump onto your shoulder and your head lolls. You think the medicine is kicking in.
You close your eyes and descend into the grey. It’s as if you’re floating on water, swaying and rolling with the tides. Not quite awake and not quite asleep. You hear yourself droning nonsensically. Snort and jerk but can’t break free of the heaviness. The world is moving around you but your eyelids won’t peel back.
Your head pulses as you sink further and further down. Your subconscious is so deep it’s suffocating. The dim darkens to an endless void through which you hurtle down towards no bottom. The blackness unfurls before you, swallowing you up.
You wake to the ceiling above you. There’s warmth against your side and a gentle breath brushing over your cheek. You groan and look over as the slumbering form next to you. You nearly scream at the sight of Steve but you don’t have the strength to do more than babble.
Your arms shake as you sit up, your muscles sore and strained. You hold your head as you try to think straight. You shut your eyes again and urge yourself to wake up. It’s a nightmare. Some twisted dream.
Your lashes flick up and you tilt your head to follow the yellow light seeping in between the curtains. It’s morning already. Your vision turns vivid and you’re certain you’re truly awake. But how did you end up here?
“Sweetie,” Steve rasps groggily as he rolls onto his back, “you okay?”
“Steve,” you look down at the tee shirt, drooping down one shoulder, “how... why am I in here?”
“Hmm,” he rubs his forehead and opens his eyes, “you don’t remember?”
“Remember?”
“You came in here, saying you couldn’t sleep,” he lifts himself up, his chest bare as the blanket falls away, “you wouldn’t go back to bed so... I just let you stay. You seemed pretty out of it.”
“I... I did?” You gurgle.
“Must be the pills,” he rubs your back, “we can talk to the nurse again. Sweetie, are you okay?”
You don’t understand. Why would you come in here? How can you not remember?
“Nothing... happened?”
He laughs, “sweetie, what would happen?”
He stares at you and you grimace, shaking your head, “nothing. Nothing, I just... can’t remember.”
“Hm,” he hums and his hand slides lower, stopping just above your bum before brushing back up, “just sleeping. That’s it.”
#steve rogers#dark steve rogers#dark!steve rogers#steve rogers x reader#the girl next door#au#silverfox au#series#drabble#mcu#marvel#captain america
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So y’all fw some MORE Mr. Puzzles headcanons?
Cause I got some :]
Even though he streams his content, Mr. Puzzles hates streaming over normal television and believes it ruins the momentum. The only thing he appreciates about streaming is the lack of ads. No matter how bad the ratings are, Puzzlevision is an ad-free service!
To add, product placement is a no-go. Any products he might advertise on a show are all Puzzlevision branded, not that he’d advertise much. He’s a smart business man, which I’ll go in-depth with another time.
He’s all about authenticity with his actors an really hates big-time celebrities. Celebrities are snobbish and aren’t easy for Puzzles to handle. He also doesn’t want people to engage with his shows solely because of famous names. The day he hires a celebrity is the day he becomes a sellout, and the idea of selling out terrifies him.
Mr. Puzzles does an extensive background check of every single cast member he recruits. Not just because he’s trying to find the perfect actors, but because he’s trying to find people that wont be missed if they mysteriously disappear for long periods of time. After a cast’s likability begin to dwindle, Puzzles brings them back as if nothing happened. Previous cast members won’t remember their time at Puzzlevision and have a hazy memory for a bit before they adjust to normal. If they watch a show that they’ve been in, they’re so disconnected from the show that they won’t recognize themselves. However, Puzzles is careful to avoid reruns after switching casts.
He absolutely hates reality tv for multiple reasons. It’s the farthest thing from reality, everything is so fake, and the writing is HORRIBLE! If the audience demands it, he’ll make a reality tv show, but it would be one of the few things he wouldn’t mind not hitting 5 stars. The less creative impact he has on the show, the less he cares for it.
He prefers live-action over animation, but highly respects animated shows.
He likes movies but heavily prefers tv since television has always been frowned upon within Hollywood and the entertainment industry (It’s actually interesting to know the beef between movie studios and tv, I recommend checking it out. To put in into perspective, picture the Disney theatre movies vs the straight to video movies: there’s a huge difference and it’s somewhat obvious of the cash-grab tv movies/shows are. The purpose of tv has always been a quick cash grab, actually. Kinda like the first content farm, to an extent). Puzzles wants to prove that television is a respectable media outlet and shouldn’t be frowned upon within the industry.
He is familiar with almost any televised language. The only major issue is that, yes, he needs subtitles to completely understand. However, he can hold a relatively decent conversation in most languages, he’d just need a few refreshers.
Already talked about it last post but he likes to cook and really enjoys cooking/baking shows. Y’know that thing where you’re good at one but not as good at the other cause they’re so different (you cook to your liking vs following a strict recipe for the best dessert outcome)? I feel like Puzzles would be perfect at baking alone but any baking show he does goes to absolute shit. However, he’s not as great at cooking alone (since he can’t taste) but it much better with a sous-chef guiding him.
This was someone else’s hc (I don’t remember who’s, I’m srry), but they brought up that the order of shows Mr. Puzzles makes with the SMG4 crew reflect the shows he watched growing up (the kids-y shows, family disney-type movies, teen stuff like Scooby-doo, and gameshows). I’d like to add that he enjoys making gameshows the most because he can be the main character in every episode, and everyone’s reactions are the most genuine. The only thing I can see Puzzles not liking is the lack of creativity (similar to reality tv). However, it would be pretty fitting for a production company called Puzzlevision to make game shows.
This one’s gonna be a little bit more depressing. No matter how hard he tries or how good he thinks his writing is, Mr. Puzzles cannot write anything original. It’s the curse of seeing every piece of televised media to ever be produced. He tries his best to be original but as the puzzlevision arc continues, he gradually stops trying to be original, which is what ultimately causes him to lose. While Puzzles keeps trying to copy other successful media and failing, it’s the originality the SMG4 crew produce that gets them to 5 stars (and extremely quickly, too). Puzzles fails to realize that the shows he loves and tries to replicate were original, too, and that’s what got them to succeed in the first place. I feel like this success from SMG4’s originality is what sparked Mr. Puzzles’ envy in the first place.
To add to this, Puzzles has been canonically spying and interfering with the SMG4 crew for a while (selling them the showgrounds, the cursed keyboard in the ITS GOTTA BE PERFECT arc, the Western Spaghetti arc), and is almost a direct parallel to SMG4. They both was to succeed and produce original content, striving for perfection. The only major difference is that Mr. Puzzles has been alone for the majority of his life whereas SMG4 has his crew. Despite this, however, SMG4 still snaps and isolates himself similarly to how Puzzles takes complete creative control.
Not having a proper friend/support group is also what causes Puzzles to fail, isolating himself from the rest of the world. Even though we don’t see much of the studio, it’s still pretty run down and barren, implying that Puzzles doesn’t spend much time there, if at all. Puzzles spends most of his time in the shows, directing/acting/ect, and avoiding the real world where he doesn’t have control. When he’s in the real world and bored, he dissociates a lot, planning out his next big projects.
To add, he’s not a big fan of modern technology as a whole, and sticks to older tech (like the older computer model in the teaser between the scooby episode and the gameshow episode and his head being an older computer). Same goes for the studio. I can totally see him walking into the decrepit building with the real estate agent being like “this building hasn’t seen the light of day since 200 b.c,” and Mr. Puzzles ecstatically goes “I’ll TAKE IT!” He’d also do his own renovations and film it for an abandoned house-flipping series, scrapping it later because he sucks at renovating.
He can’t take constructive criticism if his life depended on it. He tries, but all he thinks is “well these people just don’t understand TRUE art in this world!”
He can play shows/movies in the back of his mind whenever, and often does if he’s not on set. Y’know that reddit/tumblr post about the kid who memorized Shrek so much that he could just watch it from memory and his dad would catch him at the 37:14 mark and be like “stop watching shrek and go to bed,”? Yeah, Puzzles is like that. Only difference is that he can’t pause it, only tune it out.
He’ll watch them, but found-family sit-coms depress him. Shows like Friends, It’s Always Sunny in Philly, etc remind him of what his life could’ve been if he could’ve made friends properly.
To add to this, y’know how he projects himself in his shows? What if he did that with shows like Friends, where he’s a part of the cast and laughing along. He’d do it in his sleep and not even realize it’s a dream until the episode ends and he wakes up alone. :,]
On a lighter note, older tvs release a light frequency that gets louder the older it gets. Mr. Puzzles probably hums a frequency without realizing it that people can only hear if they’re close and he isn’t babbling away. Older tvs also kinds adjust(?) where they slightly creek a lil. Mr. Puzzles probably does, to, and it’s the equivalent of him cracking his neck.
He’s also more prone to shock people slightly, depending on how manic he is. If he rubs his gloves together he’s practically a battery.
He has a daily care routine that involves him carefully wiping his screen with windex.
These ones are more show/content based. If these continue to do well I’ll post some more general and maybe relationship hcs :]. If you guys have any suggestions/questions/critiques please let me know!
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if i am not too late, can we get geto in mafia town where he is the interrogator. congrats on the 2k!!! i'll look forward to reading everything ❤️🌻
The Sweetest Torture - A Geto Suguru x Reader Fanfic
Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Mafia AU. Edging. Light bondage (handcuffs). Oral sex.
Part of CandyCandy’s 2k Followers Event! Likes are welcome and loved but comments and reblogs make me all warm and squishy inside! Dividers by @benkeibear!
How did it come to this? An hour ago you were waiting tables at the small cafe you work at. Now you’re in some dank basement, sitting in an uncomfortable metal chair, your wrists handcuffed behind your back.
You live in a Mafia town. The local Falzone Mafia family controls the whole area, and though they can be intimidating, they’re overall easy to get along with. They generally do more good than harm, helping the local economy by bringing in tourists to their casino and keeping all crime but their own practically nonexistent. A few of them come into the cafe often, and one of them in particular has caught your eye.
He’s from Japan, but he’s been with the Falzone family since he was a child, according to him. His name is Suguru, and he’s unbelievably beautiful. He has the sort of beauty that stops people dead in their tracks, forcing them to look at him until he’s out of sight.
He stops in the cafe almost every day, always ordering a coffee and a pastry. He’s given you a few flirty, suggestive comments, and in response you let him know you were interested. But he’s yet to make a move since then. In fact he cooled off completely. No more flirting. To be honest, it’s been a bit of a blow to your self esteem.
A new employee of the family named Juliano has been coming into the cafe lately. He seems to be drunk on the power being part of a Mafia family gives him. He’s loud, disruptive, and often frightens the other customers. When Suguru has been in the cafe at the same time, he’s called Juliano down and made him apologize, but they don’t often visit together.
Two nights ago, you were cleaning up the cafe alone before closing up for the night when you heard a commotion outside. Thinking it was the two alley cats fighting again, you stepped outside to shoo them away before they hurt each other. But when you stepped around the corner of the cafe and peered into the alley, you saw two men.
One was Juliano. The other was a member of the Falzone family that you recognized as Antonio. You didn’t know him well but he never caused problems as far as you knew. They were shoving each other and arguing. Antonio yelled out a few words, most of which you couldn’t hear clearly. Except one: “Traitor!”
Juliano lunged toward him, something silver glinting in his hand. It only took a moment for you to realize Juliano was stabbing Antonio with a knife. As Antonio crumpled to the pavement, you tried to sneak away, to make it back inside before Juliano spotted you. But you didn’t make it. He was on you in an instant, shoving you against the outside wall of the cafe and holding his knife to your throat.
“If you breathe a word of this to anyone, you’re fucking dead! Do you understand me?”
You nodded, too terrified to speak, your eyes becoming wet.
Juliano’s breath was hot on your face as he said, “Not just you. I’ll kill everyone you love. Your whole family. So you better keep your mouth shut, no matter what!”
You nodded vigorously again. “I-I won’t tell anyone!”
He left then, and you slunk back into the cafe feeling exhausted and frightened. Antonio’s body was found the next day, and the Falzone family immediately began investigating to find out who killed one of their own. They questioned you at length, but you lied and said you’d closed up early that night and went home. That was yesterday.
Today, a couple of Falzone members came in and told you they’d asked around. Turns out you didn’t close up early. Someone walked by later in the evening and saw you wiping down tables. So why did you lie? What did you have to hide? Were you in cahoots with the killer? You panicked and probably only seemed more suspicious by trying to add more lies. So they took you back to their base, dragged you into this pitch dark room, and handcuffed you in this chair. Someone turned on a light that hung over your head like a spotlight and said their interrogator would be in to talk to you soon.
You’ve lived in a Mafia town long enough to know “interrogator” is a nice term for “torturer”. You have no idea what’s going to happen to you, but probably nothing good. Should you just tell the truth? They probably wouldn’t believe you at this point, and Juliano would definitely try to make good on his threat. No, you can’t risk your family’s safety.
The door creaks open and you look up to see which member of the family will be spending the evening ripping out your fingernails. Most of these men are regulars at the cafe. You chat with them, know exactly how they all like their coffee, laugh at their jokes. You feel a sense of fondness for them, so whoever it is, this is going to hurt in more ways than just physically.
Your jaw nearly drops when Suguru walks into the room. He’s their torturer?! Him?! You feel sick to your stomach as he closes the door behind him and approaches. You’d rather it be anyone but him!
He steps closer to you and looks down at your face. He wears a complicated expression as he sighs and says, “Can you just tell me what happened two nights ago?”
“I-I didn’t see anything! There’s nothing to tell!”
“Then why did you lie about closing up early?” Suguru asks.
You hesitate, trying to think up another lie. “I don’t know… I guess I just panicked when I was being questioned.”
“You do see how that makes you seem suspicious, right? You talk to Falzone guys every day at the cafe. It just doesn’t make sense for you to panic unless you have something to hide.”
You look up at him, wanting desperately to tell him the truth, but too scared of what Juliana will do to retaliate. By this point the man probably has a plan in mind for covering things up even if you tell.
Suguru steps even closer and leans down, putting his hands on the arm rests of your chair. A strand of silky black hair falls over his face as he says, “There are lots of things I want to do to you, but hurting you is not one of them. Please just tell me the truth.”
You can feel tears stinging your eyes. You really are in an impossible situation. “I… can’t.”
There’s a flash of something in his eyes, as if he just realized something. He lowers his voice to nearly a whisper and says, “Has someone threatened you? Tell me, and we can-“
The door suddenly opens, causing Suguru to straighten up and turn to face the newcomer. When he steps aside, your heart nearly stops when you see Juliano standing inside the door. He’s staring at you with dark eyes.
“What do you want, Juliano?” Suguru asks, seemingly slightly annoyed by the other man’s presence.
