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honeyedmiller · 17 days

Text

Clouded | Joel Miller

husband!joel miller x wife!reader

rating: 18+, minors dni

warnings: use of marijuana, reader and joel both get high, smut (unprotected piv, two ass slaps, somewhat dirty talk??, brief nipple play, cock warming, joel is touchy), the adlers hate the millers in this one probably, she/her pussy pronouns, a tiny bit of fluff, joel is corny af and makes corny ass jokes (ofc cus what else would he do). let’s pretend that’s joel and not javi in the pic above just for the sake of this horny mess of a fic, cool? cool. no use of y/n.

word count: 1.2k

a/n: idk. this was just pure brainrot what can i say

synopsis: saturdays are meant for errands and chores. joel convinces you otherwise just for once.

Saturday mornings were meant for running errands and cleaning the house. At least, that’s what you and your husband agreed to.

But today was different. Today, it started off with Joel mumbling ‘five more minutes’ into your shoulder, hands roaming around your body to feel your bare flesh beneath his calloused palms.

He eventually made his way down to your clit, rubbing slow, lazy circles into you while you ground your ass into his stiff cock.

It was nice. The change of pace was something you were relishing, even if it was short-lived.

You grabbed his hand from underneath the sheets, bringing his middle finger to your mouth to suck on the tip. He groaned when you bit the pad of his finger, and you couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction.

“So needy, Mr. Miller.” You teased, twisting your head so your gaze could lock on his.

His usual honey brown eyes had darkened, pooling with pure lust and desire as his hands gently wrapped around your throat. His thumb and forefinger lifted your jaw up so your lips could easily slot between his, biting your bottom lip as he pulled apart from you.

“What I need is my pretty wife on top ‘a me. Show me how a real cowgirl rides it.” He winks, and you can’t help but laugh at his corny joke.

But still, you oblige. Who were you to say no to being deliciously filled up by your husband’s cock?

You twist out of his grasp and swing a leg over him, straddling his hips. He instinctively grabs onto your waist and slowly guides you down over his erection.

You needed him badly, but you just had to tease him first. Your already-slick cunt settled on top of his cock, and you started to rock your hips slowly to coat his length in your slick.

You both moaned at the contact, Joel closing his eyes as he clenched that familiar muscle in his jaw. His eyes snapped open as he felt you shift your weight above him, watching you lean over to pull something out of your nightstand drawer.

You pulled out the half finished pre-roll you and him had smoked a few nights prior along with the neon green bic lighter stashed to the side. You shoot him a wicked grin before slotting the joint between your lips and flicking the lighter a couple of times before the end of the joint starts to crackle.

You deeply inhale as you stare down at Joel, tossing the lighter onto your nightstand before you grab his length with your hand. You tease yourself with the tip of his cock, a shiver running down your spine as you finally allow yourself to sink down onto him.

Joel plucks the joint from your lips and slots it between his own, groaning at the sensation of your warmth completely enveloping him.

You use both of your hands to grab his thighs behind you to hold yourself upright, smoke escaping your lungs as you let out a strangled moan.

It didn’t matter how many times you two had fucked—the stretch was always something that made you gush every single time.

You gave an experimental roll of your hips, lolling your head back in pure pleasure. Joel’s hand skated up your body and squeezed your breast, toying with your nipple between his forefinger and thumb.

You rolled your head back around so you were looking down at him, and he gently grabbed the back of your neck to coax you down. He used his thumb to open your jaw as he blew smoke into your mouth, gripping your other hip so tight that you felt the imprint of his wedding band into your flesh.

“So fuckin’ pretty, baby. My beautiful wife. Can’t believe you’re all mine.” Joel’s voice is soft and sincere, and you lean down to kiss him before taking the joint from him to slot it between your lips once more.

“You’re pretty too, cowboy.” You wink at him and a laugh rumbles from his sturdy chest, slightly shaking you in the process. He gives your ass a light slap, but you moan and roll your hips to the contact.

Joel shoots you a shit-eating smirk before he slaps your ass again, harder this time, and the sting is fucking delicious.

You lowly moan his name as you begin to ride him faster, and his hands easily find home on your hips as you find a steady rhythm.

Nothing but your pants and slick skin slapping on skin reverberates off of your bedroom walls, and you partially think to yourself you should’ve fucking filmed this for later use.

Joel takes the joint from your hands and stubs it out as quickly as he can before his hand rejoins your hip, groaning at how fucking good you feel.

“Jus’ like that baby. So fuckin’ good.”

You whine at his praise, head cloudy with lust and desire as you ride him even faster. Your hips burn and you’re panting hard, feeling that devilish little burn in the depths of your core.

“C’mon baby, I know you’re close. Can feel ya. She’s fuckin’ squeezin’ me so goddamn good.” He continues, and at this point he takes matters into his own hands and starts to fuck up into you.

You cry out in pleasure as you rest your hands on his chest, nails digging little crescent marks into his hot skin.

Your mind was so foggy and all you wanted was for that coil to fucking snap. It was wound up so tight, and Joel’s cock was nudging that perfect spot inside of you. The wiry hairs at the base of his cock added that extra bit of friction, creating the perfect cocktail for a most blissful orgasm.

“Atta girl, there you go baby. I know you wanna fuckin’ come for me.”

And you did. Your body went rigid as your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, legs shaking as you gushed around your husband’s cock.

“Fuckfuckfuck—Joel!” You couldn’t help but scream, not giving a fuck if the neighbors could possibly hear.

Hell, you wanted the whole world to know just how good your husband fucked you.

Your body tingled as he grunted, immediately stilling as he fucked his spend up into you.

You collapsed on top of him, breathing heavy and eyes half-lidded and glossed over in your fucked-out state. You moved to get off of him, but Joel stilled you and wrapped his arms around you, kissing your forehead as he kept you in place.

“Mm mm. Don’ move. This is nice.” He mumbled, kissing your forehead a few more times before you nuzzled your face into his neck, licking his salty skin before giving him a small nibble. You kiss him after, sighing into him as your body felt like it was floating on cloud nine.

“Fuck, what about our errands today?”

“They can be done tomorrow.” He says, eyes closed as he traced patterns onto your back with his fingertips.

“On a Sunday?” You ask, looking up at him. With his eyes still closed, he offered you a lazy grin before giving you a small nod.

“So fuckin’ worth it.”

tags: @nostalxgic @endlessthxxghts @punkshort @ilovepedro @amanitacowboy (this one’s for us lindsey <3)

divider by @saradika-graphics

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #pedro pascal imagines #joel miller x reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagines #pedro pascal #joel miller imagine #husband!joel #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fluff

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retropopcult · 1 year

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“Flick my BiC” patch, 1975

#Bic lighters #ad slogan #1970s #lighter

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laiiaaa · 8 months

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A NICE NIGHT — CARMEN BERZATTO

summary Carmen happens to meet a stranger at the party Claire takes him to. A brief conversation is shared during a cigarette break.

length 2k

contents literally just nonsense, not infidelity but sorta toying with the idea idk????, inside Carm’s mind (he’s a nervous wreck), reader is a food journalist bc i just think the pairing is cute, Claire slander lowkey…look i just want Carmen to meet some random person organically and bond without feeling pressured to like them :/ very self indulgent :/ baby bear :/

Carmen’s not sure why he agreed to come here: a party with people he doesn’t know and doesn’t particularly care to, too much drinking, too much conversation, too much noise.

He’s trying not to hate it completely, he really is, but there’s that nagging in the back of his mind that just screams unwanted. And maybe a little regretful, or undeserving, or unsure of himself. He wants to like it here. He wants to tolerate it for Claire. Maybe. Maybe just a few more minutes. Maybe a few with a cigarette.

He’s lucky to find the backyard more or less empty, save for red solo cups and beer bottles thrown askew—and a girl standing against the railing, back to the house to face a dark canvas. At least this is better than the mess inside.

Playing it safe, he leans against the railing on the opposite side of the steps, figures it sends a message. We don’t have to talk. Or, more accurately, I don’t really want to. He feels that familiar itch crawling down to his fingertips and pulls out his pack, pops out a cigarette and props it between his lips. He pats down his pockets. And again. He pats down his jacket. And again.

Fuck…

“Do you need a light?”

His head turns in her direction. Did I say that out loud? She’s looking at him, expectant. He must have. “Yeah, I, uh, it must’ve slipped from my pocket or somethin’.” He can’t tell whether he’s more on edge in a crowded room or in a conversation alone.

She walks over to him in a few steps, clad in a black leather jacket that catches his eye. Her cheekbones glow in the pale yellow haze seeping outside from within the house, and her lips are glossy and a little tinted like she’s just eaten cherries. Not that he’s paying any of this any mind; she’s only offered him a glimmer of her flame. She reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out a bright blue BIC lighter, like one of hundreds he’s lost or forgotten about over the years.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and she nods in response, turning back to the yard just a foot away this time, taking a drag. A metallic flick gives him his fill and his nerves subside only slightly. He fiddles with the lighter for a moment, watching her almost, before extending his arm. “Here.”

She peeks over her shoulders, shakes her head lightly, and looks back. “Nah, you keep it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry ‘bout it.”

He pockets it and inhales. “Thanks.”

She hums and it quirks up into a smile. “You, uh…” Another pull and plume of tobacco. “You do this typa thing often?” Carmen pauses, and she must take it as confusion. “Y’know, like…” The hand holding the cigarette makes a few circles as she turns her body towards him. “Parties. Kickbacks?” An eyeroll, a shrug of the shoulders he thinks is playful. “I dunno what the fuck this even is.”

“No,” he chuckles, and he thinks it comes a little easier than usual. A little lighter. “I-I don’t.”

“Yeah.” She sighs and smiles back at him, looks him in the eye for a blip of time. “Me neither.” Backing up, she moves down onto the first step and sits. She offers her name nonchalantly, adds by the way to the end of the introduction while shooting a look up at him.

“Carmen,” he offers. He clears his throat and steps closer. Am I supposed to sit with her? He chooses to stay standing.

She scoots to the side until she meets the railing, turns her hips to prop her legs along the step below, crossed at the ankle. Leather boots hit an inch or two below her knees. “You can sit here if you want.” Her head pivots toward the house to eye the furniture—two dingy lawn chairs and a collapsible table—and she takes another hit off her cigarette. “Not much place else.”

He nods, smiles because he thinks it’s the right move, and tries to sit down coolly. A few beats pass and he doesn’t know what to do in the silence. “Do you know anybody here?” he asks, lending a glance before looking down at his feet.

“Not really. A friend dragged me here to get me away from work. She’s busy actually talking to people.”

He smiles to himself, a gentle one hidden behind the collar of his jacket that makes his chest warm. I know the feeling. “I dunno anyone either. I, uh…” Fingers run through his hair to the nape of his neck. “A friend dragged me here, too.” A friend… The syllable feels heavy rolling off the tongue. Is that the right word for it?

“Really.” She smiles and exhales. “How come?”

“Uh…” He lets out an airy laugh, mouth tightening into a half-smile as he looks at her while still messing with the back of his hair. “To get me away from work, I think.”