“Just came to observe,” Juliano says. “The boss okayed it. Antonio was a good friend of mine.”
You’re trying hard to control your expression, to not look at Juliano too much and make it obvious that you’re scared of him. But you can feel his eyes on you. He’s here to make sure you don’t talk.
Suguru narrows his eyes. “I don’t work with an observer. You’re hindering my interrogation.”
From his tone of voice, it seems clear that Suguru doesn’t like Juliano. Figures. Suguru is too classy to be friends with such a brute.
Juliano moves closer to you. “Oh come on. Just slap the little bitch around a few times and she’ll talk.” He raises his hand and swings it down toward your face. With the handcuffs on, you can’t even try to protect yourself, so you squeeze your eyes shut. But the impact never comes. You open your eyes again to see Suguru holding Juliano’s arm.
“I have my own way of doing things,” Suguru says, a warning tone to his voice. “And I’m not going to let you interfere. If the boss really wants you in here, he can come and tell me himself. Until then, get the fuck out.”
Juliano jerks his arm free and gives Suguru a dark, angry look. Then he gives you a meaningful glance before storming out of the room.
Suguru walks over and locks the door with a heavy bolt. “There. No more unwelcome distractions. Now where were we?”
When he steps back over to you, he leans over you again. “So? Is someone threatening you? Someone from a rival family? We can protect you.”
But could they protect you from one of their own? Could they protect your whole family? What if they just didn’t believe you? There were too many uncertainties. You lowered your head. “I’m sorry. I can’t tell you anything.”
Suguru stands up straight and runs a hand through his bangs. “Alright. Looks like I’m going to have to force you.”
Your eyes shoot up to his face in alarm.
He meets your gaze. “I have ways of making people talk. I like to tailor my methods to the individual.”
You try to shrink away from him but you have nowhere to go in the chair. “Please don’t hurt me!” you cry.
He looms over you, looking down with a sultry expression. His liquid amber eyes seem just a little darker. His lips curve into a subtle smile. “I’ve found that for many people, the most effective torture isn’t inflicting pain. It’s denying pleasure.”
Suguru squats down in front of the chair, his thighs spreading deliciously. One warm hand rests on your knee. “I know you want me,” he says in that entirely too smooth voice. “You practically said so last week. I can give you everything you want and more.” His hand slides up your leg, under your floral sundress, caressing you with soft, sensual motions. “Just tell me the truth, and I’ll give you pleasure like you’ve never even dreamed of before.”
You squirm in the chair, squeezing your thighs together. He really is inhumanly beautiful, like someone from a fairytale. He’s right that you want him. You’ve wanted him from the moment you laid eyes on him, on his lustrous black hair and muscular shape. You’ve dreamed about him taking you, bending you over one of the tables at the cafe and having his way with you.
But you have to resist!
You shake your head as you try to pull away from him. “I can’t!”
He slides his other hand under your dress, then uses both hands to pull your panties down, under your hips, and all the way down your legs. After tossing them aside, he gently pushes your legs apart. Your dress is bunched up between your legs, still preserving your modesty.
“You do want me, don’t you?” he asks, his eyes staring into yours.
“Y-yes…” you mumble, closing your eyes.
You feel his hands on your thighs again, creeping upward. Slowly, he pulls your dress up to your waist. The feeling of the soft fabric grazing over your bare pussy is so alluring, your breaths start to come quicker. Finally, you feel the cool air in the room between your legs, and you know you’re exposed.
“You’re beautiful,” you hear Suguru say. “The things I could do to your body… the things I could make you feel… if only you would tell me what you saw.”
You open your eyes and look at him. God, you want him! “I… I didn’t see anything!”
His hands continue stroking your thighs, getting oh so close to where you want them to be. He leans toward you, almost close enough to kiss you, and says in a low voice at your ear, “You’re not being truthful. Don’t you want me to make you cum over and over? Don’t you want my tongue on your cute little clit? My cock inside you?”
Your chest is rising and falling rapidly with your fast breathing, your skin feeling heated and flushed. “Yes… I want that!”
One of his hands moves up and slightly brushes over your slick pussy. “I want that too,” he says.
You have a sobering thought, and you can’t stop yourself from speaking it. “Now you’re not being truthful,” you tell him.
He looks surprised. “What do you mean?”
“After I told you I’m interested, you backed off. You were just teasing me this whole time.”
A hint of sadness passes over his lovely features. “In my line of work, starting a relationship with someone is dangerous, for them more than me. I can sleep around all I want, but the moment I want something more, there’s a chance that person could be targeted.”
Wait, does that mean he wants something more with you? But he’s afraid you’ll be attacked in order to hurt him? The thought makes you feel warm, but it also makes the current situation far worse. Now you want him more than ever.
You look him in the eyes. “I wish I could tell you! But I can’t!”
He gives a disappointed sigh. “What a shame. I was looking forward to taking you to heaven.”
The hand that had been ghosting over you between your legs suddenly stops moving, and you feel his soft fingers slipping between your folds to rub your clit. You nearly jump out of the chair. He smiles at you as your back arches. God, his touch is amazing! You almost spill every secret you have right then and there.
You moan as he strokes you expertly, already on the edge. But just as you feel like release is getting close, he stops, pulling his hand away. You let out a whine, jutting your hips out as if chasing his hand. He waits for your body to calm down, then returns his hand, his fingers tracing circles around your clit again. He watches as you start to come undone, trembling in the chair, and then stops again.
“Please… Suguru…” you breathe out, desperate for release.
“Just tell me the truth,” he replies. “If someone is threatening you, we can protect you.”
You shake your head, tears leaking out of your eyes. He touches you again, bringing you so close once more.
“My… my family…” you mutter.
“They threatened your family? We’ll protect them too. You have my word.”
“You won’t believe me!” you cry as he pulls his hand away again.
He leans his face in close to yours, looking you in the eyes. “Do you trust me?”
You hesitate for a moment, then nod.
“Then I trust you,” he says. “I’ll believe whatever you say.”
He moves his face down then, burying it between your shaking thighs, and begins devouring your pussy. As his tongue runs over your clit, you finally give in. You couldn’t possibly bear having this pleasure taken away from you.
“Juliano! Juliano stabbed Antonio!”
Suguru’s face tilts up slightly to look at your face, but his mouth continues pleasuring you until you finally reach sweet release, climaxing with a scream.
He pulls away and stands up, licking his lips. “Juliano, huh? I can’t say I’m surprised. He’s a sneaky little rat.”
Catching your breath, you look up at Suguru. “He said he’d kill me and my family if I told anyone. Please don’t let him!”
Suguru gives you a reassuring smile. “I won’t let anything happen to you or your family. You can count on it.”
You sigh in relief, feeling tears on your face.
“But before I confront him,” Suguru says, dropping down to his knees in front of you, “I believe I promised you a reward for telling the truth.”
You watch, enraptured, as he unbuckles his belt and opens his pants. He pulls out a cock that suits him perfectly: big, tall, and gorgeous. You can’t tear your eyes off it as he put his hands on your hips and slides you down a bit, so that you’re close to the edge of the seat, your hands still cuffed behind you. This position pulls slightly on your arms, but you can ignore some minor discomfort. Especially when he spreads you open and that magnificent cock pushes inside you.
Ahhh, he fills you up so perfectly! He begins thrusting into you, slowly at first, deeply and intimately. He gradually picks up speed, the friction of his skin against yours making you moan and buck your hips. He leans over you, his hair falling over his shoulders, and kisses your lips.
“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he says. “I had to hold back every time I went to the cafe. I wanted to fuck you in your waitress uniform, right in front of everyone!”
You almost think you’d let him. He goes so deep, and he hits exactly the right spot within you. “S-Suguru!” you cry out, your pussy clenching him tightly as another orgasm slams into you.
He keeps thrusting as you quiver beneath him, his hand stroking your hair. You can feel him twitching and pulsing inside you before he lets out a groan, then he absolutely stuffs you with his cum.
You look up at him with dazed eyes. “Promise you’ll protect me?”
He’s breathing hard as he slowly pulls out of you. “With my life,” he replies.
You watch him button his pants and then pull your dress back down, covering you modestly. He’s just stepping around you to unlock the handcuffs when there’s a banging on the door. He freezes and motions for you to be quiet. On the way to the door, he bends down and grabs your discarded panties, shoving them into his pocket.
At the door, he says, “Who is it? I’m busy.”
You hear Juliano’s voice. “The boss couldn’t come down here, but he said I can observe. Look, I’m sorry I tried to tell you how to do your job, alright?”
You know what Juliano is doing. He wants to stay in the room as much as possible, to intimidate you and make sure you don’t talk. Little does he know he’s too late.
Surprisingly, Suguru unlocks the door and lets him in. Juliano steps into the room, scowls at you, and asks, “Any luck?”
Suguru gives him a dark look. “What do you think, Juliano?”
Juliano, perhaps noticing the clear hostility radiating off of Suguru, suddenly looks at you again. “Has she been telling lies about me?” When no one says anything, he looks at Suguru again. “Are you seriously gonna believe this cheap little cunt over me?!”
Suguru punches him, so fast and so hard that Juliano has no chance to dodge or even bring up an arm to protect his face. He flops backwards onto the floor, unmoving.
You stare at the man on the floor. “Is… is he dead?”
Suguru walks back over to you and finishes uncuffing you. “No, I just knocked him out. I’ll send someone to get your family and bring them here to stay for a while, just until we make sure Juliano doesn’t have any lackeys.”
You let Suguru help you to your feet, rubbing your sore wrists. “What’s going to happen to him?” you ask, nodding toward Juliano.
Suguru smiles. “I’ll be putting him in that chair, interrogating him next. Though my methods for dealing with him will be very different,” he says, gently turning you around to see the wall that was behind your chair. It’s lined with hundreds of sharp, dangerous looking tools and utensils.
“Oh,” you say, feeling a chill come over you.
“I didn’t want you to see it while you were in here. I didn’t want to scare you,” Suguru says.
You’re grateful for that. But you feel just a little bad for Juliano. He probably deserves whatever he gets though.
Suguru holds out his hand to you. “Come on, you can stay in my room until all this settles down.”
You take it, feeling like the safest person in the world.
#geto suguru x reader#geto x reader#suguru x reader#geto suguru#jjk x reader#x reader#geto smut#jjk geto#jjk smut
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La Cosa Nostra- pt 15
Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Part 9. Part 10. Part 11. Part 12. Part 13. Part 14.
cowritten with @schemmentis - we're gonna try to revive this story, and y'all better buckle up because it's gonna get so good
WC: 3.1k
You manage to get the girls up and fed before Melissa stirs on the couch. It must be a groggy Schemmenti morning considering the girls haven’t swarmed her and woken her up themselves nor asked you why Mommy was sleeping on the couch all weekend. You gently shake at your wife’s shoulder once the girls have their shoes on, remembering how upset she’d been when you’d taken them to school without waking her. Plus, you don’t exactly feel generous and worried about making sure she gets enough rest after your fight.
You roll your eyes at her groggy ‘what’ when she cracks her eyes open. “Your daughters want to say good morning and goodbye, is what.” You mutter, stepping aside and wave the twins the okay to hurry to Melissa.
You step back towards the front door as Melissa kisses them each multiple times. Tuning out the goodbyes and I love yous. You’d thought after not speaking aside from the essentials over the weeknd you might feel less upset; you don’t. It’s the same as before you went to sleep the night you fought. Mel’s decision over you, her standing by it, and worst of all her hitting you in all the worst places. You can’t let any of it go, not first, anyway.
You force a deep breath when you feel your little girls running back to your side, opening the front door. “Let’s go, littles, before you’re late.” You mutter as you usher them out.
“You didn’t kiss Mommy again,” Rosie states once you get into the car.
“We were running late,” is all your response is.
Once you’ve seen them off to their class safely, you leave the girls’ school. Your eyes roll when you hear your cell phone ring for the third time in the short trip to drop them off. You know without looking it’s Tony just like it was the last two times, no doubt to ask again for the ledger which you still have no intention of giving him directly. You don’t trust Tony as far as you could throw him. Still, you know you’d better have it in hand soon for when he produces whoever he answers to. It wouldn’t be good for that to happen and you to not have it.
You sigh as you slip back into the car. Which means you probably have to break your silent streak with your wife and ask her to talk to Barbara to get it back. You really don’t want to do that though. Your pride and your stubbornness wants you to hold out for Melissa to at least admit she was being an asshole the other night. Even if she won’t admit she was wrong about the rest of it.
You don’t have Barbara’s number but you do know where she’ll eventually turn up. You pull the car from the school lot, driving to the church. If Mel intends to be in early at the restaurant today; you don’t feel that bad about making her walk this time.
You slip in just after the morning service. Thankfully, you still spy Barbara’s head in the usual back pew. You genuflect at the side, crossing your chest before slipping into the seat next to the older woman- the one your wife would usually claim.
“Good morning, Y/N.” Barbara greets you quietly once her head raises from her prayer. “Another bit of prayer needed, hm?”
“A little bit.” You hedge. You’re not fully lying; you do think it might bring some relief after your fight with Melissa. Which, now that you’re sat next to her, you realize you may have overlooked your wife telling Barb all about. “I was also hoping to see you.” You add.
“Oh? Well, that’s sweet of you. You know I’m always glad to see you or Melissa and your girls in the Lord’s house.”
You flash a smile, one you’ve flashed the Feds and other Family members alike to be as charming as you can. “You know our whole family is always happy to see you. Especially the girls.”
“Oh, I can’t wait for next weekend. They were positively a joy at Sunday breakfast, yesterday. Though you and Melissa were rather quiet.”
“It was…a long week, last week.” You admit. “Mel and I haven’t exactly been seeing eye to eye lately.” You hadn’t meant to share that last part but you lean into letting it off your chest in some way, at least.
“I’m sure you two will sort it out. You always do.”
“I hope so.” You answer truthfully. You might still be angry, and definitely hurt, but you still love Melissa with all of you. You hope the fact she’s been dealing with being relegated to the couch for a few days is a sign she still feels the same, too. Since she hasn’t disappeared to her Ma’s or even Kristen Marie’s.
“Are things okay between the two of you? Would you like to chat about it, perhaps over brunch?” Barbara offers.
You take her up on that offer, and you find yourself bringing her back to your house- just in case the Feds are still watching you. You mill about the kitchen as you prepare a few things before settling at the table with her.
“So,” Barbara hums. “What’s got you turning up at church more often than usual lately- both you and your wife?”
“Could use a bit more prayer these days,” you sigh softly as you take a bite full of your breakfast.