A quiet giggle makes him think he could be doing something right for once—like maybe the whole social thing doesn’t have to be so hard, and he doesn’t have to be the funniest person in the room, and he doesn’t have to try and carry the weight of a conversation. Maybe he can just be.

“What do you do for work?”

Here we go again… He lets the question simmer for a beat. It’s an uncomfortable one: he doesn’t make money, the prestige is anything but, part of him shrivels up when he has to see the reaction. Another inhale before he ashes his cigarette. “I’m a chef,” he says, though it’s quiet. Ashamed.

“Oh, really?”

His heart drops. Maybe he thought better of a situation than he should’ve. “Heh, yeah, it’s not—it’s not, uh…” It’s not that special. Half of what I do is fuckin’ pointless. No, I don’t make a lot of money. Thanks for fuckin’ asking.

“No, no, I think it’s cool.” She tilts her head to the side, another soft thump of laughter to break the tension. She doesn’t seem to mind too much. “I’m a, uh…” She looks to her hands, snubs out the last of her cigarette that’s burnt down to the filter. “I’m a food journalist, so—or, whatever you’d call it—just a writer now, maybe? I don’t even know at this point…”

There’s an exhalation that has Carmen thinking that for once someone feels like he does—a quick-beating heart, jittery hands, an embarrassment unique to someone whose passion is a shame to a respectable world.

“What I’m saying is, I’m not judging.”

His brows lift, a subtle nod—half relief, half surprise. “You’re not.”

“Correct.”

A comfortable silence. A few more plumes of tobacco escape his mouth before he realizes he can’t remember the last time he smoked more than half a cigarette. He likes a quick fix, just a taste of it to make the nerves go down before getting back to work; he doesn’t take it slow, enjoy the pull, indulge in the company of someone else. He doesn’t usually have someone else.

He looks at her again, and for a blip of time he thinks she’s gorgeous, her head gently turned to the side, a barely-there smile adding warmth to the space between them. Part of him is thankful she hasn’t gone back inside, and he doesn’t bother wondering whether she’s staying because she wants to enjoy a crisp night in a bit of quiet, or if her friend isn’t all that much of a friend, or anything else. He’s here with Claire, anyway. He’ll be back with her any moment now, and he’s not sure whether he wants that moment to come. He likes it out here, in the dim light, away from the bustle, stumbling through a conversation with someone who isn’t running miles ahead. It’s not buried under a past that’s grueling to dig up.

So he goes out on a bit of a limb and asks, “What do you write about?”

She looks at him then, mouth open only slightly like she didn’t think he’d ask. “The food industry, mostly. Ethics, culture, history, that typa stuff.” A pause before she adds, with a bit of a tanginess to it, “Not recipes, or cookbooks, or anything like that. Might not be your style.”

“Not my style?” A crinkle forms between his brow, his lips curl up at the corners, gaze shoots down to his feet again.

“What, you’re reading Gastronomica in your free time, Chef?”

He strangles out a breath that’s somewhere between a laugh and a cough, making her smile. “Gastronomica?”

He tries not to think about it too much. Even in his professional prime he wouldn’t fuck with journalists; they were too prying, too nosy, asked the wrong questions about the wrong things. Who cares where his love of cooking came from? Is it a good dish, or is it not?

This is different though. He’s not entirely sure why. Just that it is.

She offers a shrug, and a dismissive smile to follow that slowly wanes. “Doesn’t mean much in the real world, though.”

Self-deprecating. “I get that…” Too well. “It’s the same, bein’ a chef, y’know? It’s, uh, not a lotta money.”

She hums. “Not at all. I still like it, obviously, but—y’know, my parents would’ve been a lot happier had I…” A beat of laughter, sardonic and a little self-loathing. “I dunno, become a fuckin’...a fuckin’ doctor, or somethin’.”

He smiles to himself. A doctor…Claire’s gonna be a doctor. Respectable, easy to confess about. Not a lotta shame there.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t be complaining like that to you; I don’t even know you.”

“No, no I get it. I know what you mean.” He nods and watches his hands before looking back. “The, uh, the judgment. I get that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But, uh, it…it’s nice,” he admits, looking her in the eye, “It’s nice to meet someone who’s in that—that world, y’know?”

She hums and smiles in a way that makes his chest flutter. In a way that makes him think he’s understood. In a way that makes him painfully confused as to how he even broached the topic with someone who’s little less than a stranger.

The back door opens, and light spills onto the porch. Heads turn to inspect.

“Carm?”

Claire.

He freezes before sparking up a smile. “Hey,” he answers. It’s been too long since ashing his cigarette; he flicks it to the ground, standing up and turning to face his…friend.

She takes a few steps yet stays tethered to the door. Music booms from inside and just the thought makes Carmen’s head throb. Her gaze flickers from him, to the girl sat on the steps, and back. “You made a friend?” Her grin feels mocking, almost accusatory.

“N-No—” he shakes his head, turns to look at the girl standing up— “Just, uh…”

“Just lent him a light,” she fills in. He watches her dust off her skirt, adjust her slouched over jacket, check her phone for a second before she looks back up at him. She smiles at him and looks at Claire with the same expression. “I’m headed out, though, so…” Her face softens when she looks at him again, and he wants to think it’s for a reason. “Have a nice night.”

His mouth goes dry before he remembers his manners. “Yeah, uh, you too.”

“Thanks.” Her boots make a satisfying click as she descends, her hand an axis around which she pivots the railing to leave through the gate. He wonders where she’s going, whether she drove here herself separate from her friend, if she’s going to wait for an Uber to pick her up. If she'll ever visit The Bear once it's open.

“So,” Claire starts, grabbing for his attention again. “Ready to go?”

He nods, mumbles a hushed Yeah, and heads toward the door. She bares her teeth in a smile as she looks him in the eye and hovers an open hand near his. He follows her back inside where the music consumes his thoughts and the bass rattles through his shoes.

After letting the air hang between their hands for a moment, he tucks them away into his pockets, thumbing away at his new lighter.

#carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #jeremy allen white #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto fluff #the bear #the bear hulu #the bear fx #the bear season 2

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

Text

Carpe Noctem 25

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, gaslighting, manipulation, violence, blood, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (short!reader)

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

“I think they’ll make great specials,” Cole says as he carefully uses tongs to set the desserts in the display, “you’ll have to write out a list of ingredients we need. Oh, and your receipts.”

“They’re in my bag,” you flick your lashes as you resist a yawn.

“Great,” he hands the tongs to Peter, “grab ‘em and lets go make an inventory.”

Peter takes the tongues and meets your eye. He arches a brow to say, ‘I told you’. You really don’t think much of it. Cole just seems a bit eager and a touch distractible.

You grab your bag and follow Cole to his office. He enters ahead of you and rounds the desk, swiveling the chair to the side, “sit.”

“Oh, it’s fine–”

“Really, I’ll be up and down,” he insists, “I want you to make your list. Oh, and the receipts…” he lets go of the chair and opens the drawer, “I’ll add it…” He takes out a binder with pages jutting out and strips of receipt dangling from the side.

“Uh,” you go around the other side of the desk. You sit as you watch Cole with his messy binder. That can’t be his filing. “Is that–”

“Everything, yeah.”

“Cole,” you lean your elbow on the desk and press your palm to your neck, “you need to back that up. Please tell me you have it on your laptop.”

“Huh, oh, no, it’s fine. Everything’s here. I’m a paper guy, you know?”

“Yeah? Look at this place. When’s the last time you had a fire inspection? The light switch in the bathroom crackles when you turn it on,” you say.

“Well, I wouldn’t know where to start getting this on the computer,” he stands straight, “I send emails at most.”

“Hmm, there are programs… I can show you. I worked as a secretary a few years ago. Wasn’t my favourite but I picked up a few tricks.”

“You? A secretary?” He grins, “what about the daycare?”

“That was after. I worked a desk to get through school.”

“Hmm, we’ll have to see. You might have to take the lead on the whole back up situation,” he slides out a lined pad from inside the binder, “here, make the list and we’ll go over what we already have after.”

“Right, sounds…” you pause and seal your lips against another yawn, “good.”

“You okay?” He asks, surprising you as he touches your shoulder, rubbing just a little.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” you reach for a pen and he lets go. “Baking too longer than I thought.”

You laugh off the half-lie and incap the bic. You set to jotting out each ingredient as Cole watches. He finally backs off, sniffing as he checks his watch. You glance up as he gets to the door. He smiles at you and you give one an awkward one in return.

He leaves you and you hunch forward. You lean your head in your hand, dragging the nib lazily. Your eyelids begin to droop as you try to remember every little teaspoon. You haven’t slept well since… well, you didn’t even sleep much with Johnny.

You stop to rub your eye, shoulders stiff, slouching lower and lower. Your weight centers on your elbow as you droop lower and lower. You don’t feel the impact on the desk as you fold over and your cheek hits the paper. Your snores swallow you up into sleep, a coaxing rumble for your fatigue.

☕

You grumble as a pang ripples up your neck and between your shoulders. At first, the world is distant and hazy. You search for the last memory you have of consciousness and sit back so fast, you trigger that same stabbing pain again.

You reach to touch your neck as you come face to face with the office. And Cole. He sits calmly in a chair, one pulled in from the dining area, as he balances the binder on his lap. He glances up with his eyes, keeping his head bent.

“Morning, sleepy head.”

“What? Morning? How long…” you choke on your words and wipe your dry lips with the back of your hand.

“It’s just after closing. Don’t worry. Not a whole day.”

“What? Why wouldn’t you wake me up?” You try to stand and slip back down, tamping down a grunt as a nerve behind your shoulder blade zaps.

“You looked peaceful. And tired. Besides, I’ll still pay you. We’ll count all the time you took baking as overtime–”

“Why– Cole, that’s very nice but… I don’t wanna take advantage of you.”

“You’re not. You’re saving me. You have the best ideas. Specials and seasonal goods, and you’re going to teach me how to use Excel.”

You nearly laugh. This is absurd. Are you still dreaming?

You reach for your purse and find it open. You dig out your phone and check the time. Holy shit. It’s after seven.

“Hope you don’t mind, I just took the receipts out myself,” he holds up a handful, “didn’t touch anything else.”

“I… I forgot. That’s fine,” you push yourself up with all your strength, ignoring the plucking in your neck. You snatch up your purse and walk stiffly to the other side of the desk. “I have to go.”

“Oh, of course, you good to drive?”

“Uh, yeah, I’d say I’m well rested,” you scoff as you grab your jacket from the rack.

He stands as you don’t even try to put the jacket on. That’s just going to hurt even more. You face him as you fix your grip on your purse.

“I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“No worries,” he puts the binder in the chair and stands straight, “really, I don’t mind. It was kinda nice… comforting. I’m usually in here alone.”

“Ah, yeah, I guess, sorry but I got a drive ahead of me,” you try to smile, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Sure,” his cheeks twitch, “tomorrow.”

You nod, regretting that careless gesture. You scurry to the door and he follows. You look over your shoulder, confused. Another mistake.

“Gotta lock the door behind you,” he explains.

“Oh, yeah, right.”