“You didn’t pray today though,” the woman points out. You just shrug at that. “So what made you really come to the church?”
You throw around the options in your head. You could break your silent streak and speak with Melissa, or you could ask the woman herself for the ledger.
Deciding to bite the bullet, you say softly, “I was hoping I would run into you. I need the book that I know Melissa gave you.”
Barbara blinks once, twice. “What book, dear?”
“Barb, I know Mel gave you the book for my salon.”
The woman’s face flickers through quite a few emotions before settling on a neutral face once again. “Oh. I still don’t know what you’re speaking of? What your wife gave me was not a book.”
“Babs, I need the goddamn book,” you sigh.
“Do not take the lord’s name in vein,” Barbara tells you sternly.
“Barbara, I need the damned book. My life is on the line here,” you plead. You don’t mean for that last sentence to slip out, and you have to do everything you can to hide it on your face; the severity of the situation. For all she knows, you’re exaggerating and just using it as a hyperbole.
“And why would that be?” Barbara raises a brow. “It’s just the simple finances for the salon.”
“It is,” You hastily agree with her comment. “But I…” You take a breath, forcing out the familiar lie you gave Valentina when she first noticed Melissa’s extra stress, just modified a bit. “I’m trying to work out selling the salon so I need the book with all the finances in it to go through with a potential buyer.”
“Selling it?” Barbara repeats, a hand pressing to her chest. “Why on earth would you sell? You’ve worked hard for that place, Y/N!”
“I know but it hasn’t been profitable since…well, since I don’t even know when, Barb. I thought I could juggle it and put it back in proper working condition but the clients just aren’t coming in like they used to.”
Barbara suddenly drops the hand at her chest held in shock. “Y/N, surely you know I’m no fool.”
You blink. “Of course you’re not, Barbara. Why would I think you were—”
“The book I have is not for your salon.”
“Yes, it is.” You say, brow furrowing in confusion. Because it is for the salon, both books, and you don’t know what else Barb could think it belongs to.
The older woman sends you a long suffering look, the silence between you drawing out for a moment. “Not for the legal business of your salon though, is it?”
Your face drops. Like, actually drops- jaw open and everything. “What?”
“I’m well aware of what I possess,” the woman tells you in a monotone.
“Shit.”
“What on Earth are the two of you thinking; getting mixed up in all of this- and with your two girls!” Barbara admonishes you sharply, and you feel like you’re being reprimanded by a principal.
You search for words, but none come.
“You two are so lucky I haven’t turned it in, and I nearly did!”
“Y-you didn’t?” you whisper out.
“Of course I didn’t, and the only reason I didn’t is because of Cat and Rosie!” Barb states. “Otherwise, I would have!”
“I- thank you,” you say softly.
“The two of you better get yourselves out of this mess, before it destroys your lives,” the woman tells you lowly.
“The only way out of this mess is prison… or death,” you inform her. “And at this point, if either of us goes to prison, or something happens to Mel, I genuinely fear I won’t survive. When it comes down to everything, Melissa is the matriarchal figure in the family.”
“Neither of those things can happen,” Barbara tells you. “And that is not true- the both of you have the most equal partnership I think I’ve ever seen.”
“Listen, I really do need the ledger back,” you try again.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“Barbara.”
“Your wife entrusted me with it, and while I do not agree with what I hold onto in the slightest, I am not breaking my promise to Melissa.”
“I’m sure she told you not to open the book though, right?” you press. At her nod, you continue. “You broke that promise. So, give. me. the. book.”
“I have to go,” Barbara states. “Thank you for a lovely breakfast.” She makes to head out, and you follow her.
“Barbara!”
She climbs into her car, and speeds off.
You’re left standing on the porch of your townhouse, staring after Barbara’s car even after it’s definitely peeled its way out of your neighborhood. You honestly didn’t know she could drive that fast. Melissa loves to call her a grandma whenever she drives the lot of you anywhere. Barbara would throw back that it was only being safe and God forbid she get into a wreck because your wife wouldn’t stop back-seat driving.
“Fuck.” You curse, briefly covering your face. “Fuck!” You repeat as you pull your hands away. You lean back into the doorway just enough to grab your keys from the hook by the door. You slam your front door shut, not even bothering to take the time to lock it. You won’t catch Barb at this rate, but you’re fairly certain you can catch your wife.
You’re certain, at least relatively so, Barb won’t turn you both in. Not if she hasn’t already. But it sure sounded like she was just waiting for Melissa to ask for the book to confront her herself first. You just happened to ask before your wife. You know though Barb isn’t likely to be going to Twelve Tables to have that confrontation with Melissa. So, instead, you are.
You speed your way there, not really worried about the reds or stop lights or any possibility of getting pulled over. A ticket was nothing compared to what all hung in the balance now. You make your way into the restaurant as fast as your feet will carry you.
“Hey, Y/N, how’s—”
“Not now Val,” You interrupt your wife’s right hand. “Where’s Mel?”
“She’s in the back, but—”
You wave a hand at her, muttering a half hearted ‘thank you’ as you hurry through the kitchen toward the back office. You don’t even stop to worry about knocking at the closed office door. You’re throwing it open with practically all your weight behind it in your haste that has you stumbling into the room.
“Mel, we need to—”
“What the fuck?” Melissa grouses at the slamming open of the office door. Her mood doesn’t exactly improve when she looks up to see you, a glare from green eyes sent your way. “I’m in the middle of a meeting.” She says, the end of it coming through her clenched teeth with a nod to the man standing at the desk in the office with her.
“I really need to talk to you. Right now.” You rush out.
“Ya don’t talk to me all weekend, and now ya want to? Now? I told ya, I’m in a meeting. Get out.”
“Melissa Ann Caterina Schemmenti!” You nearly yell, stepping into the office and gripping her wrist and fighting to physically pull your wife from the office.
“God…damn it. Fine!” Melissa huffs, agreeing to go once she realizes you aren’t going to let her actually work until she does. “‘Scuse me a minute.” She says to the man before following you out of the office and shutting the door after her. “What the fuck is so damn important you have to try and literally pull me from work? One of the girls’ better be hurt or the world better be endin’, so help me God, or it’s gonna be you on the couch now, Y/N!”
“Our world might be ending,” you sigh quietly, eyes down. Then your eyes meet her own. “Barbara knows.”
The redhead has the same face that you wore when Barbara revealed that she knows what she possesses. “What?”
“Do you see why it’s so important now?” you ask her.
“Fuck. Fucking shit.” She runs a hand through her hair. “We’re fucked. We’re going down, and we’re taking all of-“
“She said she hasn’t turned us in because of the girls,” you whisper. “But we have to figure out what to do before something terrible happens to either us, or Barb and Gerald. They cannot get involved.”
“Fuck!” Melissa shouts.
“I know,” you sigh. “I know. I- I don’t know what to do.”
“How do you know she knows?” your wife implores.
“I was at the church earlier,” you tell her. And you recount the earlier events before, “and then she told me that the binder wasn’t for the legal side of the salon. She knows.”
“God dammit,” Melissa whispers. She runs a hand over her face. “Fuck. Okay, uhm… let me handle this meeting, and then I’ll meet you at home so we can figure out what to do.”
“I’ll be sitting in the back waiting for you,” you tell her. “And don’t forget that we do have to pick up the girls today.”
“I know,” she says. “I know. Okay. We’re gonna- we’re gonna be fine, and I- fuck.” You watch as red curls whip around and head back into the office.
With a sigh, you head for the back exit again. Valentina looks at you curiously, but you don’t acknowledge it. You just continue on your way. You pull your car closer to the back door, idling as you wait for your wife. She’s quickly slipping into the passenger seat in less than five minutes.
As you pull out of the lot of Twelve Tables and head towards your home once more, Melissa runs her hand through her hair as she glances at the clock. “Okay, we still have a few hours before we have to get the girls, so we can figure this out.”
“Figure this out?” You echo, glancing at Melissa. “Babe, we have what, four hours? We’re gonna figure this all out and fix everything in four hours?
“It’s just Babs.” She says, trying to convince the both of you. It’s clear she knows how much power her church friend holds at this moment, and it terrifies her. She takes a deep breath, rolling the passenger window down enough for wind from the drive to whip her red locks out of her face. “She didn’t turn us in because of the girls…we can, we can buy time.”
“How? How are we gonna buy any time?” you implore. “We got the Feds still digging into shit; who knows what part of the Family they’re eyeing right now? But it doesn’t matter. Any part of it goes, you know the rest is screwed.”
“That’s only if somebody flips. Nobody would flip.”
You take the risk of holding your eyes off the road a little longer than you should to give your wife a look. You both could likely think of ten people each from your respective sides that could, under the right circumstances, absolutely flip.”
“Fuck, I know!” She says, waving your glare away from her as she looks out the passenger side window. “Look, they ain’t got anywhere yet, huh? That means we still got time. We just need to make sure Barb really ain’t gonna do nothin’.”
“She wouldn’t talk to me past tellin’ me she promised you to only give it back to you and then that she knew.”
“Oh, sure, she can stick to that part of the damn promise.” Melissa grumbles as she gets out nearly before you can put the car in park in the driveway. She turns back just as you catch up to her on the front porch. “Ya didn’t even lock the door! Aduzipach!”
“We do not have time for another argument!” You toss back as you reach the top step, gently ushering her inside with you as you pull the door shut again. This time you do lock it behind you. “We have to be on the same page, okay? We really have to be or we’re definitely screwed. I’m still pissed, and hurt but whatever. It doesn’t matter right now. Right now what matters is you, and me, and the girls. That’s all that matters, which means we have to figure a way out of this bullshit.”
“Amore, you know there’s only two ways out of the life. Neither one lets us be there for the girls- at all.”
“And both I’d preferably like to avoid entirely.” You add, sighing as you slump into your couch. “So..w we have to literally do the impossible.”
“I don’t know how we’re going to do that,” Melissa groans as she leans into your figure.
Barbara Howard speeds off, and she doesn’t necessarily know where she’s going. But after a bit, she figures that you aren’t following her, and she stops at a local diner to pick up takeout for a lunch date with her husband, the senator.
TAGS: @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld
#melissa schemmenti fanfiction#melissa schemmenti fanfic#melissa schemmenti x you#melissa schemmenti x reader#abbott elementary#abbott elementary fanfiction#abbott elementary fanfic#melissa schemmenti
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Hi!!! I really really love how you write Lily! Could you please write something where Lily is comforting the reader who’s going through a friendship breakup and is taking it really hard?
Thanks lovely! <3
Lily Evans x fem!reader ♡ 864 words
You can tell your moping is starting to make your girlfriend nervous. She keeps bringing you things as she bakes, first the beaters to lick clean, then a spoonful of dough, and now cookies in droves, two or three at a time as different rounds come out of the oven and delivered with brief, cajoling kisses. She’s trying to infuse you with a better mood by all manner of sweet things.
“I’m okay,” you promise as she comes back in, your plate reloaded. “I really am full this time, baby.”
Lily hums discontentedly but sets the cookies down. “And when you say you’re okay,” she says, perching on the armrest beside where you’re sitting on the couch, “do you mean you’re okay without more food, or…”
“In general,” you reassure her. “I’m alright, really. I can feel you worrying.”
Her fingers skim down your hair, slotting a piece behind your ear. “Well, I don’t mean to make you feel my worry,” she says, “but I don’t mind worrying. And this would be a…a very understandable thing to be not okay about.”
You can’t quite look at her. “Yeah.” You shrug, trying to sound lighter than you feel. “I just figure there’s not much point in being all sad about something I can’t fix. Best to move on, you know?”
“I do know a thing or two about losing someone you’re close to,” Lily agrees.
And she does, you remember. Her sister. You look up, shameful, but she only smiles gently.
“Moving on does help, definitely, but you can’t really just skip over the feelings, either. It’s…” Her expression goes sheepish. “Well, it sounds sort of awful to say, but it’s almost like they’ve died, isn’t it? At least, the relationship you had did.”
“Yeah,” you sigh, relieved. You’d felt wrong for thinking it, but you’ve been feeling the same. The awkward, unidentifiable tension you’ve been carrying around starts to uncoil. “It’s really weird, not talking to them.”
“I know, sweetheart.” She takes your hand, rubbing her thumb over yours softly. Her eyes are heavy with understanding. “It’ll probably always be weird, if I’m honest. But it won’t always hurt so terribly. You know this is the right thing for both of you.”
“I know,” you say, shallowing your breaths in an attempt to suppress the tears stinging in your eyes. Lily strokes a short line into the back of your hand. You can feel the weight of her gaze on you, but you keep your stare determinedly downward, blinking forcefully. “Sorry,” you choke out. “I don’t mean to be such a drag.”
“Baby,” Lily laughs, wrapping one arm around your shoulders and the other around your head as she pulls you into her chest. And she’s all softness; soft flesh giving way to your shoulder, and a soft hand cradling your face, the soft silk of her hair tickling your nose as it falls around your face like a curtain.
“You’re not a drag,” she promises, “you’re just sad. It’s okay to be sad, my love. Don’t stopper yourself up on my account, okay? Please.”
You don’t cry for long, possibly because there’s not much left to cry for. You’re both right; what’s done is done, and it’ll hurt even if that hurt is pointless. You’ve lost someone who other people still get to have, or maybe you’ve lost the love more than the person, and maybe that’s worse. You can’t fix it, don’t want to, so this is all that’s left to do. Miss it.
“My sweet girl,” Lily murmurs into your hair, “I’m sorry. You’ll be alright, I promise.”
“I know,” you say croakily. You reach up to wipe your eyes, but she beats you to it, thumb stroking underneath your lashes with enough care to nearly have you bursting into tears all over again. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be, you haven’t done anything wrong.” She sounds almost pleading. “You’re allowed to be upset, okay? Really, I’ve been counting on it all day. I’m just glad you didn’t go to bed without letting yourself have a cry. I was starting to really worry.”
“Is that what the cookies have been about?” you tease, feeling lighter as tears cool on your cheeks. Your voice comes out easier.
Lily hums. “Perhaps.”
“Wait, really?” You pull away from her chest so you can see her. “You were trying to feed me until I felt better?”
“Well, would there be anything wrong with that?”
“No,” you laugh, “but I feel like it’d have been a lot less effort just to cuddle.”
Lily beams, then looks guilty for it, tapering her smile down into something more sheepish. “I could still do that,” she says, slipping off the armrest and into your lap. You bite down on your own smile as she smears a kiss over your cheek. “I’ve got more cookies coming out in a few minutes, but aside from that brief interruption I’m all yours.”
“More cookies?” you ask, leaning back to peer into the kitchen at the overflowing cooling racks. “How many are there going to be?”