He follows you through the front, desolate and silent. The dark windows are jarring. You lost a whole day. It’s entirely upending. You turn back the latch but Cole reaches around you to open the door himself. You step outside and pause on the stoop, angling your whole body back to him.

“See ya, Cole.”

“See ya, h– uhhh, tomorrow,” he sputters, blanching as if he’s been caught, “can’t wait.”

You hold back a snort. He’s awkward but that’s reassuring. He’s not pushy like Johnny or Lloyd, he’s just a bit lost. Just like you.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #the gray man #cole turner #ghosted #series #carpe noctem #drabble #au #the club

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starysky1289 · 3 months

Text

Toxic!Soroity!Vanessa X Reader. New Wares

TW: Toxic Relationship, DubCon, Drugs, Drug Use, Forced Drug use.

You sat around the pushed together coffee tables, Vanessa was in the other room getting something. The Soroity girls sat around the table, taking amongst themselves and passing out drinks.

“ ok girls so. Bad news, my guy got arrested the other day and I don’t have anymore coke. But, good news, I’ve got new ‘ wares ‘. “

Vanessa came into the room, sitting next you you and pulling you into her lap. She dropped the bag, dispersing some bags evenly.

“ weed? Are we ghetto now? “

“ we arnt ghetto, lily, your one to talk. this is good shit. It’s expensive. I know most of yall know how to roll these, so help eachother. Here you go baby girl, I wrapped yours for you “

Vanessa played with your hair as she dug through the bag, handing you a wrapped paper roll. You’ve seen your Roomate smoke them once or twice, but you were never to interested in it.

“ ness..I don’t do this stuff, you know it…”

“ I got this all fancy for you sweetheart! Besides, we’re with all our friends….you don’t wanna embarrass me, don’t you sweetheart~? “

You glanced down at the ground, picking up the blunt from the table, and passing it through your fingers.

“ no…I’d never wanna embarrass you…lemme see the lighter…”

Vanessa smiled, passing you the pink bic lighter. You flicked it on, starting to light the tip, letting it burn slightly before pulling it to your lips. The sweet flavor fit your mouth quickly, you closed your eyes, before pulling the blunt back, coughing out the smoke. There was a small cheer from the other girls, a few clapped, mostly snickers, but you looked up at Vanessa, who smirked, kissing your head gently.

“ see? My girl knows exactly what to do. Keep going y/n…I’ll start mine..”

Vanessa finished wrapping her own blunt, lighting it and taking a deep breath from it. She pulled it back, blowing the smoke upwards. You looked back down at yours, it tasted sweet, and it couldn’t be that bad. So, begrudgingly, you pulled it back up to your lips and took another puff from it, leaning back into Vanessa as you blew the smoke out.

*~*

You didn’t know what time it was, or how long it had been. You were slightly dizzy and exhausted from smoking, is this what getting high was? Your roommate would come home and just fall asleep, but you were dizzy, starving, and mostly, you felt a heat spreading through yourself, starting at your cunt and spreading through your body. You still sat on Vanessa lap, so, without thinking, you gently grinded against her thighs,glancing around to make sure no one was watching.

“ what’s the matter princess…feeling…icky~? “

“ n-nessy…what was I-in that…”

“ don’t worry about it. Take another hit and I’ll help you..”

You groaned, picking back up your blunt. You lit it again, taking another deep breath through it, pulling it back before blowing the rest of the smoke out. You felt even dizzier than before, as you leaned into Vanessa. Her hands trailed over your body, as she gently kissed your neck.

You could feel her hands trailing along your legs, keeping you spread. She tugged on your pants, pulling them down slightly to reveal your panties.

“ n-nessy…the g-girls…”

“ shh…there to busy getting high…it’s just us, ignore them sweetheart…”

With a swift tug, Vanessa pulled your panties down, dragging her fingers through your already soaked folds. You let out a small whine, and Vanessa used her free hand to bring your blunt back up to your lips.

“ again baby. Another hit. “

You started your puff, and Vanessa slammed her fingers into you, making you gag out a moan around the smoke. Vanessa held you up as she steadily worked her two fingers in and out of your tight hole. You whined again, throwing your head back against her. Your brain was practically melted, you where to tired and dizzy to do anything, but too horny to stop her.

“ n-nessy…”

“ oh I know sweet girl…girls like you shouldn’t need to do anything except sit here and be played with…I told you I made it special, didn’t it~? “

You could feel the eyes. The eyes of every other girl around the table watching, trying not to be obvious about it either. You knew they all had to be just as fucked up as you are, perhaps you even more so. Vanessa had you take another puff, before she slid her third finger into you, picking up the pace. Your moans slured out, as your three your head back onto her shoulder.

“ s-s’to much Vanessa…I-i c-can’t n-nessy!! “

“ you’re doing just fine. Don’t disappoint me in front of our friends baby…take it..”

Your legs twitched as she dove her fingers in deeper, curling them ever so slightly. You heard a slight Russel from besides you, you simply closed your eyes, moaning out as Vanessa slowed down slightly.

“ cmon ness..if your gonna give us a show atleast let us see something~ “

You then felt your shirt being tugged upwards, before the sound of a hard slap. You lifted your head, glancing over to see a girl holding her nose, and you could see Vanessa’s eyes staring at her, like she was looking straight into her soul.

“ keep your hands off her. You’re lucky I’m letting you watch. Get the Fuck out of here “

Vanessa then returned to her quick pace, and another round of slurred moans erupted from you. Vanessa held the blunt to your mouth once more, having you take one last, long puff of it.

“ you close arnt you slut~? “

“ S-so close v-vanessa..d-don’t s-s-stop again p-please!! “

Vanessa bit hard against your neck, her thrusts grew harder and faster, as you could only babble out incoherent words. With one final thrust, you felt the rush of pleasure wash over you, practically passing out in Vanessa arms.

“ so good sweetheart…get up to my bed. I’ll join you soon…”

“ I-i l-love you n-nessy….”

You quickly fixed your pants, stumbling to stand up, wobbling out of the room. You could hear the laughter from the room as you left. You made your way upstairs, and collapsed into Vanessa bed, holding tightly to her pillow.

You where out of it, your head pounded and you felt like you where gonna collapse any moment. You heard the door open after a bit, and felt Vanessa settle next to you. Without a word, she pulled you into her. You finally passed out, contempt with the…love?…Vanessa had given you.

It most be love.

Why else would she fancy up your blunt if not to love you.

#vanessa shelly #five nights at freddy's #vanessa shelly x reader #vanessa shelly smut #sorority!vanessa #toxic!vanessa #tw toxic relationship #tw dubcon #tw drugs #tw drug use #tw forced drug use

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bonezone44 · 3 months

Text

linecook!Ezra ficlet (18+)

Linecook!Ezra x afab!Reader

word count: 873.

Tags: no smut. Just some good ol’ fashioned Waffle House dirty talk. Implied oral (f), implied past somno fingering, implied past p-in-v.

a/n: I've got 1000 other fics I should be writing but then this came out and I know it ends abruptly, but I'm trying to get my brain going.

+++++

Ezra, sitting on an overturned bucket in the back of the Waffle House, spits wisdom to his young cohorts on his cigarette break. They gather around him with eager eyes and hopeful smiles while he shares tales of the beforetimes (before the current manager was hired). He feels like the village elder, continuing an oral tradition that began long before the Waffle House existed. Back when it was a plot of land on the side of the highway that the local farmers would use to set up their vegetable stands every day.

When his tale is done, so is his cigarette. He snubs it out on the wall behind him and tosses the butt in an ever-present, faded, empty can of Barq’s root beer.

"You want another one?" asks one of the new waitresses, holding out a pack of Marlboro 100s that seemed to materialize from thin air with how swiftly she acquired it from her purse. Her fingernails are chewed down to the bone. She's nineteen years old and keen for Ezra's attention and approval.

She’s cute, he thinks. But he knows she’s too young and inexperienced for a man with his tastes. He wasn’t nearly as patient and accommodating as he had been in previous years. And none of those passing thoughts matter much anyhow since he has you.

He smiles, though, and continues to be polite. "I appreciate the offer, but I find myself satisfied with that particular poison for today." He pulls out a small joint of marijuana from his pocket. "On to the next one," he drawls with a smirk and the group laughs. They watch quietly as he lights it up with a flick of his BIC and takes a long, deep inhale. He holds it for as long as his aging lungs can muster and releases it above him in a thick cloud of smoke.

Then the back door flies open and you poke your head out.

You scoff at the sight. "Ezra! What are you doin back here? I need you on the grill!" You wave your hand, swatting the weed smoke away.

"I am holding court with my brethren," he turns to you and answers coolly.

"You're not gettin paid to hold court!" you yell. "I got hungry people in here!"

"Alright, alright." He licks his finger and thumb and pinches out the cherry of his joint. He looks to his audience. "Duty calls," he says with a smile and stands up. He lazily makes his way inside while you stand there and hold the door open for him.

—

You look out at the group. "What are y'all doin here? Y'all don't even work today!"

They offer their excuses, but you don't care to hear. You shoo them off and tell them to go home.

Back inside, Ezra's washing his hands at the sink. You two are hidden from view.

"I got people starin at me wonderin when their food's gonna get started!" you grouse.

"And they will be fed shortly," Ezra responds casually–as if he has all the goddamn time in the world. He dries his hands with a few paper towels and tosses them in the trash.

Your shoulders fall. "I'm exhausted, Ezra," you whine, begging for sympathy. "My feet hurt. I smell like shit. I don't wanna deal with these people anymore."

"C'mere, starlette." He wraps one arm around your waist and pulls you close. His other hand slaps your asscheek, hard. You gasp and jump and it brings your bodies closer. He looks at you adoringly. "Your shift is nearly done and when my relief arrives--" He slides one hand down the center of your ass. "--I will hurry myself to your place of residence post-haste--" His fingers press against your most sensitive area through the thin, polyester fabric of your work pants. You whimper. "--and devour your sex until I am smothered and covered in your juices.”

You close your eyes and fight back a smile. Ezra is the only man you’ve been with to make good on his promises–well, when it came to sex, at least. “I’ll probably be asleep by the time you get there.”

“That’s never stopped me before,” he murmurs to you with hazy eyes.

You feel something hard press against you. Your whole body warms to the memory of waking up with Ezra heavy on top of you, fingers sliding in and out of your cunt. You melt against him like a slice of cheese. “Shit, Ezra,” you sigh. You wanna pull him into the manager’s office again like you did on your third shift. Leaned over the desk with your pants pulled just below your ass and Ezra’s apron tossed over his shoulder. You were tossing your ass back just as hard as he was slamming his hips. Never even got caught.

“Anybody workin here?!” a voice bellows from the dining room.

You immediately pull back from Ezra, though he is loath to let you go.

“I’m coming!” you shout.

“Yes, you will be,” mutters Ezra.

You grab a stray rag from the counter and toss it in his face with a frustrated huff. You straighten your clothes and rush to the front, doing your best to make peace with the upset guest.