“You seemed very sad,” she reasons, stroking a piece of hair near your face. “It’s possible I may have overcompensated.”
#lily evans#lily evans x reader#lily evans x fem!reader#lily evans x y/n#lily evans x you#lily evans x self insert#lily evans fanfiction#lily evans fanfic#lily evans fic#lily evans fluff#lily evans hurt/comfort#lily evans imagine#lily evans scenario#lily evans drabble#lily evans blurb#lily evans one shot#lily evans oneshot#marauders#marauders fanfiction#marauders fandom#hp marauders#marauders era#marauders girls#marauders valkyries#marauders girls x reader#marauders valkyries x reader
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Meant to be part II
Tyler Hernández x reader
warnings: mentions of blood, swearing, a kind of a bigger time jump
Summary: You have been pulled into the phantom realm mess along with the rest of the group, realising that your soulmate was in the group you decide to avoid him as much as possible, not speaking even a word to him in the real world. What happens when Tyler gets injured and ‘dies’ in the phantom realm. Do you finally speak?
Part I. Part II.
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“If anything happens, I need to let you know that i’m fucking in love with you Y/N.”
Interesting. You inspected those words over and over again, wondering who they were from. Those won’t the first words Tyler spoke to you in the phantom realm, which got you wondering if you had different soulmates in the phantom realm. You shrugged off the thoughs, helping everyone load up the supplies into the jeep since you were all about to go into another town Logan suggested to test a theory about distance or something. You would be lying if you said you paid attention to what you were testing but you knew the plan pretty well. You say down next to Taylor who was in the middle of me and Tyler, Logan and Ben in the back and Ashlyn being the driver, Aiden in the passenger seat. “This is going to be a hell of a long ride.” You mumble and rest your head on the window after Ashlyn sped out of the graveyard and after Aiden got his ass in the jeep. The drive was quiet, a bit of an awkward silence but you didn’t really care since you could probably get some rest. Just before you could do that Aiden speaks up about the silence.
“Ashlyn for the love of god let me play some music, it’s been 30 minutes of silence and I think i’m going insane.” He says and I stifle a laugh, watching the two bicker. You notice how the phantoms start thinning out after some time of driving, which kind of creeped you out since they were almost everywhere in big groups. You yelp as Ashlyn swerves the car, avoiding a large root on the road. You grab your chest where your hear is and breath in and out. “Holy fucking shit..” You mumble and Tyler speaks up “What was that for?” He asks with furrowed brows, Logan looking confused; “That’s strange, the road is usually well maintained.”
“Let’s just turn around and find a different road tomorrow..” You say and Ashlyn starts to speed up, making you hold onto your seat. They all question Ashlyn, making you look back and your eyes widen. “Guys..” “Ashlyn turn back!” “Ashlyn!” “I can’t!” “Why not!?” “It’s right behind us.” Everyone freezes and you slowly turn around, looking at the hideous creature chasing you as if you were some kind of mere mouse to it. You turn back and bring your knees to your chest, everything getting a bit more blurry than usual, your whole body shaking. “This can’t be happening..” You say and Taylor pats your back, Tyler looking at you sympathetically. Taylor looks at Tyler, motioning to you. He nods and Taylor taps you on the shoulder, gesturing for you to sit next to Tyler. You quickly switch, not wanting to break your back if Ashlyn suddenly sped up even more, if that was even possible. He grabs you by the waist and brings you closer so only you could hear him.
“If anything happens, I need to let you know that i’m fucking in love with you Y/N.”
He says and before you could say anthing Ashlyn turns again making you fall onto Taylor. “Is everyone okay?!” She yells. “Yeah we’re fine, the doors a bit jammed but other then that everythings okay.” She starts to turn a lot more trying to avoid the roots, making everyone just go left and right. You hear a sudden click, making your head turn. The door next to Tyler suddenly opened, making him fall back. He didn’t say anything, not even scream. You try to grab his hand but Taylor pulls you back so you don’t fall along with him. Taylor yells at Ashlyn to go back, you almost throwing up on the spot after seeing the horrific scene that was now behind you. Tylers stomach got pierced by a tree, his whole body going limp. You close the door of the jeep carefully, letting Taylor sob into your shoulder, Ben holding her by the shoulders for a bit since she as going a little bat shit crazy a few seconds ago. The car drive was silent, only Taylors sobs being heard and the disgusting noises the centipede like phantom was making.
Everyone suddenly yells, even you after the car goes down a hill, into a tree. Your head hits the seat in front of you, a little crack coming from your nose and almost a second later a warm pool of blood starts to go down your nose. You all begin to get out of the car, searching for Tyler yet luck wasn’t on your side. After a while you decide to call it a night, walking into some gas station and set your things down, your whole mind blank. Everyone was comforting Taylor in some way, you felt selfish for not doing the same, but you couldn’t get a single word out of your mouth. Maybe you would’ve reacted differently if he didn’t just confess to you after months of knowing each other, even after you ignored him in the human realm.
Everything goes black and you jolt awake in the bus all of you slept in that night. You run over to where Tyler was, screaming his name. Taylor runs over to him as well, screaming for her mom. You hols him down on his side, since it looked like he was having some kind of seizure. And after months of not speaking to him, you finally break the silence between you; “Tyler, please don’t leave me, I love you so much I can’t have you leave me.. not now.” You sob, the parents grabbing him and running with him to the hospital.
You all get to the hospital, you were sitting alone and your whole legs were shaking as if they just got electrocuted. Your parents were at home since they weren’t even at the little gathering at Ashlyn’s place. It’s best if they didn’t find out about this whole thing, they would probably throw you into a psych ward. You had a pretty good relationship with them but things like these were just something they wouldn’t understand. You were lost in thought, not even noticing Ashlyn had gone somewhere with her dad when you see Taylor running to hug a bleeding Tyler. “How reckless..” You think to yourself and stay where you were, not wanting to intrude and you could talk to him later anyway. The doctors finally get him to go back to his room, his mom and sister helping him. You wonder if he saw you differently, if he was mad that you didn’t save him. These kinds of thoughts clouded your mind but you shook them off as they let you visit him finally. You went in last, smiling softly st him. You let the others talk with him, you just sitting there looking at your feet. Everyone goes silent and Tylor gestures for everyone to leave for a bit. You notice everyone getting up and raise a brow, getting up to go with them but Tyler stops you; “Stay.” Your breath hitches, turning around to sit next to him on a chair.
“Are you alright?” He asks you making you look at him with a raised brow. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” He chuckles, waving you over. You sit down on the hospital bed next to him, finally being eye to eye after what felt like decades. He grabs your hand and interwines it with his. “I’m really glad you’re okay.. I feel horrible that you had to see that.” You shake your head, hugging him. “No..No don’t apologise. You didn’t do anything wrong, you couldn’t control what was happening.” You say and rub his back. “I love you Ty, I don’t blame you for anything and the others don’t as well.” You say and he cups your cheek, smiling at you. Your face reddens a bit and you look away. “So.. how about a date after I get out of this prison, called the fucking hospital.” You chuckle at his antics and nod eagerly, making him smile softly. He lays down, pulling you down with him, being careful to not put pressure anywhere on his stomach. You rest your head on his shoulder, his arm on your waist. You both fell asleep, the others walking in and taking pictures of the cute sight in front of them, everyone letting you both be for the night. You really were meant to be.
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#school bus graveyard#school bus graveyard x reader#sbg#sbg x reader#school bus graveyard fanfiction#school bus graveyard x y/n#sbg (webtoon)#tyler sbg x reader#tyler hernandez x you#tyler hernandez x y/n#sbg tyler x reader#sbg tyler#school bus graveyard tyler#tyler hernandez x reader#tyler hernandez#tyler sbg#sbg fanfic#tyler x reader#tyler x you#tyler x y/n
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WIP Wednesday
Lokius. Virgin Dom Mobius finds out he has to go undercover...with Loki. 😏
“You’re going undercover,” Ravonna said, handing him a file and sitting down beside him on the sofa.
“Really? Wouldn’t you want someone else to do it?” Mobius frowned, opening it and reading the first page. It was a mission to find a variant hiding out in suburban Ohio. He’d gone to ground after an initial chase and all scans indicated he hadn’t moved on. He was unarmed; a sitting duck.
Mobius was to settle into the community, make friends with the neighbors and report back with intel. That was it.
Ravonna picked up her glass and took a swig. He could feel her eyes on him while he tried to read as much as he could. Flipping the page, he scanned the next sheet and saw a photo of a white picket-fenced home labeled ‘where you will be staying.’
“Will you do it?”
“I haven’t got through all the paperwork but it looks alright,” Mobius agreed, not looking up. He wasn’t sure why he’d been given this mission in place of someone more used to field work—Ravonna must want him out of her hair or something, but this could be an excuse for a free holiday. Maybe it would be fun.
He flipped through some more pages until he reached the last one and there, with their signature smirk and dangerous eyes, was a photo of Loki and a note stating why they would be accompanying Mobius on this mission: they needed a Dom/sub pair.
“No,” Mobius gasped. “You don’t really mean this?”
“You’re compatible. You’ve got the patience to deal with…those more wayward than most, and they’re…eager to explore.”
He picked up his glass and down the contents. A million thoughts rushed through his head. It had been hard not to notice Loki’s stares when they passed by his desk, how they’d deliberately dropped something on the floor near him to make him turn around and look. He’ll never forget the time he found that pink sex toy in his drawer.
Mobius knew Loki was more than just a handful. Bringing them to heel in a prim and proper world where subs stayed at home behaving might be nigh impossible.
“I think you should get someone else.”
“I disagree. You are more than capable. Look how you handle that last case. You kept persevering even when I thought we’d have to give up. You can do this.”
Mobius huffed, feeling hot under the collar. Managing one tough case wasn’t a clear indicator he was going to succeed here, especially when Ravonna didn’t know his secret.
“I still think it’s better…”
“No, you’re going and that’s final.” Ravonna got up and poured herself another drink. “There isn’t anyone else I can send, and I need my best on the job.”
“But I’m…”
“Mobius. I won’t have you continue to downplay your vast experience. You can do this and you will because I said so.”
“Ravonna…”
“No ifs, no buts. You’ve got 2 sleep cycles before you need to go; that’s all I can spare you. Oh, and you’ll need to brief Loki, too. Don’t mess this up.”
Tags under the cut
Tagged by @elodiah @lokimobius @kcscribbler @cha-melodius 💕💕💕💕
Tagging @devilbearingtrouble @doomed-spectacles @thosegayoldmen @mystic-voyager @faux-fm @sparrow-the-tired-lesbian @starrose17 @starport-seven-five @dewdropreader @dreamycloud @insert-witty-user-name-here @mirilyawrites @chaos-monkeyy @blackbirdofasgard @silentxsymphony @illiasha @primewritessmut @stillwanderingflame @in-my-loki-feels @ceeceetv @boredintjqueen @voulezvulcan @rins-love-wins @natendo-art @wolfpup026 @mobius-m-mobius
And if you've clicked to read this and aren't tagged and want to share your WIP, consider yourself tagged
#lokius#loki x mobius#loki#mobius#loki series#marvel#mcu#loki laufeyson#mobius m mobius#wowki#wip wednesday#my wips#writer tag game
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your apartment fills with the mouthwatering scents of buckwheat and dashi as you begin to unpack the takeout that's just been delivered. but even with your stomach already growling, you pause, confused.
“kento?” you call to where he’s is leaning against the counter.
“yes, love?”
you count the boxes again, frowning. “why did you order three? is one for your other girlfriend?”
“of course not,” he replies, unfazed by your teasing accusation as he continues to scroll through his tablet. “she doesn't like soba.”
you throw a napkin in his direction when your see the small smirk curling on his lips, shutting off his tablet to look over at you.
you wait, watching him expectantly.
"it's…for yuuji.”
“ah,” you realize, unable to keep from smiling. “your protégé.”
“he’s more like my intern,” he corrects, taking two plates from the cabinet.
you grab a third, following him to the dining table to help him set up. “you fired your last intern because you didn’t like how he organized your files. yet this one is sukuna’s vessel, and you’re bringing him soba.”
nanami pulls out your chair, kissing the top of your head before settling in his own seat. "you don't approve."
"it's not about that. if you say he's not dangerous, of course i believe you.”
he looks at you for a moment, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he figures out what to say.
“i just…don’t want him to feel so alone,” he says softly. “you heard about what happened at the detention center. gojo’s trying to hide him from the higher-ups right now, but we don’t know how long that’ll last. he’s just a kid, and gojo’s has a lot going on. so i— i want to look out for him.”
he glances over at the takeout bag, where the third box is sitting. “i may not be able to protect him like gojo can, but i can at least make sure he’s eating.”
you know he’s been exhausted lately. you can see it in the lines on his face and the slight sag of his shoulders when he trudges home at the end of the day.
yet he still finds time to care for a student that’s not his own.
and oh, if that did not make your heart skip a beat, knowing you were loved by a man capable of such care. you can’t help but watch him, almost unable to wrap your head around how lucky you are.
“you’re staring, dear.”
you sigh loudly, rising from your seat to wrap your arms around his shoulders, kissing his cheek. “i think my heart might burst if i find another reason to love you more than i already do.”
he takes your hand, pressing his lips to your engagement ring.
“you love me plenty already. which is why you’ve already set a third plate out to invite yuuji to eat with us, correct?”
_____
“and then nanamin charged in and chopped it up just like this—”
nanami watches you watch yuuji swing a single chopstick menacingly as he recounts their last mission.
“he just charged in, hm?” you ask calmly. “yuuji, you’ll tell me if my fiancé is being reckless, won’t you?”
“yes ma’am!”
the blond sits up, clearing his throat. “surely that’s not necessary.”
“he’s so stubborn, isn’t he?” you ask the boy sitting across from you, even rolling your eyes.
“sure is! he’s pretty bossy too.”
nanami’s scoffs as if he’s annoyed, but secretly…secretly he couldn’t be more pleased.
he’s always wanted to be a lot of things in his life. a good sorcerer, a good employee. a good man.
but all of those things he thought he needed to be to live a full life are irrelevant.
because nothing is more fufilling than being needed and being loved.
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𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝
Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem
cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining
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You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky.
You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely.
Total quiet.
“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?”
“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?”
“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?”
“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…”
“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?”
“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.”
“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.”
He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh.
“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated.
Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry.
“Spencer?” you ask quietly.
“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?”
“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?”
“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups.
“Where are you?”
After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him.
He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.”
Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?”
“Where was I?”
“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed.
“Still where?”
“Did you hit your head?”
“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.”
“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk.
“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.”
“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.”
“…What?”
You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.”
“I annoy people.”
“You don’t annoy me.”
You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here.
You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?”
“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection.
“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?”
“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly.
“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?”
“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.”
“Hi Milly,” a new voice says.
You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room.
Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark.
You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly.
“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!”
His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer.
“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask.
You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again.
“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.”
He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath.
“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers.
“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger.
“I missed you.”
“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year.
He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.”
“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.”
“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.”
You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”
“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!”
You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.
Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity.
“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek.
“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.”
You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly.
“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says.
“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway.
“I don’t want to be alone forever.”
“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates?
In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess.
You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?”
“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”
His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.”
“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol.
“She kind of looked like you.”
You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.”
“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.”
“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”
“I know,” he says.
“Do you?”
“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.”
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.”
“Is that why you make all your jokes?”
“What jokes, babe?”
“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.”
You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?”
“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.”
“Spencer, you remember everything.”
He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,” he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.”
You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him.
You’re happy to.
“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”
“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled.
“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse.
“You look so cute,” he says mournfully.
You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally.
“Can I come home with you?” he asks.
That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.”
— —
Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.”
“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.”
“So you want three?”
He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.”
Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time.
You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?”
He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him.
You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory.
He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that.
The avocado is making him feel sick.
“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?”
“I think I'm gonna throw up.”
“You’re okay.”
“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes.
You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button.
“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.”
“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.”
Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”
“But it’s you.”
“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”
“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now.
You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.
But you’re perfect, he’d said.
To you. And you’re perfect to me.
“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say.
You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again.
You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.”
He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do.
The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…
“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask.
Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.”
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid scenario#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfiction
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~ ~ ~
#I’m glad I heard from you today; once; two hours ago#and I know this is gonna be another one of those days where we barely speak and have limited messages with each other#because it’s late and you couldn’t talk to me any earlier I guess#and I still don’t know if I should bring up again the fact that I want/need more time with you as my friend#since the last time I told you that you completely ignored that I’d ever said anything#I don’t want to be pushy and make it seem like I’m trying to pressure you to spend time with me if you’re busy and all that#but I kinda also need my friend like really badly#nothing is really wrong or anything so it’s not like I need support or something else serious#but you’re like a mood stabilizer for me and every time we can’t talk much I just feel kinda down#and we really haven’t had much time to talk for a long while; seems like weeks sometimes#just hanging on to a few messages a day and trying to be satisfied with that minimal time you can give me#maybe just like a half hour of uninterrupted time with you? maybe that’s not too much to ask for…#because this is getting harder every day#all I do is refresh tumblr and wait for you to message me and I’m usually stuck waiting a very long time for that which really sucks#I just don’t know how to bring this up to where it won’t make you uncomfortable and you’ll actually acknowledge these feelings#personal
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Chevelle
Summary- (joel miller x virgin!reader) Joel figures out that you’re the one who hit his baby, his precious 1964 Chevrolet Chevelle. He needs you to make it right, but he doesn’t want your money ❤️🔥🍆 (5k words)
Tags- MDNI hot girls can’t drive, implied age gap, virgin!reader, we're calling him tender dark!joel, soft!dom joel, tender dubcon (power imbalance, joel solicits sex from reader, no explicit consent but reader is into it) reader has a luscious bush, Joel walks you through handjobs, blowjobs, fingering, oral, unprotected piv, creampie, come eating, loss of virginity. Joel is clothed and reader is not.
A/N- Writing this is how I spent my spring break. Hope you love it 🩵 Thank you @noxturnalpascal for all of your help editing and your encouragement.
Based on mine and @beefrobeefcal shared prompt where we asked, "What would happen if reader damaged Joel’s vehicle?” Her fic is here and it’s one of my favorite things I’ve read!! Kiki has such a beautiful voice in her writing and I love all the details she adds to her fics.
Pawn shop by @toxicanonymity came to mind when I wrote this story and was a source of inspiration. Also worth a read, I have nothing but love for Tox’s writing 🩷
It’s late when you get off your shift at Tony’s, the shitty Italian restaurant you’ve been working at for far too long. It doesn’t pay much and you’ve considered working a new job to save up and move out of your brother’s house, but you’ve been putting that idea off for a variety of reasons. One of them being Joel.
Joel’s your neighbor, a sexy, older man you’ve got a certain fondness for. His hair used to be more brown but it’s grayer now, same with the scruff on his face. He’s got sparkling, chocolatey eyes and a sharp nose set above a thick, downturned mustache. He always looks a little dirty when you see him, with dirt caked into his forehead wrinkles and grease smeared along his temple or his jaw. He’s always either fresh off a contracting job or working on his car. He’s got this cute little Chevy he spends his nights and weekends with, a 1964 Chevrolet Chevelle, baby blue.
Joel was one of the first people to welcome you to the neighborhood and even helped you move your stuff into your brother’s house, though helping you implies he let you do any work. Joel offered you a pop from his fridge and then took over entirely, putting both himself and your brother to work moving all of your stuff in. You didn’t lift a finger that day.
-
You can’t seem to pull your eyes from the little green glowing letters on your dash, watching letters and numbers on the screen roll on by. 12:37 A.M. 101.9. Paper Bag - Fiona Apple. You’re so out of it. You yawn and blink a couple of times, focusing back on the narrow roads of your neighborhood. It’s so poorly lit over here, and it doesn’t help that one of your headlights is out. Joel’s been bugging you to let him fix that, he says it’ll only take five minutes.
You turn onto your street and bam. You’re wide awake now. You just hit something.
You hit Joel’s car. Joel’s fucking car. What the fuck is it doing on the street? He always has it safely kept in his garage. Oh dear god, the panic is setting in. This is Joel’s baby. You just hit his baby, his pride and joy.
You can’t even bring yourself to assess the damage you’ve inflicted upon his dear Chevy. Probably dented to shit, but you don’t really wanna know. Instead, you just pull your foot off the brake, press your remote control garage door opener, then pull into your garage as you press your lips together tightly. You’re surprised and relieved to find that there’s hardly a scratch on your own car. Joel won’t know. He won’t.
The next morning, you’re sipping on your coffee as you check your mailbox. Joel’s outside his house, loading up his work truck with some tools and supplies. He waves to you and you wave back, a small stack of mail in your hand.
“Whose mail you got today, sweetheart?” he calls to you.
You check the names on some of the letters. “Davidsons’ and Pierces’,” you answer through a chuckle. Joel rolls his eyes and laughs. The incompetent mailman is a running joke amongst yourself, Joel, and your other neighbors. He never seems to deliver anything to the right address, so you and your neighbors are often hand delivering each other your misplaced mail.
You laugh with Joel until you notice his smile disappear. He’s narrowing his eyes on his Chevy. Your heart drops as he steps closer to the vehicle, then pinches his nose in frustration. Fuck. Joel stomps back to his work truck, haphazardly tosses something in the bed and then slams the tailgate. Yeah, he’s fucking pissed. Your neck and your face heat in shame as you quickly run back inside.
-
In the two weeks since Joel’s car was hit, he’s been working to repair it tirelessly. He’s ordered a new tail light, since whoever hit his car shattered it and he’s spent a pretty penny ordering the exact shade of baby blue paint to touch up all of the scratches. Joel only trusts himself to touch his car, but the situation necessitates that he’ll have to take it in to a local repair shop to get the dents out. Fucking fantastic.
When Joel gets off work tonight, he notices he’s got some packages on his doorstep, hoping it’s the shit he ordered for his car. He’ll open them shortly, but he first notices that one of the packages is addressed to you. Go figure, he thinks, chuckling to himself. He walks the package over to your house, noticing your car is parked outside of the driveway. And it’s backed in too, which is odd. Joel assumes your car must’ve been blocking your brother’s, so he probably played musical chairs with your cars to get his out and then backed yours up onto the driveway. You never back your own car in the driveway, and Joel’s pretty sure it’s because you don’t know how. You probably can’t parallel park, either. He’ll have to show you how to do that sometime.
What’s also new is a bit of baby blue paint on your red Honda Civic’s exterior, right by your headlight, the same headlight he’s been nagging you to let him fix. Joel bites the inside of his cheek. Interesting. He knocks on your door, package in hand, but he’s met with no answer. No biggie. He leaves the package on your porch and goes back to your car, inspecting the paint once more. He scoffs in astonishment and walks home. Unbelievable.
-
The next evening, you check your mailbox after forgetting to do so earlier. As always, you never have just your own mail. This time you’ve got Joel’s. You walk it over to Joel’s house with the intention of dropping it off on his porch and going back home, not wanting to bother him as he works on his Chevy but his whistle startles you. “Hey you,” he says. “C’mere.”
“O-oh,” you stutter. “I’m just dropping off your–”
“Yeah, I know. Just c’mere a minute,” Joel says. “Got a fuckin’ bone t’pick with you.”
Your palms are beginning to sweat. He doesn’t know anything. Maybe he just wants some company while he works on his car, it wouldn’t be the first time. But still, there’s something about his tone. You step off of his porch and cut through his lawn to get to his garage. Once inside, you help yourself to a root beer from his refrigerator. Something cold and fizzy and sweet to help you calm your nerves.“Oh, sure, help yourself,” Joel mumbles. He notices your fingers slipping off the tab of the pop can and pulls it from your hands, then opens it for you. He’s wearing a stained Prince and the Revolution t-shirt and a slightly too tight pair of jeans that squeeze his ass just so. His garage is decorated with old license plates, posters, other odds and ends.
“Thank you,” you whisper.
Joel says nothing as he walks to his work bench. He pulls a lightbulb out of a cardboard box and waves it in your direction, he’s only a couple of feet from you. “Ordered the wrong bulb,” he tells you.
You can only nod. You think about maybe making a joke about the mailman screwing it up somehow, but you bite your tongue. You don’t trust yourself not to stutter right now.
“M’sure you saw, my baby here’s all banged up,” Joel puts the bulb back in the box and leans against his work bench, facing you. “Happened a couple weeks ago.”
“Mm,” you hum.
“Hit and run, can you believe that?”
“No, I can’t. That-that’s terrible.”
“I know it is. And here I thought we had a nice neighborhood…” he trails off before speaking again, “You think you know someone, huh.”
Someone. So he has someone in mind? “Yeah, it’s terrible…what happened to your car. Can’t believe someone would uh…would do that, knowing how you, your car…yeah. Terrible.”
Joel stares at you for a minute before speaking again, taking note of how you can’t seem to hold eye contact with him. He steps closer to you.
“You wouldn’t know a thing about it, right?”
“Yes,” you answer, quickly realizing your word mishap when Joel raises his eyebrows. “No, yeah. I don’t know–yeah, nothing,” you sip your root beer before fidgeting with the pop tab and shifting your weight from one foot to the other.
Joel notices. “Squirmin’ an awful lot over there, sweetheart. You got something you wanna tell me?” You shake your head, still playing with the tab on the pop can. Joel removes it from your hand, his fingers gracing over yours before placing it on the workbench. He’s moving closer to you now, matching your pace as you walk backward until the back of your legs hit his car. You gasp, he stands so tall and imposing in front of you. “Easy,” he warns. “You be careful with her.”
“Yeah, I know. Always,” you reply. Your voice is beginning to shake.
Joel hums at your response. “Not always, though, sweetheart. Think you were pretty careless with my baby a couple weeks ago.”
The familiar pressure behind your eyes is beginning to build as tears are pricking your waterline, “I don’t know what–”
“Awh, don’t do that. Don’t lie t’me.”
The tears spill over. You’re caught. You don’t know how Joel figured out what you did, but he did. “You’ve got a guilty conscience, dontcha?”
You nod before you can speak. “I’m so sorry,” you cry. Sobs begin to wrack your body, your tears now flowing freely. You’re so guilty. You should’ve told Joel what happened that night. It was an accident, and he might’ve been mad, but you’ve probably made it worse for yourself with your dishonesty. “I’m so sorry, Joel, it was late and I was so tired–”
Joel pulls you in a tight embrace, stroking your back with his fingertips. “Shhh, I know. I know,” he whispers in your ear, “S’okay, sweet girl.”
“It was so…” you try to explain, choking on your sobs and your sniffles. “So late and d-dark and I wasn’t paying attention.”
“I know. Quit your cryin’, s’gonna be fine,” Joel whispers. He pulls away from you, looking at you with those deep brown eyes of his as he wipes the tears from your face with his thumbs. Know you’ll make it up to me.”
“I will,” you agree quickly. “I’ll pick up some more shifts, Joel, and I’ll save and–”
“Oh, no. Not that. Save your money,” he tells you earnestly. “Somethin’ else,” Your eyes follow Joel when he leaves you for a moment to flip a switch on the wall of his garage. Something in the air changes then, a thick, heavy feeling between you both when he makes his way back to you. “Use your head, sweetheart. How are we gonna make it right?”
Your mouth is dry, your tongue swollen as you pick up what Joel’s putting down. “Let me give ya a hint,” Joel grunts, sucking in his gut slightly as he unbuttons his jeans. He wears no underwear, a thatch of coarse hair littering his skin is what you see when he pulls down his zipper. He grips your wrist and shoves your hand beneath the denim where you feel his package, already half hard. It’s warmer, thicker than you would expect. He feels heavy in your palm, his pubic hair wiry and scratchy against your knuckles.
He doesn’t tilt his head in confusion at your hesitancy. “Don’t know what to do with all this, do ya?”
You shake your head no. “I’ve never…with anyone, before.”
“S’alright. I’ll walk ya through it all,” Joel says, seemingly unsurprised at the revelation. With your hand still on his cock, Joel pulls himself out of his jeans entirely. He’s harder now. “Like this,” he instructs, bringing your hand to his mouth and spitting in it. A pang of arousal fills your gut at the action. He pushes your hand lower and guides you to wrap your hand around his cock. It feels heavy, warm to the touch, sticky with his sweat and his saliva. Rock hard, but smooth like satin. You admire him, his blushed tip, the prominent veins on his shaft.
Your breath hitches as Joel takes control, using his strong, weathered hand to guide your own to massage his cock. “You got it,” he encourages, sensing your rigidity. “Tighter,” he instructs, squeezing his hand around yours. You’re slow to gain confidence but he’s patient, doing the work himself for now. “You move your hand all the way up, all the way down my cock,” he tells you.
You nod in understanding. Joel drops his hand but yours stays stroking his member. He sighs and tilts his head backward as you focus on the task at hand. Without the pressure of intense eye contact, you take the opportunity to admire him, the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, the small drops of sweat rolling down his throat. You’re shy when he smiles at you, quickly averting your attention from him and to his cock, watching the way it twitches beneath your hand, where a little bead of precum forms. Experimentally, you swipe your thumb over the tip. “That’s it,” he whispers, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand. He ruts his hips into your hips, “Doin’ just fine.”