+++++

#ezra prospect #x reader #ezra x afab!reader

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munson-blurbs · 7 months

Text

The Stranger

For @palomahasenteredthechat's Joseph Quinn Story Spookathon 2023

Warnings: paranormal activity, disfigurement, fire/being burned, car accident, drunk driving

WC: 1.1k

-------------------------------------------

Anyone who entered Hawkins, Indiana–even if just passing through–knew that there was something very, very wrong. There was a constant heaviness in the air, an invisible weight that pressed onto lungs, misery wrapping itself around their organs like a constrictor.

Most people who had the misfortune of living in Hawkins, Indiana could tell you a ghost story or two of their own, usually involving angry souls who’d lived and died in the lab and refused to fully commit to the afterlife.

Eddie Munson was one of the few people who hadn’t ever had a paranormal encounter. He could easily attribute any bump in the night to the stray animals roaming around Forest Hills Trailer Park; any cold draft could be the trailer’s poor insulation.

That’s why he didn’t think anything of it as he shrugged on his jacket and stepped outside for a cigarette, letting the door slam shut behind him. The chill bit at his skin, far too cold for October, so he silently promised to only smoke one. Maybe half, he thought grimly, a gust of wind cutting through the denim and piercing flesh.

It takes several flicks of his lighter for it to finally spark a flame, illuminating a few feet in front of him. What he saw had him dropping the Bic, barely hearing it clatter against the concrete.

A woman stood at his van, peering inside as though searching for something. Who the hell is stealing from me? What is she gonna find–a couple of worn cassettes and a couple of pennies? Still, he couldn’t just let her take from him right in front of his eyes.

“Hey!” he yelled, clenching his fists. The woman didn’t turn around, seemingly unfazed by the man shouting in her direction. “Get out of here! Get away from my shit!”

The strange woman, utterly unbothered, continued her quest.

“Can you hear me? I said go!”

Nothing.

“Jesus,” Eddie swore under his breath, raising his voice to address her again. “There’s nothing in there! And that piece-of-shit van was my piece-of-shit dad’s, so it’s so old it’s not worth a goddamn dime.”

This drew the woman’s attention; she abruptly swiveled around and locked her gaze onto Eddie. And, yet, it felt as though she was looking straight through him. Choppy hair framed her face awkwardly, curls ending where they should have just begun. There was a slight tremor in her body, and as Eddie took in the sight of her, he realized she wasn’t standing. She was floating.

“Who are you?” The words, like his body, were shaking. “What the fuck do you want?”

She crooked her forefinger, beckoning him over. With trepidation and heavy feet, he walked towards her.

His stomach soured as he approached the woman. He could see the mangled skin that accompanies burns; it curled over where a mouth and ears would be, up and down the parts of her arms and torso exposed by a tattered shirt. Her hair, he realized, wasn’t choppy; it was singed.

She said nothing, just pointed to the driver’s seat, then at Eddie. When he remained still, she repeated the action.

Eddie’s eyes widened. “You want me to drive?” A single nod. “Where?”

Of course, she didn’t answer, but Eddie climbed into the van and started the ignition anyway. The van roared to life, and the woman simply walked through the door and planted herself into the passenger seat.

When he got to the trailer park entrance, the woman pointed to the right. That was how she offered directions; a point left, right, or straight at each intersection. Eddie followed dutifully, terrified and enraptured by her aura.

After ten minutes of driving, she held out a full hand. Stop. Eddie slammed on the brakes, flying forward against the wheel.

“We’re in the middle of the fucking road!” He buried his head in his hand, throwing the van into ‘park.’ “Just…get out. I took you where you wanted to go.”

The woman didn’t move, only stared out the front window as though latching onto a memory.

Eddie watched as a van, nearly identical to his own except slightly less dented, zigs and zags across the dirt road, barreling towards them. “Holy shit, holy shit! He’s gonna hit us!” He reached for the gearshift, but a cool breeze tickled his fingers.

Another smaller vehicle drove along the same road, blissfully unaware of the danger that lay ahead. “Watch out!” Eddie called, simultaneously screaming and cranking down the window. The woman next to him shook her head, keeping her eyes trained on the disaster about to unfold.

The out-of-control van veered onto the wrong side of the street, instantly colliding with the sedan. Eddie winced, anticipating the sounds of glass breaking and metal crunching, squeezing his eyes shut until it all stopped. When there was nothing, he opened them, heart sinking as smoke began to billow from the sedan’s engine.

“Oh my God, oh my fucking God!” He jumped out of his seat and raced towards the car just as the front of it exploded into a ball of fire. Eddie braced himself for flying debris and a surge of heat, but he felt nothing. As though it wasn’t even there.

A man stumbles out of the van, nearly falling over as his feet make contact with the ground. In a delayed reaction, his jaw dropped when he saw the damage he’d caused.

Eddie feels his dinner creep back up his throat. He knew that staggering gait, those stubble-covered cheeks, those eyes constantly glazed over with drunkenness.

“Dad?” His voice was small, almost inaudible. From his peripheral, he saw a crooked finger point in the direction of the burning car.

The passenger was frozen in fear, fingers clenched around the wheel like a lifeline. Flames licked at her permed hair, already spreading towards her blouse.

The same blouse that the stranger next to him was wearing, sans soot and tears.

“No, I…” he struggled to find the words. “My…my dad did this. My dad killed you. I…I didn’t know. I never would’ve driven his van if I knew…” All he had been told was that his dad had been busted for driving while intoxicated, but his uncle had apparently sheltered him from the full story. “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry he did this.” He cried so hard that he can barely breathe; mucus ran from his nostrils and trailed down his face.

The woman mustered up every ounce of energy she could, taking from Eddie and leaving him suddenly exhausted. Harsh, gravelly words left her mouth.