You stroke his cock like this for a while, gaining confidence in yourself until he stops you suddenly.
“Is that it?”
“Is that it,” Joel mocks with a feigned pout. “No, hon. You banged up my baby pretty good. We ain’t quite square yet.”
His leaking cock bounces against his tummy as he approaches his work bench. Your heart pounds as you can’t quite see what he’s reaching for. “Know it’s new to ya,” he says. “Just listen to me, s’all you gotta do.”
Joel returns to you with a dirty rag in his hand and lays it on the concrete ground, then reaches for your face. He pulls your bottom lip down and lets it go to watch it bounce back up. “Knees,” he whispers, gently pushing you by your shoulders to the ground. The rag he laid on the concrete for your knees is a sweet touch, all things considered. His cock is inches away from your face as he holds it between his thumb, middle, and forefingers. He presses himself to your lips, encouraging you to open your mouth. “Give it a taste,” he instructs you. “An’ you can kiss it too, if you’re feelin’ amorous.”
You part your lips and tentatively lick the weeping slit of his thick head just once. After a moment, taking in the saltiness of his precome, you lick him a couple more times, gaining confidence quicker than you did using just your spit soaked hand on him. Bigger stripes now, using more pressure. Like Joel advised, you kiss his cock a couple times, each kiss sloppier than the last before swirling your tongue around the tip. You’re learning it all, the softness of his skin, his musky, heady taste.
“Give me your hand,” Joel says. “Goes right here,” He wraps your hand around the base of his cock, same as before. He places one of his hands on your head, guiding you closer to him, encouraging you to take him deeper now. You do as such, sputtering and choking when you get overzealous and take him too quickly.
Joel chuckles, “Not all at once, sweetheart. Go slow. Try it again.” This time, Joel controls the pace at which you take him. He pushes himself into your mouth and senses when it becomes too much, pauses for you. He pulls his hips back, then rocks back into your mouth, building a slow, shallow pace for you to get used to.
He’s pushing his cock deeper into your mouth. His tip teases the back of your throat as he whispers, “Little more. Be brave,” You gaze up at him, searching his eyes for some sort of approval. He nods with his brows furrowed. “Do it for me, hon.”
You allow him to fuck himself deeper in your mouth now, your eyes pricking with tears as you gag and sputter on his cock. This time, Joel doesn’t stop himself. He’s grunting, groaning, savoring the warmth of your wet, soft mouth. “So good,” he tells you before tapping your hand, reminding you to put it to use.
What you can’t reach with your mouth, you massage with your hand as you cup his balls with your other. You and Joel work in tandem, him drawing in and out of your mouth as you bob your head and flick your tongue against his shaft. Your jaw is sore with the newness of it all, and just as you’re becoming used to the thickness of his cock between your lips and on your tongue, he pauses. “M’gonna stop you now,” Joel mumbles as he pulls out of your mouth, his eyes focused on your swollen lips and how the string of saliva connected from them to his cock breaks. “S’your turn.”
“My turn?”
“Mhm. It’s etiquette, hon,” Joel says with a grunt, lifting you to your feet. He reaches between your bodies and unbuttons your pants, pushing both them and your underwear down your legs. “Always return the favor.” Joel lifts you slightly, sitting your bare ass on the hood of his car, then pulls your pants off your legs the rest of the way. “Arms up,” he tells you. He lifts your shirt off of your body, unhooks your bra and lets it fall to your lap. You’ve never been so vulnerable, so exposed in front of someone before. Instinctively, you cover your chest with your arms and cross your legs.
“You’re shy,” he whispers. Joel drapes your clothing over his shoulder before reaching for your arms, removing them from your chest and placing them on either side of your body. “Stay like this,” He holds your knees next, uncrossing your legs and spreading them wide for his view.
Joel takes in your body and admires your wet cunt, how your thick curls frame it beautifully. A shiver goes down your spine as his eyes scan the rest of your body before he holds intense eye contact with you as he folds your clothes, placing them in a neat pile next to you on his car. You watch his chest rise and fall with steady breaths as he drops to his knees, situating himself between your thighs.
He presses a sloppy kiss against your inner knee, then another on your other leg. He kisses his way up your inner thigh, nipping at your flesh and soothing the marks with his tongue. He holds your legs firmly apart, knowing your instinct is to shut them when he reaches your cunt, his hot breath fanning over your center. “Wider,” he whispers, “I gotcha.”
The once cool metal of Joel’s car is now hot and slick under your sweaty, trembling palms. Your pulse beats as you look up at the garage ceiling, lacking the courage to look at Joel between your thighs. “Relax for me,” he tells you. You try.
You gasp when he finally begins exploring you, first his thumb parting open your folds. Adding a couple more digits, he hums in satisfaction as he finds you’re already wet, your slick glistening on his fingers. He dips one of those fingers inside of you slowly, watching how you react to his touch. You twitch and fight to keep yourself still and silent as he adds a second finger, curling it rhythmically and stroking that sweet spot inside you.
“Oh, god,” you moan as he dives into your cunt, the soft and warm, private place between your thighs, his mouth now joining where his fingers touch. His tongue is hot and wet as he drags it through your sex, circling your clit with it. “Joel, please.”
Joel’s satisfied as he hears sounds of pleasure fall from your lips, feeling your hips bucking and grinding gently against his mouth. He sucks one fold, nips at the other as he curls his fingers inside you rhythmically. With the hand that’s not teasing your pussy, he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your thigh. “Quit squirmin’ on my car,” he warns with a firm squeeze to your thigh, hard enough to bruise you. “Ya tryin’ to scratch her again?”
His wiry stubble drags across your skin, scratching gently against the inside of your thighs. You can feel it building up quickly, that hot, sparkling feeling deep in your core as he works you, sucks your clit between his lips.
“Please,” you cry, the only word you can form at the moment.
“I know, hon,” he murmurs, escalating his efforts on your pussy. Sucking, licking, curling his fingers harder. He works you through your orgasm, feeling you gush against his mouth, your arousal dripping down his fingers and pooling into the palm of his hand. Your hands fly to his scalp, twitching and jerking from the sensitivity with your fingers tugging on his curls when he licks a stripe up the seam of your cunt.
Joel pulls away from your center with a satisfied grin, lips shiny, his facial hair damp. He rises, standing above you, and sloppily kisses your lips. You’ve never tasted your own arousal before. His strong hands find your ass cheeks, pulling you closer to where he wants you.
From there, you gasp when he slides his cock through your slick folds, rubbing thick head against your sensitive clit and watches how you react to his touch. “What do you think I’m doin’ to ya next?”
“Joel,” you whimper, your hips chasing his movements, following where his cock teases your cunt.
“Yeah, you know what I’m doin,” he purrs. “Crossin’ it all off your list tonight.”
You tense when he notches just the head of his cock in your pussy, reaching for his arm, his shoulder, any part of him you can hold.
“Know you’re nervous,” he says softly, rubbing circles into your thighs. “But s’just me an’ you here. Wider, hon. Spread your legs for me.”
You nod quickly, following suit and spreading your legs to accommodate him. “Like this?”
“Yeah, like that. S’perfect, hon, that’s all I need from you. C’mere,” Joel adjusts his hold on you before inching his cock into you a bit more. You’re so tight, squeezing him hard and whining through the stretch as he pushes into you further, the gradual slide inside your body causing him to grunt quietly. “Relax for me,” he groans through a strained breath, parting your insides as he’s sheathed himself inside you fully now. “Bite me f’ya need to, sweetheart. It’ll be okay. You’ll get used to it.”
It aches, but the pain dulls as Joel lets you get used to the feeling, the newness of his cock inside you. He holds you close and you take advantage of his suggestion, biting softly into the flesh of his neck, tasting the saltiness of his skin as you whimper quietly. Joel groans, his eyebrows furrowing together. “Shh,” he hushes, “You’re okay, hon. You’re doin’ alright.”
Joel slowly pulls out of you and fills you up again. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he praises as you tilt your hips, opening yourself to accept more of him. You’re humming into his neck as his cock recedes and then pushes in once more. “Eyes on me now. There it is, easy. Easy.”
You do as instructed, pulling your face away from him to meet his gaze. His sparkling brown eyes stay on yours as he pulls out of you, pushing into you slowly, deliberately. You hold onto his neck, his broad shoulders, clutching the fabric of his sweat dampened shirt as he builds a steady pace now. He holds you close to his body, one of his hands traveling up your body and groping your bouncing breasts, teasing your sensitive nipples.
“You just follow my lead,” Joel says, fucking you faster now. His fingers are pressed firmly into your waist now as he rolls his hips against yours. The pain is gone now, dissipated with his continued languid thrusts into you. You feel so full, so satisfied with his thick cock inside you, massaging your insides.
He fucks you steadily but gently, maintaining a quick rhythm. You didn’t know sex could make you feel this way, so much pleasure. You’re moaning freely, overwhelmed with emotion, tears flowing freely down your cheeks. God, you love it, and it’s nothing but pure pleasure.
Joel’s not oblivious to your enjoyment. He’s watching you, your face contorting, he’s listening to your moans and your cries, feeling you shiver and twitch beneath his touch and how it’s all because of him, all of your pleasure at the hands of Joel and only ever Joel. He feels a sort of carnal sense of power over this, the effect his touch has on you. You’re soft, so soft and all for him, your flesh for his hands and his teeth alone to squeeze, dig into, to bite on.
You reach for his arm and guide his hand to your center, pressing his fingers against your clit as that familiar tightness in your gut begins to build once more. “Please,” you beg.
“Thought this was supposed to be a deal for me. Didn’t need to hit my car f’ya needed me like this,” he taunts, laughing breathlessly. But Joel obliges, of course he obliges you. He moves his calloused fingertips in circles over your clit, coaxing out your release. “Takin’ me so good, sweetheart. Look at you, m’gonna make you come again. Makin’ out like a fuckin’ bandit, aren’t you?”
Indeed you are. It’s not long before you’re coming for him. With his ministrations on your clit, his thrusts now faster, harder, deeper, you’re coming undone for him as his name pours from your lips, long and slow like honey. With your lips parted open, you’re twitching and shuddering against him as you watch his face, letting yourself go. You whimper and moan, and your release is volcanic in the way it washes over your body so fiercely. Heavy, vivid waves of pleasure washing over you the way lava rolls down the earth. Slow, fiery, intense.
Your pulsing cunt milks Joel’s own climax, his orgasm crashing through him in such a way that he loses focus on you. His eyes screwed shut, the noises he’s making louder than he intended–what starts as a grunt turns into a moan, long and libertine as he fucks you harder than he probably should as you whimper in overstimulation. His thrusts turn harder and frenzied as he milks himself with your cunt, spurting hot ropes of his come inside you. You take everything he gives you, feeling so warm and full of his spend.
His movements then begin to ease, slowing down some more until he eventually stills inside of you. He takes the quiet moment to check on you, holding your face in his hands as he makes sure you’re okay. Your chest heaves as he wipes your tears, but you silently nod, reassuring him that you’re alright.
With a soft grunt, he pulls out of you. He watches how your combined arousal spills on the baby blue paint of his Chevelle, then uses his thumb to push a bit of his escaped come back inside you. Such a lewd action from the man.
Joel helps you to your feet, steadying you as you stand on shaky legs. He reaches for your clothes from the hood of his car, helping you dress yourself. “Didn’t want ‘em to get dirty,” he explains. “Everything’s covered in fuckin’ dirt and grease in here.”
“Thank you,” you smile shyly. Joel opens the garage door, the once peachy and blue sky now inky black. You didn’t realize how much time had passed. You take off back to your house, but Joel grips your bicep before you can step any further.
“Nuh uh,” he tuts. “Ya already hit my car, hon, you don’t wanna leave your mess on the hood now too, do ya?” Joel gestures to your combined arousal on the hood of his Chevelle, swipes his pointer finger through the mess and pushes it between your lips. Your brows furrow at the taste, that salty, heady flavor you’ve never tasted before now. “Use your tongue, sweetheart.”
“You want me…”
“Lick it up,” he instructs in a quiet voice. Joel figured he might’ve let you off too easy, seeing as how you came twice–once on his tongue and once on his cock when this was all supposed to be for him. He bends you over the hood of his car, groping your ass as he leans over your shoulder to inspect your work, making sure it’s a job well done. “Good girl,” he praises, watching you lick his car clean. When you’re done, he kisses you softly.
He walks you home, dropping you off on your doorstep. You’re not quite sure what to say, whether you should apologize again, thank him, say goodnight. Joel fills the silence for you. “Gonna teach you how to drive right one of these days. Keep you out of another mess like this one, hm?” he smirks as he kisses your cheek. “Goodnight, hon.”
If you enjoyed, please reblog, leave me a comment, and/or send an ask 🩷 your words mean the world to me and your interaction keeps me motivated to write. Love you all <3
From now on I’ll be sharing cat pics at the end of my fics. Hope you don’t mind 🐈⬛😻
#strang3lov3#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller x you#pedro pascal#joel miller#the last of us#the last of us hbo#joel miller fic#joel tlou#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal characters#joel miller x virgin reader
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OMG ur hiromi fic has my DYING oml written so well- can we see one with softdom! toji plssssssss where he’s talking her through it like with ur last one? I’m dying ilysm
❤︎ ໋𓈒 toji talking you through your first orgasm
warnings. fem! reader, tummy bulge, soft dom toji, cowgirl, unprotected s*x, praise, mild dirty talk, mdni.
an. thank uuuu ily2 !! </3
toji would be laying manspread, watching some kind of old movie that’s playing in the background—you’re somewhat relatively cockwarming him, yet moving just a bit.
“princess, you gotta relax. trust me, i like how eager you are but it won’t work like that.”
“s-sorry,” you’d pout, his shaft was stuffed inside you, and he’d so deep it makes you intake a sharp breath — digging your nails into his thighs before moaning. “i feel it, ‘m really close, toji.”
“i know you are,” he murmurs, soft fingers lightly wrapping around your neck. toji pulls you close to kiss against your cheek as he watches you writhe. “i’ll hold your hand if it makes you feel any better.”
judging from his tone, he was purely teasing—yet you grip onto his hand anyway, and he chortles roughly before creating a quick suck against the inner part of your neck to hear you whine. “sensitive little thing, okay. now,” he breaths, his free hand gripping your waist. “just lean against me, yeah… like that. i’ll take it from here.”
you quiver, feeling toji swiftly lick a stripe up your neck. you also feel contact of his scar, the very edge of it brushing up against you.