“You need…to know…the truth.”

Then she was gone.

#eddie munson #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #eddie stranger things #stranger things fanfic #halloween fanfic #eddie munson angst

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annaofaza · 1 year

Text

Vash decides a few hours in that professional mixers are not his thing.

Or maybe it's this particular group that's a bust. He loves Nai, but the people he hangs out with are... something else; one blue-haired guy cornered him about "changing the world" and "showing the way" with his pupils just a bit too wide and his presence far too close. Another guy with a tuba tried to fight him over his senior thesis on UN peacekeeping tactics, and when he'd tried to hide in the bathroom, he'd received a loud "FUCK OFF" from someone smoking in the only closed stall.

Nai is thriving in the competitive, cutthroat future CEOs environment, and Vash just has a stomachache from eating twelve quiches and almost all the dessert charcuterie board.

He texts Nai heading out, meet back home before beating his retreat out the back door, pulling out his phone. Nai drove them here, so he's going to either have to Uber or find a viable bus route, but between the peak prices soaring with every second and the "forty minutes of walking" on the shortest routes home, neither really appeal to him. He saw some hipster doughnut shop nearby, so maybe he can at least make the way back more bearable—

"Hey, blondie."

Vash whips his head up, hand moving instinctively to the small, unused canister of pepper spray Meryl had given him after freshman orientation ("Trust me, you'll need it."), but pauses when he sees him.

He's under a streetlight, back against the brick wall, playing with a lighter. It's not a cheap BIC one, either; it looks like real silver, and the way it flashes through the twiddling fingers makes Vash pause like a moth to the flame.

The guy's handsome, too, even if he's wearing sunglasses at night—and Vash, although he's seen many Dateline episodes that begin like this, emits a "Hey."

"Hey yourself," the guy says, "escaping the party?"

Vash laughs. "Yeah. I came with my brother for moral support, but he seems to be doing okay on his own. You?"

"Same here—though mine wanted to try to walk around on his own for a bit. I'm here in case he needs to be bailed out."

Vash smiles. "That's nice of you."

"Hey, he's my little brother; I'd do anything for him. Except maybe stand in the same room as some guy talking about the pros of nuclear and biochemical weapons. "

Vash laughs awkwardly. "That might have been my brother. But I swear he's sane. I think."

The guy chuckles. "I'll take your word for it. By the way, do you have...?" He gestures to his lighter.

"Oh, no, I don't," Vash apologizes. "I don't smoke."

"Damn. Well, worth a shot." The guy grimaces, but sticks his hand out. "Sorry, usually I ask someone's name before I start shaking them down. I'm Wolfwood."

"Vash."

"Vash," Wolfwood repeats, drawing out the syllable. "Looking good."

"Have we met before?"

"I would have remembered someone as beautiful like you."

Oh, a real charmer. Vash isn't opposed to it, though. "Same here—" he begins, lowering his voice.

Then it hits him. "You're the asshole from the bathroom! You told me to fuck off!"

Wolfwood bursts out laughing. "Did I? Well, I'm sorry about that; I was avoiding that blue-haired guy who was clutching my arm and asking me what faith meant to me."

"Oh. I get it now. Do you think he's a Scientologist? He had that energy."

"Has to be. Definitely something evangelical. I'm familiar with that." Wolfwood plucks something underneath his shirt, frowning.

"Oh?" Vash doesn't know if he should pry further, but Wolfwood shrugs.

"Grew up in a cult, actually."

"I'm sorry?"

"It was a long time ago," Wolfwood mutters, then flicks off the lighter with a sharp click. "But we got out in the end."

Vash moves to lean against the wall, feeling the bricks dig into his back. Wolfwood is a comforting presence, somehow, next to him. "It must have been tough, especially with your brother, too."

"Like I said, I'd do anything for him." Wolfwood shakes his head. "But this isn't the conversation I want to be having with you."

Vash takes the opening: "And just what do you want to discuss? Politics? Etiquette? Global—" His eyes veer to the curb, where an undoubtedly fine motorcycle is parked. "Or that?"

Wolfwood grins, excitement dancing in his eyes. "Angelina? She was rescued from the scrap heap and restored. You know about bikes?"

"No," Vash confesses. "I haven't even ridden one."

"No?" Wolfwood straightens up and slips his lighter into his pocket. Vash mentally sighs; no cigarettes, no bikes, that's as good as three strikes, he's out. At least doughnuts haven't let him down...

But Wolfwood surprises him.

He turns his head and crooks his finger at Vash. "That settles it. Let's go."

"Weren't you supposed to wait for your brother?" Vash asks, heart jumping.

"We can just take a few laps around the parking lot. Coming?"

Yes!

But Vash puts his hands on his hips. "Do you have a helmet?" Some things Rem instilled in him still remain.

Wolfwood snorts. "Yeah. Look in the basket."

Vash opens it and sees exactly one. "What, nothing for you? Don't you care about your head?"

Wolfwood sighs. "You're sounding a lot like Livio. Do you want a ride, or are you going to quote danger statistics, too?"

Normally, Vash would, but... He's a simple man in the end. "Just be gentle, " he warns, with a mischievous smile as he buckles the helmet, "It's my first time."

Smirking, Wolfwood swings one leg over the seat and pats behind him. "Certainly. Arms around me tight, sweetheart."

The engine roars to life, seat purring and vibrating underneath his thighs, and Vash grins, nestling his chest tight against Wolfwood's back. "Like you had to ask."

#vashwood #trigun #my fic #totally based off a few of my mixer/party experiences #unfortunately the dude did not have a helmet at all so i did not take that offer but vash gets to have fun

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