“easyyy…”
he slyly coos beside your ear, giving it a slight nibble. you moan, feeling toji bring a hand towards your right tit. he runs a thumb against your perky nipples and chuckles at the way your body responds—you shiver from his warm touch, instantly craving more and he just simpers. “you’re impatient, i know. you’ll know it when it comes, baby. trust me.”
“okay, okay...”
you utter, not even realizing how your back arched against him. he’s shoved deep between your folds, and you start to move your hips against him.
mimicking a lazy yet ploddingly steady pace, you moaned out his name numerous times, as if was the only word your cute brain could register at the very moment.
“awwwh. don’t try to act tough, ‘s okay, girl,” he teases, almost sensing the pout starting to pull amongst your plump glossed lips. he was right in a way though, you tried your hardest to suppress your moans. mainly because well… it was embarrassing.
butterflies swarmed inside your tummy, feeling toji bring both hands towards your hips. your hips that continued to stutter, gradually rutting back and forth into him.
“…fuck,” he growls, and you let off a whiney noise, feeling the ridges of his cock gently graze against you, against your folds. “how deep do you feel me, baby? use my hand ‘n show me.”
his words were smooth, simply suave…
just toji talking to you was enough to make you cum. your ears twitched and you constantly pulsed from him.
toji’s twitching inside of you, and you feel the vein that ran down his dick prod against you. that was enough for you to let off a moan, slumping back against him before your legs started to convulse in utter desperation.
“can feel you here,” you mewl, grabbing onto his big hand, trailing it towards the spot he easily reached. toji snickers, nipping at your neck before your hips pause for a moment again. “you’re so deep, toji.”
“and you always fit me good, baby.” he purrs into your ear, and you swallow. only to watch toji bring a hand down towards your clit. he starts to rub, maneuver circles over your pussy and you’re just about at your limit. “ohhh. listen to that, she’s ready to give it to me. so sloppy ‘n wet, fuckin’ filthy.”
your eyes rolled, it felt so good. you were almost speechless. just inaudible noises departed from your lips.
toji rubs against your pussy with a single hand, another gingerly gripping your neck as your back’s pressed against his chest before he starts to speak.
“come on, come on. cum on me, princess. make a mess ‘n i’ll clean it right up for ya,” and then he chuckles once you’re just buffering against him, such electricity like sensations coarsing through your body. “quite dramatic though. just a little orgasm, baby…heheh.”
his hoarse laugh rings through your ears as his fingers brush against your throat, another hand just idly plying with your cunt until your release approaches — and it’s close, your mouth grows dry and your pupils dilate.
“f-fuck, fuck..” you’d whine, heaving and heaving. you started to pant, breathing becoming irregular and all. toji’s deep voice against your ear only made your pussy twitch ten times more, before you briefly contract, your legs give out and that’s right when you came.
toji grows silent as you’re riding out your orgasm, cutely trying to move your hips, just wanting to make some sorts of use for yourself before he stops your hips. “wellll, look at you,” he grins, peppering your neck with warm kisses. you whine, overly sensitive — even just from that. toji holds you still, the movie still playing in the background and you’re practically limp against him.
your legs, perhaps they were limp. you felt all ounces of pleasure, quite an experience that you couldn’t even sputter out anything.
“made such a mess on me,” he playfully frowns, making you grind against him at least once before nipping at your collarbone. “such a good girl. i like my girls messy,” he undertones, bringing a hand towards your chin — toji pulls down your bottom lip before swiping against it, you moan. “aw. if only you could see yourself like i do.”
and that’s when toji starts to slather your slick all on already glistened folds, the squelches were so loud… “how’s it feel? you satisfied, princess?”
“o-one more time, toji.” you finally speak, tugging onto his wrist and he raises his brows in pure amusement.
“oh?” he smiles, watching you start to intimate his actions. rubbing his hand against your pussy, and you make yourself whimper, his touch was so hot, fiery and warm. “filthy girl. using my hand all for yourself,” and then he chuckles against your ear once more before planting a kiss below your ear as lewd encouragement.
“but okay,” he continues, leaning back. spreading his legs just a bit more for you to get comfortable. “you learn fast, baby. yeah, just like that. now make yourself cum, show me how good you’ve been payin’ attention.”
#★vegasbaby.#toji smut#toji x reader#toji x you#toji fushiguro smut#toji fushiguro x reader#toji fushiguro x you#jjk fic#jjk smut#jjk x you#jjk x reader#jjk x reader smut#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujustsu kaisen x reader#anime smut#female reader#fushiguro toji x reader
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Batman the Playboy
Justice League, not quite early days but before proper identity reveals, though everyone knows Batman knows theirs, bc he has Opinions™ and Constructive Criticisms™ on their secret-keeping.
The issue is brought up on random occasions. The most notable incident- the Justice League, including Batman, being Drunk for Bonding, and Batman, in a fit of paranoid good intentions because he CARES about these idiots, damnit, why must they be so careless, starts insulting them.
Batman, leaning heavily on the table: “GL, you’re a mess, I don’t even know where to start with you. And Arrow! Your goatee is so distinctive, it’s a wonder no one has called you out on it-“
Green Arrow, also drunk: “Alright, there’s no need to insult my awesome facial hair-”
Batman, in despair: “It’s so ugly.”
Green Arrow: (offended noises)
Green Lantern: “Okay, the only reason you know our secret identities is because you’re a rude nosy bastard who needs to know everything about us like a creepy stalker who needs an ego boost! We’re not stupid, Spooky, we’re just polite. We could figure you out easily if we wanted to. Superman can see right through your mask!”
Usually, Batman would have a good response to that. Something smart and reasonable like “villains won’t care for your privacy, I’m testing you,” or something cutting like “I don’t care enough about you to go digging, I set your secret identity as a training exercise for Robin.”
However, Batman is Drunk, because for some reason imbibing drugs that dampen higher brain function is socially acceptable and often, for some reason, expected, because it’s “team bonding” and “come on just loosen up a bit.” (Also for him, drunk=Brucie)
So what Batman ends up saying is: “I could kiss you full on the lips in my secret identity and you wouldn’t know a thing.”
Superman, plucking the glass from Batman’s hand: “Aaaand that is enough alcohol for you!”
Batman nods. Thank God. He wants to go home and sleep. But first: “Superman, yours is so stupid it’s almost impressive-”
———
Of course, Green Lantern has smelled a challenge. And Green Lantern must annoy Batman. It’s his true superpower. So, the next time they meet (sober) he brings up the issue again.
GL: “So about what you said at the party… the part where you could kiss us full on the lips without us knowing. You still confident in that without liquid courage, Spooky? Bet you your real name you can’t do it.”
Batman, regretting the fact that alcohol has ever passed his lips: “I could do it, but I will not.”
Flash, curious: “Why’s that?”
Batman: “Informed Consent. I will not risk making any of you feel violated, or manipulated, for the sake of a stupid bet and my ego.”
GA, still offended by the goatee comment, trying to back Batman into a corner: “So if we give consent, we’re fair game? Try me, Batman. Even you can’t pull this off. Anyone else game?”
Some of the Justice League laughs, raising their hands.
Flash: “Come get me, hot stuff! I’ll call you out!”
Wonder Woman: “It could be amusing.”
Martian Manhunter: “I would be far too difficult a target.”
Green Arrow: “Not just you. C’mon, Spooky, flirting well enough to get a kiss from me? I’m a classy lady.”
Black Canary: “D-class, maybe.”
Superman, wants a kiss in on the fun: 🙋🏻♂️
“So that’s it then!” Green Lantern says smugly. “Batman, if you can kiss… how many people raised their hands? Ah yes- HALF THE JUSTICE LEAGUE, without anyone realizing it’s you, then you win.”
Batman scoffs and walks out, leaving the Justice League in stitches at their joke. Because- Batman? Being good enough at flirting to land a kiss on half the league, without it being forced or awkward, without them recognizing his body language, his voice, his build? How ridiculous!
The Batman is Autistic. The Batman does not understand jokes, especially not ones that are half truths. The Batman has consent, and something to prove.
And Bruce Wayne, billionaire, playboy, and sexy DILF, has targets.
(Please tell me how you think he gets each League member.)
Edit: there have been a bunch of awesome additions in the notes! My own take here.
#a few months later GL brings it up#like ‘ha ha remember funny joke’#batman: ‘…joke?’#justice league#😳#yes joke#autistic batman#batman#brucie wayne#justice leauge shennanigans#batman the playboy
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Pretty Little Thing - co-written with @notafunkiller
Summary: Your long-time crush, Bucky Barnes, is a regular at the bar where you work, and tonight, it's impossible to avoid serving him for the first time.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Warnings: +18, alcohol, oral sex (f receiving), rough sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pet names, no mention of y/n
Word Count: 3.8K
A/N: @notafunkiller and I merged our separate ideas into one and this is the outcome. It was so much fun to write. We hope it'll me the same while reading too.
All work is ours, please do not repost or translate without our permission.
Every like, comment, and reblog is highly appreciated. Don’t hesitate to message us. Unless it’s hate. That’s never welcome.
You thought this night would be calm and easy, that nothing significant would happen. All that changed when Bucky Barnes set foot in the bar. It’s not his first time here by any means, but until now you successfully managed to avoid him by asking the other bartender to serve his side. This time, unfortunately, you are working alone. It’s a slow night, so there’s no way you can really avoid him.
You watch him find an empty place and sit down, and you really don’t know what to do. You can feel yourself sweating already. You are so nervous. Not because you are afraid of him or anything. He doesn’t look scary. Not to you. You are afraid to embarrass yourself in front of him, but you should be able to ask for his order and serve it without messing it up. That’s not so hard.
Just keep it simple, you tell yourself.
“Hey, what can I get you?”
Bucky looks up from his phone straight into your eyes, and you freeze a little.
“Hello, do you... a draft beer, please.”
His answer confuses you. That’s not his usual order.
“You sure you don’t want something stronger? We have that bourbon.” You curse yourself internally for paying attention and not being able to hold your tongue.
He raises his eyebrow surprised. “How do you know that? There is no way you served me any drinks cause I would remember you.”
He frowns as soon as he finishes speaking. Maybe you helped your colleague or maybe you were informed about what he drinks just in case he showed up. He’s still the Winter Soldier after all.
“I never served you before.” You say with a shy smile. You hope this is enough of an answer for him.
“Do I look like a bourbon man?” He asks playfully before giving you a smile that transforms his face a little, softening his features.
“You look like you enjoy quality stuff, and between you and me, our draft beer is shitty.”
That comment makes him chuckle. You’re so distracted by his face that you don’t notice how his eyes fall straight to your breasts.
“Thanks for the tip. Normal beer then?”
“If you insist.” You smile and open the small fridge under the bar where you keep some of the beers. You quickly open it and put it right in front of him, not realizing that gesture shows off your bartender skills a little bit.
He doesn’t look away from you as he takes a big sip before placing the bottle on the table quickly.
“For how long have you been working here?”
“For the past year.” You avoid making eye contact while drying some of the freshly washed glasses.
“Oh.” He sounds kind of taken aback. “I’m surprised you never served me. I’ve been coming here for what? Seven months?”
“Eight.” You bite your bottom lip as soon as the word slips out, trying to shut yourself up so you won’t mess up even more. What were you thinking? Well, you weren't…
His eyes immediately glow, and you wonder if you fucked up for good.
“So you’ve been keeping an eye on me?” He brings the bottle to his mouth and before you can say anything, you watch him finishing it in one go.
“I just noticed you.” Of course, you kept an eye on him, but you played it down a little.
“Well, I didn’t notice you,” he says regretfully. “And I wonder how. I am pretty aware of my surroundings... especially if they are full of beautiful people like you.”
You can’t help but blush, yet you try to sound unaffected. You don’t know if you succeed or not, though.
“This place is usually so crowded and full of… people. So it’s normal.”
“Neah,” he denies immediately. “Have you been hiding or something?”
“I was just on the other side of the bar.” And you were trying to hide from him, saving yourself from this embarrassment because you knew if you talked to him you would fuck up. You were right.
“So I was on the wrong side this whole time.” He shakes his head. “Another beer, please, doll.”
“The same?” You ask while trying not to dwell on the pet name he uses.
“Yes, please. And one drink for you. Whatever you want, if you are allowed to drink, of course.”
The way he offers to buy you a drink surprises you. You feel quite nervous, but you try to maintain your calm. He’s probably just being nice, right?
“I am allowed to drink, but that’s not necessary.”
He pouts. “I didn’t mean you need to talk to me for it, doll. There are no conditions for this drink.”
“Oh.” You didn’t even think he would take it this way. “That’s not why I said it’s not necessary. I wasn’t worried about that.”
“Okay. Whatever you want... I won’t insist.”
“It’s just… I am allowed to drink whatever I want. You don’t need to pay for it.” You try to explain so he won’t take it the wrong way.
“Alright,” he says, a little distant, as you open up another bottle of beer and put it in front of him.
“I just didn’t want you to pay extra when I can get it for free.” You don’t know why you are explaining yourself like this. It’s normal not to accept drinks from customers.
“It’s fine, I totally understand. Thank you!” He reaches for the bottle immediately.
You take a fancy glass out of the rack and pour yourself one of the ready-to-serve cocktails that your colleague prepared, right in front of him. He doesn’t say anything as he keeps staring at your hands.
“Thanks for the drink.” You say while putting the bottle away.
“Me?” He asks surprised. “Thought this is on the bar.”
“Well, you gave me the idea, and if you really insist on spending your money so unnecessarily, who am I to stop you?”
“That’s a good attitude.” He smiles again before bringing his bottle close to your glass. “Cheers to a good Thursday in a lovely company.”
You clink your glass with a smile on your face. It seems like he finally understood your intention, so you feel relieved.
“How does that taste?”
“Don’t let the color fool you, it tastes really strong but delicious.” You look at him for a second and notice that got his interest. “Wanna taste it?” You offer your own drink to him, and he contemplates for a few seconds before leaning in.
“Yes, I am curious.”
You hand the glass to him. Your fingers touch for a second, and you get so excited that you worry about dropping the glass. It’s like your heart is in your throat.
“Your hands are cold,” he comments casually before taking a sip right from the spot covered by your lipstick. You gasp. You have no idea if he did it on purpose, but the way he’s drinking it… your body is responding to that so much. You clear your throat, trying to calm yourself down.
“Delicious.” He smiles, handing back your glass, and you notice a bit of lipstick in the corner of his mouth.
It creates this internal dilemma. Should you just let him know about it or act like nothing happened and let him walk around like this? The second one could cause him a lot of embarrassment, and you don’t wanna be the reason for that. That’s why you suddenly find yourself leaning closer to him, just to wipe the lipstick off. He doesn’t move an inch, not jumping like you would expect, letting you touch him. When you realize what you are doing, you suddenly feel super self-conscious.
“You…” You gulp down. “You have… lipstick on… just here.”
You keep rubbing your finger against the corner of his mouth. You feel his stubble and how soft his lips are, but you try not to think about it. He chuckles, covering your hand with his. It surprises you so much that you freeze for a second. Then you look into his eyes, struggling to see if you made him feel uncomfortable or not.
“So considerate of you. Thank you.”
You move your hand away from his mouth but not away from his touch. Somehow you can’t find the strength to do that.
What he does next, though, makes you completely breathless. He brings your hand to his mouth again, but this time he presses his lips gently against your skin, smiling right after. Your eyes open with surprise, feeling completely speechless, yet you don’t move away. You don’t even realize you are smiling slightly.
“Your hands are still so cold.”
“Yeah…” You try to speak, but it feels like your words are stuck in your throat. “They are always cold.”
“We need to change that.” He places another kiss on your hand.
*
He’s surprisingly nervous as he leads you to the living room. Based on his confidence back in the bar, you didn’t expect him to become so shy all of a sudden.
“Do you want some coffee?”
“No.” You answer quickly. The only thing you want is to feel his lips again but you keep that thought to yourself.
“What do you want then?”
It’s obvious in his tone and the way he looks at you he doesn’t ask you about drinks.
“You.” You can’t believe you said this out loud, but it’s the truth.
He doesn’t need another push as he comes closer, grabbing you by the chin. Your lips crash together with an almost desperate hunger. He takes the opportunity immediately, getting his tongue inside your mouth in a fervent exploration. The sensation is electrifying.
You let him explore your mouth while you focus on his taste. It’s so unique and tasty, you just can’t get enough of it. Your hands slowly move toward the back of his head, pulling him closer.
“Fuck,” he groans when he feels your touch, breaking the kiss just to move his lips to your neck.
“Mhmm… James.” His lips feel so good against your neck. It just sends a jolt of arousal through your body.
But then he freezes, with his mouth glued to your neck. You open your eyes confused wanting to ask him what happened, and that’s when you realize what you’ve just said.
“You know who I am?” His voice is a warm whisper against your skin.
“Of course, I know who you are.” You make it sound so natural as if there’s no way you wouldn’t know who he is. “You think I go to the houses of men I don’t know?” You say playfully.
“I didn’t mean that...” He raises his head from the crook of your neck just to look you in the eye. “I didn’t mean it offensively, I just wasn’t sure. I’m just stupid, I didn’t expect it.”
“I know who you are, James Bucky Barnes.”
“Fuck,” he groans, bringing his thumb to your bottom lip. “Say it again.”
“James Bucky Barnes or just James?”
He kisses you more desperately than before, his hands finding your hips as he gently grabs them, pulling you so close that you can feel his erection. You gasp so softly, but he hears it anyway, and you settle on his hard cock so it’s right against where you want it to be.
He moans. “Let’s go to the bedroom, doll.”
“Why?” You ask innocently as if you don’t know what he means. “Isn’t your couch comfortable enough?”
For him? Sure. But for you?
“The bed is better.”
“Okay.” You sound so obedient suddenly as you wrap your legs around his torso.
He immediately lifts you up without effort, and you smile, letting him carry you toward his room. He’s a super soldier after all. He closes the door with his foot as soon as you’re inside, then he gently puts you on the bed, like he’s afraid you might break. The way he’s acting is so endearing, but you want him to let go really badly. Even the manner he starts to take off your pants is too gentle.
You let him undress you the way he wants, though. Then you move closer to him, taking his clothes off, your movements not as gentle as his. You are impatient and needy. You see him holding his breath when you reach to touch his chest, close to where his metal arm begins, so you lean in to leave a kiss right there. You don’t know if you are crossing a line, but you have to. He should know that this is not something that would bother you, on the contrary, it turns you on even more. When he doesn’t move away from you, you keep kissing around his scars and his chest. Your hand is on his shoulder, gently caressing.
“That feels so good, doll,” he says with a sigh before he grabs your waist. “but it's time for me to eat.”
You find yourself on your back so suddenly that you don’t even have time to react. He quickly settles between your legs and you understand exactly what he meant. He lifts them enough so you can rest them on his shoulders as he gets more comfortable on his tummy. You feel a hole in your stomach immediately. You can’t believe Bucky is between your thighs, about to eat you out.
He’s taking his sweet time at first, kissing down your thighs and even smelling you before he finally brings his tongue to your entrance.
“Come on, James. Don’t tease me.” You look down just to see him smiling.
“Why not? You seem to enjoy it.”
“I would enjoy it more if you stopped teasing and started eating.”
Surprisingly, Bucky doesn’t waste more time and properly starts to fuck you with his tongue. He’s not too quick, nor too slow with his moves, and you’re shocked when he brings his fingers to your mouth.
“Need you to make them wet for me, please.” Even while saying that, he sounded a little too polite.
“On one condition,” you say, looking directly into his eyes. “Stop acting like I am made of glass.”
“But you kinda are.”
“I am not. Believe me.”
He says nothing, making sure to lick your slit before getting his tongue inside you again, his fingers, glued to your lips. You take it as a silent agreement and you open your mouth, suck his fingers, and let him wet them. When he thinks it’s enough, he gently takes them out and brings them right to your clit. He doesn’t touch it directly at first, teasing around it until you move your hips a little, needing to feel your clit stimulated.
“Please.” The way he’s taking his sweet time is so frustrating.
He lets his hand drop and instead of feeling his fingers on your clit, you feel his tongue at the same time he gets a finger inside you. You moan loudly, finally getting what you wanted from the start.
His other hand reaches for yours when he hears you grabbing the sheet, and you immediately hold it, enjoying how his cold metal feels. When you feel the second finger and he scissors both of them inside you, you’re shocked by how close you suddenly are. You can’t help but arch your back and move your hips, needing it faster.
He reads the signals pretty quickly and lets you use his mouth while he keeps pumping his fingers. It doesn’t take long for you to gasp, moan, and start to shake because of the pleasure he’s giving you.
“James! Shit. I’m- gonna… ahh… come.”
You moan louder than you expected, dropping your head against his sheets, possessed by a great wave of pleasure. You want to tell him not to stop anything, but you can’t. And you don’t need to as he keeps licking and fingering you while you ride your orgasm out, prolonging it as much as possible.
When it’s done, you are feeling so good yet you are hungry for more. You raise your head a little and see Bucky still between your legs, but this time his beard is covered with your slick. He looks so handsome. His blue eyes are shining and his hair is all messy. It makes you wanna kiss him and that’s exactly what you do. You reach down to him, and he meets you in the middle, kissing you the way he was just eating you out: with passion and hunger.
He’s less gentle than before as you feel his hands grabbing your breasts, but it’s still not enough. You cover his hands with yours and push him to grab them harder than before. You let out a muffled moan while kissing him.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.”
You find yourself blushing like you two aren’t having sex. To mask your reaction, you reach out to his hard cock, gently grabbing it.
“Oh god,” he groans as he instinctively squeeze your breasts harder.
“Mhmm, yes.” You lean into his touch. “Just like that.”
Bucky looks at you as if you said something shocking. Is he not used to communicating during sex?
“What? Did I do something wrong?”
“You’re surprising me for someone so delicate.”
“I told you, I am not.”
He smiles. “Do you wanna help me put on a condom then?”
“I would love to, but…” You smile. “What if I told you I am clean and on the pill?”
“Fuck, I need you.” He kisses you suddenly. “Now.”
“I am right here.” It sounds so calming. “You can take me however you want.”
You’re not only on your back in the next second, but you also have his cock lined up at your entrance.
“Jesus, doll! For a pretty little thing, you’re quite nasty.”
“I just know what I want.” And this is it.
He nods, wrapping your legs around his ass at the same time he pushes inside you. In a second, your head is thrown back while you moan loudly. The way he fills you is so delicious. It makes you feel so full but not uncomfortable.
“You’re taking me so well already.”
“Please…” You raise your hips to create more friction. “Please, move.”
He brings his mouth to your breast a little before he starts thrusting, making sure to leave a small hickey right on top of it. It hurts so good, and you moan without holding back. It is music to Bucky’s ears. He just wants to hear it again, so he does it again.
“You want it rough, don’t you?” He thrusts harder than before. “You’re so needy.”
“Yeah.” Your voice is so shaky already. “I told you already.”
“Told me what?” He teases. “I don’t remember.”
“That I am not made of glass.”
“No, you are made for me.” He brings his hand to your face to move the hair strands that cover your eyes. “For my cock.”
“In that case…” You don’t know where the sudden rush of confidence comes from. “You are made for me. To fill me up.” You move your hips again, trying to fuck yourself on him.
“Oh, god. You’re so fucking wet,” he moans. “I am, I’m gonna fill you up so much.” He kisses you suddenly, your teeth almost crashing together because of the thrusts, but you don’t care.
“Can’t wait.” You tease him. “Don’t hold back, okay?”
He says nothing, letting his head drop a little so he can suck on your neck properly. He’s definitely fucking you harder. He pulls until he’s almost completely out of you before thrusting inside you again. And again. And again. It takes your breath away. The way it makes you feel is indescribable. You lose the little remaining control you had and just turn into a moaning mess.
“Say my name, baby. C-come on.”
“James?” You sound hesitant even if you don’t mean to because you don’t know which name he wants to hear.
“Again,” he begs, his metal arm on your leg pushing it right against his ass.
“James!” This one comes out so naturally. No questions, no hesitation. You just breathe out his name with a moan.
“God, you look so beautiful. So pretty with my cock inside you.” His thrusts get faster, and you have no idea how he can speak so well while you’re a mess.
“I’m so close,” you can barely say without taking a breath in the middle of the sentence.
“What do you want?”
“Just… harder.”
“Like this?” He asks, suddenly thrusting a little harder than before. “Or like this?”
“This! Yes! Just like this!”
“You just want it hard.” He whispers against your ear. “What a dirty girl.”
You hear him, but you can’t respond. You are too busy coming all over his cock, and it feels like you are in heaven. He continues to fuck you as the pleasure fades away, murmuring how pretty you are and how good you make him feel before he comes, too, grabbing the bedpost behind you with his metal arm. It makes a clicking sound, but you don’t care, opening your still foggy eyes just to watch him.
There’s so much come. You can already feel it dripping out of you as he keeps fucking you. You expect it to end soon, but it doesn’t. It goes on and on. The way he loses control as he comes just triggers another orgasm out of you. You would be surprised how quickly you could come again if it didn’t feel overwhelmingly good. You can’t think about anything other than him and the way he makes you feel.
His come is getting all over your thighs and ass, and the bed, as he moans. “Kakaya khoroshaya devochka.” What a good girl.
You can’t help but laugh despite not understanding a word of what he says. “Is that Russian?”
He opens his eyes, and the blue you love is almost completely grey. “Yes.” He sounds confused, too.
“What does it mean?” Your afterglow can’t overshadow your curiosity. “If you don’t tell me, this isn’t happening again.” You try to make it obvious you aren’t serious with your playful tone. Especially not after those orgasms.
“Look at you, little and feisty, blackmailing me.” He chuckles before leaving a kiss on your lips. “I told you what a good girl you are. I didn’t realize I spoke in Russian.”
You laugh a little. “Say it again.” You give him the cutest look. “Please?”
“Ty moya khoroshaya devochka.” He repeats softly. You’re my good girl.
You don’t even realize how content you look as you keep smiling.
“Now, I can get used to that.”
“Say my name again, please.”
You love the neediness in his voice. “James?” You tilt your head a little. “Or would you prefer Bucky?”
“Fuck, it doesn’t matter.” His thumb is suddenly on your lips. “I can get used to that, too.”
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes au#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes one shot#sebastian stan#marvel fanfiction#bucky barnes x reader smut#bucky x reader#bucky x you#james bucky barnes#bucky barnes x f!reader#avengers smut#bucky barnes fluff#my stories
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Hello Mr Gaiman. I have read all of your books.
This is not an ask, rather an answer.
I would like to say thank you for saving me. Knowing I will never meet you will not change the way I feel about you or myself.
Love your fiction work. I feel bad for the fact that it’s not fiction to me. It is my life story.
Very sad one. That I am still trying to make sense of today.
I was raised by the other mother. Not really, but I was raised by a bipolar narcissist who hated me and loved me but didn’t know how to do either. She sexually abused me for 12 years.
No one ever believed me. No one.
So I would pretend that I was Coraline and that I was brave. I was. But that was because I knew that the spell had to break at some point.
I am 24 now. She is old and frail but the hell she has made in my mind - I almost never escaped. Until I understood that I truly was stronger.
Because she tried to make me just like her, but I refused. I picked kindness.
If you can’t find a friend, be one. If you can’t find someone you look up to- become someone who others can look up to.
I did. I tried my best. I promise.
I want to tell you the ultimate secret that no one ever could. You probably figured it out a long time ago, but it still makes me feel better to write it here, even if I know that you might never reply or ask me if I am safe, or dismiss me like a crazed fan/abused child who desperately needs help and attention.
I don’t. I would like to be your friend. But I know it is not possible.
So I want you to know I know why they do it.
They do it for the same reason as you wrote books. To not feel alone.
But that is the problem with existing in this world. Evil is nothing but not understanding yourself and hating different people from you.
Ignorance brings hate. How do you justify yourself in a world like this?
Simple.
You change the world by breading more people who believe hate is love, and love is hate. Evil needs justification. Kindness needs non.
I sat alone for 24 years and told no one. The paragraph above was just the start and the ending.
My story is still unfolding. But I wanted to let you know you are no longer sitting alone at your birthday party.
Because the only present I ever got was knowing someone else like me existed.
Someone who could look evil in the eye and stare back.
And never stop talking about it.
Thank you Mr. Gaiman, for writing “View from the Cheap Seats”
When I read it I put it down as well as the razor that I wanted to end my life with.
Because you were my only friend. And you still are.
And I cannot take the injustice anymore. If they won’t read, I will read to them.
I will save them just like you saved me. Making reading cool and easy.
And I will do it for you and me. So that no one else can see the horrors anywhere but in books and movies.
And I will do it one act of kindness and love at a time.
So they will know that injustice is just a state of mind.
Thank you Mr.Gaiman. You gave me hope.
And now I will do the unthinkable. I will try until my dying breath to change their mind.
One step forward into a future where you are not sad and a story like mine is just a horror movie and not a reality.
Because you are my only friend, and I hate to see my friends sad.
Leto
I'm so proud of you, and this made me tear up.
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